Prolouge
I have to say this, dying sucks.
You’d think that when you're flying a F-35B Lightning II and you take a direct hit from a Russian-made AA-14 Angel medium range air-to-air missile with a sixty-six pound warhead that it just blows your fighter apart and pulverises you before your brain even realizes the pain, either that or it’s so sudden and intense that you just can’t react to the pain. You’d be wrong, only in rare cases are fighters when they take a direct hit from a missile, unless they take that sucker right up the tailpipe, they’ll rarely explode spectacularly into dribbling bits.
At least, that’s what you’ll think. What happens in real life is that the airframe is ripped apart and incinerated beyond all recognition. But usually, the aircraft is before it goes killer lawn dart into the ground is somewhat recognizable, albeit on fire and out of control, with usually the cockpit canopy getting blasted away and having the ejection seat hurl the pilot straight out of the plane. However that only tends to happen with proximity hits, where the proximity fuse on the missile detects the plane and thus triggers the warhead creating a storm of steel that tears planes apart.
When the missile hits directly, the plane just tends to fragment, breaking apart and usually making a fiery smear across the sky, becoming an ugly glittering arc of aircraft aluminum and such as the airframe destroys itself as the plane plummets from the sky in a wild tumble, but even when this occurs the craft is still recognizable.
But what’s worse than surviving getting shot down? Getting shot down, getting knocked out by the hit, somehow survive the crash, get rescued by a technicolor pegasus, and then have your sorry ass engaged by Russian Ground Troops - yeah, that fucking sucks. It’s also what resulted in me getting into a bizarre situation, one that I’ve learned to adapt to and live a relatively normal life.
Now that I think about it, I should really start from the beginning. Everyone around here and to a degree back home, called me Sapphire. But my actual name is Lisa Johansson, my life as a human ended on October 15th, 2020 when I was shot down and killed in the skies over the Northwest Territories in Canada by a Russian-made Su-98 Reporting name Ferret with an AA-14 Angel missile, a little hint the AA-14 Angel was called as such because you usually went up against one of those Vympel R-84s or AA-14 exactly once because they’d turn you into an angel. My life here in Equestria, began in December of the year 1002 A.D. or After Discord, just a couple of months after an ugly fiasco of a wedding, or so I am told.
The day of my death as a human however, happened on an incredibly frigid dawn over Alberta in the Northwest Territories.
“Come on, Major! We got to get the hell out of here! We have a flight of Su-34s inbound and I would bet a promotion to General of the Air Force that their target is Igloo base!” Captain Lisa Johansson, callsign Sapphire cried over the radio as two JSF F-35B Lightning IIs taxied to the singular runway at Igloo Base, this had simply turned into the training mission from hell.
“I am well aware of that Captain. But first we got to get into the air.” Her flight lead, Major Stephanie Halverson call sign Siren growled in response.
“Siren, Sapphire, this is Igloo Tower. You’re cleared for take-off, engage the enemy at will after take-off. Godspeed.” A flight traffic controller in the small five-story flight control tower that Igloo base had said. The man seemed extremely calm, despite the fact that death was rapidly approaching.
“Affirmative, tower. Siren taking off.” Siren said as she advanced the throttles and the Pratt and Whitney F135 Afterburning Turbofan engine went into afterburner and the Lightning II raced down the runway.
“Roger tower. Sapphire departing.” Sapphire said numbly right after her flight lead, they had started with six pilots on the base and now they were all that was left. The other four pilots, also flying F-35Bs were dead, shot down by invading Russian fighters which were escorting massive lumbering Antonov An-130 Transport Jets, which were based on the famed Antonov An-124 Transport.
She lowered her Helmet Mounted Display down in front of her eyes after glancing at a image of her family taped to the inside of her cockpit and then advanced the throttles. The powerful turbofan roared and the F-35B raced down the runway. Her landing gear, as well as the Major’s had just left the ground and were starting to come up when the inevitable descended with a vengeance onto Igloo base. Dozens of Russian 1000-pound guided bombs dropped by those Su-34s.
The shock wave from the first one rattled her Lightning and she went to full afterburner and rapidly climbed after her flight leader who was climbing rapidly as well. She banked left, pulling up and away from the base and while she formed up with her flight lead to watch the carnage unfold on the ground.
The snow covered Quonset huts which housed the barracks, officers quarters, offices, etc. all went up one after another as bomb after bomb slammed into each individual one. Turning them simply into galvanized steel confetti which was thrown for hundreds of meters, great gouts of flame shot upward and ignited the lodgepole pines behind those buildings. Then, just as several HMMWVs and M-ATVs began to move away from the fueling trucks, bombs hit the trucks as well. The vehicles went up explosively like dominos, sweeping the aforementioned HMMWVs and M-ATVs which were carrying the crews of the fuel trucks up in the blast. Effortlessly sending the vehicles flipping, more bombs landed near the vehicles in-question turning their remains into almost nothing.
Those explosions caused several smaller vehicles to go up explosively just outside the two hangers which had housed the F-35s, those buildings stood for a moment longer before each one was hit by two bombs that crashed into each hanger and blasted them to smithereens. My God! Sapphire thought morbidly.
But the Russians were going to be nothing but thorough, for even as the base’s singular taxiway and runway was reduced to mostly crater by at least a dozen one thousand pound bombs each, the small control tower and adjacent command center took at least three direct hits and several near misses and were lost in massive black fire-filled mushroom cloud that engulfed the small structure. “My God.” Sapphire said weakly, she’d met everybody on base and now they were dead too.
“Oh, God, Siren, you see that?” Sapphire asked her flight leader, barely able to hold back tears.
Her flight leader was in the same shape as well. “Yeah.” she whispered, her voice barely audible with grief, anger, horror, and disbelief.
Igloo base, the only place where they could rearm and refuel was gone. Along with everyone who was still on the ground. Hell, had there refueling gone on for just another minute they’d be dead too, caught on the ground when that ordinance hit. She remembered the last set of orders that Igloo base had given them. “You’re cleared to engage the enemy at will after take-off.”
She quickly went over what her F-35B Lightning II was laden down with. Two GBU-54/Bs and two AIM-9X Sidewinders were mounted externally, while slung in the internal weapons bays was a single AGM-140 which in essence was the AGM-130 little brother, using a Mark 83 instead of a BLU-109, also, in a stealth gun pod mounted externally was a GAU-25 Equalizer.
Siren was loaded similarly, with Sidewinders, JDAMs, AGM-140s, and the gunpod. Igloo Base hadn’t been outfitted for war, dammit, the war was happening in Europe!
Sapphire glanced down at her AESA radar display and grimaced. There was at least three dozen An-130s soaring through the skies over Canada. Their escorting squadrons engaging USAF and JSF squadrons in the skies over Alaska. That’s when she noticed something on radar, there wasn’t a single Royal Canadian Air Force jet in the skies engaging the Russians.
“Where the hell are the Canadians! I’d feel much better with three additional squadrons of fighters out here!” She growled as the two Lightnings descended to an altitude of 1,500 feet and went supersonic.
“I don’t know Sapphire. But I got a feeling that pretty soon Cold Lake will start rolling it’s two tactical fighter squadrons and it’s Tactical Fighter Operational Training Squadron. No way in hell they will just stand by and watch.” Siren replied after a moment.
“Roger that.” Sapphire said, trying to keep her voice even and steady. Both of them were likely flying to their deaths, but Sapphire wouldn’t have it any other way. Better get a few beers ready, because we’re coming home soon. She thought as she glanced up at the sky.
She heard Siren take a deep breath over the comms. “This is it girl. Ready?” Siren asked calmly.
“Ready.” Sapphire replied, her voice shaking slightly. This was it, like or not, neither of them were probably going to be returning from this sortie except in a wooden box.
“Let’s go get’em!” Siren growled and together both Lightnings engaged their Afterburners and the craft rocketed forward. An immense acceleration pinned both pilots to their seat. Both jets for a moment had a condensation cone wrap around the jets, but then the cones were left in the exhaust trails.
Together the pilots held a steady course, heading for coordinates roughly seventy-five kilometers north of Behchoko. Where dozens of AN-130s had landed and were now in the process of unloading numerous Kurganet-25s and T-14 Armata MBTs.
They were five minutes out from their drop point when Sapphire saw something on her radar. “Siren, remember how yesterday what we thought was an idiot in a custom very light jet followed you around for several minutes but when you doubled back you couldn’t find him?” Sapphire asked, her eyes narrowing at two contacts that were following the Lightnings about five miles behind them.
“Yes, I remember. Then we ran software and hardware tests on the radars and found nothing wrong. Why?” Siren asked in response.
“Well, he’s back and he’s brought a friend. Same pattern and everything.” Sapphire growled looking at the radar screen.
“Ignore them. We’ll investigate later. Two minutes thirty seconds.” Siren said and that was Sapphire’s cue to start looking for targets for her JDAMs. If there is a later. Sapphire thought.
“Roger that. I got two AN-130s and a mess of other targets on the ground on the east side of the staging area, over.” She said as she glanced at the targeting window.
“I see them,” Siren replied and then after likely checking her own displays came back on. “I’ve got two more AN-130s on the west side. Christ, you see all of those Kurganets and Armatas?” Siren asked obviously stunned at how many vehicles that Ivan was bringing.
“I do, Jesus. Really wishing we were packing a lot more punch right now.” Sapphire said and she knew she was right. The AGM-140s were one thousand pounds of general destruction but the JDAMs were only of the five hundred pound variety. In order to really make a dent, one thousand pounders would really help of course, right now Sapphire would simply kill for having two thousand pound bombs.
“One minute.” Siren announced calmly.
Sixty seconds, come on. Just give us sixty seconds. Sapphire thought as the F-35s bored in toward their drop point.
Dawn was coming, streaks of light purple was appearing on the horizon. Thirty seconds, we’re almost there. Sapphire thought, her finger poised over the release for her JDAMs. That’s when her RWR pinged an alert. She glanced at her AESA radar screen and her heart sank into her stomach.
Flying three thousand feet above of them, flying at Mach 1.1 were four bogeys. So much for sneaking in and out. “Shit, got four bogeys inbound on our eleven o’clock.” she said bluntly.
Siren swore under her breath. “They ain’t ours.” she said.
Just then, she got an ID on them. “Nope, they aren’t. Got an ID: Su-98 Ferrets. Countermeasures seems ineffective, they seem to have us. We better launch before they do!” Sapphire said, panic starting to lace her voice for a very good reason.
The Sukhoi S-98 was the newest thing in Russian Single-Seat Fighter technology, it was derived from the Flanker but incorporated a swept back delta-wing, canards, a V-Tail, three-dimensional thrust-vectoring nozzles, and to top it all off it was capable of carrying eighteen thousand pounds of ordinance. There was a reason why most USAF and JSF pilots agreed that the Su-98 was the most lethal fighter outside of the Sukhoi T-50 as the most lethal Russian Fighter in the world.
“Stay on target. Fifteen seconds to release.” Siren replied as it became a race against the clock.
Sapphire glanced at her displays and came to the conclusion that they were either going to make it … barely, or they weren’t. She was leaning toward the latter. “They’re going to get missile lock!” She cried, they weren’t going to make it, or they were going to cut it so close that the enemy was going to acquire missile lock and then the R-84 would likely do the rest.
When Siren replied, her voice was surprisingly calm. Years of training and the fact that she’d stared death in the face more than she had on this night were kicking in. “Sapphire, let’s make it all worth it. We’re almost there.” Siren said calmly.
“Jesus” Sapphire gasped. “We’re not going to make it!”
“Hang on! Five, four, three, two … bombs away! Flares, chaff, evade!” Siren cried.
Sapphire hit the bomb release. Two five hundred pound JDAMs dropped away from her wings. Once the bombs were clear, she rolled inverted and dove going into a split-s the oldest trick in the book, deploying flares and chaff. She pulled out with Siren on her wing, now heading away from those Su-98s.
As they came out of their split-s about two thousand feet lower. The alarm that Sapphire feared began blaring in her helmet, missile lock warning. Those Su-98s with their damnable AESA and Low-Frequency Radars saw right through their stealth.
Then the alarm changed from a rapid-fire half-second high-pitched beeping to a different tone, this one a piercing shriek. That piercing shriek meant one thing: Missile launch warning. “Siren they’ve fired!” Sapphire cried out.
“Break!” Siren replied without thinking.
Sapphire hit the afterburner and climbed, going into a high-speed climbing and banking turn, deploying flares and chaff. Meanwhile the computer had identified the incoming, a Vympel R-84T, or as NATO called them before it dissolved, the AA-14 Angel. That name now proved to be very adept, because you usually tried to evade an AA-14 Angel just once before it made you one.
Ten seconds till impact.
She rolled into the missile, dropping flares and chaff. The G-Suit clenched around her legs, preventing blood from pulling in her legs, too most it was uncomfortable but to her it was. She watched as the missile that was after her flew right through a cloud chaff. Fuck me. she thought morbidly.
Seven seconds till impact.
She craned her neck and managed to spot the missile, her HMD helpfully had it outlined with a red box not that it was needed the rapidly growing orange dot that indicated the missile was nearly impossible to miss. Somewhere nearby where four Su-98 pilots who were probably saying “Do svidaniya” as they watched them frantically and vainly try to evade the R-84s.
She popped the flares and chaff again. The missile ignored them, boring in hard on her Lightning. Sapphire realized she wasn’t going to shake the missile and began to alert her flight leader. “Oh, God, Siren I don’t I can -”
BOOM
An enormous explosion slammed her Lightning, with a tortured scream, the vast majority of the Pratt and Whitney F135-PW-600 Afterburning Turbofan engine ripped itself clean out of the mounting, in the process left wing, left horizontal and vertical stabilizer was ripped away and sent the Lightning into a wild spin. The lift-fan was ripped apart and a sizeable fragment punched into the cockpit, clipping her midsection before burying itself in the instrument panel. Which had lighted up like the Las Vegas Strip, that fragment caused the majority of it to go black. Searing pain erupted in her side, thanks to passage of that fragment.
The centrifugal force was pinning her to her seat, but grunting in pain and exertion as her vision began to go black. She reached out, with tears streaming from her eyes and touched the picture of her family for what was going to be the final time. Then with a terrifying CRUNCH the shattered remains of her F-35B Lightning II slammed into the ground with such force that it snapped her head to one side and caused her vision to go totally black.
“Holy Celestia! You saw that right, Spitfire?” Soarin asked as they watched one of the human military fighters emblazoned with a star take a direct from a missile and get blown apart.
“Yeah, I did. Jesus, this has turned into quite the scouting mission for new Wonderbolt training grounds. Getting caught in a warzone. Hey, wait! Soarin were are you going?!” Spitfire said as Soarin rocketed toward the rapidly descending craft, which was streaming fire and smoke.
That’s when she realized unlike the first one they’d seen go down tonight, there was no bright trail of fire shooting upward from it. Oh sweet Celestia, the pilot isn’t getting out of it! Spitfire realized in horror, before rocketing after Soarin, increasing her speed dramatically when she heard the heavy booming crash that resulted when the craft slammed into the ground.
From what she knew about airship crashes back in Equestria, they probably didn’t have long before something caused that thing to catch fire and simply go up.
Spitfire remembered the original purpose of her visit to Earth, which despite being in a different dimension, held promise for serving as a training ground for Wonderbolts. Mainly because the possibilities that Earth offered in terms of flying conditions, well Equestria couldn’t hope to measure up too, only in places like the Everfree Forest did it have a chance at doing so, in other words perfect training grounds. In order to get to and from Earth a simple magic amulet which when an incantation was chanted would result in the thing opening portal between Earth and Equestria. It was all very complex magic that Spitfire didn’t really understand.
Either way, she knew that if it was possible they had to rescue that pilot. Because herself and Soarin were likely the ones who could help that pilot.
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Shall I say it? I think I shall.
While the grammar within the story is all over the place, the one thing that really bothers me is the inaccuracy of the story. I want to specificity highlight the radio chatter. In Hollywood movies and Tom Clancy stories, it would be like what you have written down, but in the operational Air Force, that is not the standard protocol at all. First off, individual call signs would never be used in the air. Instead each flight would be called by a single name (for example "Lighting") while an individual plane would be referred to by a number (such as "Lighting 1-1" or "Lighting 1-2"). The only time a number WON'T be used is if the callsign refers to an AWACS system or a CRC (Command and Reporting Center) on the ground.
Next, pilots wouldn't be talking that much over the radio. They have a ton of issues and protocols to handle within the cockpit alone, not to mention having to keep a mental time on their controls. If they do talk, it's extremely minimal and only done if their is information they have to report without using proper radio procedures and curiosities (such as if something specifically isn't working on the plane like the radio). Otherwise, they are mostly silent killers or talking directly to their battle managers on the ground or in the sky through in series of radio reports that have specific structures and terms they have memorized.
That's about it. Sorry for the long post!
8304274
Well, during the Russian Invasion of Canada in 2020, it caught everyone completely off guard. Plus they didn't have no AWACS since they were either in Europe or had scrambled and were helping what few squadrons remained in Alaska in fighting the Russians. Plus it was only a training mission, they weren't expecting to suddenly be on the front lines of a war now were they?
8304284
Training mission or not, each fighter in the air would be directly reporting to a control center regardless. I would look up the term "Air Control Squadron" and immediately tell you that in the case of an emergency, and if there is no AWACS system available, then an ACS Squadron would be called in immediately to provide tactical C2 (Command and Control) capabilities to pilots (especially in Europe). Otherwise, if their is no air control, then a pilot would be nearly blind in the sky since they would have no clue where the heck the enemy is outside their limited radar capabilities. C2 provide beyond-line-of-sight radar that can track and map out enemy air for the pilots to engage.
In other words... No C2 = No pilots in the sky.
8304308
Igloo Base probably didn't have the radar range, the Russians were landing their transports some seventy-five kilometers north of
Behchokǫ̀ in the Northwest Territories and Igloo Base was 321 kilometers north of Yellowknife. Also, remember Igloo Base was completely and utterly flattened with the last two Lightnings the base had piloted by Siren and Sapphire respectively barely succeeding in escaping. Thus the pilots were on their own.
Of course she died flying a F-35. They're shit planes lol
V-Pony's a bro. I'll let him know you're thinking about him.
It's unlikely she would have a picture taped in the cockpit. There are generally more pilots than jets in any given squadron, so they have to share.
Did you mean USAF and RCAF?
If the bombs are alreading hitting the base as they take off…where are the bombers? Why do the F-35 pilots not stop the immediate threat before going after the transports?
Wait, despite taking off from Canada, is Sapphire American? Because Russian jets have stars, too.
I won't comment on radio procedures because 8304274 covered it.
I noticed some redundant words and misplaced commas, mostly minor stuff.
Don't get discouraged by negative feedback. It's not bad for a first story and you'll get better with practice. Keep writing!
8307552
The USAF and JSF squadrons were doing so over Alaska. Plus as it stands, the nearest Royal Canadian Air Force base with fighters is in Cold Lake, Alberta and it's 993 kilometers from Cold Lake AFB to Behchokǫ̀ and the Russian landing zone was some seventy-five kilometers north of that. So even if Royal Canadian Air Force got going, depending on if they have Hornets or Lightning IIs, it's still quite a hike and would be pushing the limit of endurance for their jets and factor in having to evade missiles from BVR it's not possible, plus the only aerial tankers in the entire Royal Canadian Air Force are in Winnipeg.
As for the picture thing, Igloo Base only had six F-35B Lightning IIs.
As for the planes, the Lightning's were on the ground rearming and refueling because they had already gone at the transports once so they couldn't stop those Fullbacks. Besides by the time they got to the runway, the Fullbacks had already dropped their payload and were bugging out.
As for Sapphire, yes she's an American. The JSF had a small base north of Yellowknife. As for why Spitfire and Soarin, they haven't seen the roundel on the Russian planes and thus don't know that they have a red star.
It helps if you've read the novel Tom Clancy's Endwar:
images.gr-assets.com/books/1347679335l/1720057.jpg
8308584
Oh! It's a crossover with Endwar. It might help if you mentioned it somewhere in the description.
8308995
Right should mention that, knew I was missing something.
8305612
I've been in their sims. You have no idea what you are talking about.
8324879
I think in this case, it's not because of operational stand points. But it's for the sake of the reader, makes it easier to follow. Sometimes scarifies to what happens in real life has to be made for the ease of the reader.
8324879
So you know that a third of the time, test pilots would report most of the systems shutting down.... in flight? Or how about the fact that the engines kept malfunctioning when pushed into afterburner. These planes have been in production for almost 15 years, and they still keep being grounded. The Lighting is a multi trillion dollar boondoggle.
8325026
Ok.