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(Dont expect me to update it much, and sorry for any grammer errors like indentations, copy & paste to Gaia messes stuff up sometimes And the ¿s and stuff beside them are ""s, i started to change it, but i gave up.)) Beasts of Battle Apocalypse Rising By David McFarland Dedicated to Joseph E. Hendy 36th Infantry Div. �World War Two 1907-1978 My great-great-uncle, the greatest man I never knew. And too my best friend Steven Scheibal, to whose name I can never spell right yet who helped point out stupid flaws in my story. Prologue Ever since Iraq was handed over back from the Americans, as expected it was chaos. America intervened yet again, despite public relations, but something had to be done. The al-Qaida was put down once more, and it seemed for good. A few years later, the Arab Independence Alliance spawned in its place, with obvious ties. Many Arab nations joined in this pact, and the AIA attacked every Middle Eastern country not in the pact except Israel for its newly strengthened alliances to the Europeans and America. The AIA eventually helped foster a new group, the World Wide Liberation Army. This was a Pact between Germany, much of France, Austria, and several other Western European nations the-likes-of Italy and Greece. The pact became a group like its parent, and the two together started threats of WWIII. The WWLAs counterpart was an U.S. and Britain supported pact called the Remaining Independent European Nations. This was comprised of Spain, Portugal, The Netherlands, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. Canada and Mexico annexed to the U.S., as did several other Central American Nations, besides Cuba. Many countries turned to this even more powerful power, which they had previously rejected as a world police. Britain, Israel, Russia and China rose to the call of duty. What they hadn�t anticipated was the boost in the weapons and strategic development of the two opposing pacts. They had manages to steal primitive stealth technology from Sweden, and the WWLA gave the AIA new missiles and aircraft, while the AIA traded them for toxins, oil, mass-produced weapons such as AK-47s. The Philippines, Okinawa, and other controlled Pacific Islands revolted with the aid of the WWLA, putting risk to Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. America was no doubt in this World War from the start unlike the others. Chapter 1 Acquainted �Ah, man that felt good.� A 20-year-old man in an olive green jumpsuit strode into a lounge at an air force base somewhere in Spain. �Hey Ryan you got some more of them WWLA freaks?� Another man in a fighter pilot�s jumpsuit asked him. �Yep! A whole column of tanks this time! Skyburn and Buck strike again!� An African American pilot walked in behind Ryan. �Oh great, this again.� The fighter pilot looked at the TV which showed rioters in Washington DC with signs that read �Stop WW3�, �War is Murder�, and many other signs. While it wasn't as opposed as the war in Iraq, there were still those who hated the war simply because they weren't in the same party as the President. �Dang hippies.� The African American, Buck, sighed, �Why don�t they add, �Terrorists are people too�, �Let us all die�, and �Nukes aren�t that bad� to their signs?� with obvious sarcasm in his voice. �I am sick of this!� Skyburn shouted, right as a news camera crew entered the lounge, �those idiots have the nerve to protest this war! They don�t care that millions of civilians just like them have already died! They don�t care that we are sticking our necks out there everyday for them! They don�t care, they the escaped the draft while we signed up early so that we could fight for our country against the horrors of terrorism and fascism! They don�t care that people like us could die in our sleep if a bomb just came through and ripped us all to shreds!� He now pointed at the camera that had caught the whole thing, and the reporters drew interest. �Sir, what would like to say to our viewers back home?� The reporter handed him a microphone. �I just want to say that these troops over here, they are saving your lives. Most of us would rather be at home, but we didn�t want to just sit back and watch as thousands of our countrymen died! We wanted to be what would stand between you people and the Dictators and their guns! Just think what would happen if we failed over here, and all of Europe fell, what would save you in America? Nothing. �Cause all of us over here would be dead.� He pointed his finger at the camera. �All of you hippies over there would have to fight to save yourselves. Or would you just throw flowers at their AK-47s and G-36s and hope to win?� With that he stormed off. �What�s eatin� him?� The young dark haired fighter pilot asked. �He�s been ticked about this all week, it�s all he talks about in the cockpit. X-man, I wouldn�t talk to him about unless you have a death wish.� With that, the co-helicopter pilot of the angered blonde-haired pilot sat down in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs that lined the walls facing the TV. �He does have a point, they don�t really care.� *** "Ryan, man," X-man walked alongside the still angered Skyburn, "what was that back there? Why did it make you so angry?� They slowly moved through a tan colored hall with no apparent destination. �You don�t want to know.� The other said. I � I sorta do.� The helicopter pilot chuckled. "They always said that fighter pilots were daring. Ok� I�ll tell you.� His face was suddenly grim, and it looked as though he was starting to tear up, and it took him a few minutes to get his bearings, �My father� was killed during Operation Iraqi Freedom in 2004. I had always supported America, thought it was invincible. No matter what happened, I could never be turned away from my country. My father was hit one day by AK-47 fire. It pierced his chest, three rounds through his right lung, one grazed his left, another hit a rib. They said he could make it through, trying to cheer my mom and me up. He was brought back to St. Louis Barnes Hospital, near where we lived, just to let him rest before they let him leave. �I was only 9 then. One day, while we were visiting, things got bad. The wounds were worse than the doctors thought. It wasn�t anything else, not the medicine, poor care, or anything else that killed him. It was the wound itself. I remember the last thing he said to me. I had heard it a lot. �Ryan, don�t let me down.� With that the nurse took me out of the room. I remembered the look on his face. He couldn�t breath easily, he was in pain, but when I was close his face lit up.� The next day, I was preparing to go to the hospital. It was Sunday after church, and I had just started to ask my mom if we could go to the hospital to see dad. Then the phone rang. My mom picked up. It was the hospital, and after a second she started crying and hung up. I asked what it was and she said, �It�s daddy.� �I was what you might call a smart kid; I knew what it meant. I was utterly shocked, and slowly retreated back to my room, colored in camouflage wall paper floor to ceiling, olive green carpet, mesh hanging from the ceiling, posters of Marines and Aircraft on the wall, planes and helicopter model kits everywhere, my wooden bed itself resembled a bunk they would have in a barracks. On my nightstand was a picture of my dad in Marine dress uniform with a flag in the background. Almost every night after that I cried myself to sleep just like the night I found out about my dad.� Ryan had stopped to lean against the outer wall of the barracks and the dirt on the ground began to wet from tears. He looked up at the horizon immediately installed with an anger and desire for vengeance. *** �We need air support!� A radio broadcast was sent. �Sarge, what�s happening?� A young private asked. The Gunnery Sergeant answered, �You aren�t moving that�s what�s happenin�, now get in the bunker and fight!� As soon and Scottsof said this, the young 18 year-old was knocked over by a bullet and thrown to the ground. �Medic! Get over there! Can�t you see there are guys getting killed out there?� The one he called to was crouched with his hands over his head whimpering,�I�m sorry Sarge, just, so many guys are getting killed! We�re pinned d-� he was killed mid-sentence. Scottsof called to some of his men �Private Range, PFC Yeller, give me covering fire!� Scottsof took off toward the downed man. *** �This is Roller One, my F-22 is low on fuel, I�m still in the middle of a dogfight, and Charlie ain�t lettin� up, Bingo fuel requesting mid-air refueling. Over.� Snowman said calmly into the radio headset. A voice came back through his helmet. �Negative Roller One, your situation is too hot, pull out. Over.� �Negative, my wingman needs assistance, we got five Euro-fighters out here, he would be all alone.� � Roller One, you need to pull out if you want to refuel.� �Well get some guys out here, I�m not leaving until the rest of my wing is out here.� �Positive Roller One, HQ, over and out.� �X-man can you hang tight for a few minutes?� Snowman did a sharp right turn and fired a few rounds of his vulcan cannon at an enemy Euro-fighter, as they were 10,100 feet above the ground. �Sure, just go!� X-man did a half loop followed by a barrel roll to level his plane back out, then went into a downwards helix to follow his prey. �See ya in a bit.� Randy �Snowman� Snow did a 180 and went off towards the middle of Spain, but he still was over enemy territory. The wind was against his plane, giving his F-22 Raptor a decent amount of lift into the air and away from his enemy. �I hate to do this,� he thought to himself as he gunned the afterburners on he engines, �but I need to get out of here.� Unfortunately, the afterburners caught the attention of the Euro-fighters who turned to follow, met from the back by Steven �X-man� Grey�s vulcan cannon fire. They only did a few barrel rolls to ward this off, but a few rounds landed on one of the Euro-fighters as it nearly completed its turn towards his American target. �X, I need help.� �No can do, missiles ran dry 20 minutes ago.� His wingman was grim. �Dangit.� He switched his radio to the �All friendlies� channel. �Blue, Jackalope, you coming or what?� He called his squadron by their callsigns most of the time. �Yea Snowman, we see ya, but the Euros are just out of range of our AIM-120s.� The heavy southern drawl of Jackalope came over the headset. �Just give us 20 seconds, make that 22, need time to lock.� X-man started to get a little frantic. � Hurry that up!� �15 seconds.� Now it was Snowman�s turn to be giddy, �They got me sighted, they have heat missiles armed!� �11 seconds�� �Use afterburners dangit!� Snowman yelled. �7 seconds.� �They are firing missiles!� Snowman stuttered. �Dropping flares, 1, 2, 3.� �Firing 120�s� They were too late. �Pulling out!� Snowman reached behind him and groped for a cord, and finally found it after what seemed like an hour. As his cockpit canopy shot away and his seat lifted he turned his head to see three missiles streaking toward his engine section of his plane. �That�s not good.� �He�s not far enough out!� X-man screamed as his cannon rippled with red-hot lead, striking down another Euro-fighter, as three AIM-120 long-range missiles crashed into the others. �Splash One, Two, and Three Euros.� �What happened, did Snowman make it?� Chapter 2 Entropy �General Freeman, sir, we lost a pilot, Roller group this time. It was two-on-five. All of the Euros are down.� �Dangit, not another. That�s the third pilot they've killed this month. Why aren�t we sending out more than two at a time? That would solve this problem. From now on, like I told you the last two times, I want a full wing out there and another ready to launch when those sorties are flying.� �Sorry, sir, but the others in the wing were refueling and the pilots had to leave then or they wouldn�t get all their flight hours in for the day, unexcused.� Freeman slowly rubbed his temples in frustration. �Well tell them that not having their full wing would be an excuse, and if anyone questions that, direct them to me. Ever since the Pentagon decided that the Army and other bases need those UCAV�s more than us it�s been torture on our pilots. Lt. Colonel Jacobs, your are dismissed.� *** �Martier, take out those MGs!� Captain Harock shouted from his hiding position behind a large rock, with machine gun fire taking small chips from it�s sides, trying to turn those it concealed into Swiss cheese. The Marine Corporal responded with a sharp reload of his M-8 assault rifle, a peer around his own rock to find the location of his target, then another along with a three round burst that downed one of the machine gunners. Captain Harock then lobbed a smoke grenade over his shelter, counted to five, and rushed around firing at the location of the other gunner he had placed in his memory. Silence filled the battlefield, and as the smoke cleared, the machine gunners were not at their posts. Marines stood and came from their cover and gathered around Harock. �Good job men, this is just one little post in North Africa, and this continent is full of them. No one noticed as the AIA member whom Harock had fired at roused, only hit by a single bullet through is right midsection, stopping at a rib �HQ told us to hold here and establish a defensive perim-� he was cut short by machine rounds, and the Marines reacted by gunning down the unfinished soldier, and a couple went to the aid of their Captain. Harock had been hit in the leg, and three rounds had pierced his side. Jamie Martier quickly grabbed the leg medic pack on Harock and began removing the bullet, while two others from their group of twelve stitched up his torso. Martier yelled to a few other Marines, �Jackson, McKendree, Murray, get those MGs up on defense, Web get in that tower and scout, Fields and McCal find as many med-packs as you can.� He then turned to the other two helping with Harock, �We need to get him inside.� *** �Wilson, hold on!� Scottsof picked up the downed The 101sts Airborne Division-502nd Battalion Paratrooper and slung him over his soldier, getting shot at the entire time by WWLA forces. He turned on his radio, �Greene, give me some cover fire!� Just after he gave the command, several sniper shots landed on target hundreds of feet behind him. �Nice hits.� A 50 caliber machine gun opened up behind him, striking his Israeli-made Desert Eagle pistol knocking it out of its holster, along with a round that tore a hole in the uniform, showing a little blood, and a sniper bullet made sure that it would do no more damage. He reached their trench and set Wilson down, �Garner, fix this guy up, we have got to get into that camp!� Scottsof picked up his M-8 and a few magazines from the men around him, along with a pistol, grenades, and medical packs. �Darryl, Terren, Jameson, Landing, and Pannage, follow me! Let�s move it people! We don�t have all day!� �Yes sir.� They chanted in a slurred unison as they gathered behind a large dirt mound. �Don�t call me sir. I�m not an officer, I work for a living! Ok, fan out a little, reload and stay down, everyone pull a grenade on my signal, two-count, then lob. Darryl, you go for that one over there�, he pointed at a large building, appearing to be a mess hall, �Terren and Jameson, go for that one over there, two different ends, Landing, you throw into that building over there, and Pannage, you go for the armory over there.� He pointed out each target. �Now when you do, take cover, but be able to shoot any enemies that are alerted and fire at will. Cover each other�s backs and don�t hesitate to use grenades till I say so. Terren, you and Jameson you�re Red One and Two. Set up a flank over by that fallen tree. Darryl and Pannage, Red Three and Four. Flank over there, Landing and I, Red Five and Six, will stay here in the center. That gives us each about 20 feet in between each group. Got it?� �Yes sir!� �Now move out!� When they were in their positions, he gave the thumbs up and silently six fragmentation grenades lofted for their aimed destinations with little flaw, and the explosions were almost all at the exact same time. �Hold your ground.� Scottsof said firmly as they waited just behind the lush green tree line. �There!� A few WWLA soldiers came out of the building assigned to Landings grenade, and Scottsof opened fire, knocking them down instantly. More slowly poured out, and few stood for more than a couple of seconds. The battle raged on for several minutes. The WWLA forces tried advancing to no avail. They set up firing posts in windows, which seemed to aid them. �Fire through the walls! They aren�t that strong!� At that, three more WWLA went down as bullets ripped ferociously through the wooden and tent walls. �Grenade!� A small gray ball hurled through the air landed a few feet from Scottsof. He shoved Landing over the rock and he followed as he made a snap decision. When it exploded, the Sergeant was momentarily disoriented from the blast, but regained his senses. �Advance!� He knew it might not work, but at least it saved him and Landing, he though to himself as another grenade detonated and shrapnel pinged against his helmet, fortunately not puncturing it or him. �Move!� All six troops got up and ran toward new cover, and fired. �Go Read One, Two!� They ran toward a couple of trees unscathed except for a piece of hot AK-47 lead that landed in Terren�s left shoulder. �Red Three and Four!� He then turned to Landing, �Let�s go!� They rushed toward a building that had been blown out; the armory destroyed by Pannage�s grenade. �Come on people lets move!� *** �This is Corporal Martier, all U.S.M.C units respond.� Nothing but static greeted him over the hand-held radio. �I repeat, this is Corporal Martier, all U.S. Forces respond. This is the Marine 3rd Battalion, E and F company, we need air support, we have detected a Battalion of AIA tanks and APCs to the north of our position, our Cobras are down, and our Apache is unable to fly, we have rerouted its hellfires, hydras, and nosegun for defense.� Static once again. All of the Marines gathered around him hung their heads in sadness. �Well boys it looks li-� �Corporal, repeat your message, we didn�t get all of it due to connection.� �This is Corporal Martier, all U.S. Forces respond. This is the Marine 3rd Battalion, E and F company, we need air support. We have detected a Battalion of AIA tanks and APCs to the north of our position, our Cobras are down, and our Apache is unable to fly. We have rerouted its hellfires, hydras, and nosegun for defense.� The entire bunker went into a joyous uproar. �Negative Martier.� All of E and F Company sighed in grief. Martier spoke into the radio again, �Why is that HQ?� �A flight of F-22s just hit that Battalion of tanks. We are sending the 2nd Armored Division to pick you boys up at 1600 hours. There is another outpost 40 miles west from your position, in Libya. Tomorrow night, you are ordered to hit it. Is that clear?� �Very much sir.� �Corporal, where is your Captain?� �Captain Harock was hit sir, we have medics tending to- � Corporal Martier stopped speaking as a high pitched squeal rang through the air and got louder, ending in a loud explosion that sent dirt through one of the doors of the bunker. �We got artillery hitting us! We need that air support ASAP!� �Roger that Corporal, we will do what we can.� Martier turned to his companions. �Well, boys, it�s 1300 hours, might as well hold our position for three hours.� Chapter 3 First Aid �This is Skyburn. Raptor, lets move, we just got word that these 82nd guys have a patrol that needs support and a pick-up. We got a Blackhawk inbound to their position in 20 minutes.� Ryan Tanter turned his RAH-66 Comanche sharply to the right and leaned it forward for forward thrust, and it gently rose higher into the air from above the air base and headed toward the eastern border of Spain. Within minutes they reached it the raging battle and quickly found the few Rangers they were to help, even though they were well hidden among the tree line. Rockets flared from the new arrivals and hit the WWLA encampment, blasting bodies and tent everywhere. A thick, but smooth Cossack accent wafted from the radio in Skyburn�s helmet to his ear. �This is Sergeant Scottsof. Thank you for the fireworks, if you don�t mind we will take it from here, but a guard would be nice. We have two wounded, do you have another chopper coming?� �This is 1st Lieutenant Tanter, there is a Blackhawk on the way to pick you and the wounded up and drop you back off at the battle. It will be here in about four minutes, so you have that time to clear this place out.� �We can do it in three.� A few minutes later, the third helicopter had arrived and the four remaining healthy 82nd soldiers were helping Pannage and Landing onto the UH-60 Blackhawk and it lifted off. Skyburn made a brief radio call to the Blackhawk pilot, �This is 1st Lieutenant Tanter to Black Rider, Raptor and I are to escort you to an LZ 100 yards behind the battle to where our Army boys have made a med station, do you read?� �Loud and clear Lieutenant, you lead.� *** �Martier, what the heck is going on?� �As far as I can see, they have an unending supply of artillery shells.� Martier yelled back over the screech of shells pounding at their bunker. �They�ve got us zeroed, we need to get to the howitzer in the back!� �It�s too late! They already hit it by now!� �Murray, how do you suppose we hit them back then?� �I dunno Corporal. If we don�t think of something quick, we�re toast!� Martier thought a bit, and closed his eyes, cupped his gloved hand over his mouth and tried to drown out all the sound around him with a steady low, quiet, and steady hum that no one else could hear. �If� if we can get a message through to the other bunker, I think they have a stash of mortars� but that�s not going to help, the AIA�s artillery has to at least be a couple miles away, but we can put some in the north bunker. As we got hit with artillery, I saw it get blown out, and I�m sure the AIA aren�t firing there.� He walked over to a wooden table at the end of the bunker and laid a map of the area on it and pulled out a small red leaded pencil and started making marks on it. Corporal Starter, take a few guys over to the second bunker hand have them help you put some mortars there, and wait for a ground assault to come in, they�ve got to have one hiking out here by now.� My men and me will stay here and cover you. Stay low, they are sure to have some artillery recon checking damage, make sure you can�t be seen. Get your guys together.� �Yes sir, right away.� Starter turned to the troops that fell under his command, � Come on people you heard the man, lets move!� �And Starter, good luck.� �Thank you.� The assigned group of about 10 crouched as they exited the door and stood low, and Jamie Martier peered out to see their progress. 20 feet, easy going so far. 40 feet, a few shells hit near them but only splattered them with the fine dirt that lay above the trench. On their way to the third foxhole with the mortars and ammunition, one artillery shell landed in the trench behind the group from the second bunker and wounded a Private, and he was carried by a medic back to his bunker. As they made it to the third bunker, designated point Charlie, all the artillery stopped. Martier didn�t quite understand it, and Corporal Started rushed back to his side. �Our sniper just said there is a division of ground troops with a few APCs and tanks threaded in-between. Our mortars can take out the APC�s if we get lucky, but we are going to need SMAWs or whatever else is laying around here.� �Are you asking me? We are all in the same situation here, get what you need, but don�t leave us without any.� Jones, get out there with you SMAW and grab one of the RPG�s in the corner over there and help Starter in point Charlie. McKendree, help Starter grab a few RPG�s and get back here pronto, we still need a medic. On second thought, after you help him, see if the other bunker has spare med kits, you might need them. Everyone else set up those MGs as a defense. We can�t wait till the 2nd Armored gets here.� The pilot of one of the downed Apache Attack Helicopters ran through the doorway and almost bumped into a private. �We need a shovel to dig some dirt to hide the cannon we rigged off the downed Apache along with the hellfires and hydras. We have no way of knowing if we will hit tanks or not with the hellfires, there is no guidance system.� �Do you best. You can fire them can�t you?� Corporal Martier questioned the pilot. �Yea, but we might need someone to steady them, or fire the cannon. We managed to mount it on a few bipods we stole from a couple of snipers that are way to jammed to fire.� �I�ll send a guy to help on that. I�m going to be a little short on men, but at least they are doing their job.� �Hanson, help this pilot out, for now, he�s your CO.� *** �Dangit! Hanson, lay me down some covering fire! Get those sand maggots!� Martier lunged over the edge of the trench and crawled towards a man that was blown from his sniping position. �Right away!� Martier finally reached the sniper after a minute of crawling and flipped him over and put his index finger and middle finger just below the soldier�s ear. The young man, about 19, had blood on his chest and face, and no vital signs; heartbeat nor breathing. Martier wiped off the blood on his fingers and propped is gun on a piece off concrete that had been ripped from a bunker like one rips off a piece of bread. Martier looked over the snipers M-82 Barrett .50 cal and took some ammo from the dead snipers pocket and loaded it into a few clips, and found a few more magazines lying near him. He took out the magazine in the sniper and put in a few rounds to top it off. He made an educated guess and thought he might have around fifty-six shots; under six clips. He could always mount the scope of the M-82 on his M-8, but that could wait. Martier took off the sniper and looked out, and about a hundred meters away, he could see some troops slowly making their way towards them. First he picked off a few snipers to buy himself some time, then a couple anti-tank troops, reloaded and took out some usual grunts with AK-47s, AK-74s, leftover G-36�s and MP-5s the Germans had sold the Iraqis in the 90�s that apparently still were functional. Along with those were various weapons made in the Middle East or old Soviet weapons. He reloaded again, took out a few more with heavy weapons, and before he could peel off the last shot of his third magazine, gunfire started to shift in his direction. He had a few options. He could stay there, which could get him killed. He could relocate to the bunker that had been used for a mortar position that the enemy seemed to not notice, but that could put them in jeopardy, and they direly needed the mortars. He decided to move behind a discreet rock with a couple of bushed in from of it, about thirty feet away. He hoped the bush would conceal his position enough to fire off his last twenty-seven sniper shots. The Marine Corporal found a few more clips in the dead snipers pocket whom he has searched a few minutes early, and was able to top off his last clip by taking the bullet out of the one in the M-82 currently in his possession. A quick slinging of his M-8, that had remained immobile for a few minutes, over his shoulder, followed by a sprint and a dive, and Martier remained unscathed. He managed to take out a few APC gunners and snipers with his 4th clip, a spotter and more common fighters with his 5th, and with his 6th, he got daring and took out a few tank drivers through their windows and a couple of gunners. He then proceeded to take off the mount of the M-82 and put it on his M-8 and fired a few shots at a rock to see how he needed to modify it and sighted the scope to correct it. He dove to the cover of the trench and unloaded a clip of 30 rounds into several AIA soldiers who were now only 30 yards away. Some shots from their rifles ricocheted near him and a bullet grazed his side, by luckily only tore his uniform. �Hanson! Get those pilots firing their hellfires at those tanks; they are going to end up killin� us!� He switched his M-8 from single shot to full auto and laid down a stream of lead, taking out several soldiers before he had to reload. Martier found himself backing up toward the Apache pilot, his gunner, and Hanson�s position, because no fire was coming from the modified Apache cannon. He started to turn around and yell at Hanson for not shooting. �Hanson! I told you t-� Hanson lay on the ground, his left side riddled with bullets. Martier kneeled and made a quick prayer, then took Hanson�s grenades and ammunition, then loaded up the helicopter cannon with a belt of ammo and used short bursts to hit the line of troops that were invading the trenches. He yelled to a soldier that was running back towards him. �Hey, help me pick up this thing, we need to redirect the fire.� The ability to pick up the back end and swivel it was no longer good enough, he needed full mobility. He threw Hanson�s M-8 and a couple of magazines for it to the pilot and gunner. �Here, use that if they get to close.� Chapter 4 Futile 1st Lieutenant Randy �Snowman� Snow trudged through the underbrush of the Western French woods. Wind had blown his parachute further into enemy territory than anyone could have worried about. He had his compass and was trying to get back to his base, when a WWLA concrete structure stood in his way. It was nighttime, and he needed sleep, so he slowly and secretly moved around it and hoped he could make it back. He climbed up into a tree and ate some of his provisions cold. His survival training came in handy after all. He couldn�t make a fire to heat it up for risk of attracting the WWLA. He pulled out an olive green wool blanket draped it over him. After applying brown and black camouflage grease to his belongings, himself, and the branch he sat on, he drifted off to sleep. Hours later he was awakened by something moving in the bushes below. It ran out of its cover. Just a rabbit. He ate a quick bite of leftover provisions he had failed to eat the night before, just as dawn creeped over the trees to the east. He grabbed his things and jumped down. �Halt!� The pilot raised his hands. The WWLA troops had rifles pointed at him. Even though there were only two one patrol, his Barretta was at his hip and to far to make a quick reaction and fire. He had to give up. They spoke in French, which he had fortunately learned some parts of. �Keep your hands up.� They searched him and took off his gun and knife, and other things. They looked at his flight suit. After he had parachuted, he had taken off his rank, flight group, and name tags and burned them with a lighter that they were now looking over. �American?� He spat on Randy�s boot. �Ha! You were shot down! You weakling!� �What flight group are you from?� The inquisitor slapped Snowman across the cheek. �Speak! What is your name.� He pulled out a whip and started flogging the pilot after standing him up. Randy thought up a name on the spot. �John Harris. 5189th Squadron. Major, U.S. Airforce� There was no 5189th Squadron, but his captors didn�t need to know that. If they looked it up, they might not find it. �It�s top secret.� A good thing for Randy was that his captors also spoke English, so he could explain his lies easier. �I�m one of the few in it.� The only truth in his sentence was rank and country, and he gringed at his mistake. �Ah, we are making progress and it�s only been two days that you�ve been here. You break easily! You have proven my thoughts. Americans are weak! You have no strength! Randy remained silent. �Ha!� He spat on Randy�s face. �Tell me all your secrets. What are your plans on attacking us? How are you going to strike us?� Randy said not a word; he only glared at the French-man. �Tell me!� He started beating Randy. �I know nothing! Why would they tell me?� This was an outright lie, but once again, he was the only one for miles that knew this, apparently he was the only prisoner in the compound that was still alive. He had heard the guards talking and they assumed he didn�t know French. Randy would tell them lies that were so far from the truth, even if they suspected he was lying, they could never guess the truth. He knew the answer to every question, and he was going to satisfy them with answers. Randy �Snowman� Snow received a beating for this. �You said you are a Major, they would tell you! You are a worm; useless and annoying! Guards take him away! There will be more questioning tomorrow.� On the way back to the cell, the guards pushed him into a wall or two. �Tell your advisor that they will be attacking from the north, along the sea.� He hoped they would be stupid enough not to suspect anything. He knew the first attack would be to try to get to him, or close along the south side of Europe up from the Mediterranean or Italy. All he had to do would be wait for tomorrow and hope for a miracle. *** �Come on, pile out! They need us on the front line!� Four soldiers climbed out of the Blackhawk, destined to end up in trenches along side over three hundred other troopers that were fighting an unending battle. Maybe they and the two new Comanches could turn the tide. They needed something to kill and they were ready. Scottsof ran ahead of his remaining three troops, urging them to fight. His Russian cassock ancestry never ceased to keep him motivated and aggressive. Scottsof saw before him a command post and miles of trenches and artillery. They reached the trenches unhurt and got information on the situation from other soldiers. The WWLA constantly charged but rarely broke the defenses. The Army Rangers were greatly out-numbered, but these were the 101st and 82nd para-divisions. This was nothing to what had happened in the past such as World War II. They were trained to be tough. The enemy was more rag-tag; not trained as well. These were not the better forces that former Germany and France could throw at them. �Sergeant Scottsof, what�s the plan?� A soldier asked him nervously. �The plan is to fight. To fight and do what you�re told.� A Chinese looking officer from the 82nd ran up to Scottsof and they both kneeled down. �Sergeant Scottsof, good to see you. I�m Gunnery Sergeant Hay; I need to brief you. They don�t have an immense amount of artillery, and neither to we. They are dang accurate though. Be careful of planes falling from the sky, as you can see, there are two in the middle of the field between us. One is a Euro-fighter and the other a Su-35, both theirs, but that doesn�t mean our boys are doing so good either. Just the other day we lost one. It got shot out in a dogfight off in the east, probably over France. Poor guy was heading home too.� Sergeant Hay pulled out a map and started pointing to points on it. �Anyway, we have one cannon here, another here, and a destroyed one here. We have a division of those new Mobile Rail Gun tanks moving in, but we don�t have anyone who can spot for them to use their weapons as artillery. Even if they could, the trees could get in the way. It will take them half an hour to get in position for an artillery hit, so hang tight here. The MRG-1s will attack from here for a couple minutes, then storm when we tell them to. We will follow with a clean up of their trenches. They have a counter tank division planned, so we need to get these MRG tanks here quick.� �Good work. Who do we report to here?� �Lieutenant Colonel Raggin.� �Okay. I�m going to go tell him we just got here with two Comanches.� Scottsof ran down the trenches and they got deep enough to where he could stay up in them with his head below ground level as he got closer to the command post. He saw a guard outside the wooden makeshift �doors.� �Is Lieutenant Colonel Raggin here?� The Private was practically asleep, despite the gunfire going on around him, and awoke when Scottsof cleared his throat, intentionally loud. He responded promptly on seeing the Sergeants rank, �Yes sir. He�s not busy, go right in sir.� �Never say �sir� or salute an officer.� The guard knocked on the door and opened the door as a voice inside said �Come in, in a smooth manor.� Scottsof saluted him briskly as he stepped in. �Lieutenant Colonel Raggin sir, Staff Sergeant Scottsof reporting for duty sir.� With that, he sharply went into an �at ease� stance. �What is it Sergeant?� �Sir, I just came in with a group of my men from the right flank, we relocated here after an assault. We lost two and are now at four including myself. Two Comanches helped are now under your partial command. You give them orders but their wing commander has total override of your commands to the, sir.� �I�m familiar with that protocol. What are their callsigns?� �Raptor and Skyburn, I believe, sir. Contact them directly through the �air commands� F band, sir.� �You will deploy with your men along the center.� *** Steven �X-Man� Grey put on his flight suit in the locker room of the airbase. �This is my first mission since Randy went down. Let�s just hope we can find some payback on those jerks.� �Yea, I�m really sorry about that. He was part of our wing, but he was your wingman.� Freddy �Blue� Higgins sighed with a hint of caring, something he didn�t do often. �Thanks bud, but I�m ok.� X-Man patted him on the edge of his shoulder. �Now let�s get the rest of our gear on. Randy will be ok.� �Heh, I�m supposed to be reassuring you on this Major.� �Blue! X-Man! Let�s go! We need to be in the air five minutes ago!� Lieutenant �Jackalope� Downs was already across the locker room heading for the hangers with his flight suit completely on. The other two ran to him and out the hanger, where their new wingman was waiting already in his F-22. Grey checked in with his crew chief, and climbed up the ladder to the cockpit of his F-22 Raptor. He quickly and smoothly snapped his helmet to the oxygen pack of his suit, and strapped himself into the seat via the seat belts. An unfamiliar voice wafted through the radio communications set. �This is �Greenhorn�. Your new wingman.� Welcomes went back to the voice. Bill �Greenhorn� Smith didn�t mention the loss of their last man. He didn�t need to. In this line of work, it was implied. �Let�s get this show on the road!� X-man shouted into the radio as his engines flared and heat waves rose of the tarmac from the sun. �X-man, you and your wing are cleared for take-off.� �Roger that.� They group of four took off in less than two minutes. They were flying up in the atmosphere at just over 2,500 feet. The sun flew above them, and not a cloud filled the Spanish sky. �This isn�t good.� �What�s not good?� The new-comer asked. �If they have pilots good enough to get three feet off the ground and good hardware, they can see us.� �Blue� picked up the answer. �Radar� not so much�but telescoping and heat sensors� a little bit easier for them. That�s provided they know we are coming�, which they probably do� and they do have the technology to track us. I doubt it can happen, though. The only reason they got Randy was because he was � � He stopped short. He had forgotten about X-man�s good friendship with �Snowman� �Don�t worry about it. He just got pinned down.� X-man said non-chalantly. �Entering French airspace� check on all your systems.� �Nothing here.� �Notta� thing� �Zip.� �Same here. This may be a clean patrol. We have a flight of F-15 Es going in for a bomb run. Even though they can easily take whatever these guys can send up, they won�t have a lot of missiles on �em.� X-man was feeling good about this patrol run. �Still reading zero activity.� Blue kept looking for signs of enemy Euro-fighters and Typhoons, both relatively new and deadly aircraft. �I�m gunna call in that bomb run. The maggots are feeling lazy today.� Grey was almost getting bored, but tried to stay focused on all of the equipment that was keeping him in the air. The rest of that flight was uneventful, apart from the F-15 E Strike Eagle�s GBU-120�s landing on target, annihilating suspected WWLA weapons manufacturing facilities, missile silos, defensive bunkers, and other threats to Coalition attackers. *** �Get up weakling! Feeding time.� The captor prodded Randy with a medal bar. �Aww� great� I was just getting used to the hard, cold, concrete of my cell.� �No smart jokes American!� A forceful blow from the metal rod hit Randy in the ribcage, and Randy thought he felt a bone crack, slightly making it painful to breathe. His captors brought him a piece of stale bread, with a little mold spot on it, along with some minorly discolored water. Randy took a swig of the water, which had a bad taste, which made his captor smirk, satisfying Randy Snow�s suspicions. As soon as the man left, Randy spat the water out, despite the temptation to drink the liquid, fearing a �truth serum�. He ate little bread, just enough to get him by. Remember all of the intense survival training, he threw the rest of the water and bread out the little window in his cell. The bread would have only made his thirst increase. He thought he saw a bird swoop out of a tree and snatch up the bread. At least it satiated something�s hunger. Randy conserved his energy by relaxing and taking a nap against the one of the two concrete walls. The two walls of bars, one in front, and one to his side, made him feel as though he had no privacy, even though he was alone; no one else in his view. He slunk closer to the wall to his right. The pilot couldn�t sleep. He looked down the hallway in front of him. Sometime today, he would be walking down it and turn to the right. Then he would walk in a door, into an interrogation room that one of its walls formed the other side of the hallway and his cell. All Snow wondered about was how long a rescue team would take to get him out of this concrete slab. *** Martier primed a frag grenade and lobbed it over the edge of the trench, fortunately it landed in one of the bunkers the AIA troops had just taken. A scream was cut short as it exploded. �Take the bunker!� Martier ran toward the blown out middle bunker, primed another grenade and lobbed it in. He hit the ground just in time; shrapnel flew over his head and pelted the ground. He jumped up, his M-8 at his shoulder, and looked the area over. A head peeked out, and soon contained a bullet hole. A quick scan showed no one else in it, so he started toward it. Just as he did, an artillery shell landed in it and blew him back to the ground. �Hold off on the bunker!� Martier took a few crouched steps back, looked up out of the trench at the battle-marred Libyan desert, and fired a few rounds at some enemy troops. Then he saw it. The full brute of an enemy tank division. �Fall back!� He called out the all of the troops. The Corporal looked around. They had nowhere to retreat to, except their bunkers. They needed the 11th Armored division with them at that moment. Martier ran through the trenches, grabbed a Marine, in a fetal position from shock, by the collar, and nearly threw him into the bunker he was heading toward. As he looked around for others that were following, an assault rifle round found its mark in his chest cavity. He nearly collapsed, but fortunately another soldier caught him as he fell. Private First Class Chris Handel wasn�t a very brave Marine, but he tried his best to show it, he was after all, a combat medic. He had a simple SMG as a weapon, so he focused on his priority, caring for the wounded. Chris had heard the call to retreat, and headed back to the closest bunker. He saw fellow Marine take a round to the chest and start to fall when Handel towed him back to the bunker. �Your going to be okay�� he read the man�s dog-tags, �Corporal Martier. Luckily the Flack Jacket took most of it, I got the bullet out, and it wasn�t more than an inch in. You should be able to fight this battle, it may be hard to breathe though.� He didn�t respond. Was he knocked out from shock? The impact force? What would it be? Martier started to stir. He muttered some Latin words, �Semper Fi.� Always Faithful. *** �Wake up!� A voice startled him. Randy didn�t even realize that he had fallen asleep. �Get walking American.� The French accent was harsh in the air. Snow even wondered how he could betray his country. France was on the Coalition side at the start, but quickly fell to being unprepared and poor management. Now only a small portion remained to French resistance, a part of the coastline, just south of the Normandy Beach-line. �I told you, I don�t know anything more.� The F-22 pilot was smacked at this remark. �Spit it out!� At this, Randy had enough, and new they wanted more information. In his mouth he tasted something like copper. Showing some of the smart mouthing in his youth, he spat out the blood onto the ground. He had been beaten to the point of bleeding, but knew he could not crack. Not now. The pain tempted him, as if the devil himself was tempting him with ultimate riches. For his response, he was punched in the stomach. He returned to his cell after similar treatment. His nose dripped bright red, his chest ached, and he was sure his arm was slightly cracked. He returned to the inner sanction of his mind, trying his best to block out the pain, and almost silently mumbled to himself. If anyone had been watching him, they would have supposed delirium from pain. �Why are they not retreating? The fighting must only be 30 miles from here. O Lord� just let a rescue team find me� or let them kill me now before I break.� *** �This is Corporal Martier. We need anti-armored support at base Echo Two-Four- Five-Oh-Oh. I repeat, we need anti-armored support at base Echo- Two- Four- Five- Oh- Oh. All U.S.M.C units respond! We have at least an AIA armored company with artillery and at least 3 companies of infantry. We need anti-armored support at base Echo-Two-Four-Five- Oh- Oh.� Martier looked at his chest as he waited for a response. The bullet wound had been excellently treated and wrapped. He should complement PFC Handel on it; it only stung after an hour. As soon as he looked back at the radio, the door blew open, shattering the bones and lives of five Marines, and injuring two more. Plastique explosives had been set on the caved in door to break in. As the Marines got up, they saw not a soul. The AIA must be waiting to see if any fire came out. A few peeked their heads into the gaping the hole, met be assault rifle fire. The enemies poured in, to be met with heavy machine guns. They kept pouring in, and Martier thought that they might refill the hole with their motionless bodies. Intruders soon retreated, regrouping. The Corporal took this opportunity to assess the situation 8 KIA, 4 WIA, and 6 still fine. They only had 3 more boxes of 200 shots for the SAW heavy machine guns, 6 more rockets for the SMAW anti-tank launchers, and 3 for the Javelin launchers. �Sir� the radio is broken.� �Dangit� thanks for the report at least Private.� A sergeant, Whit, made himself known. He must have been unconscious before. �Corporal, are you ok?� �Yea, I�m definitely not in Heaven.� Martier�s ears still rung from the sound of the explosion. �We need support ASAP.� He peered out the whole, fired twice, downing the only two enemy soldiers he could see. �The other bunker looks intact.� An American showed himself through the door. The second he saw Martier, he went back into the bunker, quickly produced a handheld radio, set the frequency, and chucked it over. It seemed like ages for it to land in Martier�s hands. He was so surprised he dropped it to the ground. �This is Master Sergeant Perez, how many you still got around?� �About eight able to fight, two unconscious.� �We have ten ready. 2nd Armored says they will be here in a few minutes.� A second after they said this, an explosive shell landed nearby, and a tank turret flew near the hole. �The Calvary has arrived.� Three white hot lines streaked through the air, and three more tanks were destroyed. A few rounds came streaking low to the ground, and more armored vehicles detonated. A flurry of missiles followed, from Mobile Rocket Launching Systems, MRLS, large truck-like vehicles with treads, carrying two six missile packs on their backs, and their younger siblings, HIMARS, smaller, wheeled versions with only one rocket pack. The missiles carpeted the area, and shrapnel flew through the hole, barely missing Martier. In a matter of minutes, the 2nd Armored eight MRLS, twelve HIMARS, nine M-109 Alpha Six Paladin Mobile Artillery vehicles, twenty-two M1A2 Sep Main Battle Tanks, and ten MRG-1 Longswords rolled through the compound, rolling over dead bodies and crushing weapons. �You boys got lucky, without us, you might all be dead.� A radio transmission greeted them as they slowly piled out. �Stow it.� Master Sergeant Perez, �What�s done is done, and you guys got here late.� They looked at the landscape� it was a wasteland of sand and dirt. The troop racks of the MRG-1 were uncomfortable, but Martier didn�t care. It felt good to be able to nap. The MRG-1 looked like a mixture of the M1A2 Sep, and the M-109A6 Paladin. Its turret was large and near the back, but not extremely far back, and shaped with similar angles to the Sep. Its back was large, like the Paladin, and could carry its crew with more ease than most tanks. The front was angled down slightly. The long barrel was as long as the British Crusader tank, giving it the dubbing �Longsword�. Like the Sep, the Longsword had a bulbous part on the barrel, but the Longsword�s covered a larger part of the barrel, to allow the Rail-Gun shot to fire faster and longer than all other munitions, except for a missile. The Longsword�s turret was elongated to allow the railgun to fully function in its large state, and to carry a multiple variety of rounds, the incindicary round, spewing fire on impact, the explosive round, detonating on a set path, either in proximity, impact, or delayed to explode after it pierced armor. The Armor piercing round was an understatement. Because it was fired by a railgun, it could drive through several feet of concrete or several feet of titanium. The railgun itself hurled rounds at five times the speed of a normal bullet, enough to literally tear a tank to pieces, let alone a man. A few rounds clanged through the Longswords, detonated a mile off, obliterating an AIA patrol. A few soldiers napped, a few cleaned their weapons, trying to pass the time. A few Lockheed/Boeing Joint Strike Fighters, F-35s, Short Take Off/Vertical Landing craft, STOVLs, landed nearby and Marines ran to them, and were glad that they carried supplies in the missile bays and on missile racks. The STOVLs then took off back the airbase, and easily did so on the flat ground. Martier looked after them longingly and wished they could just kill anything that the Marines opposed. Chapter 5 Pressing On The Crew Chief slammed his fist into the nose cone of the F-22. �What is it?� X-man was puzzled. The Chief looked up at him. �They are transferring us. I don�t want to leave my baby. Sure you got to fly it� but it was technically mine so tha-� Steven cut him off, �Transferred? To what? I better not be flying a bomber!� �No no no. The military knows that no self-respecting fighter pilot would want to be transferred to a bomber. We are getting transferred to an F-15.� �Why? I want to fly a Raptor, not a Eagle.� �Well, the Raptors cost too much to take care of apparently. They are only letting the Aces fly the -22.� �Chief, don�t they know that we�ve only had six sorties so far?� �Well, I guess not. In those six missions, you�ve lost a guy. That might be why. Anyway, they are going to get a few of the �15s over here, along with a simulator. You and the rest of the pilots in the wing are going to have to train for a few days in it. It may take a while, but for the sake of the war, lets hope you get used to it.� *** �We read you loud and clear. �Skyburn� and �Raptor� moving out.� The two Comanche helicopters rose once more, now fully loaded. They almost silently moved across the wasteland. The gunners opened up on their enemies infantry, and two rockets from each laid waste to two tanks. White-hot lines streaked the air below them, striking more tanks. A rear view showed a line of Longswords, Seps, and M2A3 Bradley APC/Tanks, with rockets and a gun, plowing through the tree line and grass area, diagonally toward the WWLA lines. Following their movement, the entire American Army 101st and 82nd Paratrooper Divisions pressed forward, raising their guns at the enemy, opening fire and flinging hot lead into their bodies. The two advancing forces mingled, and a few troops jumped up onto the tanks and fired from the elevated troop racks. Each tank was made more powerful with the new addition of sniper rifle, assault rifle, SMG, and anti-tank launcher wielding assets. A few of the 101st Troopers that were on the right side of the field, on the side that the vehicles did not cover, took to the ground on foot. Among these was Scottsof. The Russian had his M-8 at a ready position at his shoulder as he ran. A few rounds struck the ground by his feet. Soon after, the whole advance stopped. WWLA troops were not known for being well trained. They were, on the other hand, able to match a Marine in valor. Enemy forces started to get out of the ground themselves with their weapons. 2nd Lieutenant Chris Bennett, known as �Flame� to his crew and tank squad, looked through his scope on a Longsword. As the tank�s commander he owed his crew his life. His Commanders scope and view higher up on the tank allowed his to survey the field. He gapped as he looked through the zoomed in view of the enemy lines through the scope. At least a quarter of the WWLA troops were carrying plastiques, high explosives able to blow a huge hole through quick a number of objects, including tanks. The worst part was that the bottom of the brick sized explosive was sticky, allowing them to be placed almost anywhere. He sent a message to all of the other tank commanders. �Get all of your troops down! The enemy has plastiques! Captain what should we do?� �Good work Flame. All vehicles stop advance. Ask all troops to set up a perimeter to keep those plastiques off us.� Within thirty seconds his orders had been followed, guns still blazing; enemy still advancing. The Seps followed orders to switch to Sabot rounds, which decimated the enemy lines. Out of nowhere, two Seps and a Longsword burst into a fiery explosion. Two APC�s followed, but now the Coalition forces could react. The rounds had been fired from the side opposite of which the vehicles had come. Through scopes, night-vision, and thermal imaging devices, a whole division of tanks could be seen. *** Sgt. Scottsof looked at the dud-mortar round that had just impacted not one foot away from his right hand, in the middle of the hole that he had taken as cover from the heavy RPK machine-gun fire. �Why do they call him Washington? His tags say Perkins.� Scottsof asked the whispered to the soldier on his left after glancing at the black soldier on his right; all three of them hunched over in a foxhole made by an explosive round. �Word has it that he was captured in his base early on in Germany. They didn�t have time to get everyone at right when the war broke out so he got captured. They took him to a base by the Rhine River. �Well, they say one night he somehow broke out and stole a boat. It was a motor boat, but he didn�t want to risk making a sound so he rowed all the way across the Rhine, like Washington crossing the Delaware, right?� �Sure�� Scottsof thought he had his answer, but gave a hint with his facial expression that he wanted to know how the story ended. �He camped there until he got some rest, then made his way up the Rhine and, they say, he took it out to the mouth of the Rhine and found some nice folks who got him all the way to England.� �Ok.� I get it. About 15 seconds later, a Lieutenant jumped in the hole and told them to get going or he would have their heads. The five or six men and women that were in the makeshift foxhole jumped back into the reality that they were in a battle. All but one who sat back in a fetal position, arms wrapped around his shins, his head laid back on the back, his eyes stared off into space from the shock of war. As soon as the group was not fifty feet away from their former hiding spot, the dud 81mm mortar round, that had barely missed Scottsof, finally decided to erupt. The five soldiers advanced to a new crater, jumped in, fired a few rounds to clear the field, reloaded, and pressed on. They all heard a command over their radios. �Keep down! The tanks are going to fire a volley.� �As if we haven�t been doing that the entire time?� The sergeant muttered. The tanks on either side of the battlefield exchanged rounds, both sides taking hits. The WWLA vehicles focused on the Longswords, and hit quite a few. Anti-tank rounds were fired from all sides, and within minutes, the WWLA tanks were nearly gone, and the American tanks had been reduced to � of their normal amount. �Advance!� the command came from a Major in charge of the 101st and 82nd paratrooper divisions called out again, as if unable to make up his mind. �This guy is going to get us killed!� Scottsof heard a soldier say. �Shut up and fight!� Came a quick response from another. The still advancing enemy was being cut down as fast as they could stand. Scottsof yelled to those that remained under his command as loud as he could over the din of war. �Get those �60�s up and blazing! Get those rockets up their noses! I want a chunk of lead in every head of those maggots!� His orders were followed with an almost eerily mechanical method. Then again, it would be almost just as eerie if they didn�t work that way; as soldiers. Tracers could be seen torching their way into the enemy lines, the heavy machine gun fire being walked into the enemy trenches. Tank auxiliary guns and Bradley guns did the same without the tracers. Americans finally reached and poured into the trenches. That night, the American troops feasted on leftover WWLA food, well, what they didn�t need for prisoners. The tanks and fighters guarded over those that the base could not accommodate. �Ah� finally, a nice warm shower.� Scottsof walked out of the barracks and walked too the Joint Forces lounge. There were a few there napping, others watching TV and movies, others just talking. �I can�t wait for this dang war to end.� *** �They are transferring me! Dangit!� Steven Grey muttered. �Hey, not just you. It�s our entire wing. Our chiefs too.� �Yea, yea, yea, Downs, I know. It�s just� I�ve been flying that �22 for so long. Longer than a lot of our pilots. It wasn�t just the fact I�ve been flying �22�s� that was my only �22 I�ve flown since training.� �I feel for ya� man, but we got to get briefed now.� A man stood in the front of the dim room. His rank was colonel, and his war medals glistened. �I�m Colonel West. I�m here to brief you boys on what your so ticked about.� Sixty-four eyes looked at him. Four wings and their new Weapons Systems Operators that would help them fly their new birds. �As you all know, you are being transferred to the F-15 E Strike Eagle. �The Air Force knows that you aren�t happy about it. There is something, though; they don�t want you to tell anyone. You thirty-two pilots and your crews were chosen because you were the most eligible for this program. You are going to be given slightly out-fitted F-15�s. What they put on these is to get you accustomed to them faster, and there are updated and new weapons systems on them. They are mainly defensive in nature though. He pushed a button on a clicker for the slide projector in the middle of the room and stepped out of its way, letting it shine on the canvas. It revealed a sleek, curved craft. It was relatively large, about the size of a Boeing 747 commercial liner, which a few were being used in the Airborne Laser program. The large dark sleek plane had a ball on the front �This is your objective. To protect this. It is ten percent larger than a 747. It is the latest in airborne defense. You fly-boys� and girls, may not like it, but you will get a heck of a lot of AA guns under your belt protecting it. �This is the Black Mamba. Like the Airborne Laser, it fires a laser out its nose-ball and it can fire a high-intensity laser every three seconds and over one hundred miles. It can knock a missile, plane, almost anything out of the air. If the staff really wanted to and needed it, it would make somewhat efficient sniping artillery. �The F-15 E Strike Eagle is needed for this mission. The Air Force needs long range fighters that can bomb anything that wants to blow a Coalition plane out of the sky, and protect it the Mamba from any aircraft if the laser cuts out. They might not be as fast, but they can carry a whole lot more, and they still have a good efficiency rate. What do you pilots have to say about that?� Chapter 6 Snake Bite �So every pilot in that room agreed to protect a total of eight of the Black Mambas?� X-man�s Crew Chief was stunned beyond belief. �Yea� you and your boys better start reading up on how to fix the �15.� � No need. They just sent one of our guys back to the �22, and everyone else already has experience on the Eagle.� Steven Grey was almost in shock. �Well that�s good, I guess.� �Oh, and HQ says your next mission is tomorrow morning, at Four A.M. Better get some sleep,� the Crew Chief threw him a greasy towel. �And throw this away for me. Turns out that the �15 they gave you is a rust-bucket. Took a while to get it all fixed and paint your and your WSO�s name on it. What would you like painted on the nose, by the way?� Steven thought about it hard before he responded. A number of ideas flooded his thoughts. �Paint a Black Mamba on it, that�s our squadron designation.� �But� I don�t know what a Mamba looks like!� *** Randy�s chin was covered in stubble from not shaving for several days. His stomach was filled with hunger pains. He had been given little food, and he suspected the water to be drugged. The practically ex-pilot was glad that at least a few bottles of water were crystal clear. So far, all of the information he had given to his captives was false. He was a little dehydrated from not drinking much, and his stomach ached. He was slightly delirious from the effects of dehydration and hunger, as well as the pain from beatings, so he wasn�t being questioned. Snow hummed to himself. As the guard was unlocking his cell he was humming the American �National Anthem.� The guard placed food and water down and started to back away. Just after the humming stopped, Randy lunged. He made for the guard�s pistol. The decision was not planned out and irrational. The guard promptly whacked him on the back of the head as the pilot passed him, and he fell. Randy jumped up only to