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Wylde Fyre

By Stephen Doyle

Barry Roberts and all associated characters belong to Direwolf505, and are used with his permission. Please check out his work on FurAffinity!

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Chapter Twelve

August 28th 2017 Lajes Airbase Terceira Island Azores 09:00am

The previous evenings' humidity had broken during the night, banishing the oppressive, sticky heat and leaving in its' place a fresh, clean air and a sheen of glistening water across every surface. The sky had remained stubbornly grey afterward, the cloud forming an unbroken sheet of steel over the top of the world. To this dull and dismal world the squadron and its' allies had awoken, the weather dulling their appetite for the briefing to come. Despite the work over the previous weeks training in flight and combined operations, the mood was heavy with anticipation and tension. Sean arrived at the room with Nina a few minutes ahead of nine, and was surprised to find most of Barry's crew there, along with the crew from the S-3. Regaining his composure, the fox gave a nod, before he and Nina slid into seats alongside the one-eyed wolf. Discreetly, he slid a note to the wolf, who gave it a read, and pocketed it without further comment, as the group lapsed into sporadic chit-chat, the last few warm bodies filtering through the door, before Rebecca marched in smartly, dressed for once in a flight suit which had evidently been tailored slightly to her personal size and fit. Everyone sat up straighter in their seats, and Sean rose, clearing his throat as he spoke out in a loud, clear voice:

"Room! A-TEN HUT!" Booted paws shifted over the polished floor, and chairs squeaked as the group came to perfect attention. With a momentary look of confusion and surprise on her elegant features the rough collies' muzzle worked as she gave a gentle downward wave to the assembled men and women. "Um, at ease, please. Take your seats, and I'll begin". The group sat down, and all around everyone assumed positions of dedicated concentration, leaning forward on elbows, hands under muzzles or interlaced, eyes studying the podium and the canvas projection screen behind. With a tap on her tablet PC, the lights dimmed down, and the soft glow of the projector was the only light in the room, casting them all into distorted shadow puppets. "Following Sean's recovery of information in Tajikistan, Mr. Roberts and his people staged a raid into a village in the Eastern area of the country, which according to the intelligence Sean recovered, was occupied by Lemurian Organization forces- Yes, Red, what is it?" Everyone turned to the Kangaroo, who had stuck one hand up in the air. "Do we have an official, or otherwise, name for the guys we're up against? I mean, they're not really Lemurians as such, and callin' em that just sounds, well, kinda wrong". The powerfully built 'roo noticed that all eyes were on him and shrugged; giving an awkward smile as an apology for his interruption. All eyes turned back to the front of the room, hoping for some kind of answer. "Uh," began Rebecca again, to a number of smirks around the room. They'd never seen the canine flustered before, and twice in one meeting was spectacularly uncommon. She tapped the tablets' screen, bringing up a map in preparation for her next slice of the briefing, but pausing to address Red's question. "From what I understand, and what we've found out from the titbits and slivers we've collected before our big haul, the enemy seem to consider themselves to be directly descended from the Lemurian High Council and Imperial Guard. They also appear to be involved in a conspiracy dating back hundreds of years, and maintain a secret order of-" "Illuminati!" called out Red, and many of the others turned to look. The big 'roo shrugged and gave a 'what' look to the others, as Taia rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs. Nina and Sean exchanged shrugs and nods, and all faces turned back to the collie. "Yes," she continued, frowning at Red, who grinned sheepishly. "The Illuminati, that was what I was going to say. So, yes - If I can continue," she glared at everyone who gestured for her to continue in a flurry of upturned palms, encouraging smiles and nods. Giving a slightly vexed smile, Rebecca dropped her eyes to her tablet PC and took a breath. This time when she looked up, there was a steel to her eyes and in her voice. Everyone sat up as the lights darkened and the window blinds closed. "Ladies, Gentlemen. I appreciate your joining me this morning, and your patience in waiting while intelligence was collated. However, your training marks and scores have been exemplary, so I know you're more than ready for what I am about to present to you. "Mister Roberts and his group recovered significant intelligence on Illuminati operations world-wide, and particularly in the Southern Pacific region, following a raid planned by following the information recovered by Colonel Blade after his engagement over Tajikistan. Both sets of intel corresponded on various points, primarily that the enemy will be recovering items vital to their continued operations. Whatever they are seeking to move, and have recovered, required them to take over an auxiliary airfield and small town on an island in the south pacific, to the West of Easter Island. We have gather some satellite intelligence of the area, and it shows frequent aircraft movements over the last six months, as well as considerable renovations to the existing runway there, maintained as an emergency divert for aircraft in distress over the ocean. "While such a thing could be considered regular maintenance, linked with the information we have identified military aircraft not native to the area, as well as considerable movements of heavy equipment into the area, which was then relocated to a mountainous area, where works have commenced. Linked with the recovered intelligence, we can only surmise that they Illuminati forces are recovering some item or object of value." Satellite photos had displayed on the projection screen behind her as she spoke, so that the group could verify her words. Detailed notation had been made, as well a framed and annotated excerpts of the larger pictures, identifying key aspects. So far, it reminded Sean and his people very much of any other military briefing; a lot of information delivered in a matter-of-fact way. It was comfortably familiar, in a way, but meant that once again they'd be going out into danger. Rebecca continued, the information still focused on the island, but this time of a tactical map, and a flight route plan. "Our primary goal in this operation will be to secure the site held by the Illuminatis' cover operation. To do so, we will need to neutralise any defences in place, allowing a small strike team to be inserted to secure the area, and recover any items of value still on site, as well as any intelligence that might inform us about any upcoming enemy operations, or any clues as to their overall strategy and long-term plans. Capturing such intel would give us a great advantage, and allow us to counter their strategies a lot more effectively than we're able to at present". Sean shifted in his seat, and leaned forward with both elbows on the desk in front of him, muzzle supported by his interlaced fingers. "All right, that's a good overview and the location nailed down. But what are the specifics, m'am? What have we gotta do?" Rebecca acknowledged the vulpines' question with a tilt of her elegant muzzle, and flicked to another screen on her tablet, the flight route map taking precedent on the projection screen. "The initial phase of the operation will involve a long-haul repositioning flight for the aircraft involved, and the strike team. The A400M will provide refuelling support during the crossing from the Azores to Newfoundland, for the first layover at AFB Gander. From there the mission package will follow the Eastern US coastline to the Gulf of Mexico, stopping at Tyndall AFB in Florida, before crossing the ocean to a landing at Luis Munoz airport, Puerto Rico. From there you fly to Peru, and your last stop on land before crossing the ocean to Easter Island, for a final stop. Then it's straight into the operation over the island" "Holy balls," muttered Max, shaking his head. "That's a damn long flight. I appreciate the number of stops, though. Hope the beds are good!" "They won't all be overnight ones," replied Sean. "We'll make good time and speed, as even the Atlas isn't a slow aircraft. But we'll want the chance to stretch our legs, and to check the planes after each overwater leg. It'll take about..." he tilted his head, one ear swivelling as he thought, but Rebecca beat him to it. "Working with our figures, it should take you roughly 72 hours to be in deployment position for the mission to begin. The A400 will carry most of your spares, supplies, and ordnance, allowing you to fly lightly loaded, aside from a good load of fuel and your personal effects, which shouldn't be too necessary as the operations' a simple in-and-out job, with no necessity to hang around too long once the fighting is over. The flight back will be the same, with the route reversed; but of course there'll be less need for haste". Taia had been watching and listening with interest, and took her turn to speak up, boots still crossed on the back of the chair in front of her. "Any idea on what kind of resistance we'll face-" she glanced around and gestured at Barry's team, the wolf nodding in acknowledgement. "All of us, I mean. Not just us flyboys". Rebecca flicked the controls again, and a small handful of highlighted positions and objects appeared on the intelligence photos. Compared to the overall area of the island - which wasn't huge at all - there were surprisingly few defences. Especially given they'd faced extremely powerful aircraft before. Barry's team had been faced with powerful weaponry in their previous encounter as well. It almost looked suspicious. "Looks like a lot less than we've seen before," the wolf said, scrutinising the pictures. "I woulda expected a lot more given the trouble we had before. I mean, we've been stealing their shit, they must be expecting something, right?" "Yeah," Sean said, nodding at Barry's words, before glancing over his shoulder at the wolf. "Trap? "Trap," agreed the grey-furred lupine. "At least, we oughta expect one and go prepared" "What is there, anyway," asked Sarah, bringing the discussion back to it's original point. "We didn't actually get onto that." "Right," said Rebecca. "All we've identified so far are the following four positions, one seemingly at each point of the Island," she magnified one of the circled positions in a separate window on the screen. It showed a pair of tracked self-propelled weapons from above, inside a dugout position, with numerous pieces of equipment around them. Another window showed 3D models of the two vehicles, as estimated from the overview. "Each one of these positions seems to house either a Crotale SAM launcher or a stationary triple-a platform. The Crotale is an effective system, but given your foreknowledge, shouldn't pose a huge threat. I wouldn't expect huge trouble from the guns, but be aware of them, all the same. Ground defenders seem limited only to some light vehicles, mainly civilian SUV's and a small contingent of security personal, primarily with light personal weapons. They may have a handful of shoulder-fired weapons, but there's been no evidence to support this." "Pretty clear tactics," said Nina, tapping her chin with one finger as she studied the vehicle specs. "Both systems are radar guided, so we lure them into lighting up, and then jam them from a distance, before hitting 'em with HARMs, and a sweep of cluster bombs," she punched one hand into the other to show the likely result. "Still, like the eye patch brothers said: Trap. What do we do about that?" "Hmm," mused Charlotte, the porcupine straight in her chair with her elbows resting on the desk in front of her, hands clasped. "We could lay a trap of our own, pull ze wool over their eyes, non?" She smiled around encouragingly at the others, as Hector waved for her to continue explaining, the others nodding. "Well, monsieur Roberts and the others will have to land, or parachute from le Airbus-" her accent made it sound like ­hair-boose - "which means she will have to fly straight and true, a tempting target for any trap, oui? Then they will 'ave to show themselves. At which point-" she repeated Nina's gesture, with a smile at the Hyena. "Sounds good to me, man" said Barry with a nod. "Just so long as we don't get our asses shot down first, 'course. They will be shootin' at us an' all". "Well, that's what we'll be there for," replied Red. "Soon as they reveal themselves, we'll have 'em dead to rights. Then you'll be free to get in there and kick ass and break things". "This is being best part," said Sasha with a cheeky smile. "Especially after sitting in plane for so long, we will be eager to get out. Having enemies to take it out on, that will be bonus". "Well, we'll make sure you get there to bring it to 'em". The others looked round at the familiar faces at the back of the room. All of them had encountered the transport pilots while they'd been at the base, but this was the first strict briefing they'd attended together. The Mare and Tiger had been a part of the in-flight refuelling exercises, as well as several others where they'd been the focus of flying high and low cover for a slower aircraft, as well as covering assault landings - which, it turned out, was prudent. The mare had been the one of the pair that had spoken. Tall, firmly built and strong, she wasn't quite the powerhouse that either Thistle or Red were, but was considerable all the same. Her long, tawny brown mane had reddish streaks at the ends, and her fur was an overall tan, with dark brown at her muzzle. Her eyes were a bright, sparkling crystal blue. "Since I _know_none of you know my name, it's Sapphire Kincaid. Or, as I prefer," she added with a wince and a snort "Saffy. I hate my name; but it's one of the few things I got left from my parents. And this hunk of stupid is-" "Gunther Westermark," he replied in a strongly German accent. "And of course you know our callsigns - Guns and Jewel. We'll be going with you, of course, to make sure you do not run out of fuel, and don't have to swim to the island. We're also more than familiar with avoiding surface fire, so we think we can keep your out of trouble long enough for the fast ones to do their thing". "All right then," Said Sean, giving a tight smile around the group, and then back to Rebecca. "We know our plan, and what the situation is. Only thing now is, when do we fly?" "Your aircraft will be loaded, fuelled and ready within two hours. You're in the briefing now of course, so all that's needed is for you to draw your gear and equipment, and to pack your personal effects. The flight plans are already filed and approved" "All right then," he said, standing up from his chair as Rebecca shut down the projection and the lights came up; the briefing was at an end. "Everyone get your gear squared, and meet on the apron within two hours, to board for departure. It's time we got back out there, and really showed those Illuminati fuckers what we can do". A chorus of approval rumbled around the briefing theatre, and the group began to file out. Sean left last, and looked back at Rebecca, who was watching him leave with a strange look in her eye. He paused by the door, shooing Nina on, and turned back. "Something the matter?" he asked, trotting back down a few steps toward the front. The collie paused for a moment, as if weighing something, and then shook her head. "It's nothing, really. I wish I was going with you, but my Father has things he needs me to do here, to make sure things are taken with the UN and the other various governments and international groups we have to deal with," she trailed off, looking away. Her expression and her body language hinted at more, and the fox frowned a little, his ears flattening back a moment. "I wish you were coming too," he said after a moment. "You're a big part of the team," he continued, looking into her eyes as he spoke, thinking back to the conversation he and Nina had had the previous night. "We all rely on your to keep us from getting into trouble, and to warn us what we're up against. If you lead us astray-" "I have to follow what my Father says," she interrupted, and her voice had a ring of bitterness to it. "I get all the information, of course, and I assemble the briefings. But he has the... final say, and the real authority." She put one hand on his arm, and gave a forced smile. "We'll talk more when you come back. I'll take care of a few things, and we'll have a more in-depth talk then. And of course, I'll be there to see you all off, too". "Okay," said the fox with a solemn nod. "I'll look forward to it," he said, turning and heading up the gentle steps to the door, pausing only to look back. The collie was absorbed in putting her equipment away, and didn't look back. But he could see the struggle on her face; there was something she wanted to tell him, but was it her father she was worried about? That he was the one pulling the strings seemed to be the case. The fox pushed the door, stepping into the busier hallway, where Nina waited, looking out of the window at the panorama of the busy airport and base. He rested on hand on her shoulder he stood next to her, looking into the eyes of her reflection in the large pane of glass. "Did she say anything?" the hyena asked after a moment, her eyes following an airliner as it rolled down the runway. "She looked like she had something on her mind, at least" "She did," he replied, following the same plane as it smoothly left the runway and climbed into the grey sky. "And she wanted to say something, I think. But she was... not scared, exactly, but like she didn't feel like she could say everything she wanted to. Like there was something holding her back, almost". He sighed and lightly thumped one fist against the glass. "I feel like going on this mission will be good, because we'll be doing something straightforward. But as soon as we come back here, we'll be back in this labyrinth again, dealing with all these dead-ends and whispers. At least she said she'd talk when we get back. Maybe that means I can get some answers" "Or that she expects you to find something out while on the mission. Perhaps it'll make it easier for her to explain". "Maybe, but either way, we've got to get ready. Come on, let's go".

A few hours later, the squadron were ready. Fully kitted out in their flight gear, they were each performing the walk-around checks of their aircraft, or conversing on details with the ground crews who had prepped the aircraft for flight. The Airbus A400M was fully loaded, palletized ordnance competing for space with the collapsible fuel bladders that would provide the thirsty combat jets with the precious fuel they needed to keep going on the epic journey halfway around the world. Engine covers had been removed, and only the wheel chocks and fabric streamers on the various antennae across each plane were waiting to be removed. Noisy APU's screamed shrilly into the overcast afternoon. Despite the excitement of the mission itself, there was an atmosphere of unease amongst the group, even as they performed their normal checks and preparations. With the smell of jet fuel heavy in the air, and the planes poised on the ground like angry cats ready to leap into the skies, though, it was hard not to find that edge tempered with the swagger of the fighter pilots and aviators. It was infectious, as even Barry's crew seemed eager to get into the skies, despite the long time they'd be spending in the back of the transport with the pallets of cargo and strong-smelling fuel. Almost as one, the pilots seemed satisfied the checks were done, and shook hands with the crew chiefs, and climbed the built-in ladders to their cockpits. The crews followed after, handing them their flight helmets and helping them strap in and connect to the life support and electronic systems, while others detached cables and hoses, or removed the fabric warning tags, and pulled chocks from beneath wheels. Barry's crew marched up the ramp into the back of the A400M, which started engines, one at first, spinning slowly, and then building up power. When it was up to speed, the others fed off of the power and began to start up too, coming up to full power all at once. Finally, the jets lit off their engines one by one, the chorus coming as a host of whines, as the two F-15's were joined by the vacuum-cleaner whine of the S-3, and the throaty rumble of the F-111's engines. As the last in-cockpit checklists were completed, Sean looked over to where he knew Rebecca would be standing, and raised one hand. He stopped short of saluting; they were no longer military, after all. Instead, he gave her a firm, yet restrained wave and she returned it with a long and gracious bow of her head, eyes fixed intently on his own. The cockpits' canopy came down and locked closed as the engines note climbed to a whistling roar, and the F-15X lead the way to the runway.

Inside the F-15's cockpit, Sean spoke brief words of confirmation with the control tower over the common frequency, exchanging the information and clearances they needed as the five aircraft taxied almost nose to tail along the taxiways toward the long main runway the airbase shared with the commercial airport. Today, there were no visiting fighters at Lajes, but the tankers temporarily stationed there to support aircraft crossing from the USA to support the war in Tajikistan were lined up neatly along one side of the hardpan. Many of the crews stopped to watch as the strange procession rumbled past, looking almost like they were being herded by the big four-engined A400 at the rear. The vulpine felt that familiar thrill of excitement rise deep in his stomach. Here he was, back in the cockpit of this magnificent machine, the power of it pressed against his back, rolling through his body and trembling through the controls under his hands in gentle caresses. For his rising thrill, he could, once again, feel at the edge of his consciousness, like an itch or a the feeling of eyes upon you, that presence, that slight hint of something lurking, sharing in the excitement with an almost feral joy. It was almost scary - but he almost liked it. That was something he hadn't shared with the others, that knowledge of what he felt when he strapped into the F-15X Plus, like it welcomed him as a kindred spirit, and shared that feeling of freedom when he was in the air, and striking down an enemy. Before, when he'd flown regular Strike Eagles and other planes, he'd only imagined that feeling, felt it for himself. An ex had once said he was more alive when he talked about flying than he was at any time with her. She'd been hurt he couldn't share that world with her, and was jealous of it, felt that he should come down to Earth and be hers, and hers alone. He'd told her, in not uncertain terms, what he'd thought of that. But once, one drunken evening, he'd shared that part of his mind with Taia, and she'd confided she sometimes felt the same way - and it had lead to their one and only intimate encounter. One and only, because afterwards they'd felt embarrassed and somewhat ridiculous, and laughed the whole thing off. Nina understood too, and that was one of the reasons why he felt so drawn to her. The pendant around his neck chimed softly, soft enough that he shouldn't normally have been able to hear it - but like always, he could. He didn't understand it, and it again, frightened him a little if he thought about it too hard. But it was also exciting; this new life, this new world he'd found himself in. It was full of wonders and excitement, of almost magical revelations that rocked the foundations of things. And he was surrounded by people he knew and liked, fighting together against something barely understood. There may have been dark shadows around them and strange motives for the work they were doing - but right now, things were clear: They had a mission to complete, and an enemy to destroy, and things didn't get much easier than that. That was something he knew how to do. The final clearance from the tower crackled into the earphones in his helmet, and he answered with a curt 'roger', before swinging the nose of the F-15 onto the runway. He took the far left, while Taia and Max lined up on the far right, staggered and slightly behind. He rolled down a short way, and then gently toed the parking brakes. The engines idled for a moment, and Taia's jet halted shortly behind. A count of five, and then he slowly pushed the throttle up to maximum military power. The engines built to a furious, thunderous roar, and the jet knelt on its' front landing gear, the oleo compressed as the brakes held the plane in place. The noise doubled as Taia fed power to her plane too. The RPM and thrust built up, and as it reached the critical numbers, Sean let go of the brakes, and felt a weight pressed onto his chest. The rush of air and rumble of tarmac under the gear filled the cockpit as the F-15 raced down the runway, clawing to be into the air. He held the stick forward until the knots in his helmet climbed past in a blur, and then smoothly pulled the side-stick back with a gentle pressure, and the pair climbed gracefully into the air as one. As both planes left the ground, the clouds split and the sunlight stabbed down, striking in its' brilliance and illuminating both aircraft as they soared skyward. Sean selected the rear monitors with fingertip presses of the HOTAS controls, and watched as the F-111 rolled and lifted moments after they'd climbed past the threshold of 1,000ft. The people watching on the ground wouldn't have had time for their ears to stop ringing before the big swing-wing aircraft followed the pair of F-15's. The S-3 would be right after, and add its' own chorus to the crescendo of aircraft noise, with the growling roar of the Atlas' four turboprops almost soothing afterwards. The fox clicked away from the rear view, the screen shifting out of his field of view on the inside of the canopy. The F-15X didn't have a convention HUD, with its' plates of Perspex perched atop the instrument panel. Instead, the immediately pertinent system readouts, such as target tracking and targeting were slaved to his helmets' visor, and could be targeted by him simply looking in the right direction. Everything else, such as artificial horizon, airspeed, altitude and all relevant flight data was projected onto the inside of the canopy itself. Anything else could be selected through combinations of button presses on either the HOTAS or touch-screens and voice commands. In short, the plane was to someone like him who'd grown up with the 80's and 90's science fiction, like flying a spaceship. And it was about a hundred times as cool because he was actually flying it, something that almost made him giggle with giddy glee every time he thought it. Although only where no one could hear him, since giggling was hardly right for his image as a gruff, gravely sonofabitch The altimeter rolled over to 50,000 feet, their pre-selected cruising altitude, and the fox gently nosed the eager and willing plane onto the heading. With the newer, F-22 derived wings, canards, X-shaped 'butterfly' tail and the thrust vectoring almost every flight movement was like breath on a feather. The cloud base was way below them now, and the bright sunshine and blue skies stretched into infinity in every direction, aside from above, where if you craned your neck and watered your eyes, even through your tinted visor, the canopy shifted to a deep, majestic purple specked with the white points of stars. "Hey, Blade - you too busy enjoying the view to get a status check?" Sean laughed softly at Werner's voice before keying the mike - he'd been caught out by the Zebra. "Roger, Van Man. Guess y'all caught me nappin'. All aircraft, this is Wylde Fyre One, check in, over" "This Wylde Fyre two," answered Taia immediately, a tinge of humour in her voice. "All in the green, over" "This is Wylde Fyre three," Red answered next, the same amusement in his tone "A-Okay, over". "Wylde Fyre quatre," came Charlottes' musical tones. "Everything is bon, over". "Wylde Fyre Five here, everything looks great, and all the passengers are quiet and moody, over". That was Jewel in the Atlas, which made a full count of every aircraft, and every person safe as well. The formation was strung out in a line, at half-mile horizontal spacing, the S-3 at the far end and him at the lead. The Atlas trailed behind, with about five miles, making best cruising speed. With the utter lack of clutter and the superb visibility, it was easy to pick out the shape of another aircraft, tiny as it seemed in the vastness of the skies. The sunlight caught the metal and composite bodies of aircraft, even with their low-visibility paintwork, and glimmered off of surfaces, showing up as gleaming points to the eye. Especially one with the superbly enhanced senses he possessed. The radar mounted above the S-3's fuselage would do a superb job of keeping them aware of their surroundings too, tracking out to several hundred miles in all directions - should anything try to keep up on them, it'd have little chance - unless it was stealthy, and even then, there were patterns and cues one could look for, if they were suspicious. And of course, given they'd been attacked by F-22's previously, they were suspicious. As a result, the entire squadron kept their eyes peeled as they flew, scanning from horizon to horizon, and down to their radar screens, before back to the outside of the canopy again, constantly watching and waiting.

August 31st 2017 Easter Island 21:45 local time

Despite their precautions and wary eyes, the Wylde Fyre squadron didn't encounter anything untoward during the journey across the ocean, nor for any of the rest of the journey over its' course. As they covered the thousands of miles over ocean and land, they were unhindered in their journey. Once wheels touched ground at Easter Island, despite the overnight rest stops along the way, the group were all worn out from the hours of flying it had taken to get there. After the jets and transport touched down, they were guided to parking spots in a quiet corner of the sole airport on the island. While small there was enough space for the jets and transport to be tucked away into a hangar. Crews flown out on commercial airlines met them at the airport, and began the process of uploading a full load of weapons onto the combat aircraft, and refuelling them, checking the tire and oil pressures, and all the other regular maintenance necessary prior to a combat mission. The pilots and Barry's team retired to a hotel overnight still clad in their flight suits. While the excitement was high, and they talked of hitting a bar, the level of tiredness was so high that the group instead descended en masse on a restaurant, relishing the idea of food more interesting than MRE's or military chow for an evening. When the sixteen of them arrived in a single group, the restaurants' staff and manager met them with excitement, eager to serve such a large group. Sean and the others chatted amicably despite their fatigue, and slowly but surely the group drifted away one by one to bed, in order to prepare for their early departure. They'd strike just before sunrise, meaning rest was a priority. As the last of them drifted away, with Nina engrossed in a conversation with Phil, Werner and Saffy; Sean excused himself and drifted out to the hotel restaurants' balcony. Deserted except for a handful of diners and patrons, the fox leaned on the rail as he lit up a cigar, and looked toward the lights of the airport nearby. He drew in a long breath on the cigar and let it curl in his muzzle and through his nose, enjoying the calming effect the smoke had on his nerves, and the thick, rich taste in left on his tongue. He exhaled as he held the cigar between two fingers, and straightened, wincing at his back; the long flight strapped into the F-15x's ejector seat hadn't been especially comfortable. Some of his injuries had left more lasting effects than others. A chance to stretch out was welcome. Barry stepped up beside him, and gave a murmur of greeting, lighting up his own cigarette with a Zippo lighter. The wolf took a deep drag of the cigarette, the lit tip glowing brightly against the dimming sky. "Helluva flight," the wolf remarked after he'd exhaled, and Sean nodded in agreement. "Yup, sure was. Got us here though, and within hittin' range. You must've been goin' crazy in the back of the airbus. Your guys all ready?" "Yeah, it got a bit cabin-feverish in there sometime after Puerto Rico. An' we always are. Just like yours, I bet?" "Yup, eager to do somethin' after alla that sittin' around on the island and puttin' all the planes through everythin'. Reckon they're eager to do somethin' that's proper work, rather than just trainin' over and over." He looked out to the horizon, beyond the runway to the sea beyond. "Course, could be there's any number of surprises waitin' fer us out there too, on that island. We'll be countin' on you as much as y'all will be countin' on us to kick ass and knock out whatever's there". "No doubt, we'll be watchin' out for ya. And know you'll do the same". He nodded, and stood, enjoying the cigar as it burned down, giving a sigh as his thoughts wheeled. There wasn't much else to say. He'd flown plenty of missions before, but this somehow, felt different. Maybe it was knowing it wasn't a military mission, and was the first of their Special Operations. Maybe it was because of Barry's team being along, or the goal of recovering the artefacts. Whatever it was, it felt unsettling, despite the simple mission profile. "I used to fly too, y'know" said Barry, his voice interrupting Seans' reverie, and making him look around in alarm. "You used to...? You mean y'all were a pilot too?" "Yeah, man," replied the wolf, his single eye fixed out at the airport, much as Sean's had been a moment earlier. "Even used to fly F-15's. C's though, not Mudhens. Flew 'em back, oh, quite a long time ago now, prob'ly about five, six years ago, mebbe more; got in a few tussles here and there. Goin' into combat was always a tough thing". Sean eyed him and nodded slowly, thinking back over his own missions and the ever-present stress before combat, and the sense of mingled anticipation and fear, before looking to the wolf. "So why'd y'all stop flyin'?" he asked after a moment. "Was it-" he tapped his own eyepatch as Barry looked on, and nodded. "Sorta. That an', I dunno - just wasn't where I was needed anymore. I did a lot of deep black, covert stuff, all over the world. Kinda ended up takin' me away from that world fer a while. Still, know how tough it is, that's all. An' know you'll do fine, man - because you do_worry about it. Once you don't, you kinda stop carin' and that's when the bad shit goes down". He stubbed the cigarette butt out on the railing, and flicked it over the edge, before nodding to the fox. "Anyhow, reckon it's time fer sleep. Jet lag is gonna be a killer in the morning. G'night, Blade. Seeya in the mornin'" The wolf gave a casual wave as he went back inside and Sean nodded in return, giving a similar wave back as he left. Sean watched the wolves' departing back for a moment, surprised by the moment of revelation. Barry seemed a closed and reserved sort, not given to opening up or even enquiring after peoples' feelings. But obviously he'd felt the need this time, and in his own way he had helped. Sean was grateful for the gesture, and his muzzle twitched a small smile before he turned back to the vista. He smoked down more of the cigar, the rich taste and smell putting his mind into a quieter state, and calming the turbulent emotions he felt. Even so, he still wanted to do a dozen things; go to the planes and check them, look over them to check their states, check the uploaded ordnance, or check for interference. He wanted to go over the flight plans, to make sure the logistics of their launch and recovery were set, and to check the weather maps. But there was no reason for any of it, as he knew that sleep was the one thing he needed more than ever now. He pressed the heels of both hands against eyes - even his missing one - that ached for lack of sleep. They'd crossed date lines to get here, enough so that he wasn't sure what day it was at the moment, and the sunset here was making his body clock do a somersault, as it was still... _whatever_time it was back on the island. If he was feeling tired - and he most certainly_was - he ought to take advantage of it and dive into bed now, so that he could get some sleep before the mission. As much as he loved the idea of crawling into bed with Nina, both he and the Hyena were far too tired, and needed the space to sleep apart without the distraction - or fidgeting - of one another, as much as it might be welcome to wake up alongside each other.

Firming up his mind and spirit, he exhaled the last of his doubts and regrets with the last of the smoke, and threw the smoked-down stub of the cigar over the balcony edge with a flick of his finger and thumb. A last glance around the balcony showed that the rest of the evenings' patrons had retreated inside, leaving the fox alone and with his melancholy thoughts. He slowly pushed himself away from the railing, cursing his aging body for the aches it forced on him, and the ones he'd accumulated from the wounds he'd suffered. They still ached now, months after, down to the bone and in the muscle under his fur; dull aches in his ribs and arm where he'd hit the ground awkwardly after his ejection. How many more could he accumulate before they stopped him from doing anything, he wondered? He wasn't even past forty yet, and hadn't seen combat but a handful of times, though he'd come out on top each time, and had confidence in his abilities. He cast a last look toward the airport as he stood in the warm evening air. Again, his fingers went to the pendant hanging under his flightsuit (boy, did that need changing), and he felt as if he could half-hear a voice whispering to him on the wind, feeling it pull at him. It felt almost the same as the pull he felt to Nina, the connection they had. Whatever the technology Rachel had put in the plane when it was rebuilt and redesigned, it was more than it seemed. It was more than plastic, metal, ceramic and glass. More than a thing of fuel, oil and fire; there was something almost alive to the plane now. He'd felt it as he'd flown all the way here, felt it sing as he'd flown across the land and the sea, like an animal on the leash, it strained to be free, but respected and listened to his command, loyally serving. Shaking his head and giving a great yawn, he shook himself briskly, trying to shake off the creeping feeling that had risen through his now bottle-brush like tail and up his back. He was tired, and not thinking straight. And enough was enough; no more glances over the shoulder, and no more doubts. It was time for sleep, and in the morning; time for battle.

TO BE CONTINUED

Glossary:

Crotale: A French-designed and produced surface to air (SAM) missile system designed for short-range defence. Ship and land based variants exist, with a varying number of launch tubes dependant on the platform the ground launcher is based on. The Crotale uses both radar and tv-linked guidance to lock onto and attack a target. One radar can function for a number of launchers, increasing the systems efficiency. The Crotale is in use with a number of countries across the world, reverse-engineered copies are also widely used.

HARM: AGM-88 HARM; an acronym for 'High Speed Anti-Radiation Missile'. The HARM is designed to home in on and attack active surface-to-air radar systems. Able to track transmitters, the HARM and other anti-radiation missiles are designed primarily for disabling SAM targeting radars. The computer guidance system is sophisticated enough to remember the position of a radar even if it is shut down, still giving a high probability of a kill on a radar.

Triple-A: A term usually used to refer to A nti A ircraft A rtillery, meaning any kind of gun-based system, rather than a missile-based one. Such guns are rapidly becoming second-line or outdated, due to the increasing high-speed and high-altitude of aircraft. However, they are still marginally effective against low-level aircraft or helicopters, and often have secondary purposes as anti-infantry and ground suppression weapons.

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