CHAPTER 18

    “Go Big Or Go MOAB” 

July 18th, 2040: Ramstein Air Base, The Plusieurs Kingdom

Inside one of the larger briefing rooms, the crew from the 9th Bomb Squadron “Bats” and two flights from the 494th Fighter Squadron “Panthers”, were waiting for their briefing. All except a New Yorker and a Texan at the front of the room who had begun a shouting match, quickly stealing the attention of the room. Just as the New Yorker was about to size up the Texan, two pilots from his squadron jumped up to intervene.

“I’ll give you a fuckin’ knuckle sandwich, how ‘bout that?” Yorke spat while being held back by the two pilots.

“Oh bless your heart, did I hurt your feelings?” Fag(1) pouted but quickly reeled back when Yorke managed to free his right arm and took a wild swing at him. 

“Least my mother was no skank!” Finally managing to free himself from one of his restraints, Yorke pushed off the other pilot.

“Seems to me I’m fixin’ to break your face!” Accepting Yorke’s challenge, Fag stepped forward and readied himself to swing.

“Attention!” Another pilot from the back of the room yelled, with the entire room--including Yorke and Fag, snapping to attention and those seated straightened their posture. 

“At ease! Fag, Yorke! I don’t need to write you two up again, do I?” With a casual strut to the front of the room, the officer examined the two pilots. 

“No sir!” Fag and Yorke shouted in unison.

“Then sit down. Now! Today we have a mission coming straight from EUCOM(2), yes this landmass is still being classified as Europe for now.” Moving towards a computer in the corner of the room, the officer opened a slideshow and turned on the projector. 

“A few days ago, it came to the attention of EUCOM, that our enemy had finally begun to mobilize their forces, gathering in key locations around this region in an attempt to counter our own land and air forces. As of right now, their navy is still scattered and anchored in docks across their coastline. As of three days ago, the enemy has started multiple forest fires in an attempt to slow down The Army. The general consensus is they are scorching their own land to buy time for themselves to further mobilize and concentrate their forces to conduct a frontal assault on this airbase. Today, the 9th Bomb Squadron will be conducting a run on this bastion fort or star-fortress, for those who joined the army out of High School, with the 494th Fighter Squadron being your escorts and with a sortie(3) from The 960th Airborne Air Control Squadron “Vikings” to aid in communications back to EUCOM.” With a remote in his right hand and trying to ignore the laughter from the younger pilots, the officer flipped through a few slides of different angles of the bastion fort. “Satellite imagery has shown a continued buildup of OPFOR soldiers and supplies here. By the end of the mission, this place will be reduced to gravel--and don’t worry about us bombing our own inside this fort. Intel handed to us by the CIA shows that most American POWs(4) are being moved closer to the capital. However, unfortunately for us, our enemy, actually has a brain.” Flipping to the next slide, the bastion fort was replaced with a massive cloud going from the ground to tens of thousands of feet into the air. “It seems in response to the opening days of Operation Phoenix. Our enemy has begun to encase their castles and fortresses in clouds similar to this. This will make it impossible for our bombers to get a clear sight on their targets, and with our GPS systems still unreliable. Your B-1 Lancers will be loaded with GBU-43s(5). Once you are over this mass of clouds, you will drop your payloads off-center and staggered from each other to maximize damage. After that, you get the hell out before any nasty surprises show up. Also, thanks to Jäger Squadron, we’ve linked the possibility of glitching radar to creatures with substantial magical mass to be in the area. If this happens, exercise extreme caution. Do not, hesitate to call off the mission should it become problematic. Questions?” Not hesitating for a moment, Yorke spoke up.      

“Just one, sir. While me and my fellow pilots are humbled to be escorted by the 494th. We’re super-sonic, I doubt anything this medieval backwater state has anything that can reach us.”

“You may be correct in thinking that, but this comes from the Commander in Chief himself. He doesn't want any bomber squadron leaving without an escort.” Displeased, but not wanting to argue, Yorke leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Hmph, seems like a waste of fuel to me.” Yorke mumbled, to then receive a gentle jab from Fag.

“Don’t worry partner, we’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” With a shit-eating grin forming on Fag’s face, Yorke was about to have steam blow out of his ears.

“Treat me like a child and I’ll bite your fingers off, you fuckin’ doorknob.” 

“Enough you two! Now! Once 9th Squadron reaches the target and drops its payload. There is still the chance that a retaliatory response will be launched; either it be magic-based or some form of an air force. This is where The 494th Squadron comes into play. You will intercept these forces and gain as much intel on their air force as possible, then eliminate them. Questions?” The officer glanced around the room with one pilot raising their hand at the front. “Yes, Fag?”

“With all due respect sir, but shouldn't we be using our massive stockpile of drones instead of mechanical aircraft?” The sound of mumbled agreements filled the air. 

“While you are correct Fag, it’s more complicated now, we don’t have the equipment to properly send and receive signals or even power them reliably enough for military operations.”

“Wait, let me get something straight here.” Yorke spoke up again. “We’re going up against dragons with aircraft that can reach altitudes in excess of 50,000 feet. Most birds on Earth could never clear past ten thousand. Does EUCOM really think someone riding a dragon without a respirator, can get within attacking distance?” 

“I understand your confusion, but EUCOM and the Commander in Chief don't want to take any risks with this operation. For all we know, there is some form of magic that allows the user to breathe at high altitudes. Anyone else?” Looking around the room for a couple seconds and having no one else speak up, the officer nodded. “Then get to it!” With all the pilots standing to leave, Fag gave another light elbow to Yorke.

“I don’t know about y'all’s flight, but I reckon this will be like shooting fish in a barrel.”

A Couple Hours Later, In The Air…

Cruising at just under 50,000 feet. Two B-1 Lancers, each carrying one GBU-43, forged ahead with the two fighter flights(6) forming around and behind the bombers, making a flying delta wing of ten aircraft. 

“If the damn top brass allowed us to just go lone wolf, we could have been way out of reach of anything and be done by now.” Still pissed about the earlier meeting, Yorke grumbled to himself. 

“Hey, I'd rather have support and not need it than need support and not have it.” Rocky, one of the weapons systems officers pointed out.

“If anything, we should be talking about why the fuck did EUCOM authorize the use of two MOABs?(7)” Co-pilot Spare questioned the rest of his fellow crew.

“Wait, you don’t know the original use for this fat bastard?” Rocky shot a confused look at Spare who just shrugged. “Well it was created as a weapon specifically to be used against an adversary with uncertain tactics on unfamiliar terrain. I’d say this fits that definition to a fucking “T”.

“I guess it does--what the shit?” With Spare’s sudden attitude changed, everyone looked over to see his radar was starting to mess up, quickly followed by Yorkes. 

“Chaos to all flights. Anyone else’s radar acting up?” Yorke radioed to the rest of the formation while Spare flipped his radar through different modes.  

“Gremlin to Chaos, can confirm, just started a few seconds ago. Nothing seems to clean it up.” The other B-1 Lancer’s pilot commented.

“Fag to Chaos, I’m also having issues.” Inside his F-35, Fag also flipped through different modes; and all of them were in some state of glitchiness. 

“Alright well, everyone keep your head in a swivel, We’re nearing waypoint Golf.” Shimmying in his seat, Yorke had a resurgence in energy, as did all the other pilots.  

With the prospect of a possible foreign entity close by, the two fighter flights expanded the delta wing formation. While all of that was going on, Spare was flipping through the flight book.

“If it is interference from magic, it isn’t coming from the bastion fort. We are still quite a ways out.” Spare looked over to Yorke who was just about to start sweating bullets. 

“Great, so whatever is causing this is--” Yorke was cut off by his headset sparking to life.

“Contact! Four o clock, low! Seems to be trying to shadow us using the cloud cover below.” Ringo reported. Using his F-35’s Electro-Optical Targeting System (EOTS), Ringo managed to lock onto the UAP(8). “Classifying contact as wyvern class, how copy Yorke?”

“Solid copy Ringo. All aircraft maintain formation until attacked or told otherwise.” It didn’t take long for another pilot to speak up.

“Got another two, eight o clock, low! Classifying as wyverns.” Musket reported. 

“Maintain formation. We are two-waypoints out from the target.” Yorke ordered, they were so close… 

Trying to be oblivious to the wyverns shadowing them, the Americans kept to their current formation. But with the massive, unnatural cloud ahead of them, it was becoming harder to maintain composure.

“This seems sketchy as fuck. Should we call off?” Spare looked over at Yorke.

“Not when we’re this close. Besides, being 50,000 feet above, I'd be actually impressed if they can attack this far up.”

“Don’t jinx us, you cunt!” Rocky spat.

“Oh please, you don’t really believe that voodoo shit, do you?” Rex, the other weapons officer commented.

“How oblivious can you two be? Magic is real, there are fantasy races, we are here. Need I go on?” 

“Ay! Eyes on your screens, we’re nearly there!” Yorke ordered. “Chaos to Gremlin, you ready with your silver bullet?(9)

“Set and ready Chaos, Starting slowdown.” Gremlin responds with their B-1 Lancer slowly lagging behind Chaos. Now the delta wing has split into two.   

“Ringo to Yorke, we’re still being shadowed. Want us to get some information?” 

“Affirmative Ringo, but don’t be stupid about it.” 

“Copy that, Chaos, breaking(10) right.”

Pulling back on the throttle and diving towards the first wyvern. It didn’t take long for the rider to realize he had been spotted. With speeds unmatched, Ringo darted across the wyvern's path, uncomfortably close for both sides. Getting over the initial shock and regaining control of their startled mount, the wyvern rider tried to give chase but by the time the wyvern was flapping his wings trying to build speed, Ringo was long gone and had pulled up to regain altitude.

“Talk about slow reactions.” Ringo commented. Looking across the flat cloud cover, the other two wyverns were being buzzed(11) by two F-35s

“Well as expected, they have the capacity to hover. Although they take an eternity to build speed.” Tring to demonstrate his point. Musket buzzed over one of the wyverns. However, instead of stopping his wyvern like the rest, they made it stop flapping its wings and outstretched them, akin to a glider. They then proceed to go into a sharp right turn.

“Well I’ll be damned! They’re trying to mimic us!” Fag laughed. 

“Gotta give them credit for trying.” Musket continued to do loops above. 

“Alright children, quit playing with your food. Silver bullets are about to be sent, wrap it up.” Yorke ordered, with all the F-35s rapidly expanding away from the wyverns.

“Copy that, beginning attack run.” Turning his jet around, Ringo lined up his sights.      

Using the shared information network between all the F-35s. Ringo, Fag and Musket didn’t have to wait long for their respected jets to lock onto the wyverns, who had all decided to dive underneath the top layer of clouds. Opening up the weapons bay underneath his jet, Ringo zeroed in. 

“Ringo, fox two!(12)” With his announcement, Ringo fired; and seemingly by a stroke of bad luck for the wyvern rider. They had popped above the cloud cover to see what the Americans were doing, only to eat a missile. The wyvern itself being split into multiple mangled meat chunks.

“Musket, fox two!” 

“Fag, fox two!”    

In rapid succession, Musket and Fag released their own missiles, with them quickly diving into the clouds and followed by two consecutive explosions. 

“Ringo to Chaos, all current threats neutralized.” Climbing back up to the bombers, a considerable gap had been created between the two bombers. 

“Copy that, Ringo. Update on delivery Rocky?” 

“Releasing silver bullet in three…two…one, bombs away!” Rocker announced.

“Good work, Chaos to all aircraft, banking right and RTB(13).”

After a few minutes, Gremlin also released their silver bullet and began speeding up and banking to form up with Chaos again. 

“While I wasn’t expecting much of a response, this seems a little…lackluster. We aren't exactly silent.” Seemingly disappointed, Musket scanned their surrounding sky.

“Hey, a boring mission is a good mission. Rocky, what's the ETA on detonation?” Yorke questioned

“Any second now. Though we won’t be able to see--” Rocky was cut off when a deafening boom rang through the air, followed by the bomber being shaken, setting off a few alarms. Ahead they could see that the clouds below had been pushed around by a powerful shockwave.

“What in tarnation? Fag to Chaos, you sure those were MOABs? Cause that explosion was far bigger than it had any right to be.”

“God that mushroom has got to be at least 5,000 feet! And the color, what the hell was in that bastion fort?” With Musket making a double-take at the semi-rainbow mushroom cloud now behind them with a camera. A feeling of uneasiness fell upon the formation.

“Maybe some of those crystals that those spooks(14) guys were talking about were being stored there?” Gremlin proposed over the radio.

“So basically, we hit an ammo dump…but for magical weaponry? This just keeps on getting more and more ludicrous.” Spare shook his head.

“I’ll say, Chaos to Firebird.” With an uneasy smile, Yorke radioed to a nearby Air Control Aircraft.

“Go ahead Chaos.”             

“Silver bullets were successfully delivered. However, the detonation size was amplified with what we are understanding as a magical weapons dump that was inside the bastion fort, how copy?” About a minute passed in silence before an answer came through.

“Affirmative..? Command at Rammstein wants you back on the ground ASAP. Seems you’ve struck the hornet nest with this one.” Hearing this from the radio operator, Yorke turned to Spare with widened eyes. 

“Well that's not ominous as fuck.” 

GLOSSARY

1. Fag - Funny Accent Guy
2. EUCOM - United States European Command
3. Sortie - The launch of one mission or attack by a single plane
4. POW - Prisoners Of War
5. GBU-43 - Fancy/Technical name for the modern United States Air Force “Mother Of All Bombs”
6. Flight - 4 aircraft make up a “Flight”. 4 Flights is the bare minimum to create a “Squadron”
7. MOAB - Massive Ordnance Air Blast or Mother Of All Bombs
8. UAP - Unidentified Aerial Phenomena
9. Silver Bullet - Another name for a nuclear weapon, but in this context, it was a GBU-43
10. Breaking - Making a hard/aggressive turn
11. Buzzed - Going past someone/something at great speed
12. Fox Two - The launch of a heat-seeking missile
13. RTB - Return/Returning To Base
14. Spooks - Another name for CIA types/agents