Chapter 1; Watching Good Men Die in the Surf

Looming, was the word that best described the setting of the Operation. It was looming, foreshadowing of the days events that would take place on the small ribbon of sand that separated land from water, earth from sea; and soon, life from death. The journey from the Azrican Carrier ANS Falsk was a quick and hasty one, though the carrier itself was mainly equipped with FM-23A Opposer's, several other DA-53N Brutes were on the flight list also. Though a common Azrican Pilot could choose to fly a number of aircraft, suggestions were made for this specific mission. Pilots were taught to learn the exact capabilities of every aircraft they would be tasked with flying, be it an Opposer, a Brute, or the venerable Shadow-Fighter.


Ackerman had leaped into the sky behind the yoke of the Opposer. The inverted-wing aircraft handled neatly for his tastes, it had firepower also. Four in-line 12.7 millimeter Electro-Magnetic Cannons mounted in the nose of the aircraft; weapons that had rightfully "revived" the era of the close in dogfight. Using skill and sheer skill alone, Ackerman was trained to slug it out with the best of Ori aircraft. While many designs that the Oriyaks had implemented were based off many planes seen in the Azrican Airforce, the Coalition had one distinct advantage in the skies. SONTAG, a radar system meant to blind, alter, and confuse it's opponents. Giving the Azricans time to swoop in close and fast, and send the enemy aircraft into the ground in a ball of fire.


Long Range Missile had become all but useless in this new era of dog fighting, one would have to sacrifice two lightweight close range missiles to fixate a long range one that had nearly a 50 percent chance of never hitting it's target. This would cause a "moving inward" battle approach, planes would not fire upon each other until they had broken the 15 kilometer range. In which, all cuffs would be released, and the storm would roll in.



The sea was a frothing angry one, breaking continuous amounts of salt-rich water onto the beach as the Opposer struck overhead. Leveling at nearly 950 feet, Ackerman would lean his head closer in to the bubble canopy of the FM-23 and look downward at the sight below, watching the stretch of yellow sand quickly fall behind him as the Opposer went from the ocean, to the land.
"Avalanche One to all Aircraft, Feet are no-longer wet. Break formation and commence support of Operation Swafford." Ackerman boomed, banking the aircraft to the left and jutting back into the fight as he spoke.

Beeping would greet him as he turned, SAM's. The lightweight, fast missiles would be launched from sites on the ground, targets which the DA-53's would have to eliminate if they wanted unregistered air-cover from those piloting Opposer's and Shadow-Fighters.
"We need Brute's on those SAM-Sites. Avalanche One calling for Air-to-Ground." Ackerman responded, the hands-free communication system was one of the newest improvements in the aircraft; couple that with a complete Bubble-Canopy HUD and 360 degree situational awareness was an easy thing to manage.


Akcerman's test would come soon though; on the small screen mounted in the middle of the dashboard, several blinking red squares. Oriyak aircraft moving to the sudden attack.
"Avalanche One to Aircraft, we have Red's moving in. TACK15 Active." He ordered, 'TACK15 Active' was the order to begin tracking the Oriyak Aircraft. The opposition was moving rapidly, and low, barely breaking 700 feet as they struck a course for the beachhead. Ackerman would have to move quickly to intercept, and his first task would be letting them slip by; Ackerman would be an easy target to spot on the radar, but the Oriyaks obviously had more pressing issues than one Azrican aircraft flying through the air.


As soon as they had passed by, Ackerman would swoop into his attack. A cackle over the communications as Acerkman threw the throttle open and swung behind the group of four aircraft.
"Avalanche One is engaged." He stated calmly; yet the odds were stacked against him, and unless he could count the Oriyaks not caring of his presence during his attack, he would have to tail them, and strike them individually. The others would have their own problems, and the entire Squadron's mission was the support of the 125th Infantry Division in their assault on Beach Seven in the Operation. This wasn't a time for Kill-Tallying.

Ackerman was held within his own world; a world filled with beeping, screeching, whizzing, and his warm breath filling his face mask lashed around his lower jaw that filtered his own breath. Scrubbing it and recycling it through with every deep inhale and exhale. His breathing was labored, his heart was in his throat, and he shuddered at the rattle of the airframe as the Opposer sped through the formation of four Oriyak fighters.

He would have to act quickly, after throwing himself into the frying pan like that. There was cause, though, Ackerman was far from the major fight. Far from the intended mission of supporting the Brutes and friendly Azrican Pilots. There was cause for this, also. As per Azrican Policy regarding air combat during the Seventh War; the most experienced pilot, and often being the highest ranking, was to focus primarily on the support of all his units. Over all objective regardless. What this meant, was he put himself out in an attempt to preoccupy the most dangerous opposing force while the remainder of the Squadron pursued their objective to the fullest.

"Avalanche One is in the frying pan. Over." Ackerman offered as a bellowing ping light up the HUD; notifying him that an enemy fighter had a successful radar-lock, and was preparing to fire a close-range missile. Something Ackerman didn't feel like being hit by. His moves would flow perfectly and synchronized, by slicing the throttle, thrashing the yoke sideways, and slamming the yaw in the opposite direction would bring Ackerman swooping upwards and to the side. Narrowly avoiding a sleek, metallic missile striking past before detonating ineffectively tens of meters from the Opposer.

Though the beeping still filled his ears, albeit at a much slower pace now, which meant that a radar-lock was indeed achieved, yet the enemy was incapable of successfully launching a missile that would have a chance of striking his Opposer. He could begin an offensive; he could bring the fight directly to them. He would have to act quick though, cutting the throttle completely backwards and waiting to begin his attack.

They would come shooting overhead, fast and gaining speed. They had attempted to eliminate him in one swoop, hardly taking the time to cut their speed and follow through completely with their attack. That was Ackerman's advantage, and he would pursue it to the greatest. He began the attack rapidly, jutting upwards while priming the radar and preparing an array of on-line EMC's and ATS-7 Close-Range Missiles then proceeding to slam the throttle forward and gain speed that would be required for following through with his attack on the enemy.

"Fox One." Ackerman mumbled autonomously, a finger clicking onto a small red trigger that would release an ATS-7. 'Fox One', the Military jargon used to clarify the launch of an aircrafts payload, be that Air-to-Air Missile, or Air-to-Ground. Though many pilots did not use the full extent of the database of "Military Words", Ackerman was a firm believer in use of the system. Watching the missile trail, and inevitably smash upward into the rear jet of the Oriyak aircraft, and watching the resounding detonation accompanied by the complete disintegration of the craft; he would smash forward into the attack. 12.7mm EMC's booming and cracking through the formation as Ackerman traced a line through the midst. Striking several of the craft and reveling in his victory while pieces and chunks of metal fell from the enemy craft.


"This is Avalanche One to all craft, let's get those SAM's out. Those guys on the beach need the skies."