"Splash Two! Splash Two!" exclaimed the pilot as his missile hit the Siren aircraft, sending it crashing to the ground. The pilot watched as the alien aircraft plummeted, his thoughts briefly lingering on the fate of the pilot inside. It was a brutal battle against the enigmatic Sirens, and victory had come at a cost.
"Mission accomplished, people. Trailblazers aircrafts, return to carrier," Mason radioed to his squadron.
After thirty minutes of intense combat, the human air force had managed to gain the upper hand despite being technologically inferior to the Sirens. The four F/A-18E Super Hornets regrouped and flew in formation toward their base. Mason's mind wandered as he listened to his fellow pilots on the radio.
"Finally, still coming home in one piece, huh?" one pilot sighed in relief.
"Many of us are really struggling against them... we don't even know who will be the next casualty," added another pilot.
Mason remained silent, his gaze fixed on the endless blue sky with only a few scattered clouds. The sky had always been his solace, a familiar companion in times of turmoil. Soon, another Hornet pulled up beside him, and the pilot initiated communication.
"Just like the usual Blazer One," the pilot remarked, glancing at Mason's cockpit. "You're always quiet and looking at the sky."
Mason finally spoke, his voice cold and emotionless. "So that's your another way of saying 'hello, Witch." He responded to his closest friend, Evely or called ''Witch''
The comment elicited laughter from the other pilots. They teased him about his newfound willingness to engage in conversation.
"Hey, the wolf is talking boys." one pilot exclaimed. ''Is there anyone record this?''
Mason's response was as icy as ever. "Shut your bloody f*cking mouth, Morgan."
Lieutenant Colonel Mason "Wolf" O'Neil, the squadron leader of VFA-303 The Trailblazers, had earned a reputation as a skilled and ruthless aviator. His promotion to squadron leader had coincided with the Sirens' incursion into the Atlantic and their confrontation with Task Force Nimitz, the carrier on which he was based.
Nimitz Strike Carrier Group
His cold and stoic demeanor had become his trademark, earning him the nickname "Silent Wolf" among his comrades. He was known for his stealthy and lethal approach to combat, often catching enemies off guard and providing crucial support to friendly units without ever confirming his presence. He was also the first Ace in the Siren conflict for successfully shooting down around 25 Siren aircraft in the early days of the Siren conflict.
Five minutes later, as the Hornets continued their flight toward the USS Nimitz, Mason's reached for the radio. "This is Blazer One to USS Nimitz. We'll be arriving in five minutes. Please confirm your position."
The response from the USS Nimitz came promptly, its familiar voice crackling over the radio. "Roger, Blazer One. Our current position is 20 miles east of your location. We'll be ready to receive you."
Mason's acknowledged the message and continued leading his squadron toward the expected rendezvous point. But as the five minutes passed, something felt amiss. He couldn't spot the massive aircraft carrier on the horizon, and the radar showed no sign of its presence.
"What's going on?" Mason muttered to himself. He climbed his plane higher to get a clearer visual of the area, but before he could do so, an enormous cloud bank intercepted their path. It seemed to materialize out of nowhere, enveloping the Hornets in its thick, swirling mist. The pilots of VFA-303 could barely see each other within the dense fog. Panic set in as they struggled to maintain formation and orientation. Mason attempted to radio the Nimitz again, but all he heard was static.
Then, just as suddenly as they had entered the strange cloud. The visual distance changed drastically. Mason himself couldn't even see his own men planes. He tried the radar, but it just flickered and had a glitch on the panel. The radar was messed up. All the useful screens and avionics now gone. For the unsure time.
''All aircrafts, turn your formation lights on. Maintain visual and keep your distance.'' Mason spoke into his radio and began to turn on his formation lights.
A few turquoise-colored line-shaped lights began to appear and made up for the darkness of the clouds. Now, all that could be relied on were those lights as a visual sight.
''Am I the only one experiencing this?" Morgan spoke on his radio about his plane's instruments. ''My radar and GPS are not working at all.'' He continued as his Raytheon APG-79 radar is malfunctioned. Surprisingly, even though the radar and GPS were not working, the transmissions were still coming in. The other voices also came through clearly. It was really strange. Nobody ever experienced like that before. ''It seems that this time we have to find our own way out. Let's go down to 10,000 feet.''
Mason brought his plane into a turn and descended and the others followed. When descending, He really had to grip the steering wheel firmly. The wind felt quite strong. To his right, the wings of his plane were up and downing rapidly. Right now I had nothing to worry about except a broken wing. One by one, the instrument panel began to light up and work. The radar, GPS, and such began to show their functions again. And before long, we were out of the clouds.
''All callsigns, check in.'' Mason said into the radio as he checked the parts of his plane. Everything looked good. And not too long, one voice responded
''Blazer Two, all green.''
''Blazer Three, all green and functioning'' reported his partner and was relayed to the others. He release his breath with a grateful/ They're all okay. Technically. All They need to do is find the Nimitz now. The external fuel tanks still installed under the belly of their aircraft were filled with about 2,280 gallons of external fuel. That might be enough to fly for a few hours. But if they didn't find a place to land, it was only a matter of time before they all plunged into the sea.
''Guys, any sign of Nimitz or other vessels?'' Mason asked while watching the radar and outside. On the radar there was only our formation, the rest of us were absent for the next 150 kilometers.
''Negative sir. Not even small ships." said a pilot. ''It's really strange....''
He flipped the VHF switch and tried to snag some comms from ships or maybe even other Yankee birds operating in this neck of the woods. Soon enough, an incoming signal crackled through the static. He was hoping it was a Nimitz or at least a fellow Yanks recon bird. Then, a voice, female, loud as thunder, cut through the radio, gunshots in the background. It sounded like there was one hell of a brawl going down out there. Was it the Jarheads? Or...
"This is Cleveland, we were attacked by Sirens at Coordinates 38° 52' 15" North. Requesting assistance from the shipgirl or anyone around here, I repeat..."
"Sir, we got an SOS ping from coordinates, 38° 52' 15" north. What's the call, boss?" one of my buddies asked. Seems like this transmission hit all aircraft in the area. I thought about heading over there to help, but then I remembered the briefing back on the Nimitz. He made his call. "Hold your positions," he barked. It was plain and simple. They had to get their tails on the nearest runway or carrier, pronto. Staying in the air any longer meant they could be the next Siren target. After the order went out, his crew started raising a fuss, one by one.
"Sir, we can't just leave 'em hanging out to dry 'cause of them Sirens!"
"The orders are the orders, Blazer 3. We clear 'em out, we head back to the Nimitz."
"Sir, there's 125 souls on that Cleveland! How can you let those folks twist in the wind?!"
"You want my orders? You got 'em, Blazer 3!" Mason shot back, as firm as a tree trunk.
"Hey, Wolf." Evelyn pulled up beside him. Among the aircraft in the squadron, only hers have that painting. The painting of the Witch.
"You ain't about to backpedal on your promise after them Sirens hit your hometown, are ya?" she said, icy as a winter night. "You said you'd stomp 'em flat, right?" she asked again. "So where's your follow-through?"
"I'll make sure you get a lump on your noggin once we're back on the ground, Fenrir 4."
"It don't matter if you bop me one in the head or have to take my head clean off. But how's it feel losin' someone you love?"
He went quiet for a hot second. She'd hit a nerve.
"Maybe your mouth can lie, but your heart can't. Now, reckon you thought about them folks back home losing their kin in the briny deep thanks to them Sirens? You enjoy seeing Sirens take out your brothers? You enjoy it?!"
He stayed hushed again. She was right. "You're right, but you know the ord—"
"WHAT'S YOUR CALL, BLAZER 1?!" Suddenly, Fenrir Four's voice drilled into my ears. "YOU PUT TOO MUCH STOCK IN THAT DAMN ORDER, PAL! THERE'S LIVES HANGIN' IN THE BALANCE OUT THERE ON THAT SHIP! AND YOU STILL GONNA CRY ABOUT THAT ORDER?!" she hollered again, hot as a branding iron. She was right. Mason making everything too much of that order.
"Sir, what they're facing ain't all that different from what we're up against. It's just they're dealing with Siren tech. We just gotta lend 'em a hand against these Siren lackeys," another pilot chimed in.
"Sir, we got the whole shebang right here. Your squadron's a bunch of top guns, sir! We can't leave 'em hangin' out there to dry!" another one pushed.
He ran the numbers in his head. They were right, dead on. They had the whole kit and caboodle right here. High-tech gear, lethal firepower, and the skills to put 'em to good use. So why was they being such a durn chicken about lending a hand? We were already operating solo. No admirals or bigwigs giving themorders. All the decisions rested on his shoulders. His whole crew was at the ready, waiting on his word.
He keyed up the comms. Whoever they were, they weren't gonna get wiped out by them Sirens. "Cleveland, this is Blazer 1. We're gonna be on station in 20 minutes. Hang tight and keep me updated on the situation, Over."
"Thanks very much!.. whoever you are... we'll be right here waitin' for you!!"
I said nothin' and switched back to my squadron's channel. It was do or die. "Blazer 1 to all Trailblazers birds, it's time to chase down wild dogs. Weapon and alttitude restriction is lifted up. Bring 'em down, every last one!" He hollered as his bird banked north and kicked in the afterburners. The rest of the crew followed suit, close on his six.
''Trailblazers, engage!''