471st Jaeger Wing, Annonrial 46th Imperial Air Corps
December 27, 1641
In the skies over the Oder-Insal Defense Lines, 35 Premier Galleria attack aircraft of the Annonrial anti-ground warfare unit dominated the airspace. Their sheer numbers, ranging from the first to the third iterations, rivaled the production run of most produced combat jets in Earth's history, like the Mig-15, and that's only approximately 2/3s of their total numbers. Currently, there was a non-existent aerial threat, even as Duro received the first batch of their Marins combat biplanes and Supermarin monoplanes. However, these were unable to debut due to being awfully outmatched against subsonic and supersonic jets of Annonrial-backed Nurzagan forces. This made the Doric Commonwealth upper brass refrain from sending any of their assets to their guaranteed costly demise. These aircraft were built and assembled at Sios, which now housed Muish's first overseas military assets production plant. This decision was made due to the extended and stretched resources in the war against Gra Valkas and Annonrial in their mainland. It prompted the establishment of factories in Sios to support their soldiers and allies abroad, producing everything from small caliber rounds to aircraft fuselage and engines.
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The Annonrial flight commander peers through the small scanner, but to his confusion, there's simply a blank screen. They can't get the terrain mapping systems to work, which usually sends magic algorithms and blasts them from the aircraft's resonance reactors at their wings. This process hits the ground, contact the bountiful magic particles that make up the terrain of the new world. These particles create a repelling force upon impact, hugging the particles in the ground and bouncing back to the aircrafts, acting closely like sonar rather than radar. This puzzles him as it's the first time he's seen the system malfunction or not work well.
"Kastan, is your mapper working?" He said in a private channel to his trustworthy wingman and friend, as he worked on how to reboot the system if there's any error happening.
"Nothing, are we in a magical storm? Perhaps there's a large amount of mithridates here?" His wingman replied just to add to their confusion.
"There's no known Mithril deposit at Duro. The closest are small deposits at the western continent. Neither has our system malfunctioned for the last couple of sorties," he said, expressing his worries and contemplation on the situation.
"Localized magical storm is likely the remaining reason why there's malfunction. It's not like we need them to fire our weapons to begin with."
"Right," he replied upon hearing the response, before opening the open channel. "All units, this is Squadron Delta Leader. Prepare to drop your ordinance, move to 3-flight formation, spread, and make sure to spray them with proper firepower just like in simulation and briefing," he ordered. Their formation began to spread, soaring high as they fired their first salvo of attacks – large Kaliber cruise missiles. These missiles are variants of Vagal Magia 42 Arrow of Light, a hybrid bomblet carrier and chemical container. It was intended as an anti-fortification weapon unlike it's original version, lacking bomblet carrying capability but still retain chemical warfare device, with its powerful miasmatic content. This content could easily crystallize anything by overloading it with Mana, triggering rapid-induced magic induction that typically processed naturally for a century. With Annonrials' technological advancement, they could make it happen in mere minutes and even use it practically to create magical fuels by domesticating unwanted minorities in their countries and livestock to harvest.
Dozens of them flew at supersonic speed, approaching Mach 1.9 straight to the annoyance called trenches of Duro, making it difficult to kill them. However, with Kaliber deployed, they didn't need to destroy the trenches to kill its defenders.
The first salvos hit the ground, manifesting purple lightning discharges followed by purple flames and a 580-kilogram equivalent of explosives triggered. A massive explosion ensued at the trenches of Duro. Defenders ran to foxholes and underground bunkers connected to the trenches for safety. A strong shockwave and tremor followed with distasteful dust and smoke fogging the scene, but they thought they were relatively safe. Unfortunately, their fate was sealed the moment the Kaliber hit their proximity.
The explosion energized the miasmatic properties of the carrier missile, and its device that deployed magic particles rapidly changed their properties, beginning to find a host – a living one – to forcefully inject Mana into the unfortunate beings. The purple miasmas rapidly engulfed the trenches, a large swath of land, and along with approximately 5,000 defenders, sealed their fate once the miasmatic fog reached their position, inhaled and in contact.
Rapid and painful crystallization process began. Cells with Mana burst into dozens of times their size at an abnormal rate. Microcrystalline gems tore off flesh, veins, and internal organs of its victims. Screams and agony resonated throughout the front – unbearable pain and the shock of what was happening to their bodies where crystals began to tear their skins as they expanded. Soon, those screams disappeared, leaving thousands of crystallized, lifeless defenders with faces of despair, agony, and pain.
The commander gazed down on the aftermath, thick purple fog engulfing a portion of the battlefield. It seemed sufficient to take out a few thousand enemies and create a breakthrough point for their tanks to flank and blitz all the way to the heart of the enemy mainland uncontested. "471st, we'll go for a second run, a little deeper, hit their second line of defense," he ordered, as their formation began to converge once more, their noses directed to the east, towards the Doric Commonwealth's second line of defense.
The Annonrial formation sped up as they zeroed in on their next target at an incredible rate. Suddenly, several dots with burning yellow flames rose in the sky. Instinctively, he reached for the radio, wanting to ask about the situation. Due to the lack of a terrain mapping system, they were blind in this sector for some unknown reasons. They didn't know their warning systems were also all dead in the water.
Boom
Then the first Mach 3.5 Vietnam War-era S-75's V-750 missiles effortlessly slammed towards the second formation on the left, pulverizing the Galleria into thousands of debris and a cloud of burning smoke in the sky. And, for the first time, the entire network of SEADF air defense systems in Philades finally came to life, as three batteries of S-75 fired at the incoming formation. After two days of restraint, the strategic surface-to-air missiles caught the Annonrial formation by surprise.
"Break! Break! Defensive maneuvers!" shouted the commander as he desperately pulled his controls, swinging it to the left as he barrelled down towards the incoming missiles. "They never said there's an ASEAN defense network here!" he immediately concluded, identifying the perpetrators. He knew that Duro didn't have any equivalents, and the TDGs were deemed a direct military unit, thus coined as the same.
"Fuck! It's changing angles! It's still on my—Zzz..."
"Leave this airspace!"
"Mayday! Mayday! I'm going down!"
He didn't have time to think about whether ASEAN casually handed arrows of lights or advanced air defense systems to TDGs as he joined others in their desperate quest to dodge menacing Mach 3 missiles. The chatter on the Mana comms added to the nerve-wracking factor of their precarious situation.
Furthermore, they discovered additional malfunctions along the way – even their IFF was not working, the terrain mapping system and the early warning system were dead. This confusion overwhelmed him, and the realization struck as he gritted his teeth. "This! A trap!" he shouted in frustration as they were attacked by high G maneuvers, groaning in response to their ordeal. It seemed that somehow their enemies could block and make their systems malfunction, an unknown factor for him. The existence of equivalents to jamming was unknown for them. While Ravernal and upper management of Annonrials might have knowledge of such equivalents, for normal personnel like him, there was no way of knowing, as most of these magical interference system types were still in the theoretical stage, in dust at the warehouse, in an abandoned prototype stage, or simply hadn't left the drawing board.
Fortunately enough, they were only a little ten kilometers away from the first defensive lines, which had non-existent air defenses. However, when they exited the range of the S-75 missiles, that's when they realized the extent of their losses. In less than 5 minutes, they had lost half of their formation.
"All units, situation report while maintaining full speed," he heaved a sigh, realizing just how fearsome the enemy's air defense network was to lose over 15 aircraft in the blink of an eye. His hands quivered at the thought of any second attacks in that dead zone where their systems didn't work. They had no eyes and ears from the ground and couldn't detect any impending doom or attacks, and anxiety riddled his head at the prospect.
"Eighteen aircrafts remaining in the formation."
"Three damaged but still flyable, but one is leaking fuel, it should have barely enough range to reach the airfields."
Consecutive reports followed as he received them in silence, analyzing the situation. "We'll get back to those bastards later. Maintain a high level of caution even if we're entering our effectively controlled airspace; enemies might begin deploying air assets against us," he said. It seemed fortunate for them as they left the area without any more missile attacks or pursuing interceptors. However, the next attack might be escorted by phantoms and perhaps heavier long-range ordnance against enemy ground forces.
Approaching Nurzaga's airfields, out of their expectations, the scene emerged with towering black smoke dominating the landscape. The commander squinted at the unsettling sight upon their return, immediately reaching out to the tower in search of answers. "This is the 471st Jaeger Wing, 4th Tactical Fighter Unit, Maillot Airbase, requesting a situation report. Do you read over?" he urgently inquired, his eyes scanning the airbase engulfed in flames. Hangars burned, buildings crumbled, and runways bore the scars of recent impacts. It had only been half an hour since their departure to their combat sorties, and a sense of anxiety crept over the commander, wondering if misfortune continued to haunt them. In a cruel turn of events, as if god of misfortune is smiling upon them — the ground-based air defenses at the base unleashed a barrage upon their return. Missiles streaked across the sky, and AA guns relentlessly fired, forcing them to maneuver frantically, reminiscent of the chaotic skies over the Oder-Insal Defense Lines. Desperation filled the commander's voice as he pleaded through the channels, "Maillot control station! This is a friendly unit! Stop firing! Identification: 471st Jaeger Wing of the Annonrial Imperial Army Air Forces!" Yet, the relentless stream of anti-air defenses continued unabated, adding to the commander's confusion and fear.
One after another, their aircraft was shot down until they reached out for the air defense units to cease, but it was too late. They lost an additional four men upon arrival, and the commander couldn't help but feel a growing restlessness and anger within. The awaited words and response finally arrived "This is Maillot station, leave this airspace at once! The runways are inoperable, enemy fighters are loitering in the area!"
"Enemy fighters?" he parroted in response. The nearest known enemy airfields were over 600 kilometers away, and their fighter screen and air defense networks would undoubtedly shoot down anything attempting to penetrate Nurzagan airspaces. So how? His thoughts were filled with questions about the response he received.
And that was immediately answered. Swooping in at high altitude, firing their medium-range missiles, American single-engine aircrafts made their debut in the skies of Nurzaga. In the former lands of Parpaldia, once more, missiles were launched one after another. With the early warning receivers finally back online, they barely registered the incoming threat before blaring to life with a thrumming sound of alert. Adrenaline pumped through the veins of the commander as they witnessed their fellow aircrafts being shot down from different directions. "What in the hell!" With the god of misfortune seemingly at their side, another round of precarious situations was thrown at their badly beaten formation.
Despite being on the receiving end and not designed for air-to-air combat, the Galleria, in a desperate bid to survive, attempted to outmaneuver and fight back against the intruding ASEAN combat aircrafts. To their misfortune, they found themselves badly outmatched than anticipated. The F-16s utilized their superior maneuverability while remaining mindful of the distance from the anti-aircraft batteries on the ground. Playing cat and mouse, they wove through the enemy formation, firing their short and medium-range missiles with deadly precision, chipping their target numbers down to less than 10. The echoes of desperation and pleas resonated through the communication channels as the Galleria attack formation dwindled in numbers.
"All units, head west!" commanded the Galleria squadron commander, his voice strained with urgency.
"Commander, we can't keep up with their maneuvers! They're picking us off one by one," radioed one of the Galleria pilots, frustration evident in his voice.
"Don't lose hope! Our aircrafts will reach this area soon," the commander replied, trying to instill a sense of determination.
The Galleria pilots, lacking the agility, speed, and air-to-air capabilities of the American-made fighters, struggled to evade the relentless attacks. Thus, ASEAN F-16s, exploiting their technological advantage, executed precise aerial maneuvers, dodging the counterattacks and delivering lethal blows. The skies over Nurzaga turned into a chaotic battleground, with the Galleria desperately trying to fend off the nimble adversaries.
ASEAN fighters continued their onslaught, exploiting weaknesses and vulnerabilities in the Galleria's design as attack aircraft. The once-coordinated formation now disintegrated into individual struggles for survival. The communication channels buzzed with frantic messages, but the Galleria pilots faced a harsh reality – their aircrafts were simply not meant for this type of engagement.
"I've got one on my tail! I can't shake him off!"
"Evade! All units, don't group up! Scatter at full speed," the commander directed, attempting to maintain order and increase their chances of survival amid the chaos.
The ASEAN fighters, weaving through the Galleria formation, continued their calculated attacks. The Galleria pilots, struggling to defend themselves, shared information and warnings over the radio.
"I'm hit! Losing control," shouted a distressed pilot.
"Mayday! Mayday! I'm going down!" echoed another voice through the channels.
The commander, witnessing the dire situation, urged his pilots to persevere. "Hold on, everyone!" he shouted as he himself became the next prey of ASEAN fighters. Added to the communication channels was a mix of distress signals, tactical suggestions, and the harsh reality of being outmatched.
As the battle progressed, the Galleria attack formation suffered significant losses. The skies were painted with smoke trails and fiery explosions as the F-16s maintained their dominance. The desperate attempts of the Galleria to retaliate were met with calculated and effective responses from the ASEAN fighters.
In the end, the Galleria found itself overwhelmed and outgunned, facing the harsh reality of technological disparity. The remaining aircraft struggled to evade the relentless assaults, but the outcome seemed inevitable – a defeat in the skies over Nurzaga, marking another chapter in the unfolding war — a total one-sided annihilation in their own backyard.
The fighters soon finished their aerial clean-up, paving the way for 4 F-15SGs once more. They dropped their domestic anti-runway glide bombs, modified 1,000 pounders, from altitude. Gliding towards their targets at 8 kilometers away, their guidance kits kicked in, homing with precision at the runways. Immediately upon reaching their objectives, they petalled away, with countless bomblets scattered throughout the airfields. Sixteen anti-runway bombs, with 896 clustering bomblets, blanketed the runways and nearby hangars, creating destruction as a wall of fire, smoke, dust, and shockwave carpeted the entire target objectives. Thus, the relentless offensive counter-air operation of ASEAN to cripple Annonrial air power in Philades continues.
Nuevo Alaina Airbase, Nastav
As the sun rose in the busy morning sky over the Nuevo Alaina region, a large airbase, the second largest next to Esthirant only, buzzed with frantic and bustling activity. The relentless pace of the offensive had turned the once-organized airfield into a chaotic and disturbingly loud location — with unceasing roaring jet engines, clattering machinery, and hurried footsteps of personnel. The F-15 and F-16 fighters on the tarmac were in constant motion, clear evidence of how the intensity of the conflict unfolding in the skies and ground was being manifested.
In just four hours since the commencement of the offensive, the airbase had become a hub of relentless aerial operations. Fighter jets shuttled in and out with remarkable efficiency, embarking on 76 sorties that unleashed over 300 bombs and missiles upon the enemy formations and locations in close proximity and designated target objectives. The air was filled with the deafening sounds of takeoffs and landings, creating a ceaseless rhythm that echoed throughout the ongoing battle.
"Phoenix Squadron, this is Tower. Report status."
"Tower, Phoenix. No damages. Quick refuel and rearm needed for the next sortie."
The ground crews hustled around the F-15s, ensuring a swift turnaround. Meanwhile, on the field.
"Viper Team, running low on ammo. Requesting immediate resupply."
"Copy, Viper. Ammo truck en route. Hold tight."
The personnel on the ground were thrust into a demanding routine, their faces etched with weariness as they continued to service the refueling, rearming, and maintenance of the aircraft going in and out of the airbase. Shifts were rotated seamlessly to mitigate exhaustion, but fatigue lingered in the air as the aircraft touched down, quickly refueled, rearmed, and soared back into the battlefield. The ground crews, clad in worn-out and dusted uniforms, tirelessly ensured that the war machines were ready for their next sortie, their hands moving with professionalism.
The 21st Fighter Squadron, known as the "Grim Reapers," taxied back after a successful sortie. The pilots radioed in.
"Tower, Grim Reaper 1. We're ready for the next one. Requesting full loadout."
"Roger, Grim Reaper 1. Full loadout in progress. Stand by."
The ground personnel efficiently loaded munitions onto the F-16s, preparing them for another run. Simultaneously, a request came from the field.
"Ghostrider Team here. Need an extra pair of bombs for the upcoming mission — mk. 82 over."
"Copy, Ghostrider. Additional bombs on their way. ETA five minutes."
Amidst the organized chaos, the airbase housed a sizable fleet of over three dozen F-15 and F-16 fighters, approximately half of the fighter strength of ASEAN outside the southern Philades. These combat aircraft, adorned with battle scars, dust, fuel, and freshly loaded munitions, stood as a testament to the air force's commitment to the ongoing conflict. Additionally, there were an additional 70 F/A-15 and F/A-16 fighters deployed in the field in constant rotation, point defense, combat air patrol, and performing low-intensity combat operations.
Formerly, confusion riddled the ranks of commanders and officers as they grappled with the nuanced designations of the reproduced fighters. The distinction between the original designations (R)F-16 and (R)F-15 often led to inadvertent mistakes and mass confusion in requests for reinforcements. To correct this and streamline communication and further avoid confusion, these reproduced fighters (R)F series were redesignated as F/A-15 and F/A-16, the most advanced and offensively capable Mk. 2 versions. These mass-produced aircraft, churned out at a rate of six units per week in mainland factories, found their place in secondary attack formations, combat air patrol, and cleanup operations.
"Clear Hangar 14, make way for F-15 knockoffs! They need to get out. Load some napalms, and have the pilots head to debrief room 6!" roared the personnel on the tarmac, finally mobilizing the reserve aircrafts from their hangar queen status.
The F/A-15 and F/A-16 fighters, while very advanced compared to other New World contemporary aircrafts, bore limitations that relegated them to specific roles. With a capped speed of 900 kilometers per hour and a fuel efficiency that barely reached 300 kilometers at full load, they operated as support rather than frontline assault units. These aircraft, with their distinctive markings and limited capabilities, still played a crucial role in cleaning up and adding more firepower with their 2-ton ordinance capacity in the aftermath of the more potent attacks launched by their faster counterparts.
"Tower, Hat in the Ring 2. Short on personnel for munitions handling. Requesting assistance."
"Roger, Hat in the Ring 2. Additional hands on the way."
Ground crews from different squadrons collaborated to ensure the timely preparation of aircraft. In the midst of the hustle, a ground team leader communicated.
"Panther Ground Crew, we need faster turnaround on the munitions. The Hornets are ready for a quick reload."
"Copy, Panther. Accelerating the munitions handling. Stand by."
Amidst the continuous cycle of takeoffs and landings, the airbase's communication channels crackled with activity. The urgent voices of pilots and ground control resonated, providing constant supplies of information in the chaotic theater of war. The crisp commands issued by squadron leaders to the background hum of radar systems scanning the skies for potential threats.
As aircraft landed and taxied back to the maintenance area, crews swiftly descended upon them like a well-coordinated swarm. The smell of aviation fuel, blending with the metallic scent of munitions and the fumes of exhaust. The deafening roar of jet engines and the clatter of machinery were punctuated by the occasional burst of radio chatter.
In this bustling base, the ground crews worked tirelessly to ensure the fighters were ready for their next sortie, maintaining their combat efficiency at the utmost level. The clash of metal against metal, the hum of generators powering essential equipment, and the periodic whirring of hydraulic systems — the ceaseless efforts to maintain the air force's operational readiness and offensive posture against the Northern Coalition — pounding their position at full swing.
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Presently, I'm having hard time to get on my standard weekly release date (Friday or Saturday) but real life schedule kept interfering and now, I got schedule full in Thursday to Sunday since last week, so, I'll be releasing in Monday or Tuesday in response.
Don't ask why my recent chapter names is sounding lazy and contradictory, because it's hard to slap whatever name to fit the content