

A Plan Comes TogetherThe sun shone brightly through the window. Sqn Ldr Haig didnt notice. His bed was beside the window, and the window was high on the wall, so it didnt catch his face. Instead, he was woken by the familiar high pitched whine of a jet engine, as a fighter started up in the hangar behind him, which was odd, as the one behind him contained only one squadrons aircraft, and they were rarely flown. But they were no ordinary squadron, they were the elite French Trio, which was a further nickname for their actual squadron nickname, The Three Musketeers. Consisting of the finest fliers in the airbase, which wasA Plan Comes Together


Homeward BoundThe sky held an awe inspiring sight. Four, now most definitely not fully-laden, F-22 fighters were on approach for the airstrip, the lights and engine trails clearly visible high in the pitch-black darkness of the cool summer evening. The wind ruffled through the dark, short, hair of Squadron Leader Elvis Haig. The leader of Squadron Gaia Beta Charlie Beta, which contained Flight Gaia Beta Charlie Beta Beta (otherwise known as Echo Squadron) stood by the air traffic control tower. Leaning up against the wall, dressed in his Imperial Air Force greatcoat, he retrieved his tobacco pipe from the deep side pockets of his coat. Clearly vHomeward Bound


Armada.The sky was dark. From 6500 feet, the sea wasnt even visible any more, but the shapes of the ships were. The aircrafts HUD was illuminating the ships, with a sort of night vision camera. They were obviously out there, manoeuvring into position, preparing to launch their tomahawk cruise missiles against the airbase, like a rapiers strike.Armada.
Echo 1 looked to his right. There was Echo 2, his wingman, well, technically wingwoman, preparing herself for the strike to come. To his left, about 100 feet away, was the wingtip of Echo 3, and on the other side of him, Echo 4. The night was young, and the operation foolhardy a


A Prelude.A sudden, shrill sound pierced the air, waking Echo 1 at once. Scrambling out of bed, pulling on his Mk17 flying suit and boots, grabbing the helmet sitting on the desk, and running out the door. A well practiced routine, executed in perfect time, as he had done so many times before. Tearing down the corridor, he joined his fellow pilots outside, aboard a new, olive green jeep, ready to take them down to their awaiting aircraft.A Prelude.
The jeep raced to the hangar, screaming to a halt outside the massive, towering hangar doors. It was a calm, still night, but there was nothing calm or still about the airfield. Sirens wailed, lights blaz
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