First Strike

USS THEODORE ROOSEVELT, OUTSIDE THE BLACK SEA

DECEMBER 18TH 2024

The carrier rocked through the waves, its flight deck covered in puddles of rainfall as the aircraft stood out. Major Johnathan Ryan. Looked left, then right. His eyes glanced over the aircraft with his name proudly inscribed on its nose. ‘RACER’ The text read out. Two seamen pulled a ladder up to the aircraft’s cockpit, Major Ryan nodding to them before climbing in.

As he fastened his helmet, a man walked up to his side before climbing in. “Jump in Bob, VFA-113 is making history tonight!” He smiled, looking to see the squadron commander. Lieutenant Colonel Rogers walks up to the aircraft. “Good luck men, today’s a day we change the world.” He spoke. “Destination: Sevastopol.” The commander spoke, a smile breaking his usually serious demeanour. “Remember our mission. Hit the docks. The loading ramps and fuel bays along with their submarine bases.”

Major Ryan and his weapons officer, Bob Engels nodded. The Ensign looked over his checklist before checking each of the weapon systems. The commander gave the two a sharp salute, receiving one from the two before he retreated to his aircraft.

“Weapons?”

“Ready to go Racer, We are a green light for this,” Bob responded. Drumming his fingers on the control panel as he put up a small print just against the canopy. The glass of the canopy lowered just as the commander’s aircraft lined up with the catapult. “We’ll show those Ivan’s what we’re made of.” He spoke over the radio.

“Hell yeah!” One of the pilots responded. Zaynie Hart. Her callsign was Baseplate. Her F/A-18 lined up for its run right after the commander. Bob smiled, giving her the usual smug grin that was symbolic of him.

This was a tough mission. To fly low into the heavily defended port complex before firing their LRASM which would be seeing their first use in combat and this would most likely be the start of a new phase in warfare.

The thoughts ran through the major’s head, he shook them off. Worry about them if you survive the mission. Apparently, the Poles and the Turks were also contributing their air power to the effort. Disarming this kremlin mad-dog dictator was no easy feat.

Ryan lifted the safety covers off the magnetos, with one flick to each of them, along with a check to their fuel pressure indicator, the two massive jet engines roared to life with a ferocity that made his heart skip a few beats. He slowly laid his hand on the throttle lever, pulling off the parking brake as the aircraft lurched forward. Meanwhile, the ground crew pulled away the chocks which held the aircraft in place.

The massive platform lurched just a little further, then began to move. The Major lined her up on the takeoff ramp. He watched the other 4 aircraft form up along with preparations on the two other squadrons already preparing to launch. “AWACS, do you copy,” Bob spoke.

“Copy that Ranger One. You are loud and clear.” Came the voice from the radio headset. “E-2 Picture ready.” It continued.

“Copy that.”

“Alright, Pilots! Let’s make history.” The squadron commander gave a sharp salute to the ground crew who pulled away. The one-shot an arm forward. Just a few seconds later, as the engines of the first F/A-18 roared with an intensity like no other, it was shot into the morning sky leaving a trail of condensation from the launch rail. The second aircraft lined up, Zaynie lining her steel bird with the launch apparatus which soon enough launched it off, the aircraft pitching up and on an onward trajectory. Major Ryan was next. He looked to the ground crew then the sailors all gathered upon the superstructure. He gave a salute and then turned back to the horizon. Just a few seconds later, his aircraft launched itself into the misty atmosphere. Ryan pitched her up, the engines screaming right behind them as the plane ascended at a steep trajectory.

3000 ft.

5000ft.

8000ft.

He pitched it back down as the aircraft approached its rendezvous altitude of 11,000 ft. The airframe rattled with the stresses induced. “Jesus Ryan!” The weapons officer commented, trying to hold in the contents of his breakfast as the plane levelled off following its steep climb. “Just wait till we are dodging missiles from S-400s.”

“Don’t remind me.” The ensign groaned whilst Ryan pulled the aircraft into formation.

“Let’s not try and crash on the first day, Racer,” Zaynie commented over the radio comm.

“If anyone’s going to crash, it’s you or Bob.”

“Says the one who buzzed the tarmac twice.” Zaynie retorted back. “And Bob isn’t even flying.” The squadron commander’s voice crackled over the radio. Major Ryan cocking his head to one side to see yet more aircraft. A mix of F/A-18 hornets and E/A-18 Growler Electronic Jamming aircraft joined the strike group. A grin spread across the Major’s face.

“Ready to kick some ass?” The mission commander spoke, lining his aircraft in the lead of the wing formation. “Conn, this is Raider Actual, we are prepped in position.”

“Godspeed Raider Actual.” The voice from the carrier came through each of the pilot’s headsets. “Due course 120. Follow on my lead, Raiders.” The squadron commander spoke, angling his aircraft to face the designated heading. “Activate EW assets.” The mission and squadron commander issued. The aircraft is tracking along in due course. A total of 40 strike aircraft were part of this package which would attack in coordination with strikes in Vladivostok, Kaliningrad, St. Petersburg, and Murmansk.

“Copy that.” Came a voice from one of the pilots. The 7 E/A-18 Growlers switched to active jamming. Sending out a flurry of data in an attempt to confuse anyone attempting to lock onto them and possibly blow them out of the sky.

“This is home-based actual. Launching Tomahawks. Godspeed gentlemen.” Came the voice from the strike group as Bob, the weapons officer, glanced back before looking at his radar display and tacview. The strike group’s 6 destroyers let out a deluge of cruise missiles which skimmed right over the surface zipping forward. “L-45 minutes to impact. Operation Hades is in motion.” The mission leader’s voice echoed through. Ryan sighed. Pretty much everyone felt the weight this mission carried on their shoulders. These F/A-18s were going to fly into the teeth of the Russian black sea fleet and its command centres. Into the best S-400 and S-300 systems.

“Racer.” A voice came over.

“Racer.” It repeated. “Ryan, can you hear me?” Came the voice, finally snapping the major from his trance. “S-Sorry.” Major Ryan stuttered. “Baseplate, what’s the matter.”

Zaynie sighed audibly before she responded. “Well, we got a long flight.” She spoke as Ryan flicked through some of the controls.

“I mean, we have flown trans-Atlantic…” The Major responded, watching the horizon with the 120 or so markers denoting the tomahawk cruise missiles. “You seriously comparing the two?” She responded with a scoff. “I don’t want to but honestly we don’t have much else to compare to.” He responded. Glancing to both the wings to see their payload. 2 LRASMs. The Navy’s brand new anti-ship missile. “Look, John, I’ve known you since basic training and the ROTC. I remember how you changed and I know there’s something wrong.” She spoke, running through her controls. “Now we are the tip of the spear leading a strike into the Russian Federation.”

“So we are escalating to de-escalate but we will not use nuclear weapons unless our survival is threatened?”

“Okay… John, you’re a smart guy.” She began. “You know that the guy in the Kremlin has gone insane. We need to give him a shot across the bow.”

“More like to the bow.” John let out a little smile.

Zaynie chuckled. “It’s the best course of choice for what happened. They unleashed submarine warfare on any ship leaving Ukraine. They sabotaged our communications and supply lines and launched a missile strike—” She was cut out partway.

“At Helsinki and Gotland. I know.” Ryan sighed. “They wanted to give NATO a warning shot.”

“Looks like they failed.” Came the response. Ryan glanced at his map view. They were speeding towards the target. Right behind them were yet more squadrons from a combined NATO task force. “Our B-2s should be there soon I’m guessing.” He muttered.

“They’ll hit the same time as our tomahawks.”

Suddenly a blaring sound echoed through the cockpit. “They’re trying to lock onto us,” Bob spoke.

“Raider Actual, we have a lock from a Russian navy frigate. Standing by to engage.”

The response was almost instant as a voice called out. “BOGEY!” came the voice from Bob. “2 Bogeys. Clear to engage.”

Zaynie’s aircraft, Baseplate responded. She peeled off the formation. “Engaging contact.” She spoke, locking the target as she dove the plane to the deck. Racer taking the initiative and following on the way down. “Ready to engage. Copy. Provide EW support.” Ryan spoke.

“Roger that, providing EW.” Came the voice from one of the Growlers. “2 Contacts on us Ryan!” Zaynie spoke, levelling the aircraft off and banking sharply to the right. “Deploy chaff and flares!” Ryan added, turning his own aircraft as the missiles blitzed toward them. “Contacts 10 o’clock!” Came the voice from the squadron commander. “4 SU-35 Interceptors heading at full afterburner.”

“Copy that. We will stick to the target.” Ryan responded. “Deploying ASMs,” Zaynie spoke before releasing the trigger. Ryan watched the missile drop a few feet before its engines lit up. The aircraft peeled off. “Ryan fire ASMs!” She yelled out.

He pressed the weapon release, the missile dropping from the left wing before he too peeled away from the attack. “Flares!” He yelled as one of the missiles raced towards him. He felt pushed into his seat through the sharp manoeuvre as blood seemed to drain from his skull. Suddenly, there was a bright flash. “Splash one bogey!” The voice came from Bob as the missile impacted with one of the flares. Ryan turned his eye to the ship, just in time to notice what was coming as he counted down in his head. 3… 2… 1. A massive explosion rattled the ship followed by another. The vessel shot out of the water with an immense explosion before the second missile slammed into its superstructure. The ship erupted in a massive fireball as the two aircraft pulled away. “Splash!” Bob called out as their aircraft re-joined with the strike package now assuming a defensive posture. Soon joined by Baseplate.

“6 SU-35s heading towards us at full afterburner,” Bob explained through the readout. They still had one Anti-Ship ordinance available on this aircraft. “Bob, switch targeting to aerial targets. Arm the AIM-10s and get weapons hot.” Ryan declared, turning his HUD to see the markers before turning to the tactical display. The RWR blared in his cockpit. “Contact!” He yelled out, assuming it was another aircraft at first before it accelerated to Mach 2 and began tracking directly toward the squadron. Then 3 more contacts popped up before the Russian contacts seemed to bank sharply to the right. “Fox Three and crank the hell outta’ here!” Came the voice from the squadron commander as they pitched their aircraft up before Ryan pressed the trigger on his cockpit. The air-to-air missile dropped from the wing pylon before it shot forward and towards its target. Ryan then banked his aircraft to the left and down. Attempting to drag the enemy missiles down with him. He pushed the throttle to full afterburner, the aircraft lunging forward before it sped toward the ground. “CHAFF! FLARES!” He called out, smashing the button on the right of the cockpit window as streams of hot flares shot from the aircraft. The aircraft turned left, followed closely by another. Callsign Jaguar. “SPLASH ONE!” A voice came as one of2 the missiles slammed into a SU-35, shredding the aircraft and engulfing it in a massive fireball. “HELL YEAH!” A voice came over the comms. “Contacts!” the weapons officer spoke. Two more missiles speeding towards them. “FOXBAT!” He yelled, the missile closing in on the aircraft. The pilot sharply yanked the controls before the missile slammed into the flares. “SPLASH TWO!” Another voice came, one more SU-35 blowing itself apart. Just then, there was a flash from Ryan’s eye, he banked his aircraft towards it, cocking his head to see one of the Growlers tumbling uncontrollably towards the sea.

“MAYDAY! MAYDAY!” A voice stuttered before the canopy of the aircraft split, only appearing to Ryan as a speck. “We just lost a growler!” Ryan spoke, checking the skies for a parachute. There was none. The burning pyre of the aircraft slammed into the ocean with a splash.

“SPLASH THREE!” A voice came over the comm, Ryan turned his aircraft back to lock on one of the SU-35s before firing another missile. “Fox three!” He called out, looking to his right to see an aircraft just by his right. Baseplate. Ryan smiled.

“Fox Two!” Came a voice from Zaynie over the comm. Before Ryan could respond, Bob practically screamed. “SPLASH FOUR!” He smiled. Seeing the missile they shot out impacted the target. “You’re at two kills now, Major.” He smiled, a grin across his face not to mention a ship.”

“Don’t cheer about it Bob,” Ryan spoke, sombre and concise. “Baseplate, take them out.” He spoke. “No need sir,” Zaynie responded. Watching the remaining two aircraft stalked down by a pair of missiles. “Guess Baseplate’s getting her first kill!” He chuckled, the aircraft zipping through the sky at breakneck speed. The jet banked hard to the left before it pitched up. Trying to dodge another missile that trailed after Ryan’s aircraft. The plane switched to full afterburner, the plane rattling as a layer of condensation formed around the wings and nose of the aircraft. “Bandits!” Came the voice from Bob. “Shit! 3 Bandits, closing fast.” He spoke while Ryan attempted to chase down an enemy aircraft. “Let me get this bastard.” He whispered under his breath, yanking the joystick back before he half-pressed the trigger before spoke in a low, calculating voice. “Fox-3!” He said, as the SU-35 he was tagging deployed clouds of chaff and flares. The missile struck home, right over the aircraft’s trail. With the explosion, the aircraft broke in two before it disintegrated into the ocean. “SPLASH!” Bob called out, cheering.

“3 kills already Ryan? Racer’s calling the shots.” Came the recognizable voice. “You’re on track to being the first ace of this war.” Zaynie finished as they flew back up to regroup with the formation.

For one kill, they took out 5 bandits and caused the newly arriving ones to assume a defensive posture.

“What can I say,” Ryan smirked, levelling his aircraft out. “3 counted splashes. SU-35’s.” He reported to a round of cheers from the rest of the squadron pilots. “Tomahawks almost to impact!” Called out the squadron commander. “They’re engaging our missiles.” He spoke.

“Let’s hope they soften their defences up before we have to go in,” Bob commented. “Engels, we have launched to saturation, and knowing their air defence capabilities, we will succeed. The problem is, we have company.” Zaynie responded. Ryan glanced at his radar view before she continued. “8 Bandits heading towards us. Thankfully our boys in Turkey are lending us some fire support.” She spoke. “We should hold here, wait for our F-22s and F-35s. Send the Vipers to deal with these guys for now and we should be in missile range soon enough.” She explained.

“Our orders are to go in and deploy the munitions. The Vipers need to deploy the SEAD package.” The commander responded. “We need the support, the Russians will aim at taking us out first.” She contested.

“Right now, we are to proceed,” Rogers responded. The Lieutenant Colonel said, understanding the full gravity of the situation.

“BOGEY!” Engels called out, Ryan glancing at his display. 12 missiles tracking towards them. These bandits were letting out their full payload at the NATO strike group. Missile after missile raced toward the strike package. “Fire in kind.” Commander Rogers responded, the planes lofting the missiles into the air before they turned and began to crank. Having slowed his aircraft down earlier, Ryan sped his plane back up to full afterburner before the plane began to dive to the deck with the rest of the squadron, attempting to drag the enemy missiles down with them. Then another voice came. This time from one of the other pilots. Callsign Taser. Ensign Roy Martinez practically yelled over the comm, glancing at the cockpit. “BANDITS!” He spoke as another group of aircraft closed in. “4 MIG 29s!” He spoke, the aircraft attempting to sandwich the squadron before the one to their front and the sea. “Taser, hold off on them. They’re not in weapons envelope yet.” Zaynie reminded, glancing at her weapons readout. She was running critically low on her AIM-120s. Only two left on each of the wings.

The Fulcrums and Su-35s closed in on their weapons envelope as the squadrons broke up and deployed countermeasures in an attempt to confuse their advanced targeting radars. “Flares!” Ryan called out, smashing the button on the side of his cockpit before streams of hot burning flares ejected as the two missiles trailing him smashed into the flares. “ROY!” Yelled out a voice over the comm-net. Taser’s aircraft turned a hard right before one of the missiles slammed into his wing before the aircraft’s rear elevator cascaded into the sea. The ejection seat onboard the aircraft shot the pilot out at blistering speed before a bright orange canopy deployed, bringing it back down into the sea. “Ranger down. Callsign Taser. Calling for S&R assets.” The squadron commander spoke, his voice rushed as he dodged his own volley of missiles which flew directly toward them. A whole array of dives and banks forced the blood to drain from their skull and the airframe to bend and rattle. It’s horrible groaning evident to Ryan. “Bandit!” Called out the weapons officer as Ryan manoeuvred his aircraft to within the weapons envelope of one of the Su-35s. He chased the bird through the sky, the plane ratcheting with the jetwash of the Sukhoi. “C’mon…”

“He’s almost on your tail!” Came the voice from Baseplate, Ryan just responded coldly. “Let me do this.” He spoke, checking both his wings before half-pressing the trigger as the Hornet attempted to lock onto its target. “Let me do this.” He muttered, just before letting out a withheld breath and squeezing the trigger. The missile dropped from the belly of the aircraft. “Fox 3!” He called banking left while keeping an eye on the Sukhoi. The AIM-10 raced towards its target faster than the advisory could manoeuvre out of its grasp. “SPLASH!” The missile arced up, through a cloud of chaff and flares before it impacted the aircraft square in its midsection. Ripping it clean in half with an intense fireball. “Way to go! You’re almost there to being an ace!” Zaynie commented.

Ryan chuckled back, pumping his fist into the air. 4 kills already? He could hardly believe it himself.

“Ryan, watch out! That bastard’s almost in weapons envelope himself.” Bob spoke as Ryan attempted to steer the aircraft out of range from the Sukhoi rapidly closing on his tail. It could very well launch a missile but it seemed like it wanted a guaranteed kill. The aircraft yawed left and right, aiming to catch Racer on its tail. “He’s trying to catch on!” Bob yelled, just a few seconds later having a blare from the onboard RWR system. “BOGEY!” He called out as Ryan sharply yanked the aircraft, flicking the throttle as far as it would go before pitching it up. Felt the strain the intense forces put on his body as the plane climbed rapidly and then swung into a sharp turn. The two felt as if they were almost crushed by the massive forces pushing back against them. Like something attempting to strangle them from within. Bob’s vision seemed to blur, Ryan barely keeping his own in check while they pulled turn after turn. Manoeuvre after manoeuvre which subjected their bodies to the intense G-Forces of high G evasive manoeuvre at near supersonic speed.

“BOGEY!” Bob yelled out in a strained, suffocating voice while another missile sped straight toward them. “CHAF! FLARES!” Ryan called out, slamming his fist on the button to a click in response. “Shit!” He responded in sheer frustration. They would need a miracle to dodge this now with absolutely no countermeasures.

“Grab that ejection handle!”

“W—” The weapons officer stumbled, hoping he would never have to pull the toggles that would shoot him out of the aircraft at breakneck speed. Ryan pitched the aircraft up, aiming to gain some altitude to at least try and outmanoeuvre these missiles. One of them took the bait, crashing into the sea whilst the other remained on course. “God hopes this bastard doesn’t have another one,” Ryan muttered.

“Hold on!” Came a recognizable voice. Ryan was too focused on trying to dodge the incoming threat, however. “We can’t use ground clutter to confuse him.” The major spoke, pulling what was probably the harshest turn yet. The two feel as if their lungs would pop like two balloons. Ryan watched his vision close in, the aircraft drooping as the beeping on the RWR sped up. Growing in pitch which reverberated through his eardrums. “Pull the ejection handle when I tell you, Bob!” He yelled back, the ensign clutching the handle as if his life depended on it. Just before Ryan was about to give the command, there was a loud, jet-like whine approaching. Another series of beeps equally baffled both of them. A large, grey aircraft sped just atop theirs, letting out a stream of chaff and flares that glowed in their orange streaks. The missile split off, Ryan growing a smile across his face as he noticed the radar view. Who else but his trusty comrade? “Way to go Zaynie!” He pumped his fist into the air, watching the missile trail off for a few seconds but before he could get a response, his whole demeanour changed. The missile which was targeting him locked onto the aircraft, Baseplate.

There was no hope for the Hornet, the missile locking straight on before slamming into its wing. Ryan just watched, paralyzed. “MAYDAY!” Came a voice over the communication net before the cockpit of the aircraft shot off and the twin seats shot up into the air at near transonic speed. “Ranger down! Callsign Baseplate!” Engels explained. Watching the aircraft careen into the ocean. Impacting with a towering explosion.

The Major flew his aircraft low, spotting a fluttering and struggling parachute cascading down through the wind. He watched for a response. Glancing at the figure that didn’t seem to move within the ejection seat. The other in the back, well he couldn’t make them out either. The chute seemed to sway on one side, a few of its segments seemingly ripped, or melted together. “Callsign Baseplate, do you read?” He asked, depressing the talk button on his own flight suit. No response. “Callsign Baseplate. Do you copy?” He spoke, the aircraft making several spiralling turns over the ocean as the ejected seats came down with a splash before turning on their backs and the ripstop nylon of the parachute lining the ocean top. Rocked by the gentle waves and the breeze down at the ocean floor.

“Requesting S&R on the current splash,” Bob spoke, his own voice shaken as their aircraft sped away and towards the rest of the squadron for yet another battle.

“Fulcrums closing on weapons.” Came the voice from one of the Growler pilots. “Strikers, stand by to engage.” The squadron commander responded. Ryan just glared at the map view. That bastard got away. All he wanted to do was strangle that son of a bitch right in his seat and make him pay for what he did. “I’m staying to cover,” Ryan announced, splitting his aircraft off from the squadron’s formation. “Racer, we can’t afford this right now.” Commander Rogers spoke back.

“Major, this is disobeying an order by a superior commanding officer. A court-martial offence. And your aircraft is out of countermeasures. I would advise you to head back now and wait for us to finish this battle.” One of the Growler pilots responded. Callsign Looking Glass. The plane stayed, orbiting over the crash site before he turned to face the Mig-29 head-on. Cranking his afterburner to full before flicking a couple of switches on his control panel. This was for his comrades.

“I’ll blow these bastards to kingdom come.” He spoke, two other aircraft joining into the formation. Ryan’s aircraft was critically low on missiles. Just one remained along with his LRASM which he was carrying. The Major glanced at the fuel gauge. “We have to ditch the ASM. Now.” He spoke, noticing they barely had enough fuel to get back to the carrier now. Let alone past a dog fight. “Granted Major.” Commander Rogers spoke back. Ryan glanced around his display for any potential high-value targets. Then nodded. “Destroyer. 200 miles NW. Permission to engage.” He said in his deathly cold voice.

The whole squadron went silent for a moment. “Permission to engage.” Came a voice from the carrier. “Sink her.” The voice continued.

Racer and another one of the aircraft, Juliet, split off before they flicked the switches on the control panel. A group of ground attack variants converging on the lone ship. “BOGEY!” A voice screamed as three missiles rained from the Fulcrums before locking their targets and beginning their journey to intercept the strike group. Ryan nodded, just ignoring them for now before he pushed the first button. The first Anti Ship Missile dropped from the wing pylon and lit its engines. Making its way toward the black sea fleet destroyer. Then pulling off the attack. “Missile away!” He commented.

“We should make our way back,” Bob spoke, with concern tainting his voice.

“Rangers, we are splitting off. Bob, find us the closest plot.” He spoke whilst 3 anti-ship missiles raced towards the destroyer. “Blow that son of a bitch.” Ryan hissed, hungry for revenge. Ryan climbed, making his way back towards the carrier once he had clearance to do so. This mission was both a success and a punch in the gut for him. He would never get to destroy the targets set but would annihilate 4 Bandits and a naval frigate. The destroyer was a long shot. “Update on S&R?” He questioned.

“S&R available in 3 hours.” The carrier responded to a stream of obscenities from him. He sighed… He hated this reality, and what he was. He loved and hated his job, of course, he would love serving his nation, that being the reason he signed up out of High School.

Ryan shuddered, the Hornet making its way back as it broke away from the engagement which the rest of the aircraft would swoop into, and began the long way back to the aircraft carrier just outside the Bosporus. The Raptors should be there any minute.

Racer approached the carrier, its gleaming lights recognizable from miles away as he swooped in for an approach. The Hornets survived a massive engagement against arguably one of a few Tier One air forces. He pitched the aircraft down, his heart beating faster and faster as the plane came down gracefully towards the approach. The carrier’s flight deck grew larger with each moment Racer drew closer. “Final approach.” He announced, expertly lining the runway with the aircraft’s nose before conducting a smooth landing, caught by the carrier’s arrestor system which halted the plane in its tracks. Ryan pulled his visor off to a round of applause. He had become an overnight sensation onboard the Roosevelt. Met by crowds of seamen who swarmed the flight deck whilst some still launched aircraft off its massive spanning ramp. The loud WOOSH of the carrier’s steam catapult with each launch. These behemoths never slept. Ryan smiled. “Weapons refit.” He announced, stepping out of the Hornet and heading down the ladder placed right beside it. He leaned up against one of the landing gear with a sigh. The weapons officer climbed out with a similar reaction.

“You really made history, Major!” Came the voice of the Admiral. Admiral Joseph Marques. The much taller Samoan approached him with a firm hand. “We are sending out assets for S&R. But this mission was tougher than any of us expected.”

“The bastards won’t push over Admiral,” Ryan responded, offering a firm handshake in response before a crisp salute followed. “We need her refitted and refuelled. Missed that Destroyer but it was worth trying.” He commented. “You strike group sunk her.” The Admiral responded. “Including almost the whole black sea fleet and the port of Sevastopol is a burning pyre by now.” The Russians just lost 17 ships in one engagement including Admiral Makarov. Their flagship and pride of their fleet. The Ukrainians began a massive bombardment of Russian positions all over the front, we are set to win this war before it starts.” The Admiral explained. “Now c’mon Racer, time to kick some ass!” Admiral Marques said with a proud smile. Jutting his chin out in confidence. “Keep this up and you’ll have a meeting with the President.”

“And one with your therapist!” Bob chuckled, resulting in a series of guttural laughs from the few high-ranking staff.

“Don’t forget about yourself, Engels. Your Major here really kicked some ass with your help!” The Admiral iterated. “Anyway, you men head off for some R&R while ours refit this bird. You should be back out in 30.” One of the petty officers spoke, leading the two into the superstructure of the massive aircraft carrier. The steel door opened to reveal narrow passageways which snaked to the Ready Room. The two propped their flight suits on specialized racks before continuing down towards the officer’s mess and sat down. Ryan just sighed, placing his head in his hands as he wiped beads of sweat from his face. Just hoping they got her by now.

“I’ll head to the balcony,” Ryan spoke, getting up before heading up the stairs and down another series of snaking hallways which terminated at a lookout over the flight deck. The loud thumping of rotor blades as the Sh-60 Seahawk helicopter touched down. The crew unloading a stretcher from within. He caught his breath for a moment, startled as a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Not all of them were so lucky, Major.”

Ryan turned, glancing at Petty Officer Jacobs. The man had been a maverick of a pilot just like him. But he ascended through the ranks faster than Ryan could ever hope to. “Karl, I understand. Did they get her back?” He asked Jacobs, glancing at him puzzled.

“Baseplate.”

Karl just stayed silent, the Petty officer knowing too well not to answer questions of this sort. He knew Zaynie himself. She was a hell of a pilot, to say the least, and to hear that her plane was downed this day and they still had no trace left a painful scar. “Did they?” Ryan questioned, looking back to the deck.

“No. They just began S&R after our second wave of Tomahawks pummelled their runways and once the B-2′s sent them to kingdom come.” Jacobs began. “It might be several hours but the Turkish coast guard and navy are hard at work to find them.”

Ryan cursed under his breath. Looking over the deck of the carrier. Watching the chopper hooked up a fuel line whilst other aircraft whizzed right past. The whole flight deck was still abuzz with a flurry of activity. Every few minutes a loud screech at the jets was launched from the runway and the clank of the recovery cables snagged back into position. Waves of new aircraft joined. “Heard the Romanians and Poles pummelled the shit out of Belarus,” Jacobs commented after a moment, amazed at the sheer firepower these aircraft fielded. “What’s been their response.”

“President Ivanov has stated his country is now at War with NATO and any nations who struck. They launched hundreds of their own missiles at Finland, Sweden, The Baltics, and Poland. Especially Poland.” The Major hissed, running his fingers across the rail which separated him from the drop straight to the flight deck.

“We hit them hard. I heard ever their Baltic fleet took serious damage. They sunk a destroyer though. One of our Burkes was torpedoed by a Russian submarine in the black sea and she went down. I don’t think they got the sub.”

“Motherfucker…” Ryan spoke through clenched teeth, looking away slightly. “Give me updates on the rescue efforts. I have to get ready to fly my next Sortie.”

“The rest of your squadron took a beating but they should be heading back. I suggest you wait until they are up and ready to go.”

Johnathan Ryan nodded, then sighed, turning to the door and heading back downstairs.