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++1450…Falcon’s talons++
The two f16 ‘Fighting Falcons’ came out of their turn and were headed directly toward the waypoint sent to them from base. This was a close air support mission helping out some ground troops in trouble. For this, first Lt Vance call sign ‘Stryker’ and his wingman, first Lt Hagerson call sign ‘Barney’ selected 500 lbs ‘dumb’ bombs…not very different than those used fifty years ago. Though they were called ‘dumb’ as they were not guided to their target once released, the advanced electronics, radar, and targeting system of this fighter could allow it’s pilots to put this type of ordinance right on the money. Also, since their target was only a spot on the map, they had nothing to ‘lase’ or otherwise lock onto for their more advanced weapons…the laser guided munitios needed to have either someone else, or the pilot, keep a laser pointed at the target so the bomb could ‘fly’ itself to it. The radar guided ‘Mavericks’ needed some object to lock onto with either the map in the cockpit, or on the heads up display. These missiles were primarily used for anti building or vehicle roles. The ‘Durendal’ anti runway bombs were for just that…they buried themselves deep into the ground…specifically runways, entrenched bunkers, or bridge foundations before they went off. Again, no good for this role. The cluster bombs they carried as well would be perfect for this type of mission, but due to their large damage radius and close proximity of the good guys to the target area, they would not work either. Neither one had any flammable or napalm based ordinance, so good ole fashion 500 lbs bombs chock full of explosive goodness will just have to do.
“We are 45 seconds away from target’ Stryker said to the airbase controller.
“Roger. Time to bring home the bacon’ The radio operator replied
Stryker and Barney both punched in the coordinates of where they wanted the bombs to land on their onboard computer and nav map. Once typed in, the HUD then displayed a long, vertical line across the aiming reticle. It was very simple. The closer they got to their target, the faster the ‘top’ of this line would shrink. When the top of the line intersected with the aiming reticle, then that was when they released their presents.
Crawford and company heard the distinctive sound of jet aircraft overhead. They knew that the canopy of the jungle made it almost impossible to tell where they sound was coming from, and in most cases, by the time you heard the noise, it was too late.
“GET DOWN!” He yelled, and immediately dove for any cover he could find. He hoped that the rest complied.
The sound grew louder in a mere seconds, until it was deafening. Then, the ground shook. They did not really ‘hear’ the explosions as much as they ‘felt’ it. Everything around them seemed to be enveloped within this ground shaking explosion.
A few seconds later, Crawford looked up. He heard nothing but a loud ringing noise in his ear. The world around him turned into a soundless void. Smoke was everywhere. He looked around. Brooke lay close by, and did not move. Connor was looking at him, and mouthing some words.
It wasn’t until a few seconds later that he realized that Connor was not mouthing the words, but yelling at him about something. Slowly, the ringing subsided, and Connors voice, although barely, could be heard.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” he asked?
“Yeah, im fine” He replied “Casualties?”
“I thin” His sentence was interrupted by the bullet that entered the side of Connor’s face. Blood and flesh erupted all over Crawford.
The loonies, those that survived anyway, were advancing on their position.
Crawford immediately began firing on the advancing force. “CAMELOT, THIS IS LANCE ONE” he yelled into his mike.
“Lance one, this is Camelot. What is your status”
“WE ARE BEING OVERRUN! WE HAVE CASUALTIES, REQUEST IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION”
“Lance one, say ag” His radio went out. Apparently his receiver had took some damage. Around him his squad was firing their weapons at whatever targets presented themselves. He was unsure how many loonies remained. He continued to fire.
The battle ensued for what seemed like an eternity. After about 30 minutes, the Cobra gunships and blackhawks were on site. Each aircraft firing its weapons surrounding the area where yellow smoke emerged from the jungle. They could still here the fighting going on underneath them. The yellow smoke was a smoke grenade used by one of Lance one to show their position….
++0700, the next day++
Sergeant, First Class Musson stepped off the ‘slick’ as it landed. Solders, working in the morning haze somberly went about their job. Unloading some supplies, and replacing them with three dead bodies. Musson glanced the tag of one as it was loaded.
“Crawford” It stated.
A young private came up to the new sergeant and greeted him. “Sergeant Musson? I am Private Turner. Captain Martin wants to see you in the command post right away”
Musson’s eyes did not stray from the body bags that were loaded onto the slick. Turner continued
“Yeah, that is the sergeant you are replacing. Poor bastard. Didn’t even last a day”
They hunched as they walked, a habit when working around helo’s, toward the command post.
The end.
The two f16 ‘Fighting Falcons’ came out of their turn and were headed directly toward the waypoint sent to them from base. This was a close air support mission helping out some ground troops in trouble. For this, first Lt Vance call sign ‘Stryker’ and his wingman, first Lt Hagerson call sign ‘Barney’ selected 500 lbs ‘dumb’ bombs…not very different than those used fifty years ago. Though they were called ‘dumb’ as they were not guided to their target once released, the advanced electronics, radar, and targeting system of this fighter could allow it’s pilots to put this type of ordinance right on the money. Also, since their target was only a spot on the map, they had nothing to ‘lase’ or otherwise lock onto for their more advanced weapons…the laser guided munitios needed to have either someone else, or the pilot, keep a laser pointed at the target so the bomb could ‘fly’ itself to it. The radar guided ‘Mavericks’ needed some object to lock onto with either the map in the cockpit, or on the heads up display. These missiles were primarily used for anti building or vehicle roles. The ‘Durendal’ anti runway bombs were for just that…they buried themselves deep into the ground…specifically runways, entrenched bunkers, or bridge foundations before they went off. Again, no good for this role. The cluster bombs they carried as well would be perfect for this type of mission, but due to their large damage radius and close proximity of the good guys to the target area, they would not work either. Neither one had any flammable or napalm based ordinance, so good ole fashion 500 lbs bombs chock full of explosive goodness will just have to do.
“We are 45 seconds away from target’ Stryker said to the airbase controller.
“Roger. Time to bring home the bacon’ The radio operator replied
Stryker and Barney both punched in the coordinates of where they wanted the bombs to land on their onboard computer and nav map. Once typed in, the HUD then displayed a long, vertical line across the aiming reticle. It was very simple. The closer they got to their target, the faster the ‘top’ of this line would shrink. When the top of the line intersected with the aiming reticle, then that was when they released their presents.
Crawford and company heard the distinctive sound of jet aircraft overhead. They knew that the canopy of the jungle made it almost impossible to tell where they sound was coming from, and in most cases, by the time you heard the noise, it was too late.
“GET DOWN!” He yelled, and immediately dove for any cover he could find. He hoped that the rest complied.
The sound grew louder in a mere seconds, until it was deafening. Then, the ground shook. They did not really ‘hear’ the explosions as much as they ‘felt’ it. Everything around them seemed to be enveloped within this ground shaking explosion.
A few seconds later, Crawford looked up. He heard nothing but a loud ringing noise in his ear. The world around him turned into a soundless void. Smoke was everywhere. He looked around. Brooke lay close by, and did not move. Connor was looking at him, and mouthing some words.
It wasn’t until a few seconds later that he realized that Connor was not mouthing the words, but yelling at him about something. Slowly, the ringing subsided, and Connors voice, although barely, could be heard.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” he asked?
“Yeah, im fine” He replied “Casualties?”
“I thin” His sentence was interrupted by the bullet that entered the side of Connor’s face. Blood and flesh erupted all over Crawford.
The loonies, those that survived anyway, were advancing on their position.
Crawford immediately began firing on the advancing force. “CAMELOT, THIS IS LANCE ONE” he yelled into his mike.
“Lance one, this is Camelot. What is your status”
“WE ARE BEING OVERRUN! WE HAVE CASUALTIES, REQUEST IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION”
“Lance one, say ag” His radio went out. Apparently his receiver had took some damage. Around him his squad was firing their weapons at whatever targets presented themselves. He was unsure how many loonies remained. He continued to fire.
The battle ensued for what seemed like an eternity. After about 30 minutes, the Cobra gunships and blackhawks were on site. Each aircraft firing its weapons surrounding the area where yellow smoke emerged from the jungle. They could still here the fighting going on underneath them. The yellow smoke was a smoke grenade used by one of Lance one to show their position….
++0700, the next day++
Sergeant, First Class Musson stepped off the ‘slick’ as it landed. Solders, working in the morning haze somberly went about their job. Unloading some supplies, and replacing them with three dead bodies. Musson glanced the tag of one as it was loaded.
“Crawford” It stated.
A young private came up to the new sergeant and greeted him. “Sergeant Musson? I am Private Turner. Captain Martin wants to see you in the command post right away”
Musson’s eyes did not stray from the body bags that were loaded onto the slick. Turner continued
“Yeah, that is the sergeant you are replacing. Poor bastard. Didn’t even last a day”
They hunched as they walked, a habit when working around helo’s, toward the command post.
The end.
Excellent stuff most enjoyable to read 
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