Operation Pacifica: The Fall of Night
by Admiral J-Rock, TRES Corps




"I have neither met or heard of troops who can survive a night
  attack from the rear."  -- Bernard Newman, _The Cavalry Came Through_



DOBERMAN F/A-18 (CALLSIGN DRAGON 307)
SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN, 0035 HRS. FLEET TIME
DAY SEVEN OF OPERATION PACIFICA


# Motorhead "Death or Glory" _Bastards_


 The flash of guns and flares lit the night sky even more as the two
  fleets closed to firing range. As the Battle of the Jutland was being
  refought down below, something akin to the Battle of Britain was being
  refought in the skies. And J-Rock was in the thick of it.


 "jry, you got one on your six! Break left!"


 "This is Tiger 211! My left engine's hit! I'm losing fuel!"


 "Tiger 211, break hard right... now!"


 "Dragon 303 to leader.. instruments damaged.. I-I'm hurt bad.."


  J-Rock could not recall ever being in a battle this savagely
  contested. Neither side was willing to give a single inch. Shield flashes
  lit the waters around the _DFS Tsunami_ as it exchanged a murderous
  broadside with a B'Harnate battleship. Meanwhile, the venerable _DTT Iowa_
  broke the back of an enemy destroyer with a salvo of 16" shells. J-R also
  saw the _DFS Stephen Decatur_, even more screwed up than the _Freedom_,
  pepper a couple of frigates with Harpoon missiles. Yet another torpedo
  smacked into the _Decatur's_ hull, and the Luv Bomber that had launched it
  died horribly, spit upon a Sidewinder launched by a Tomcat.


 "Leader to all fighters," J-R sent, "protect the ships! Repeat,
  protect the ships!"


 "J-R! CHECK SIX!" Persephone shouted. He did this, and found a Luv
  Fighter parked on his tail. J-R slowed and nosed into a slow, seemingly
  stupid negative-G dive. When the Luv Fighter got a lock, he hit the
  afterburner and pulled up sharply into a loop, throwing the lock off as he
  came around onto the Luv Fighter's tail.


 "Now, ye of little grey matter," he muttered mockingly as he
  brought up the AMRAAM sight, "this is how it's done." The Luv Fighter tried
  to break away, but he was nowhere near J-Rock's caliber. J-R simply bled his
  speed off into a high-G yo-yo, came back onto his tail, locked on, and
  fired. The missile ran straight and true, burying itself into the right wing
  before exploding. "Bang," he said. "You're dead." Almost immediately after
  he said that, he winced and thought, 'Now _there's_ a cornball comic book
  phrase.'


 He took a breath. "Thanks, Perseph-- what's going on down there?"
  Finally having found the time to review the battle, he saw the biggest,
  baddest-looking Spongin battlewagon of them all sailing imperiously toward
  the Dobe Fleet.


 "You tell me, sir," she answered. "I only work here."


 The flagship began to glow from within, and a lime green aura
  surrounded the ship as most of the conventional battlewagon trappings faded
  away, leaving a malevolent-looking hulk floating in its place. In fact, one
  could say that it had a distinctly organic appearance to it.


 "Aw sneck," J-Rock said. "Lyrans."



# Armored Saint "Reign of Fire" _Symbol of Salvation_




 The lime green aura flared brightly three times before changing
  into a beam of raw eldritch force, impaling the _DFS Des Moines_ where it
  floated for a full three seconds. Then a massive sheet of flame ripped the
  _Des Moines_ from stem to stern, killing it and its crew almost instantly.


 Most every other ship in the Dobe Fleet sent whatever they could
  towards the flagship, seeking to punish it for its audacity. The _DFS Ames_
  alone sent ten Harpoons at it, and the _Iowa_ unleashed six of its 16" guns
  in its direction. However, a Nagenta-colored shield [1] flared into being.
  As soon as the smoke cleared, it still sailed on undamaged, mocking the
  Dobermenschen gunners.


 "My God," Persephone cried. "Samhain was on that ship!"


 "Get a grip, girl," J-R said calmly. "You can't help him now.
  Besides, it's nighttime. If Death had to take him again, it'd have to do it
  during the day because there's no way it could at night."


 "J-ROCK!" DS shouted. "YOUR NINE!"


 J-R broke left and nosed down into a split-S, watching the Luv
  Fighter's bullets miss by a mere fraction before pulling up and increasing
  the overall entropy of the universe (and of the Luv Fighter in particular)
  with a burst of pulse laser fire. "Thanks, DS," he said. "Damn enemy
  planes."


 "Nice shot. How many does this make for you?" Charc asked.


 "Never mind that. Just keep those planes from making torpedo runs
  on our boats!"


 "I'm picking up some torpedo boats headed this way!" Jim noted.


 "Shee-it. Jim, take Rat Squadron with you and take them out. The
  rest of you, keep your eyes open for those torpedo bombers! Mother Goose,
  we're gonna need some tankers up here fairly soon. Most of us are within
  five minutes of Bingo."


 "I'd love to help you," Tolkan said over the radio, "but I can't.
  We only have one catapult *oof* and that *crash* Lyran ship just sent a
  whole gaggle of Spounge--"


 In the background, Geoffries could be heard saying, "I say! Bloody
  hell!" and all sorts of choice British epithets and oaths while the sounds
  of close combat continued.


 "--Anyway, we'll try to send a tanker up ASAP. Mother Goose clear."


 J-Rock sighed. "Leader to all pilots. Keep an eye on your fuel
  gauges.  If you bingo, head back to the _Freedom_ immediately. It'd suck to
  have to ditch out here."



...



FIVE MINUTES LATER...


 The Lyran ship shook as explosions rocked the upper towers, and
  flames were soon pouring from many various large holes in them. At length,
  the ship made a tight turn to port and began to sail away, followed by every
  other ship in the B'Harnate fleet.


 "I have no idea how that happened," Charc declared, "but I'm not
  complaining about the results."


 "I don't believe it," DS dryly noted. "We won."


 "Yeah," J-R replied, "but at what cost?"


 "We can count that later," Yearnshaw interjected. "Right now, we'd
  better get back to the barn."


 As the members of that morning's recon flight formed up on each
  other, they soon voiced ribald praise for the _Freedom's_ support crew, for
  an A-6 tanker was seen taking off from the shattered flight deck. A quick
  straw poll of who needed refueling the most was taken, and Jim was the first
  to extend his refueling probe and partake of the liquid gold the A-6
  carried. After thirty seconds, he extended a refueling hose and basket of
  his own. "Tiger 201 is Texaco," he said. [2]


 At length, the fighters each had enough fuel for thirty more
  minutes of flight. "All planes, be advised, we only have one, repeat, one
  arrestor wire," the airboss said. "Make this trap count." Meanwhile, both
  rescue helicopters were working in shifts for the many "blue water diverts"
  that had to be made. As soon as one copter loaded up with ditching pilots,
  the other would head out.


 Then came the time for the group to land. DarkSide missed the wire
  on his first attempt, and the cries of "BOLTER-BOLTER-BOLTER!" echoed across
  the tacnet as DS pulled up and back into the pattern. Persephone succeeded
  on her first attempt, even though she had never made a "night trap" before.
  J-Rock got a wave-off as he tried to land, so back into the pattern he went.
  Finally, all but J-Rock had managed to make it aboard.


 "Mother Goose, bingo, 7 miles," he said as he made his last
  approach.  "Paddles" had already came up two miles before.


 "Hang in there, three-oh-seven," the LSO said calmly. "Come up and
  left slightly."


 "Ball, five miles."


 "Ok, looking good so far. Speed up some... ease right.. right
  there!"  Dragon 307's tailhook hit the deck before making it to the wire,
  throwing up a rooster-tail of sparks before the thing snagged the wire. J-
  Rock eased the throttle back to taxi speed, and caught a look at how much
  fuel he had left. It was the thinnest sliver of red in a mostly black gauge.
  He had been to the ragged edge, and made it. But he hardly cared about that.
  All he wanted to do was get some sleep. He set his flight helmet carefully
  on top of the instrument panel and climbed out. On the way back, he saw a
  familiar face. "You okay, sir?" it asked.


 "Yeah, Cochraine, I'm all right, considering what I just went
  through. You?"


 "Considering what I've been through," Cochraine said, hefting a
  Pancor Jackhammer auto-shotgun for emphasis, "better than average."


 "Then you won't mind if I become unconscious for the next 12
  hours," J-Rock replied languidly.


 "Of course not. Captain Geoffries, on the other hand-- LOOK OUT!"
  he shouted, throwing J-Rock to the ground as a Sponge-Minion climbed up the
  side of the hull and sprayed wildly with an MP-5. A few Doberman Marines on
  the flight deck returned fire with XRifles (tm). Seven bolts struck the
  Minion in the chest, rendering the corpse into a vaporized state beyond
  simple mere death.


 J-R pushed Cochraine off of him, only to get some blood on his
  hand.  Looking over at him, he saw that Cochraine had been shot in the back.
  Blood was running out the exit wound in his chest, and a good deal of it
  coated J-Rock's flight suit. "Corpsman!" J-R shouted as he knelt over
  Cochraine.


 Cochraine coughed.


 "Ssshh," J-Rock said. "Don't try to talk."


 "I thought we got all of them.." Cochraine murmured before he fell
  still and his eyes glazed over.


 J-Rock stood up and saluted the corpse lying on the broken flight
  deck. 'We'll get them for you,' he thought as a single tear streaked down
  his face, despite his best efforts to hold it in.



...



THE OBSCURE



[1] Nagenta is that not-quite-lavender, not-quite-mauve color that B'Harne's 
skin is. Well, except for the splotches of lime green.

[2] Texaco: radio communication meaning that someone else can refuel from 
another plane's fuel reserves.


To be continued in "The Hour of the Wolf"...