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Description
THE CONVOY

-"It's under that heavy AA, right by the side of the fifth starboard engine, you see it?"

A sharp sound in the headset indicates a missile launch. Blue Leader, my CO, has fired two Borstel anti-armour rockets at the battery that threatened the flank of the bomber's formation. A cloud of shrapnel appears right in front of my nose cone and the Mirage shakes as if enraged.

I soothe my fighter and dodge the next salvo, now aware of the flak gun's position on the zeppelin's broadside. My job: Keep the HMS Rose Bruford's automatic tracking system too busy to intercept the incoming wave of bombers. My blip enhancer is working at max efficiency, thus attracting a lot more enemy fire than I normally would like. The plastron's job is an ugly one.

Hawkes, my new wingman, separates himself from the formation. That's the signal. Turning off my blip enhancer, I push the throttle to its stops and follow him, sending the forty-six tons of my Mirage Two-Five interceptor in a spin, then a long dive along the enemy's hull. The Matra-Aerospatiale turbine roars as we skirt past defence spikes, radar dishes, loose cables that all conspire to put a rather brutal end to our existences.

A shriek cut off by parasites means we've lost someone... Incandescent debris rain down from Blue Five's position... And a Raven emerges from under the fireball. I immediately pull up, knowing that the enemy's aircraft and mine have really similar capabilities. As per most one-on-one air combat, the outcome will be determined by pilot ability alone.

The Raven is going after Hawkes. I need to give him more time... He's carrying the squadron's last Air Tortoise torpedo, and his target is the zeppelin's central fuel line. If he hits it, the Rose Bruford will be dead in the sky, and the convoy of blimps they're escorting will find itself cornered, without a warship to stop the Tigre, our ship, from boarding any number of them we like. Estimates and calculations run on my visor... At worst, he needs one minute ten seconds to get into position and fire. For the next seventy seconds, I'm the only chance he's got to get the job done: concentrated on dodging the obstacles littering the zeppelin's underside, he hasn't seen the black triangle descending upon him.

My dual 30mm Manhurin cannon isn't particularly well suited for marksmanship duty, so I slide in closer, trying to lock on my remaining Sirocco ASRAAM. Enemy fighter support seems to be increasing... The Rose Bruford has finally perceived that it wasn't a mere privateer attack, and launches more of its fighters. Red Squadron, the bomber team, has a clear shot on the hangar thanks to our plastron work, and the open doors of the launch bay seem to be inviting their rockets, but the bomber's formation was disrupted by Raven attacks, and they have trouble getting it right.

The visor turns red. Alert. Another Raven intent on protecting his friend... The whine of an alarm signals an incoming missile. Two choices: Freeing Hawkes from his agressor and getting blown out of the sky, or pulling up, dodging the missile and leaving my wingman to fend for himself, with a next to zero chance of success. So I wait until my own missiles lock on, and unleash the Sirocco at the enemy fighter, while switching my blip enhancer back on. As I pull back up, cashing in the maximum gee-load the Two-Five can take, I expect the impact. My hand's found the ejection control, but I know that bailing out won't really be an option: The battle is far from over, and if I'm not killed by the blast, or knocked out cold, and manage to eject, the C-SAR won't find me before the toxic clouds swallow my thrashing body.

A rectangular MISS signal confirms that I've let Hawke's pursuer loose too early. I also notice a significant lack of impact sensation in my plane... The missile sped past me and hit a scaffolding that held the Rose Bruford's fifth engine attached to the hull. The connecting spar starts to disintegrate in front of Hawke's Mirage, and he barely dodges the heavy metallic fragments that have started raining down. The Raven behind him, however, doesn't have the same chance... Fifty tons of half-molten steel hitting a small aircraft square in the cockpit usually end up in a very wrecked plane and a rather dense rain of spare parts. And this time is no exception to the rule.

A satisfying explosion near the central fuel line confirms that Hawkes has hit the mark. The Rose Bruford's engines slow down... Soon, the once proud warship will be reduced to a drifting cigar of titanic proportions, unable to steer or move

A triple and very loud "BANG" pulls me out of my euphoria. I'm hit. Main engine failing... I close the fuel intake and drop the auxiliary pod. Hydraulic system seems to be fine still, but without the turbine, everything is sluggish. It feels like the aircraft is swimming in jelly. And the Raven responsible for my demise isn't about to let go that easily... For the second time in three minutes, I have my hand closed around the ejection control. The crippled Mirage could theoretically carry me within the Tigre's Pedro range before I need to bail, but the enemy fighter is coming for another pass... And I can't call for aid, my radio is in pieces. That's only now that I notice the trail of blood seeping through my jumpsuit's knee joint... Shrapnel.

Another "BANG". This one is almost muted... And came with a surprising lack of shaking in my aircraft.

The Raven behind me seems to have eaten a bit too much of the debris I've been shedding. The explosion I just heard was his port turbine, choked by bits likely to be coming from mine. However, he's got a second engine... And I only had one. I try to dodge his shots, with mixed success. Impacts in the wings bring up more warnings. My canopy's cracked from a glancing impact, and I have cuts and bruises everywhere. There's blood in the cockpit, too much for my taste. But the plane is still somehow able to keep itself airborne, more or less. The hydraulics are getting worse by the second, but I am still (just) within the turbine-off manoeuvrability enveloppe. It won't last long, though...

Suddenly, the shots stop. Through the web of fractures in the canopy, I see the Raven banks and dashes away, a trail of black smoke following in the wake of its damaged turbine. My plane still has a consequent airspeed, so I bring it back to a more horizontal stance to try and keep as much of it as possible, nose sligthly up to benefit from the wind. I don't know what I owe my life to... Lack of fuel, perhaps?

Directly above me, a shadow occults the sun. Red Squadron. The Sarigue bombers are returning from the raid, and they have seen the trail of smoke left by my turbine.

According to the numbers, it's Red Five and Red Six that gently position their aircrafts behind me, and, slowly, proceed to "lend a wing" to my banged-up Mirage. Guy (Red Leader) positions his Sarigue over to my twos and explains, by handsigns, that I need to aid the movement by coordinating the steering between the three aircrafts. A bad move could lead to a midair collision, so we've got to be extremely careful. We agree on the simple handsigns, and, without much incidents, head back to the Tigre that profiles itself over the horizon.

Seems Hawkes has made it out too... His Mirage has enough fuel left to escort my free-flight back to the emergency nets, once the Sarigues have left me. As he banks towards an open recovery hook, I brace for the coming impact: Emergency nets are a set of fire-proof, carbon-fibre nets that can hold onto any fighter unable to make it to a hook, but this means a rather high-speed impact. Given the state of the harness, I can't really trust it to hold, and if it ruptures, I'm not sure I won't squash my face on my visor, like it'd happened to Corwin during one of his first missions... That would mean a facial reconstruction, and I already look like I'll be spending enough time with the medics. Impact in three, two, one...

Description
THE CONVOY

-"It's under that heavy AA, right by the side of the fifth starboard engine, you see it?"

A sharp sound in the headset indicates a missile launch. Blue Leader, my CO, has fired two Borstel anti-armour rockets at the battery that threatened the flank of the bomber's formation. A cloud of shrapnel appears right in front of my nose cone and the Mirage shakes as if enraged.

I soothe my fighter and dodge the next salvo, now aware of the flak gun's position on the zeppelin's broadside. My job: Keep the HMS Rose Bruford's automatic tracking system too busy to intercept the incoming wave of bombers. My blip enhancer is working at max efficiency, thus attracting a lot more enemy fire than I normally would like. The plastron's job is an ugly one.

Hawkes, my new wingman, separates himself from the formation. That's the signal. Turning off my blip enhancer, I push the throttle to its stops and follow him, sending the forty-six tons of my Mirage Two-Five interceptor in a spin, then a long dive along the enemy's hull. The Matra-Aerospatiale turbine roars as we skirt past defence spikes, radar dishes, loose cables that all conspire to put a rather brutal end to our existences.

A shriek cut off by parasites means we've lost someone... Incandescent debris rain down from Blue Five's position... And a Raven emerges from under the fireball. I immediately pull up, knowing that the enemy's aircraft and mine have really similar capabilities. As per most one-on-one air combat, the outcome will be determined by pilot ability alone.

The Raven is going after Hawkes. I need to give him more time... He's carrying the squadron's last Air Tortoise torpedo, and his target is the zeppelin's central fuel line. If he hits it, the Rose Bruford will be dead in the sky, and the convoy of blimps they're escorting will find itself cornered, without a warship to stop the Tigre, our ship, from boarding any number of them we like. Estimates and calculations run on my visor... At worst, he needs one minute ten seconds to get into position and fire. For the next seventy seconds, I'm the only chance he's got to get the job done: concentrated on dodging the obstacles littering the zeppelin's underside, he hasn't seen the black triangle descending upon him.

My dual 30mm Manhurin cannon isn't particularly well suited for marksmanship duty, so I slide in closer, trying to lock on my remaining Sirocco ASRAAM. Enemy fighter support seems to be increasing... The Rose Bruford has finally perceived that it wasn't a mere privateer attack, and launches more of its fighters. Red Squadron, the bomber team, has a clear shot on the hangar thanks to our plastron work, and the open doors of the launch bay seem to be inviting their rockets, but the bomber's formation was disrupted by Raven attacks, and they have trouble getting it right.

The visor turns red. Alert. Another Raven intent on protecting his friend... The whine of an alarm signals an incoming missile. Two choices: Freeing Hawkes from his agressor and getting blown out of the sky, or pulling up, dodging the missile and leaving my wingman to fend for himself, with a next to zero chance of success. So I wait until my own missiles lock on, and unleash the Sirocco at the enemy fighter, while switching my blip enhancer back on. As I pull back up, cashing in the maximum gee-load the Two-Five can take, I expect the impact. My hand's found the ejection control, but I know that bailing out won't really be an option: The battle is far from over, and if I'm not killed by the blast, or knocked out cold, and manage to eject, the C-SAR won't find me before the toxic clouds swallow my thrashing body.

A rectangular MISS signal confirms that I've let Hawke's pursuer loose too early. I also notice a significant lack of impact sensation in my plane... The missile sped past me and hit a scaffolding that held the Rose Bruford's fifth engine attached to the hull. The connecting spar starts to disintegrate in front of Hawke's Mirage, and he barely dodges the heavy metallic fragments that have started raining down. The Raven behind him, however, doesn't have the same chance... Fifty tons of half-molten steel hitting a small aircraft square in the cockpit usually end up in a very wrecked plane and a rather dense rain of spare parts. And this time is no exception to the rule.

A satisfying explosion near the central fuel line confirms that Hawkes has hit the mark. The Rose Bruford's engines slow down... Soon, the once proud warship will be reduced to a drifting cigar of titanic proportions, unable to steer or move

A triple and very loud "BANG" pulls me out of my euphoria. I'm hit. Main engine failing... I close the fuel intake and drop the auxiliary pod. Hydraulic system seems to be fine still, but without the turbine, everything is sluggish. It feels like the aircraft is swimming in jelly. And the Raven responsible for my demise isn't about to let go that easily... For the second time in three minutes, I have my hand closed around the ejection control. The crippled Mirage could theoretically carry me within the Tigre's Pedro range before I need to bail, but the enemy fighter is coming for another pass... And I can't call for aid, my radio is in pieces. That's only now that I notice the trail of blood seeping through my jumpsuit's knee joint... Shrapnel.

Another "BANG". This one is almost muted... And came with a surprising lack of shaking in my aircraft.

The Raven behind me seems to have eaten a bit too much of the debris I've been shedding. The explosion I just heard was his port turbine, choked by bits likely to be coming from mine. However, he's got a second engine... And I only had one. I try to dodge his shots, with mixed success. Impacts in the wings bring up more warnings. My canopy's cracked from a glancing impact, and I have cuts and bruises everywhere. There's blood in the cockpit, too much for my taste. But the plane is still somehow able to keep itself airborne, more or less. The hydraulics are getting worse by the second, but I am still (just) within the turbine-off manoeuvrability enveloppe. It won't last long, though...

Suddenly, the shots stop. Through the web of fractures in the canopy, I see the Raven banks and dashes away, a trail of black smoke following in the wake of its damaged turbine. My plane still has a consequent airspeed, so I bring it back to a more horizontal stance to try and keep as much of it as possible, nose sligthly up to benefit from the wind. I don't know what I owe my life to... Lack of fuel, perhaps?

Directly above me, a shadow occults the sun. Red Squadron. The Sarigue bombers are returning from the raid, and they have seen the trail of smoke left by my turbine.

According to the numbers, it's Red Five and Red Six that gently position their aircrafts behind me, and, slowly, proceed to "lend a wing" to my banged-up Mirage. Guy (Red Leader) positions his Sarigue over to my twos and explains, by handsigns, that I need to aid the movement by coordinating the steering between the three aircrafts. A bad move could lead to a midair collision, so we've got to be extremely careful. We agree on the simple handsigns, and, without much incidents, head back to the Tigre that profiles itself over the horizon.

Seems Hawkes has made it out too... His Mirage has enough fuel left to escort my free-flight back to the emergency nets, once the Sarigues have left me. As he banks towards an open recovery hook, I brace for the coming impact: Emergency nets are a set of fire-proof, carbon-fibre nets that can hold onto any fighter unable to make it to a hook, but this means a rather high-speed impact. Given the state of the harness, I can't really trust it to hold, and if it ruptures, I'm not sure I won't squash my face on my visor, like it'd happened to Corwin during one of his first missions... That would mean a facial reconstruction, and I already look like I'll be spending enough time with the medics. Impact in three, two, one...