Notes from the Nosferatu Pilot: Here's my own rendition of "Going Hunting". I wanted to change some thing's and add other's to make some thing's more accurate, (Hornet's don't start fired up and waiting on the cat with open canopies) and I also wanted to do some thing's like fleshing out Hawkins' partner a little since we really don't have much on him.

Hope y'all enjoy, and feel free to leave a review.

2nd. Lt. Jennifer "Wedge" Hawkins- F/A-18F #102 WSO
October 31st, 0600 Zulu
USS George H.W. Bush, CVN-77, Persian Gulf
VFA-128 "Killer Sharks" Briefing Room

The four of us had been sitting in our squadron's briefing room in most of our flight gear for about an hour at this point as we were put on a five minute alert earlier on in the morning for a possible strike mission on an HVT we believed to be Faruk Al-Bashir, leader of the Iranian PLR Insurgency that seized power in the country. My partner, Captain James "Cowboy" Thorpe was manning the phone in case something happened. Thorpe and I flew under the squadron callsign of "Shark 4-6". The other two in the room were 1st. Lt. Ryan "Mike" Wazowski, and his WSO Aaron "Nuke" Richardson. Those two flew #108 under the callsign "Shark 4-2".

The phone that Thorpe was watching suddenly rang and cut through our boredom. The Captain picked it up and answered.

"VFA OneTwentyeight, Captain Thorpe here..." His Southern accent came out when speaking in his normal voice, or when he spoke in his "Pilot voice". It was on full display here.

"Alright...understood...aye sir, we're heading out."

Everyone in the room was now perked up as we awaited the news. Thorpe put the phone down and turned towards us, "We're launching now guys. Same mission, not some weak dick ground support. DASC is gonna fill is in airborne, but we are flying a strike mission over Tehran into Mehrabad Airpost. The intel guy's have sat images-they think they know where Al-Bashir is. Get your fangs out people, we're hunting big game today."

All of us immediately reached down to finish strapping our G-suit's on, then double checked each other's gear. We then threw on our JHMCS equipped flight helmet's and grabbed our flight bags that had the pre-loaded data cartridges we'd throw into our Super Hornet's systems, along with other necessary gear we needed for the flight. Richardson was closest to the bulkhead and went over to open the door for us.

Thorpe led the way with me following behind, Wazowski and Richardson pulling up the rear. Upon walking out the door we turned right and moved down the hall going starboard and up a few staircases as we made our way up to the Island so we could access Flight Deck. There were a few enlisted guys who stepped aside and saluted as we walked by. We returned their salutes. it wasn't really something we had to do, but to us it was just common courtesy and respect. Once we got near the Island Thorpe asked us all a question, "What's the pucker factor guys?" All of us answered with a range of 9.0-9.8 on the scale. My personal rating was a 9.7. Thorpe said his own was also a 9.7. We all nodded and got ready for the coming flight.

We got to the bulkhead that led to the Flight Deck. Thorpe walked over to the bulkhead and got to opening it, saying "Faruk Al-Bashir is about to have a really bad day." as he went. We all said something along the lines of "Hell yeah" in response as we walked onto through the threshold and onto the Flight Deck.

The Flight Deck was ablaze in activity as usual while the ship once again found its way into a storm. Seamen in various colored clothing that signified their jobs were moving all around the damp deck, but always stayed behind the Red and White foul lines that were painted on the deck while aircraft were recovered or launched, unless they had authorization to cross the line.

An E-2C Hawkeye AWACS was locked in to Cat 3 with an Electronic Warfare variant of the Super Hornet, the E/A-18G Growler, to it's left and behind it on Cat 4. The two Jetblast Deflector's at the front of the ship were raised up when we stepped on-deck. Two F/A-18F's were quickly launched off of Cat 1 and 2. The JBD for the Hawkeye raised up after the pilot did a control's wipeout and saluted the shooter off to his front right, the turboprop engines of the Hawkeye revving up and sounding like a swarm of angry bees as it's crew braced to launch.

We turned to our left and headed for the Patio at the back, right corner of the Flight Deck behind Elevator 3 near the Stern of the ship where our Hornet's were already prepped by the maintainer's and ready to be fired up and launched. We made our way through the crowd while the Hawkeye and Growler were quickly launched, the deck then clearing for an inbound wave of aircraft. We continued moving for our Super Hornet's, making sure to stay out of people's way while watching our step as we navigated around various aircraft and equipment.

Wazowski, and Richardson's Hornet was to the right of our's, both fighters loaded up with LITENING targeting pods and the same air-to-air loadout, however they differed in their ground-attack loadouts. Their jet was loaded up four, five-hundred pounder Mk 82 JDAM's, two AIM-120C AMRAAM's, two AIM-9X Sidewinder's, and four-hundred and twelve shells of 20mm. Armour-Piercing Incendiary for the nose-mounted M61A1. Our jet had the same air-to-air missiles and gun load, however we had four AGM-88 HARM Anti-Radiation missiles loaded up. The plan was for us to neutralize any enemy targeting radar's at the airport so 4-2 could get to work on anything that needed a bomb dropped on it.

We split off to our own jet's, the Maintainer's either finishing up some last minute checks, moving on to different jobs, or waiting with the Crew Chief's as they presented the pinbag's to us to show the ready state of our bird's. Thorpe briefly talked to the Crew Chief before we got to the pre-flight inspection. We walked around the jet and quickly checked various panel's, sections of the fuselage, component's, and physically moved each of the control surfaces to make sure they moved freely.

After the pre-flight the Maintainer's dropped the cockpit access ladder and hit the manual release that raised the canopy so we could embark and prep to launch. Thorpe clambered up the ladder and hopped in with me quickly behind. We stowed our gear and quickly strapped in to the Mk14 Ejection seat's with some help from the Maintainers.

"I got the lid." I called up to Thorpe. Neither one of us wanted to be sitting in a cockpit full of water.

"Got it, let's get this started." He answered as I flipped the switch that lowered the canopy and blocked anymore rain from coming in.

Thorpe signaled to the Crew Chief that he was ready for start-up. The Crew Chief nodded and made the hand signal command for the process to begin. Thorpe got the right engine started up before switching to internal power and getting the other cranked up. The sound of our jet's two F-414-GE-400 afterburning turbofan engines whining at idle power soon filled the air while we got to work running through the rest of the startup checklist. Our hand's danced around the cockpit as we flipped switches, hit button's, and punched data into our flight computer and weapon system.

Thorpe's voice came through my flight helmet's speakers, "How's it going in back?"

"All good. Ready to check flap's, stab's and get moving." I answered. I didn't have to visually check the control surfaces since that was really more of the pilot's job, but WSO's were basically just passengers until the action started. It gave me something to do and I had a better view since I was farther back.

Thorpe's voice filled my flight helmet as we got to it, "Alright, left side."

Thorpe rotated the stick around to move the elevators and ailerons while he kicked the rudder left and right with the rudder pedals, simultaneously flipping switches to manually cycle the flaps and leading edge slat's.

Everything moved, no hiccups, "Left is good."

"Okay good. How are we on right side?" The same process was repeated as I turned around in my seat to to look behind my right shoulder. Same result, all good, "Right's good."

"Affirm, checking on 4-2." Both of us then switched our radio's from the intercom to the frequency we had set up for communication between us and our wingman.

"4-6 to 4-2, radio check."

Wazowski's voice came through the radio, "4-2's got you five by five. We're locked and loaded." I saw Thorpe's head bob in a nod, "Let's rock and roll."

Thorpe then turned right and shot a thumb's up to the Plane Captain standing between our Hornet's near the tip of the nose, Wazowski performing the same action. The man nodded and backed up a few feet after making sure we were good to move to the catapult's. The Plane Captain signaled Wazowski to throttle up and move forward's. Their jet's engines whined up and began tugging the Hornet forwards. Once they had moved forwards enough to turn without hitting us or blowing us overboard with their jetblast, the Plane Captain signaled for them to turn right and begin moving down the flight deck.

4-2 was then passed on to another waiting Plane Captain down the deck while we were signaled to begin moving. We were passed around and down the deck until we neared the cat's. 4-2 was directed to Cat 3 while we were marshaled over and to Cat 4.

A Plane Captain got Thorpe lined up to Cat 4's shuttle before giving us the signal to unfold the wing's, drop the nose gear hook and continue forwards. We edged forward's until the hook fell into place at the front of the shuttle and the Plane Captain signaled to stop. He then signaled to the Green Shirt's to move in, do their check's, and set the bar behind the nose gear that would get us locked in to the shuttle. The Green Shirt's began moving away, adrenaline began going through my system as 4-2 roared to full burner and was launched next to us. I knew what was next.

Thorpe's voice came through the intercom again as the Shooter began the sequence for our launch, "Good Hydro's, good load, no out light's. Ready in back?

I answered back in the usual response I gave during our little launch ritual. "Let's burn this candle."

"Here we go. Salute, ready, now." Both of us shot up double handgun gestures and then saluted the Shooter to signal that we were ready. The Shooter pointed to us with his left hand while giving the signal to throttle up with his right. Thorpe pushed the throttles to full power while doing a control's wipeout. Catapult control then notified us that tension was being put on. Thorpe's voice filled the radio again as he put in full burner and braced, "Let's do this!" Both of us grabbed the handhold's on the side of the canopy rail's as the engine's continued to let out a deafening roar behind us that was muffled through our cockpit and helmet's. The Shooter dropped to one knee and extended one arm in the handgun launch gesture, our Hornet staying still for one more second before the cat shot us forward's. There was an initial shunt before we took off down the deck, the catapult rising in pitch like a roller coaster until we reached the end of the track with another shunt and were shot into the sky. We went from a stand-still to around two-hundred knot's in under two second's.

Thorpe took hold of the control's again and banked us right after stowing the gear to get out of the carrier's way. Around ten seconds later one of the Bush's Air Traffic Controller's contacted us over the radio to give us a heading to turn to so we could link up with 4-2 and head out, "102, turn heading 2-9-0, Climb and maintain cherubs 5. 108 will join on you. How copy?" Thorpe's voice drifted through the radio, "102, good copy. Turn heading two niner zero, climb and maintain cherubs 5 where 108 will join on me."

We turned to the new heading and climbed up to five-hundred feet as instructed. Since I didn't have much to do right now, I looked out across the right wing and onto the fleet where some of our Arleigh Burke Class Guided Missile Destroyer's and Ticonderoga Class Guided Missile Cruiser's were launching volleys of Tomahawk Land Attack Missile's toward's the coast of Iran. Smoke trail's snaked around under the dark sky as the missile's were launched and shot away before the first stage rocket motors shut off and broke free from the missile's that then switched over to their own internal jet propulsion.

We neared the carrier as Wazowski came over the radio, "Shark 4-6, this is Shark 4-2, leveling off your starboard." Thorpe replied, "Gotcha." as our wingman slid in behind us and got tucked in on our right wing as we passed the carrier, two more Super Hornet's launching off the deck below us. The Carrier's ATC drifted through the radio again, "102 and 108, continue on course and contact AWACS Heavy 2-1-2 of frequency 125.87 to continue on, good luck." Thorpe answered the call before we switched over to the new frequency so we could get in contact with the AWACS. Once we got on the new freq he called the AWACS up, "Heavy 212, flight of two F/A-18F's, callsign Shark 4-6, and Shark 4-2 entering your airspace now. We're part of the strike on Merhabad Airport." The voice of the controller drifted through the radio, "Understood Shark flight, I have you on my scope now. Turn to heading heading 240 and climb up to angels 3 to link up with the strike package, you're about 80 nautical miles away."

"Shark 4-6 copies, turn to heading 240 and climb to 3,000. 4-2 prep to breach the weather." 4-2's voice came through the radio again as they pulled back and and drifted a little closer, "4-2 tucking in." Thorpe put is up into a thirty-five degree climb and throttled up to full power as we pointed up towards the dark sky. The wind's began to buffet us around a little as we climbed higher and plowed through the pelting rain and black clouds. A few comment's about turbulence conditions were made, but other than that we remained quiet as we punched through the cloud deck. About five minutes later the AWACS called out through the radio again, but this time it wasn't a course change, "Shark 4-6 head's up. Pop up group, BRA: 310 for 40 at angels 3 climbing from the deck, hot. Two times type 27 from Merhabad Airport. Turn and engage." Thorpe answered the call, "Shark 4-6 copy, Heading 3-1-0, angels 3. 4-2, fence out. Master arm on, master arm on. Good light." Our wingman answered "4-2 fencing out, master arm on, good light" as they banked away to get to the 1.5 mile standard combat spread as we turned for the new heading and got ready to engage. It was go time.

A few minutes later the AWACS came through the radio with some ominous news, "Shark flight be advised, hostiles are still hot, but are jamming. I can't give you accurate data right now. Suggest V I.D'ing the target if you can't pick them up." Thorpe replied, "Shark 4-6 wilco." Tension rose as we continued on, now scanning the skies all around us for the hostile Flanker's. I had now begun toggling various radar setting's in hope of burning through the enemy jamming so we wouldn't get caught with our pants down while loaded down with munition's. A minute later Thorpe's voice over the intercom broke the silence, "Hawkins, ya got anything on the scope?"

"Negative, I can't get anything on the scope. We're probably not close enough to burn through the jamming yet." I replied. "Rog", he replied as I continued on. About a minute later the the hostile's popped up, however 4-2 beat me to the punch.

"Shark 4-2, radar contact's closing fast. Negative on the IFF tones." A new chill went down our spines as two dot's in front of us quickly grew. Suddenly bright, orange baseballs of incoming 30mm. sprayed forth from the materialized Flanker's as the pilot's wildly fired in hopes of getting a lucky shot as we merged at a combined closing speed of over Mach 1. "Motherfuckers!" Thorpe half hollered as the two Iranian's blew through between us. Thorpe immediately slammed the jet on it's left wing and threw us into a 7.5 G turn, the maximum amount of G's we could pull given our current configuration. We were pushed down into our seat's by the force of G as we strained to turn our heads so we could keep our target's visually tracked.

"Shark flight merged with flankers, angels 3!" Thorpe called to the AWACS as we continued cranking, now gaining on our enemies. The flankers suddenly reversed their turns and split up while us and 4-2 remained locked in behind them, big mistake. 4-2 cranked on to the left-most Iranian, "They're splitting, I've got left." We cranked over and went for the Flanker that threw himself right, Thorpe making the call "I've got the one on the right." We remained behind the Iranian as he continued cranking right. After a few more second's we were able start prepping for a sidewinder shot, this only being made easier when the Flanker reversed his turn. We continued, both of us getting low on energy as we continued on, the engine's of our jet's spewing a blowtorch of flame while roaring in angry defiance to the loss of airspeed.

The Flanker began flailing around, his better maneuverability edging out on us occasionally, however Thorpe seemed to be controlling his energy better.

The Flanker suddenly stopped the 7.5 G left turn he was in and leveled out for a brief moment a few hundred feet in front of us, allowing us to get right back on his six. Before we could get a lock on him with a Sidewinder, the pilot suddenly yanked his nose up to an attitude of above 90 degrees. The jet reared back and became a 72 foot airbrake as the desperate pilot performed the iconic Pugachev's Cobra. His speed immediately got dumped, he could've turned the fight in his favor...if he was closer. In a split second Thorpe switched to guns, kicked right rudder, and sprayed the Flanker as best as he could, the entire top of the large fighter on full display. The cannon roared in front of us, flames and smoke shooting out or being pushed back around the canopy by the force of wind. The cockpit vibrated while the muffled, buzzsaw report of the Vulcan filled our hearing. Thirty shells of 20mm. API slammed into the left side of the Flanker, shredding most of the left wing off, eviscerating the left elevator, tailfin, and pulverizing the left engine.

"Holy Shit!" I exclaimed as we blew past the jet, the pilot ejecting while his crippled Flanker began to go into a fiery death spin. Thorpe half-hollered the report of our kill over the radio in the surge of adrenaline we both felt, "Shark 4-6! Guns kill on Flanker!" A few second's later 4-2 made a call, "4-2 Fox 2!...Splash one Flanker!" AWACS spilled through the radio again with another callout, "Shark flight, four more Flanker's inbound hot, BRA: 320 for 60 at angels 5." Thorpe immediately keyed the mic as we both thought out the same gameplan, "Shark 4-6 affirm. 4-2 let's waste as many of these bastards with the 120's before shit get's close. Same plan as last time, I got right"

"4-2 wilco, we got the left."

Tension spiked now that the fight would be a 4 on 2 with them having the initial altitude and speed advantage. I quickly got our Flanker's locked up and waited for the range to drop so we could fire on them. Our AMRAAM's max range as 57 nautical mile's, however if I wanted to be sure we'd get a good hit, I needed to wait till the got to at least 40 nautical miles away before firing. I called up to Thorpe through the intercom, "Got our's boxed up, I'll tell you when to fire." Thorpe respond with a quick "Got it." as I continued to monitor our range to the target's.

'come on fucker's...that's it, drag your asses closer.' I tensely waited for the Flanker's to get in range, just a few more miles now. My eyes were glued to the screen as the values counted down.

'45..43..42..41..40.'

'Go time'

"In range, two locked, shoot!"

Thorpe hit the pickle button twice, "Shark 4-6, Fox 1 Fox 1!"

Our two AIM-120's were rippled off, the missile's shooting off in front of us as our radar painted our target's for imminent annihilation. Our missiles were quickly followed by our wingmen's, "Shark 4-2, Fox 1 Fox 1!"

The dot's on the horizon in front of us bean moving erratically as the Iranian pilot's went on the defensive once their RWR's began screaming about the incoming threat.

Some phantom reading's began to show up on my radar screen as I continued to monitor the outbound missile's, obviously chaff. Soon however, two of the Flanker's dropped off the radar. "I've lost lock on two of the Flanker's." I reported to Thorpe. He responded with, "I see two fireball's in the distance, that's gotta be them." He then switched over to the radio, "Shark flight splash two Flanker's." The AWACS acknowledged the call as we continued our push toward's the remaining Iranian's. The remaining two defeated their missile's and started screaming toward's us again, obviously wanting to avenge their fallen comrades. It was now an even 2 on 2, not what we wanted. I got the remaining Iranian's locked up and began calling their ranges as we drifted closer.

Tension soon spiked again as a new tone filled our helmet's. The tone was an alternating high/low pitched beeping: The Iranian's had us locked up with their radar's. "They have us spiked!" I warned. The tone soon began to beep rapidly, they had launched. I quickly looked off into the distance and saw four missile trail's heading our way, "Missiles break break!"

Thorpe slammed us over and cranked the jet downwards as it was now our turn to go on the defensive, "Shark flight is defensive!", he yelled into the mic as we threw ourselves into a dive while chunking out chaff in hopes of defeating the incoming threat. Thorpe continued to crank around the sky as we tried to bleed the incoming missile's of their energy or spoof them with chaff. Our G-suit's constricted around us to help keep us conscious from the punishing high-G's we endured. We strained to keep our eyes on the missile's and the remaining two Flanker's who more than likely still had more missile's. I shot our quick exhales while taking quick gulps of air, the crisp "Hic" of the Anti-G Straining Maneuver being put to full use as we continued thrashing around.

Soon the missile alarm shut up when I saw four explosions around us in the sky, none of them near us or our wingmen's aircraft. "Missile's defeated" I informed Thorpe over the intercom while quickly catching my breath. Thorpe acknowledged as we cranked back around to face our opponent's who were now getting very close to merging with us. In an instant he brought our Sidewinder's up and painted the targeting sight in his HMD over the Flanker on the right. The missile on our right wingtip shot forward's and maneuvered for the target, "4-6 Fox 2 on right Flanker!" The Iranian tried to break, but he was too close to do anything other than suck it up and catch a Sidewinder off of his left wing.

The missile proximity detonated right by the Flanker's left wing root, sawing off the left wing, elevator, vertical stabilizer, and dicing a large part of the fuselage between the cockpit and wing's. The Flanker was slammed into a fiery death spin with the damaged forward segment of the fuselage a few feet behind cockpit getting wrenched away from the forces of the spin. We merged with the last Flanker as the pilot of the one we had just splashed ejected. "Shark flight merged again, one splashed!" Thorpe reported.

We cranked the jet around and found ourselves in a Two-circle fight with our Iranian opponent. Despite our lighter state, the Flanker was barely nudging out on us. To our surprise the Iranian reversed his turn of the third merge, allowing us to gain the advantage. I quickly brought the Sidewinder's targeting sight onto my HMD and tried to acquire lock on the Iranian who was now off to our nine o clock. "I'm trying to go Fox 2 on him!" I called up to Thorpe. "Roger!" he called back as we continued to edge closer to a firing position. The low-pitched, growling search tone of the Sidewinder spilled from my flight helmet as I eagerly awaited a chance to fire. We continued edging closer, the adrenaline now overtaking us.

"Shoot him!" came Thorpe's excited order from up front.

"I don't got a tone!"

"Shoot him, Fox 2!"

"I can't, I don't have a fucking tone!"

Soon though, the search tone changed to the higher-pitched lock tone as the Flanker barely edged off and allowed us to quickly put him in the reticle off to our ten o clock.

"Good tone good tone, Fox 2 Fox 2!" I hollered as I mashed the firing button on the weapon's control stick in my right hand.

"4-6 Fox 2!" Thorpe called over the radio as our AIM-9X shot forth before violently yanking around toward's the Flanker. The Sidewinder tracked right up the Flanker's tail before the Iranian could react and proximity detonated. The entire aft of the fighter was wrecked: both engines spilled their gut's as the elevator's, and vertical stabilizer's were ripped off. The Flanker immediately began tumbling end-over-end with it's aft completely ablaze. The poor bastard flying quickly punched out and tumbled a bit before he was stabilized and transferred over to his chute after the seat fell away.

A relieved Thorpe made the kill call to Heavy 212 as we leveled out and marveled at our handiwork as it tumbled earthward with bits and pieces falling off.

The AWACS was quick to respond, "Affirmative Shark. Picture clean. Come to heading 270 to link up with the strike package, they're 20 nautical miles away at angels 3."

"Wilco, come to heading 270 and get back to 3,000. 4-2, fence in."

6 minutes later

We caught up with the strike package and quickly slotted in to the formation.

"Heavy 212, Shark 4-6, we're now joining strike formation."

"Heavy 212, acknowledged."

I looked around us and observed the rest of the strike package, multiple flight's of Super Hornet's were around us, however that wasn't what got my attention.

"This is Bulldog 3-3. Flight of two coming up on your nine." I looked left and saw two Air Force A-10C Thunderbolt II's loaded to the brim with Maverick's and JDAM's leveling off near our left wing. "Roger" Replied Thorpe over the radio.

The strike package continued of toward's the airport. I switched our radar over to ground search and scanned the display since I knew damn well the Iranian's wouldn't just let us waltz in. Very quickly enemy air defense system's appeared on the display. Multiple targeting radar's, SAM's, and radar guided AA emplacement's soon filled the screen. Soon enough the aircraft at the very front of the formation began pumping out countermeasures and going on the defensive as multiple launches were detected. One of the Super Hornet's at the very front of the formation caught a missile off of it's right wing and went down in a death roll, the crew quickly ejecting. A radio call was made over the radio about the downed Hornet but I had tuned all that out as I focused on throwing some heat back.

"I'm switching over to the targeting pod and the HARM's."

The MFD showing the targeting pod feed was quickly slung over to the airport below. I bumped the magnification up a few levels, and set the thermal signatures to "White Hot" as I alternated between the radar display and targeting pod feed.

Thorpe called our status out as I brought the HARM's online and began scanning for radar sources, "Heavy 212, 4-6. Rolling onto target area with potential high value target."

The AWACS came back and gave us a status report in regards to ground forces in the area "Roger. You have a ground element, callsign Reaper 1 in the area, and Striker 2-1 and 2-2 coming in for additional JDAM support."

Soon enough the AA fire from the airport began shooting up all around us, blanketing the sky with flak. The air frame of our jet occasionally shook from the concussion of AA fire exploding near our vicinity. I had to grab hold of the top of my control panel after a particular shell exploded pretty close and rocked the jet around. Thorpe hollered from in front "Goddamnit! They're getting close with those rounds!" I replied with, "Fucker's keep going like this and I might think the're actually aiming!" as I locked up one of the radar-guided AA gun's down below. With a good lock I fired the missile, "Missile loose!"

"Shark 4-6, Magnum!"

I watched through the targeting pod after the 13 foot missile shot off the rail and made a sweeping right turn toward's the painted target. The missile looked like a white rod as it came shooting down through the clouds towards the AA gun. I continued tracking the missile until it smacked into the target and created a large explosion that briefly lit up a portion of the screen. About half a second later the muffled sound of the explosion thumped through the cockpit. "Shack on target, moving to another one." I quickly got another target locked up and fired another HARM. I again watched as the missile came down through the clouds and eviscerate anther target. The process was repeated two more times as I shot off the remaining two AGM-88's.

By this time other strike fighter's had joined in and pounded their own target's: air defenses, parked fighter's, military transport's, even a row of Mi-24 Hind's that were parked all nice and pretty off near one of the hangar area's near a bunch of tanks we soon found out to be the main fuel storage area after a particular JDAM struck near one of the silo's and made a huge chain reaction of secondary explosion's that rocked the air with shockwaves .

Soon enough the enemy started to get desperate after everything that was out in the open got wasted. Some poor bastard's who had their fighter's parked in the hardened bunker's of the airport tried to take off and do something about the hell that was currently being rained down upon them, however we quickly got wise to what was going on and quickly dispatched them with a barrage of JDAM's from 4-2.

While the fighter's were quickly mopped up, Reaper 1 shot us a status update, "This is Reaper 1, I have three vehicles moving along the runway. This might be our HVT, wait-out."

The Strike Commander (or so I assumed) then came on the radio "Shark 4-6, standby to lase the target for Bulldog if the target is verified, how copy?"

"Roger. Okay Hawkins you heard the man." Thorpe replied.

"I'm on it, putting the crosshair's on em' now. I responded as I quickly slewed the targeting reticle over the vehicles and prepared to lase for the Warthog's to come in and gun the place.

The AWACS then shot another transmission off, this one was for the ground forces though, "Reaper 1, Heavy 212. Be advised you have a single rotor-wing aircraft approaching from the south at low speed, altitude 5-0-2. Do you have eyes on, how copy?"

"Roger, eyes a helicopter. Looks like it's headed for the vehicles."

"Roger, you have 4-6 on station to laze for Bulldog to engage with guns."

Reaper then called us up, "4-6, and Bulldog, this is Reaper 1. We need them to get out of the cars so we can verify it's our target, hold fast."

Thorpe responded "Roger, Bulldog, are you ready?"

The A-10 flight lead quickly responded, "Roger, solid copy. We're waiting for the laze now."

Just then Reaper came over the comms again, "Reaper 1, they're definitely PLR. You are cleared to engage you are clear to engage!"

I pressed the button that fired the targeting laser "Target painted." The lead Hog' pilot quickly caught sight of the invisible spotlight of death and rolled in,"Bulldog 3-3 inbound for guns...Bulldog 3-3 guns guns guns."

The helicopter and surrounding vehicles and militants were erased by a barrage of 30mm. cannon fire as the screen lit up with a bright line of white as I tracked the Warthog's run. Whoever was left breathing quickly began running for the nearest piece of cover, not that they had much of a chance on the open tarmac.

"We have individuals running. You are cleared to take them out too." I immediately swung the laser onto the remaining group, "Target painted."

"Bulldog 3-2 has the target, rolling in, three seconds." Another A-10 dove and unleashed another stream of white death on the targeting pod feed, cutting down the rest of the survivors.

"Reaper 1, all callsigns be advised. We have friendly units securing the airbase now. Negative on further ground attack, how copy?" A string of acknowledgement's from everyone flying above quickly answered the radioman as we all went weapons cold, shut off all the camera's, and started the journey back to our respective homes.

Thorpe called our status over the radio to the AWACS " Heavy 212, Shark flight is egressing out of the target area. Request vector to the nearest available tanker."

"Roger, turn to heading 0-4-0, and climb to angels 6. There's a flight of S-3's, callsign "Texaco" on station. Watch for traffic when feet are wet. 2-1-2 out."

Thorpe quickly got us pointed in the right direction so we could top off since we burned most of our fuel during the dogfight with the Iranian Flanker's. 4-2 quickly fenced in and the four of us began watching our radar's and the sky around us so we wouldn't accidentally smack into someone after all events of the day so far.

30 minutes later

We were posted off one of the S-3's left wings as 4-2 got topped off. Word about us and 4-2 downing six hostiles by ourselves while loaded down with weapons quickly spread around the aircraft that were with us waiting in line for their turn to get topped off and head home. We had quickly become the "talk of the town" and got received quite the reception upon joining the formation of Super Hornet's and Growler's that made up the twelve-aircraft formation around the four S-3's. Anyone who wasn't talking to the tanker crew's was on one of the common local channels making small talk about the strike mission and their own experience. We, of course, were basically mentioned by everyone. Quite frankly, I expected to find the four of us shitfaced behind the nearest bar we'd be hauled too because of all the drinks the other pilot's had offered us. We at least had some time to prepare for that when it happens, we still had half of our deployment out here in the Persian Gulf left before we'd make the journey back home in a few months.

My daydreaming about chugging free drinks quickly vanished when the voice of one of the S-3 crewmen poured through the radio after their current customer backed away from the drogue basket and drifted back to his flight.

"Texaco 1-1 to Shark 4-6, proceed to pre-contact."

"Shark 4-6, wilco." Thorpe slightly dropped the throttles and drifted us behind the tanker as he got ready to do what was considered to be the most difficult thing you could do in an aircraft. He radioed the tanker after we got in position, "Shark 4-6, ready pre-contact."

"Shark 4-6, cleared contact." The drogue on the left fueling pod extended back so we could move up and plug in. Thorpe extended the refueling probe on the right side of our Hornet's nose and gingerly brought us closer to the drogue basket. He made slight corrections as we flew closer and eventually connected with the tanker.

"Contact...You're taking fuel." Thorpe concentrated on flying in formation with the S-3 while I monitored our fuel intake. I made sure all tank's were taking fuel so we'd be fully topped off just in case something happened while getting back to the boat. We kept our position and continued to hold complete concentration at the task at hand until the transfer was complete.

"Shark 4-6, transfer complete."

"Shark 4-6, roger." Thorpe brought us back and buttoned us up before drifting us right and into formation with 4-2. We navigated out of the formation and pointed ourselves toward's the carrier.

1900 Zulu

Thorpe banked us over into a left turn and began to configure us for landing once we passed the carrier. There was a beautiful sunset with just enough light for us to make a few passes if we didn't trap on the first go. We did intend to get down quickly though, we didn't bring our NVG's with us on this mission, so landing in the dark would be a complete suckfest.

Thorpe brought us around as we double checked to make sure we had all the right data in before things started to get busy. We continued leveled off for a bit as we gradually made our way past the carrier and dropped below 2,000 feet so we could prep to land. After circling behind the carrier we checked our altitude and airspeed, "I'm showing 350 knot's at 800 feet. We're on target."

"Roger." Came the response from up front as Thorpe dropped the tailhook. We then passed the carrier again to check the deck, all clear, good to go. Right after passing the carrier Thorpe cranked the jet over on it's left wing as we initiated the break into the landing sequence. We maintained 2.3 G's, and aimed for around 250 knot's as we came around. Thorpe then dropped the gear and flaps as we continued around in our 180 degree turn before we leveled off at 600 feet. We then maintained our course on the downwind portion of our landing until we passed the carrier again and rolled into the final approach. We finished the turn and had the LSO contact us. "Three quarter mile, call the ball."

"102 Hornet ball, 5.2."

"Roger ball."

I began calling our altitude out to Thorpe as we continued our approach, "800...750...600" The LSO then gave Thorpe a correction since we were a tad too low, "Little bit of power." Thorpe smoothly made the correction as I continued calling our altitude, "550..500, keep it going you're good." I then let Thorpe continue flying us down since the altitude calls were no longer necessary. We soon touched down, Thorpe immediately throwing in full burner just in case we didn't catch a wire per standard protocol. The jet quickly came to a stop, Thorpe dropping the throttles to idle once it was certain we had caught the wire.

With the lack of resistance from the engines, the wire dragged us back before the tension let up and allowed the wire to drop off the tailhook. Thorpe quickly stowed the tailhook and folded the wing's as a Plane Captain began marshaling us to our parking spot.

Pretty soon we were parked and shutting down, another successful sortie under our belt's. We quickly got our stuff, hopped out of the jet, and made our way down the deck and back to our squadron rooms.

We quickly got the de-brief over with and headed out to get showered and get some chow. I chuckled when I noticed what someone wrote on one of the marker board's

"He had a very bad day."

Yeah, he did, and we made sure of it.