FIRE ON HIGH
“Fire On High” is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters and settings © Tigermark 2003-2005 unless otherwise noted. Request permission before using them, please.
The characters of Anatol Altaisokova and Melinda Altaisokova are my names for characters © Max Blackrabbit. They appear in this story with his permission. The characters of Brandy, Maxwell, and Tonya are also © Max Blackrabbit and appear here with his permission. Events and information relating to Tonya, Anatol, and their family are presented here, but are not to be considered canon to those characters or any other story but this one. Matt Barstock and Intermountain Charter © Silver Coyote. See their story HERE. Capt. Jonathan “Jedi” Foertsch is © his player. Several names and words in this chapter are Danish, so an approximation of how to pronounce them will be enclosed in parenthesis after that word or phrase. If you want a translation, look it up *grin*. All of the Danish characters were developed with the help of Aslaug Jacobsen, and I would like to thank her for all her help. Aslaug Jacobsen © her player.
AUTHOR”S NOTE: Part of this chapter deals with the funeral of Anatol Altaisokova. To see this from a different point of view, go Here.
CHAPTER 17
“Kamppiloter Styrer”
Major Uffe Jaerv (Ooffeh) addressed his fellow pilots of the 766th Eskadrille as they awaited the arrival of the American pilots.
“All right, listen. I want you all to be cordial and friendly. Talk up the Americans. Let us see what we can learn that might be useful for the combat tomorrow. Premierløjtnant (like 1st Lieutenant, but I’m told you can damage your tongue trying to say this right) Jacobsen will be joining us as Forbindelses (Liason) Officer. She will deal with most of the coordination, so when she tells us something, pay attention. It may save your hide in the air combat. Both the squadrons we’ll be facing are supposed to be top-notch. I want any edge we can get. Ah, here is Lt. Jacobsen now,” the big wolverine said.
A gray vixen in a dark green Danish flight suit had just walked in the door. Premierløjtnant Aslaug Jacobsen was in her late twenties, with medium blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, except for a strand or two that seemed to perpetually escape into her face. A helicopter pilot in the Flyvevåbnet, Flyveteknisk Kommando, or Royal Danish Air Force, she served as a go-between for the visiting Danish pilots and the U.S. Air Force at Nellis.
“Løjtnant, thank you for joining us. Any light you can shed on our adversaries?” Major Jaerv asked.
“Hello Major, glad to be of service. The attack unit will be flying F-15E’s. The unit is the 336th Fighter Squadron, called the Rocketeers, from Seymour-Johnson AFB, North Carolina. They are one of the top attack squadrons in the
“Ah, very good. Uh, how did you get so much info on them?” Major Jaerv asked, looking slightly puzzled.
The vixen brushed at one of the stray strands of hair in her face and gave a slight, feral grin. “I was my unit’s Intelligence officer before I came here,” she replied.
“Aha! They won’t be really cohesive!” interjected a large, muscular rabbit named Hare wearing Kaptajn’s (Captain’s) stripes on his shoulders. He pounded a fist into his other paw and said, “Easy to break up.”
“Possibly,” Major Jaerv replied, eyeing the lapine. “But it also is an unknown. As I said, keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Is that really fair?” a young badger Løjtnant af 1.grad (Lieutenant 1st grade) named Lars Bådjer asked.
“No,” replied Major Jaerv, “but as the old saying goes, if it’s a fair fight, you planned it wrong. If you want a fair fight, go box with Hroar. (‘Row’ahr) The major thumbed toward the rabbit who’d spoken before. The badger went wide-eyed a second, and then replied, “Ah, no. Thank you.”
Just then, the door opened and the F-15E fighter crews began to file in. A full Colonel wire-haired terrier with the name Warren on his flight suit led the group of twenty four officers in. Lt. Bådjer spoke quietly to Lt. Jacobsen in Danish.
<Are there both squadrons here now?>
<No, only one. The F-15E is a two-seat fighter/bomber. There is a pilot and WSO for each aircraft. See, they all wear the Rocketeer patch.>
The badger nodded silently as the group finished filing in. Lt. Jacobsen stepped forward and introduced the two CO’s to each other. They shook paws and the rest of the group began to introduce themselves to the Rocketeers.
The officers were milling about, casually talking, when the door opened and a tall white tiger stepped in, leading the F-15C fighter squadron that would also participate in the exercise. Lt. Jacobsen was about to announce the arrival when she was cut short by a loud shout.
“ICE O’WHITT!! You mangy, flea-ridden old narrøv! You’re in the top cover?” the Major was standing, arms akimbo, his bushy tail waving.
“JAE! You cantankerous old excuse for a rug! How are you, you old kvajpande?” the tiger replied, grinning.
The wolverine flinched and said, “Ouch, I see your Danish hasn’t improved any. How long have you been at Langley?”
Alex smiled and replied, “Been on board as CO a little while, you?”
“Long enough. Ready for us to paw you your tail?” the Major said with a grin.
“Sure, you can paw it back after we drag you across the desert with it,” Alex replied, his smile taking on a decidedly feral quality. Both the Danes and the Tigerkahts were looking on, waiting to see what the outcome of the verbal sparring would be. The Rocketeers were looking on also, as well as the pilots from a few other units that would be involved in the Green Flag exercise.
Major Jaerv now laughed heartily, and then finally managed to say, “Same old Ice, can’t rattle you for anything. Let me introduce you around.”
The wolverine introduced Alex to the rest of the Danish pilots, some of whom had heard of him. One, a tall fox Kaptajn named Markus Raev, took particular stock of him. Alex returned the favor, deciding that this one had the best edge going of their mock adversaries. The rest of the crews began to mill about and introduce themselves.
Kpt. Hare pointedly avoided Alex, and mostly kept off to himself. Lt. Jacobsen chatted with most all the crews, and was astounded once again, as she had been since coming to Nellis to work as Liason, at how the Americans reacted to her. The
She finally made it around to the Major, who was still talking to Lt. Col. O’Whitt. As she walked over, she was favorably impressed by what she’d seen of the Colonel. He was friendly, but there was a decided edge to his banter. The proof of how good a pilot and officer he was would come tomorrow during the exercise.
“Ah, here is Premierløjtnant Aslaug Jacobsen. Ice, this is our, ah, Liason officer. JAC this is Lt. Colonel Alex O’Whitt,” Major Jaerv said as Aslaug stepped up. All the Danes call signs were made up of the first three letters of their last names.
Alex turned and extended a paw to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Løjtnant. Have you been here at Nellis long?”
“A couple of months. It seems you know JAE from some where before here?” she said. Alex noted that she seemed to glow with curiosity about the American units. She returned the pawshake, and said, “I noticed everyone but HAR has introduced themselves to you. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, he’s usually trying to be the center of attention, not sulking in the corner.”
Before Alex could reply, Major Jaerv interjected, “HAR and Ice already know each other. You are looking at the only fur ever to beat HAR.”
Aslaug looked puzzled and said, “But, HAR loses in the air games from time to time, just like all the other pilots.”
“No,” JAE said evenly, “not in the air. In the kickboxing ring. Ice was TDY with our eskadrille when we transitioned to the Vipers. HAR challenged him one day and Ice put him on the mat.”
Alex looked askance. “You mean he’s still mad about that? That was over eight years ago! He was a brand new pilot, right out of flight school then.”
“But, he’s the inter-service champion!” Aslaug said incredulously, looking Alex over with a renewed appraising expression.
Alex looked at Aslaug and explained, “I had just come off a tour with the Thunderbirds, and had been stationed at Ramstein. They needed someone to go TDY to assist the Flyvevåbnet in transitioning from their old F-104’s and Drakens to the Viper. We had all gone to the gym to work out, and HAR insisted on doing some, ah, ‘sparring.’ The rest of that merry crew snookered me into saying I would, and HAR proceeded to try to treat me the way I’ve heard he usually treated his sparring partners, by trying to flatten me! He didn’t know that at the time, I was a second degree Black Belt, and that I train in a special type of martial art for felines. I must say, he surprised me when he slapped me with his ears, but not nearly as much as I surprised him when I hit him with my tail.”
Aslaug now noticed the thick, fluffy-looking tail the tiger had. She arched a questioning eyebrow at Alex.
“I’m half snow leopard,” Alex replied to the unspoken question. Aslaug nodded, still a little taken aback that someone had actually beaten the stocky lapine in a fight.
Just then, Hroar Hare himself strode up to them. He nodded to his CO and Lt. Jacobsen, and then glared at Alex a few seconds.
“So Ice, we finally meet up again. I want a rematch!” he finally said.
“Hello HAR. Still upset about that? I’ll tell you what. We’ll see how things go in the air tomorrow. If you get more kills than me, I’ll fight you again. If I get more kills, we shake paws and let it go. Deal?” Alex replied evenly. The rabbit’s eyes narrowed, and he looked intently at Alex for several seconds before he finally spoke.
“All right, tiger, I will abide by that. But know this; I will get more kills than you tomorrow, and I’ll make sure you’re one of them!”
With that, Kpt. Hare turned and walked off. Just then, the briefing officers arrived and everyone headed for a seat. They spent the next 45 minutes being briefed on safety, communications, and what parameters would be used to determine individual kills, and overall mission success or failure.
After it was over, the various groups began to disburse, but Alex hung back. He caught eyes with Col. Warren, the Rocketeers’s CO, and soon the wire-haired terrier and the tiger stood near the door as the last few stragglers walked past.
“Hey Jolt, thanks for hanging back,” Alex said when he was sure they were alone.
“No problem, Ice. How ya been?” Col. Warren replied.
“Pretty good now, but I didn’t hang back to chat. I have some ideas for tomorrow.”
Jolt Warren gave a feral grin. “Go on Ice, I’m all ears.”
Alex returned the feral grin, and then began to lay out his ideas.
# # #
Talia parked where the basset hound in the black suit pointed and got out and made her way into the funeral home. It seemed filled to capacity and past. She weaved her way through the groups of furs to the register to sign her name. The book was on its fifth page, and that was nearly full. It seemed her uncle was known by most of the furs in the town of Van Buren, Ohio.
She walked on into the visitation room and up to the front. There, still looking very dignified, her uncle Anatol Altaisokova lay in death’s repose. She contemplated the sight for a moment as tears welled up in her eyes, and then moved on to look at the plethora of flower arrangements sent for the funeral. She turned to go find a seat, and saw her uncle’s two granddaughters seated on the first row. His grandson was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes narrowed, until she really looked at them. Tonya the oldest was lost in thought or memory, her eyes fixed on the casket. Tears leaked unchecked down the striped skunk’s muzzle. Talia’s expression softened a bit as she walked past. She found a seat and turned to go down the row toward it, when she felt a paw on her shoulder. She turned to find the other granddaughter Brandy facing her.
“Ah, Talia? *sniff*, I’m Brandy, Anatol’s granddaughter.”
“I know Dear.” Talia replied with a smile.
“Oh, good. Thank you for coming,” Brandy said as she dabbed her eyes with a pawkercheif.
Talia continued to smile and replied, “It’s quite alright. How are you holding up?”
Brandy shrugged slightly. “So-so. I can’t believe he’s gone. He was so good to us after . . . well, you know.”
“Yes dear, I know. He was always such a strong tiger, but my brother Anton visited him recently, and he said Anatol had heart problems.”
“Yes, that’s what the lawyer said,” Brandy said, her voice now shaky. “Uh, is your brother here?”
“No, he’s ill with cancer, and the chemo made him too sick to be here. I’m the only one from this side of the family who could make it. Where is your brother Maxwell?”
Brandy looked like she would burst out in tears again, but she held on to her composure. “He, uh, had exams at Med. School he couldn’t miss.”
“Oh that’s too bad, dear,” Talia said. She could tell there may have been more, but Brandy only sniffled and dabbed at her eyes again.
“Well, thank you again for coming,” Brandy finally said, turning to go.
“You’re welcome. God bless, child,” Talia replied as she headed for her seat. From there she noted a few more distant relatives and a few from her Aunt Melinda’s side as well. The rest ranged from kits and cubs in arms to old furs who looked frail and fragile, even compared with the tiger in the casket. It was apparent that Anatol had been known and well liked in the community.
Talia looked back toward the front and noticed that Brandy had taken her seat. Tonya had an arm around her, and the two were talking in quiet tones. Talia found her opinion of Anatol’s oldest granddaughter rise a bit, realizing that she was being the strength that was holding Brandy together.
The minister took his place behind the podium, and the funeral service began. He said a prayer thanking God for Anatol, and then delivered a strong message about the values of family, love, and courage that Anatol had stood for. Several of the tiger’s oldest friends, including a couple who’d known him before he came to
Soon, the service was over, and everyone filed out. Talia went to her car and pulled in line for the funeral procession. She watched as six pallbearers carried the casket out and placed it in a hearse. They then got in a limo just behind the hearse. Tonya and Brandy came out right behind, and got in a second limo. Shortly, the procession pulled out and turned down the main street of the small town.
The drive to the cemetery was fairly short, as it was just outside of town beside a small, old church. The cars in the procession parked on either side of the small two-lane road that ran beside the church. Talia was making her way along the line of cars as she watched the pallbearers remove the casket from the hearse and carry it over to a spot underneath a canopy. As she got closer, Tonya and Brandy got out of their limo and walked over to seats near the grave. As Talia arrived at the gravesite, she noted Anatol was being buried right beside his wife. The crew that dug the grave had been careful not to disturb her grave or stone.
As those who had come to the cemetery gathered around, the minister said a few brief words and a short prayer. He then dismissed everyone. Talia took a last look at the casket, now ready to be lowered to its final resting place, and turned to go. She suddenly heard a raised voice, and turned back to see what was happening. Brandy and Tonya were looking at each other with angry expressions, both with tails fluffed out in agitation. Brandy stood quickly and, tears flooding anew down her cheeks, went to the casket and laid a paw on it for a few seconds. She then turned and quickly walked past Talia to the limousine. Tonya sat for a moment, and then stood and walked to the casket. Talia could see the trickle of tears had become a flood for her, too. Not wanting to seem to be spying nor confront Tonya, Talia turned and quickly walked to her car.
Feeling she had done what was required to honor her uncle’s memory, and accomplished what she’d promised Anton, she started the car and pulled out, heading toward the interstate and the long drive home.
# # #
The day was dawning bright and clear, as was the usual case at Nellis. Alex had been up since 0300, working out the last details of the battle plan. They still had a couple of hours, as he’d just heard the Danish aircraft depart for the Indian Springs auxiliary field around 50NM northwest of Nellis. That would serve as their home base for the day’s exercise. Alex and Col. Warren were going to co-brief the mission together in about 30 minutes. Alex knew the Danes were good, but he was counting on the fact that the F-15’s radar system could pick them up a good ten miles farther out than the F-16’s radar could. If the crews stayed sharp, the Danes were in for a nasty surprise.
Thinking it over, he adjusted the top cover position to ten thousand feet above and three miles behind the strike force. The F-15E’s only had to get within twenty miles of the target at the altitude they’d be flying at to successfully launch their large simulated AGM-130 guided munitions. Only three of the 336th’s Strike Eagles would carry those. The rest would carry the AGM-65 Maverick as backup. If it came to that, they’d have to get much, much closer. All the action would be monitored and scored by Nellis’s electronic scoring equipment.
Alex’s major concern was that the Danish OPFOR would sneak up from behind the formation, but he had an idea to counter that, so he felt they were as well prepared as possible. He checked his watch and looked over the mission profile one last time, mentally preparing for the briefing and the day’s mission.
# # #
Major Jaerv had gathered his pilots inside the old ops building at the Indian Springs auxiliary field. They were doing a final brief as they waited for their takeoff time to arrive. The assortment of furs all milled around talking.
“Now remember, HAR, do just what I told you. No grandstanding. I understand you want to get Ice, but the mission comes first, and you won’t get the chance if they pick you off coming in.” JAE said.
The rabbit only nodded, but he still didn’t look very happy about the instructions he’d received. He and two others were to do a racetrack circle sixty miles northeast of the target, off-axis to the most likely route of attack. They were to try and decoy the Tigerkahts off of covering the attack aircraft. JAE and the other eleven Vipers would circle out to the southeast, hoping to be able to sneak up from behind the F-15E’s and pick them off before the F-15C escorts made it back to them.
Just then Premierløjtnant Jacobsen walked in. They hadn’t seen the liaison officer since the day before, and were surprised to see her there.
“Hello JAC,” Kapt. Raev said. “What brings you way out here?”
She nodded to them all, but spoke only to Major Jaerv.
“JAE, I have some information for you that should give you an edge today.”
“Oh, what did you do? Steal their comm. frequency or something?” HAR snapped.
JAC smiled slightly at the rabbit and produced a 3x5 card from her pocket. She turned to JAE and held it up to him.
“Y-you got their comm. frequencies?” RAE said incredulously.
“Well, one anyway. I was talking with one of the Tigerkahts, the white Persian one, and as we talked I noticed a comm. card he’d started to fill out for today’s frequencies on top of his planning book. It only had one frequency filled in, but it was their ship-to-ship for today. Seems sort of unfair, though.”
A hush fell over the rest of the pilots, and Hroar Hare grinned a broad, menacing grin. Major Jaerv smiled at the vixen.
“Løjtnant, intelligence is part of the game. If that officer had done that in wartime, he would’ve most likely gotten himself and his mates killed. Better he learn the lesson here. Let me have the frequency.”
She handed the card to the wolverine, and he smiled broadly. “Don’t worry, you haven’t done anything dishonorable. You have served Crown and Country well.” he said.
Aslaug looked at him with a “Yeah right” smirk, but then grinned and said, “Go get them, then.” She then turned and walked back out.
The 366th pilots now all grinned broadly at each other. Hroar punched one toughened fist into the other palm and said, “Let’s go get some Eagles.”
# # #
“All right, gentlefurs, that’s the mission. If there are no other questions, let’s go mount up. Rocketeers and Tigerkahts, let’s get ‘em!” Col. Warren said as he and Alex finished briefing the mission for the day. The aircrews responded enthusiastically and began to file out, heading for the equipment area to get suited up and ready to go do pre-flight. Jolt walked out with his WSO and Alex met up with the pilot he’d chosen as wingfur.
“Ready to go, Jedi?” Ice asked.
The feline grinned broadly at his new call sign. “All set, Ice,” he replied.
“Great! By the way, I wanted to tell you I’m not the kind of flight lead who insists I know it all. If you have an idea, or spot something I miss, please tell me about it.”
“Will do, Ice, but so far it looks like you have all the bases covered. The only thing I might suggest is a little more separation between us so I can maneuver to cover you better.”
Ice nodded and said, “And vice-versa. Good idea, let’s make it a quarter-mile after we break.” Jedi nodded and grinned, his tail waving in anticipation.
The pilots made their way to the transient lockers and donned their G-suits, picked up their helmets and gear, and headed for the flightline. As they arrived and walked out from the crew van, Ice and Jedi were greeted by their Crew Chiefs. Ice’s Crew Chief, a brown tabby feline Tech. Sergeant named Barry Baston, gave him a broad smile. Jedi’s Crew Chief, a Maine Coon cat Sergeant named Joe Killary, smiled slightly. True to the area his family was from, the stoic New-Englander didn’t get excited over much. They had been hard at work preparing the aircraft ever since they’d stepped off the C-141 two days ago.
“Colonel, she’s ready to go kick some tail,” TSgt. Baston said, laying a paw against the engine inlet.
“I knew she would be,” Alex replied with a wink. “Let’s get the preflight done and get ready for engine start.”
With the tabby following along and assisting, Ice did a thorough preflight of the aircraft, removing the various covers and pins with their “Remove Before Flight” pennants. Satisfied that all was well on the outside, Alex climbed the ladder and eased into the F-15C’s cockpit. TSgt. Baston followed him up the ladder and assisted him with strapping in and connecting the various communications and oxygen lines. They then performed the cockpit and systems checks, and then the NCO climbed back down and removed the ladder. He connected an intercom headset and positioned himself in front of the aircraft to assist with engine start and control checks.
“Stripes One to all Stripes, call in ready for engine start,” Ice called over the ship-to-ship using the Tigerkaht’s traditional call sign. One by one, the other eleven pilots called in ready, and then Ice called to Nellis ground Control.
“Nellis Ground, this is Stripes One, request engine start for twelve in Transient Parking Area Two.”
A few seconds later, the controller at Nellis Ground answered back, “Stripes One, Nellis Ground, you are cleared for engine start on all Stripes aircraft.”
“Copy Nellis, cleared for engine start,” Ice responded, and then switched to ship-to-ship. “Stripes one to all Stripes, cleared for engine start. Report when ready to taxi.”
Ice then switched to Intercom and called his Crew Chief. “All right Barry, ready for engine start.”
The tabby feline raised his paws and made a circular motion with his right one. Ice initiated the starting sequence and the Eagle’s port engine rumbled to life. They repeated the sequence for the starboard engine and then went through the control checks. In a moment, the other Tigerkahts began to call in their readiness. After the last one had called in, Ice keyed the radio.
Nellis Ground, Stripes One, twelve to taxi for runway Two One Right.”
“Copy Stripes One, twelve cleared to taxi for runway Two One Right, be advised a flight of Mud Hens (Nickname for the F-15E) is in front of you. Hold behind them and then hold at runway for takeoff clearance from tower,” the controller quickly answered.
“Stripes One copies,” Ice said, and then switched back to ship-to-ship. “All Stripes, pull chocks.”
He then switched back to intercom and said, “All right, Barry, pull chocks.”
The NCO quickly ran in and pulled the chocks from the main wheels and disconnected his intercom. He stowed the chocks and stood at attention just off Ice’s port wing, raising his paw in salute.
Ice returned the salute and nudged the throttles forward, easing out of the parking spot. He glanced back and saw Jedi moving out behind him. Ice then led his squadron out to the runway, going slowly and holding a bit to allow the Mud Hens, who he surmised were the Rocketeers, enough time to finish taking off. They would rendezvous at their prearranged RP (Rendezvous Point) in around fifteen minutes. In a short time, Ice was stopping at the hold marks on the taxiway leading to the end of runway Two One Right. As he awaited takeoff clearance from the tower, Ice could see the last of the 336th’s aircraft climbing out above the end of the runway. As he watched their exhaust smoke dissipate, Ice took a deep breath. This would be his first time leading an entire squadron into simulated combat. He said a quick prayer, and then the radio crackled to life.
“Stripes One, Nellis Tower, Stripes flight is cleared for takeoff.”
Ice found himself grinning broadly into his oxygen mask.
“Stripes flight copies, Tower,” he acknowledged, and then on the ship-to-ship, he started the squadron in motion.
“Tigerkahts, GO!”
END OF CHAPTER 17