Mega WAD 3: Again & Again/MEGAWAD3.BIN/megausnf/mission/spec_ops/so1.mt

Text File | 1995-06-18 | 13.5 KB | 385 lines

 .section1
 Special-Ops Mission # 1
 .section2
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CAMPAIGN INFO


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This campaign was written by :

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  Steven "Peregrin" Ouellette
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  email: [e-mail]



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This mission was distributed via the USNF webpage :

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  http://www.cs.utwente.nl
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  /~kamps/usnf.html


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 INTRODUCTION / AIR SHOW
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 Washington
 Date : August 1
 LOCAL TIME : 0015
 WEATHER : Rain

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 .header
 INTRODUCTION
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 "Ah, shit.  What've I got myself into now?"  Muttering to myself has cost me
two marriages and more commissions than I care to remember.  Still, it seems
to me that I attract more than my share of trouble.  Of course working for
Special Ops as the resident jet guru might be said to be a trouble magnet
anyway.

I was on my way to Boss' office.  That's the only name anyone knew him by.
 Whenever I got those middle of the night calls to report to Boss, I knew I
had screwed up.  Either it was something I did, or just the fact that I had
opted for one more tour of spook central, and not taken one of those cushy
civilian consulting jobs I kept hearing about.

I was going over in my mind the list of my most recent transgressions which
might account for this special visit.  I really didn't think Boss knew about
Nicaragua, yet.  And the fact I was dating (or something) his secretary was a
well-kept secret.

I think.

I approached the office door, no less ominous for the fact that it was a
standard government blue-green and had a plaque which stated it lead to
"Office Supplies."  Everybody's got a sense of humor.  Except Boss.

"Get in here, Carter."  The old man's voice was vigorous, calm, always
courteous, and had been known to cause Marine sergeants to beg for mercy.

"Colonel Reginald Carter, reporting, sir."  Although Boss wasn't officially
military, its best to play it safe with him.  Besides, I genuinely respected
him.

"Have a seat, son."

Uh-oh, he DOES know about Mary.

"Carter, I know that, for all your faults, you truly believe that this
monstrous bureaucracy we both work for is the worst form of government,
except for all the others."

It took me a second, too.  "Uh, yes sir."

"I want you to resign your commission and retire."

Now, you've got to understand how many times I had been made Major, and how
many times I'd heard the same request from my superior officers.  But never
from Boss.

"Boss, I just got my eagles back again!  Whatever it was, I won't do it
again."

"Don't tell a fib, son.  And its not what you think.  I've got a special
mission for you, but it has to be unofficial.  I want you to teach some boys
how to fly, American-style."

This was more like it.  "Yessir!  What am I volunteered for this time?"

"Things are getting stirred up in Russia and the former Warsaw Pact
countries.  I want a group of native pilots in each allied country to form a
nucleus of tough, do or die jocks that can splash a MiG, rebuild a Su-27 and
whistle 'America the Beautiful' with half their brain tied behind their
back."

Boss occasionally gets carried away by his metaphors.  But this
assignment...ever been offered the opportunity to mold the shape of an entire
country's fighting force?  Didn't think so.  Fantastic!

"What's the scoop, Boss?"

"We've acquired some aircraft from private sources with no link back to the
government.  Your persona is that of a hired military advisor.  When you
leave here today, your official contact with the United States of America is
severed.  We don't know you, and you never heard of us."

"Where's the party?"

"Your area is the Ukraine."

"Aw, jeez Boss.  Can't you send me somewhere a little more exciting?  Ukraine
has been stable for years now.  Russia won't endanger that contact with the
West, much less the supply of oil."

"That's your lot, son.  Brush up on your Russian.  We start planning the
logistics in a week."
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A little later...
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"Holy Christ!  F-104's and A-7's?  Where did you guys get this stuff, a used
car lot?"

Shultz, the guy I was considering beating with the nearest blunt object, got
all defensive.  "Listen, Carter.  It's not like your going into combat.  They
just need to learn how to interact with some American and allied planes.
 Escort, bombing, whatever.  You'll be getting some live ordinance, both in
the original drop as well as supplies from the Ukrainian government.  The
planes are easy to maintain, with plenty of spare parts.  Do you know what
kind of crew and equipment is necessary to keep an F-22 aloft?  Give it up."

"Shultz, although the Ukraine is not the hot bed of the world right now, it
is bordered by lots of potential bad guys.  I wear belts AND suspenders.  At
least gimme some a decent interceptor and some AMRAAMs."

"No can do, fly boy.  Boss's orders.  This is supposed to be low-profile,
private funding, remember?"

I figured Boss was punishing me.  The F-104 is fast, all right, but it has
the turning radius of the QE II.  And the all-weather A-7 was a good plane in
it's time, but was rapidly being phased out for the F/A-18.

"What about FLIR pods, Paveways, AIM-9 .underline Ms ..underline for
gossakes?"

"Have to do without.  Later in the training if you keep your head down, we
might sneak a rooskie FLIR in.  And we're giving you live Sparrows and
AIM-9B's for interceptor practice."

"Maybe you got a long bow for over-the-horizon launches.  Or a muzzle-loader
for AAA?"

"Can it, Carter.  You're civvie now.  Take what you get and deal with it."

The repulsive little toad stomped off to some slimy rock while I muttered
curses in four languages.

Boss MUST'VE found out about Mary.  Damn!
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Arriving in Ukraine...
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.body

I stepped off the Herc as the unloading crew started the long job of pulling
out the planes, parts, and what little ordinance I had been given.  I was met
by a career Colonel in the Ukrainian army who was to be my liaison during
this assignment.

"Welcome to the Ukraine, Col. Smith.  I hope your flight was enjoyable."

"Well, the accommodations in a C-130 are surprisingly adequate.  Got some
handball in during the ocean crossing."

I hope you are ready to get down to business right away.  We have a long way
to go before this base is functional."

I groaned mentally, but truthfully, I was bored silly on the flight, and any
distraction was welcome.

Colonel Poltava escorted me around the small base.  It was little more than a
graded plot of dirt with some prefabs going up for hangers and storage.  The
view was breathtaking.  We were somewhere between one and two thousand feet
above sea level in a bowl-like depression overlooking a rustic valley.  The
needles in the pine trees rustled in a cool breeze and small woodland animals
could be seen on the edge of the tarmac.  According to the map, we were close
to a little town called Vinnytsya, but the covert nature of the base would of
course preclude any social visits.

"You will notice the camouflage over everything.  We have attempted to keep
knowledge of this base from the Russians, just in case.  At scheduled
intervals, we cover everything over as the spy satellite crosses."

"And this tree here in the runway?"

"A masterful American hologram.  We really have spared no expense to make
this base unknown."

"Uh," I grunted.

"Oh, and watch out for the end of the runway.  Its pretty rough there and it
could damage your plane if you hit it at take-off speeds."

The living quarters were a walled off section of the prefab hanger.  Water
was provided by filling up a bucket from a nearby stream.  Showers were of
solar-heated rainwater collected on the roof.  If there was no solar, there
was no heat.  Ah well, I've certainly lived in worse.  At least there weren't
any bullets zinging around.

The colonel introduced me to my two assistants.  Boris Grolzkey was a huge,
hairy man with arms the size of tree trunks.  I wondered how he fit into a
cockpit.  A native Russian, he took pains to announce that he had lived his
whole life in the Ukraine and truly thought of it as his Motherland.  I
instantly named him "Bear", which he accepted with only a show of ill-humor.

Nikolai Uzhorod was a true-blue Ukrainian.  I named him "Popcorn" since that
was the only English word he knew.  But he was very proud of it, and rolled
the sounds around in his mouth.

We had not yet received the students we would be training, since the place
was still being completed.  Col. Poltava guessed we would be up and running
within a week, but that the students would arrive in about a month.

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 SITUATION
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 About a week and a half after I had arrived, Col. Poltava interrupted me as
I was fixing the hanger door for the fourth time.  The techs were doing what
they could for the museum pieces, and it was up to me to keep the darn
building standing.

"These goddamn Russian parts!  How do they quench these bolts, piss on 'em?"

The colonel was getting used to my verbal diarrhea and usually ignored me.
 "Col. Smith, some of the local farmers are coming to us with concerns about
the base.  I think we should offer them a good will gesture of some sort."

"Whaddya want to do, let them garden in between the runways or something?"

"Well, no.  I think that most of their anxiety comes from seeing and hearing
these imposing American planes."

"Ukrainian," I reminded him.

"Right.  Anyway, I have received permission to put on a short air show
demonstration to let them see that these machines are not war machines, but
training tools.  It is especially important to get their approval with things
in Moscow deteriorating right now."

I dropped the tool I had been banging with and stared at him with my mouth
open.  "You mean you want me to fly loop-de-loops over your super-secret
base?  Does that make a lot of sense?"  I stared at him and tilted my head,
"Have you been listening to C-SPAN on Radio Free Europe again?"

"We will do it when the satellite is out of range and it will only be a few
minutes.  If you keep your radar emitter off, it is unlikely anyone will even
pick you up in this remote location."  He said the latter somewhat stiffly.
 "We are, after all, far away from Russia here."

Shaking my head at government logic, I went inside to see how the check-out
was going for the F-104.

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 Date : August 15
 LOCAL TIME : 1200
 WEATHER : Clear


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 MISSION OBJECTIVE
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"Ok, here is the plan for the demonstration.  I'll be flying the F-104 (God
help me).  I'll take off to the north to waypoint 1, about 2000ft, turn back
around and buzz the bastards on the ground with full afterburner to waypoint
2.  I'll turn around again, align with the runway, hit the afterburner and
pull into an outside loop over the runway."

"Don't forget to cut your afterburner once you reach the top."

"I know, Bear.  I'll finish the loop, again over the runway, then hit aft
again and go into a ballistic roll to angels 10, stall it out, then plummet
back to the crowd.  I'll use the speed to go into as high a g turn as those
stubby little wings can give me around the runway, then line up to land.
 I'll be taking a minimum load out to eke out what little maneuverability I
can.  No fuel tanks, just AIM-9B's on the wingtips for looks.  Sound
thrilling?"

"Have fun, Colonel."

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 ORDER OF BATTLE
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 Force size : 1
 Aircraft : F-104
 Weapon Loadout : 2 x AIM-9B's

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 THREAT DATA
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 GROUND THREATS : NONE
 AIR OPPOSITION : NONE
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 MISSION SUCCESS
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The F-104 taxied to a stop at the far end of the runway.  I pulled off my
helmet and sat still in my sweat-soaked flight suit.

"Jumpin' Jehosophat," I whispered to myself.  "I'm probably in the shit for
sure, now."

Bear and Popcorn came running up, followed by a puffing Col. Poltava.  "Jesu,
are you all right Eagle?"

"Yup."  I looked at Poltava, "Where the hell did that MiG come from?"

"We are still trying to track it down.  Command thinks he was a Russian,
though."

"What was a Russian MiG doing here, and why did he try to shoot me down?"

Everyone looked on in baffled silence.

Then Popcorn said, "Hey, the crowd really liked the show, Colonel."
.page
Later, I was talking with Boss on the scrambled satellite link.

"Intel thinks he was a loony tune, but the Russians are making official
noises about "excessive force" and "accidental navigation."  Old Yeltsin is
taking a beating from the hard line guys.  Boss, it seems to me this
situation plays right into their hands all too well."

"I agree, Carter.  That MiG was looking for a fight.  He just happened to see
you hanging up there with your ass in the wind and thought he'd play it safe.
 Lucky you had real missiles."

"Real missiles?  AIM9-B's aren't real missiles.  Listen, things are heating
up here.  I think you should get me some decent ordinance and maybe a plane
or two just in case.  I've already asked Poltava for some AAA and SAM defense
hardware."

"No can do, Reg.  You are on your own.  Whatever you can get from the
Ukrainian government will have to do.  Hang tight.  Boss out."

DamnDamnDamn

 .section 4
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 MISSION FAILURE
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 That MiG was meant to be a surprise(That is why I told you to keep your
RADAR OFF.)  You still should of been able to out fight one measly Mig.