The wing of 84 modified World War Two aircraft flew through the Southern Andes Mountains, along the border separating Chile from Argentina. Ahead of them, the Argentinian city of San Carlos de Bariloche lay, a victim of the Lyran/Purple Alliance invasion.
In the pilot's seat of the lead plane, a lone DeHavilland Mosquito, Arsenal half-listened to a CD as he guided the plane through the mountains. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a shadowy, bird-like figure, definately not one of the planes he'd assigned.
"Arsenal to Shadow Ranger," he spoke through the tacnet. "I thought I assigned you to the second wave."
"You did," she replied. "But the Admiral ordered me to launch. I don't think he trusts me, yet."
Arsenal sighed. The Shadow Ranger had been slightly withdrawn after visiting this timeline's Angel Grove, and he wondered if she was truly ready for combat on a scale this large. The X'Hirjq Invasion had been one thing, but this was not a fight for survival.
"All right," he radioed over. "Form on Colonel Contera's wing, Red Thirteen."
"Yes, Sir!"
"NO! And give me that heading in something I can understand!"
Through his cockpit window, Major Benge saw his subbordinate point in a westward direction.
"That way." He heard.
"That's better. All fighters, form on my wing."
"HUH???" came the replies.
"FOLLOW ME!!!"
"Gold Leader here. Go ahead."
"Sir, I'm showing bogeys on my screen, bearing 0300, heading our way."
Arsenal checked his RADAR for confirmation.
"Confirmed, Colonel. Change course to intercept."
Trying not to show his aggitation, the Major growled:
"No. Let's see if they want to surrender first."
Changing frequencies, he radioed to the Jihaddi fighters.
"Attention, archaic weaklings! You're ancient aircraft are no match for our Luv-Fighters. You will maintain speed and course, or be destroyed!"
"Attention all fighters. You heard the man. Maintain speed and corpse! Gold Wing, Red Wing, break off and attack."
"Commander, you've been talking with the Station-Boomer too long!" Col. Contera retorted. "Red Group, follow my lead!"
Fifteen Purple Alliance Luv-Fighters verses twenty-four World War Two fighters is a slaughter under normal circumstances. When the WWII fighters are armed with futuristic weaponry and piloted by the best the Jihad has to offer, it went beyond slaughter into "no contest".
"That was NOT very nice!" Major Benge shouted at the pilot of the Mustang that had popped off his wingman. "I oughtta teach you some manners!"
"Give it a try." retorted the Mustang's pilot. "Maybe it'll score you some brownie points with Saint Pete!"
Cutting sharply right, the Jihaddi pilot got in behind his pursuer.
"Come back here and get your milk and granola!" he heard Benge yell over the radio.
"No!" he called back. "Have a Tequilla Sunrise!"
In a brilliant flash, the Luv-Fighter's engines blew apart, a barrage of laser fire impacting on it's wings and tail sections.
The rest of the Luv-Fighters were faring no better. They had definitely not been expecting something like his to happen. In panic, many of the Spongies were shouting into their radios for orders from the late Major Benge.
Seconds later, the virtually unscathed Blood Jihad atack force left the area, continuing on their course.
"This is way too easy," Arsenal muttered.
"Agreed," Contera radioed over. "It's almost as if..."
Arsenal quickly banked as a beam of energy shot past his fighter, missing him by inches.
"It's a trap," he finished. "Gold Leader to all fighters. Break off for individual combat. This is going to get rough." He switched frequencies. "Admiral, we've lost the element of surprise, right on schedule. Launch the second wave!"
"On schedule? That's a first! Second wave is on the way!"
The air above San Carlos was filled with dogfights between the Jihad fighters and the Purple Alliance fighters, mostly French Mirage 2000s and some advanced Lyran designs.
"Gold Leader to Gold Four and Seven. Form on my wing. Stay back far enough to cover me. I'm going in."
With a pair of "Aye, sir!"s ringing in his ears, Arsenal flew closer to the ground, coming in behind a Lyran hovertank. Three meson blaster shots later, the tank was slagged metal, but the Mosquito had taken a few hits on the underside. A quick look behind him, and Arsenal sighed with relief; the isometal plating he'd installed on the inside had held. He banked, heading for the Alliance base, blowing up another tank on the way.
"KAMIKAZI!!!" Danath shouted, opening his throttle all the way, guns blazing as his plowed forward. Just before pushing his plane through the enemy's wreckage, he saw the pilot to be wearing officers' insignia.
"Killing officers could get to be a habit," he radioed to a wingmate, forming up with several others for a run on a ground target.
A llama grazed peacefully on a mountainside, enjoying the tender grass and breeze. Suddenly, it lifted its head, starting at an abrupt shift in the wind, and dashed out of the way just before several M-1A1 Abrams tanks, Bradley Fighting Vehicles, armored troop transports, and Badlands BattleMechs tore out of a teleportal that had formed nearby.
In the lead troop transport, General Keili surveyed the holomaps of the area.
"There's a landing strip not too far from here," she commented. "It's on the other side of the city from the Lyran base, but it'll suit our purposes nicely."
The convoy of armor rumbled off, the Jihaddi inside them feeling a mixture of emotions. Many of the troops were new recruits just out of training, while others had seen action during the X'Hirjq Invasion. Only a small minority were combat veterans, having seen what the Lyrans and B'Harniians were capable of on a large scale.
Across the landscape, various other armored units teleportaled in, circling the city.
"Eagle Leader to Gold Leader," he heard as an F-18 roared past him, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you were starting to angst."
"Give me a break, Lt. Winkler," he grinned. "Just keep an eye on your six. These stealthfighters won't register on your radar."
"Thanks for the warning, Commander." Lieutenant Cindy Winkler paused, as if she didn't want to tell Arsenal the next bit of news. "Oh, by the way, the Admiral's left the fleet in the hands of Captain Zellers, and is heading inland."
Arsenal groaned as he heard this, simultaneously wasting a pair of Luv Fighters. Now what's the Station-Boomer up to?
"That's the last of the resistance at the airstrip!" Capt. Hakker yelled, blasting a low-flying Luv Fighter with his twin Ionic Pulse Cannon. "Score one for the Jihad!"
"Settle down, Captain," Keili ordered, taking in the sight of the Jihad flag flying over the captured strip. "Radio the Commander. Checkpoint Alpha secured."
"Aye, Ma'am."
So that's how they're playing this, he thought, switching to his Mosquito's "special payload". Swinging around for a strafing run, he fired two specially redesigned Leech missiles at the force field. Checking his sensors, he noted that the missiles had hit with no effect.
"Gold Leader to all planes. Who else is carrying Leech missiles?"
"Red Thirteen reporting in, Gold Leader," came the reply. "I've got four available. What's the target?"
"Try and take out that force field," he ordered.
Arsenal surveyed his options. A direct attack against the Lyran encampment was out of the question. However....
"Gold Leader to all planes. I want the following units to land at the strip. Red Six, Red Eight, Blue Three, Green Seven, Orange Five, Purple Eleven," he paused while thinking, "and Red Thirteen."
"Roger, sir," came several replies, as the small assemblage flew off towards the landing strip secured earlier.