"Fox Fire" Chapter 1
 

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The small country of Avaria has been thrown into chaos. Avaria is an oil rich nation in northern Asia. It is not a large nation by any means; it is roughly the size of England. The main export if this nation is its rich crude oil, which is sold too many foreign markets by way to trade agreements, including the United States of America, England, Japan, and Canada. These treaties have held true for decades, but ten years ago a new faction came into power in the Avarian government. This faction was opposed to all foreign trade agreements or foreign contact of any kind, it believed that these foreign influences poisoned Avaria’s rich culture. Over the course of the past ten years the Separatists, as they began to be called, from the north gained more and more power in the Avarian senate. The Separatist representatives clashed with the Nationalist representatives regularly on matters of trade, foreign policy, and national well being. The Separatists continued to gain more and more support from the public, under that belief that the behavior and attitudes of foreign powers was irreprehensible, that the good citizens of Avaria were morally cleaner than those from other nations. Support followed, but not enough. Tensions continued to grow and neither the Nationalists, nor the Separatists could achieve their political goals. Time after time the Separatists in the north threatened succession only to back down from their threats as the south would give up a little more ground each time. Finally tensions exploded when a group of Separatist commandos forcibly raided and kidnapped a group of southern politicians, demanding that all ties to the outside world be cut off. Nationalist Commando teams stormed the building, rescued the hostages, and killed the Separatists. The death of the Separatist commandos sent the north into an uproar, the southern senate tried to calm the northern peoples but it was too late, on March 25th, 2004, Northern Avaria officially seceded from the South, seizing most of the oil assets with it. With most of its naval and air assets in the north, the nationalists had a strong ground force, but were weak in the air and at sea. Likewise, the Separatists have a strong naval and air presence, but their ground forces are lacking. In the Nationalists first push into the north, their ground forces sustained heavy casualties from naval and air bombardment. This same situation was repeated time and time again, and although they had a small air force the Nationalists realized they would need air superiority to win this war. The word went out immediately that any and all air assets willing to assist would be paid a hefty sum of money. This was right up “Fox Fires” alley.


NOVEMBER 5th 2004

The smell of jet fuel permeated through Zeike’s nose as he stood at the edge of the flight line smoking a cigarette. He took a large drag, and the orange and gray ash flicked from the tip. Zeike watched as the particles flittered and danced among the tiny snowflakes falling from the sky before disappearing into obscurity. He enjoyed the quiet moments like these before a mission briefing, it gave him a chance to clear his mind. He looked around at the trees before him, their branches laden with snow, the glow of the moon as it bounced off the clean white canvas below it, the millions are stars in the sky, Avaria truly was a beautiful land at this time of year. His appreciation of nature was interrupted by the screaming boom of two F-4 Phantoms streaking by above him. Zeike sighed; he only hoped the fires of the impending conflict not lay waste to nature’s masterpiece. Nature after all was the only thing created flawless.
Zeike finished the last drag and put the cigarette out on his boot before sticking the extinguished butt into his pants pocket. There was no use in littering a sight such as the one he had just witnessed. The airfield was small, nothing more than a few poorly constructed buildings, a couple hangers, and a runway. The means were meager, but it was the best place to launch planned surgical strikes again the Northern Separatist troops. The front line was no more than 70 miles north. This also meant that the fighters could be scrambled at a minutes notice and be in the fray in a matter of minutes. It was also rather well hidden from the enemy among the trees and was one of several installations put together after the conflict began. He turned and began to walk back to the central base; the briefing was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes. Soon the pilots of “Fox Fire” would begin to file out of their small make shift quarters and make their way over to the command tent. As he walked he eyed their fighters, an SU-37, two MIG-29s, an A-10, a Tornado, and an FW-190. It was the FW-190 that always caught his eye; for the most part he could not believe it was still in the air. It had been through several equipment overhauls as it were, and taken its fair share of bullet wounds. Some of the crew at the base mocked the old man for flying it, other simply placed wagers on how many missions it would make before being blow to ash. Zeike couldn’t care either way, if the old man gets his ass shot off no big loss, a new pilot would take his place with a better plane, and even if he keeps completing missions Zeike still wins cause more missions means more money.
Zeike had made it to the command building. It was one room, on one side was the command and control for the airfield, and on the other was a small makeshift briefing area for the flight crews. Zeike took off his coat, opened up his briefing folder, and unrolled a few maps of the mission area as he waited for his pilots to arrive.

Dim was the first to enter the tent, the mist from his breath forming a cloud around his head, which he dispersed by walking through it. He checked his watch - 0515. He looked around the small briefing tent. Only Zeike was there, poring over a bunch of maps. The laminated wall map had arrows and circles plotted on it with markers

Damn kids must have forgotten how to wake up...

"Morning, Zeike. What's on the menu today?"

He took a seat near the briefing table. His ears were going and he didn't want to miss a word.

Damnit I’m late again!

Marc burst out of the mess hall with a piece of half-eaten toast in his mouth, startling a couple of native non-coms.

“Sorrfy bft i’mf in a hfurry.” Said Marc as he passed the non-coms and made his way to the small command building. It was new, no denying that. But the base provided the basics, and that was all Marc needed.

He made his way into the building and over to the small room that had become their briefing room. Upon entering, he saw that only Zeike and Dim were there. Great, so i'm not going to be the last one. Marc gave a mental sigh of relief.

Zeike was near the front arranging maps for the briefing, Marc liked Zeike, he knew how to pay attention to details. In Marc’s experience, many people overlooked the little details of life and work. But in this line of work, having a commander anal about detail is very promising sign of living through you missions to spend your fat paycheck.

Next Marc turned his gaze toward Dmitri. That old war horse always looked disgruntled to Marc, although he could never figure out why. Dmitri, or Dim as we called him for short, was one of the senior pilots. The only one older than him was the crazy german. Marc smiled at the thought, he liked talking to the older pilots; getting pointers and hearing old stories. Dim was good for accurate accounts of fights and good strategies on countering opponents. Johan, or Fritz as most of the group called him, was just plain fun to listen too. By hearing his account of ww2 you wonder why the germans los-

It was around that time that Marc realized he had been standing near the doorway for several minutes thinking, and had drawn curious stares from the other two.

“Of, sorrfy i’mf laft-“ the other two continued to stair. Then Marc remembered the bread in his mouth and swallowed it in three gulps reminiscent of how a duck eats bread chunks tossed to it.

“Uh, yea I think I’ll take a seat now.” And he did so, at one of the seats near the front edge of the room.

"Primary objective, secondary objective. Air cover, SAM trajectory."
Zeike was speaking to himself as the two pilots entered, he was trying to make sure he had all the bases covered. The first was Dim, one of the most senior pilots and the one Zeike ussually put in command of the missions. He has the most flight experiance second to Fritz, and his fighter was one of the best. He was a good soild pilot, kept a watchful over his squadmates, and knew his way around a tactical map, a good choice.

"Morning, Zeike. What's on the menu today?"

He said calmly as he sat down, Zeike continued to double check the flight plans on the maps.

"Well we have a good solid objective this time. No more chasing phantom bases that may or may not be there. This country is pretty small, and intl is pretty good since we got control of the sattelites."

The second to enter was Marc, the A-10 pilot. He was a bit crude, tactless, and rough around the edges, just like his A-10. In any case Fox Fire could only take the best bomber pilots due to the attrition rate, and that had to speak something for his abilities.

"All right guys, we are just waiting on the rest of the tema here and we can start our briefing."

"Hey!, anyone want one of these...things?" piped Ben as he jogged up to and into the doorway, "..It's kinda like an egg-gyro/felafel, dunno how they make it, but it's better than sex this time of morning"
He pauses for a minute as the three veterans at the table give him amused, and slightly puzzled looks.
"I took my run this morning, about 12 miles south, a town, with people....stop looking at me like that! Fine, i'll leave 'em here if you old dogs need some fiber-con with your meals." He said, smiling, with a sarcastic tone.
-It was quite an acheivement how he ran with all that gear on. 6'2", 190 lbs, dark brown hair, with Arctic camo pants and coldgear underarmour shirt with a matching pattern, with a double chest holster across his torso, an extended mag Taurus 24/7-9A in each. Full ALICE pack with all the necessities (or maybe just bricks for the pain factor). Grey stocking cap pulled over his ears, and matching gloves complementing a fine set of combat boots. But then again, which special ops school had he not ben jammed through in 3 weeks? To be honest, it had left him a little neurotic, and a bit nuts.
-Thus his taking the job with Fox Fire. Either way, he liked the older pilots and younger ones alike. The vets were crafty old salts that didn't act their age, but had wisdom undue of people with such a "reckless" attitude. Probably why they lived so long. The yonger folks, of which he was the youngest, he found slightly more experienced in the cockpit than himself. Seras he found to be the most fun. Sassy would be an understatement, and she was turning out to be a better drinking buddy than anyone back at Langley. Ben had no idea there were so many ways to play poker.
"So, what's the target list?"

Seras ran in, wet hair plastured to her forehead. "Sorry, I was in the shower when the call came in. What's up?" She said, taking a seat.

We were about to begin. Sleep well? Hungry?
he holds out one a those things he offered to the others.
You people are killin' me.

Dim took a look at Seras and hmphed. He had never really gotten used to the idea of women flying planes, or taking part in the armed forces, for that matter. Fritz and he had seen to many comrades, all men, fight and die.

That said, she did have a pretty nice rack.

"Seras, next time don't bother putting anything on, that should get the guys to come down faster." He grinned at her and took a pastry from Ben.

"Better than sex? We'll see."

He took a bite into it. Not bad. Still didn't live up to its reputation, though.

Nigel stepped into the command room, his face red from the cold. He had with him a seaming cup of tea, and looked suprized to see his fellow pilots gathered in the room already. Checking his watch he said "Oh, bloody hell. I forgot to set my watch to local time. Terribly sorry chaps, I thought I was early."

Taking the first available seat, Nigel sipped at his tea, and waited anxiously for the breifing

[OOC: been a buisy week, this is the first opportunity ive had to post]

[O.C.C. Sorry for the delay on the breifing post. I am waiting for everyone to show up and Fritz ain't here yet. Plus I have an x-mas party to be at so I will post it tonight whether or not Fritz has posted.]


Fox Fire was definatly not the military, there were no ranks, no standards, no salutes, and definatly no cerimonies. You had a plane, the money to maintain it, a certain disregard for the rules, and could keep up with Zeike, you were in. This made for an interesting crew at times. Fox Fire had been around for a long time, and had seen many different pilots come in and out. Hell, Zeike was not even the first Ops commander, he was once a pilot and inherited the position. The point is, it is in Fox Fire's diversity that is draws its strengths, and why it has survived since before the Vietnam war. If anything, the only real rules in Fox Fire is whoever has the gold amkes the rules. Zeike has the gold, thus he is in ultimate command, and to watch over your buddies, since their survival is your survival.