As that fated day drew to a close. Those four brave jet teams soared across the south side of the Amarosa Valley. The light of day all but faded from the world, casting stretching shadows from the windswept mountain tops down into the grassy valleys.
The Last Stand Navy vessels had crested the Western mountains long ago, and could be anywhere by now.
The team had just shared a blistering conversation about the fleets next targets, as they banked to the right, swerving through a giant tear in the eastern mountains. Dug by miners years ago, which luckily allow for access to the Kalsen Platto at the other side, where the Protectorate had built their airbase.
The plato in question was a perfect defensive location. The only entry was via the man-made entrance, and the plato's open air drop off on the eastern side, down onto the Iranda Sea.
Stretching for miles out onto deep green waters.
It was a beautiful place.
They approached the base, dark as pitch in the shadow of the mountain. Every light turned off, fearful of being seen by any more invading forces. A sound tactic.
"Commander, we're here." Lennard said, easing his craft in for a slow landing when the time came. The rest of the team following in silence.
"We already see you, Lennard." Answered command. His voice straining with stress. His voice then turned away, towards a distant figure, "Elon. On."
The plattoe lit up, two parallel lines of soft lights sprung forth from the night. Cascading onto the landing strip. Casting strange swirling pools of green and blue colour.
The Commander,
"Ready. Begin landing."
Slowly, with order and precision, all of the planes slowed into a dive and landed, immediately rolling out to their Emergency Landing Ports.
In the event of war, the less time it took to get planes into the air the better, so every aircraft had specific little pads off the main and secondary runway.
Even the Kinetic Launch Apparatus, a tall cylindrical "gun" was prepared.
The KLA as it was abbreviated, was a sort of 'craft launcher' that could shoot jets out at top cruising speeds. Vital rapid-response modern tech.
After launching the three squadrons, it was still cooling off. Even hours after operation.
As Lennard's craft came to rest on the tarmac spot, his strained muscles finally gave in. Unravelling themselves. He slacked, sinking into his seat, breathing heavily. The weight of stress mostly rolling off him as he often tried to let it.
Reaching a hand up, he pulled a lever at the back of his cockpit window, and the large glass oval smoothly slid forward. With skilful hands he undid his securing belts, and lifted himself from the seat.
Bones gave soft exhilarating crackles, as Lennard stretched himself. Then, with care and agility clambered down onto the tarmac.
A man in a light green jacket, and a small cap, came bounding forward trailing a large metallic cylinder mounted horizontally onto tank-tracks. The man flicked a switch, and the machine whirred to life. Extending a robust boom arm that attached itself to the Jet's maintenance port.
The machine, out of a small hole on the side, then began to release innumerable little spider-like robots that scampered across the tarmac, and formed a little tower for their brethren to climb on. The force ascended to the jet, and began to amass, covering it. Tiny little beeps confirming their function.
"The bird seems to be in top form Yellow Leader. Good flying."
Lennard nodded to the technician, and began his brisk walk across the tarmac, towards the tall nonagonal building, that was the airbase's multipurpose command centre and barracks.
YOU ARE READING
World In Turmoil
Science FictionAmongst the empires of the galaxy. Between the factions and the territories. On a rustic world left to itself. A young man had heros once... They were a force sworn to protect. They were a navy of saviours. In a time of need. ...
