Pro Patria

Northern Rohk, Bolshok States, 2002


Fifty eight thousand feet and climbing. That should have been enough space to get rid of the lone F-5G cemented on his heel. The chunky F-14D chortled as it fought for altitude, Havok spat flames as he cursed the bulky aircraft, it's failing attempts to give him the needed altitude to turn the tables on this Tigershark angering.
"Get this fuck off of me! Archer! Fucking kill it!" Havok yelled angrily as the engines finally lost the struggling battle. Lights beeped and sirens wailed within his ears as the aircraft became nothing more than an armored rock. It was time to get the fuck outta' dodge, it sure as hell wouldn't be easy though.




"Confirm, Blueblood, I've got an eye on the target." Barracuda responded, the sleek Atlas Cheetah rocketed into the attack behind the enemy F-5 of the Rohkan Airforce. Havok's situation was dire, the young pilot was still caught up with reigniting his engines from the stall he had just forced himself and his aircraft in to, it was now up to Archer to end the fight and once again save Havok's ass.
"Fox Three." He replied calmly as the missile struck forward, launched from it's hard-points underneath the Cheetah's wings. The small ballistic chunk of metal was far different than the missiles that had been used prior to the turn of the century; most modern missiles were now small pieces of metal that relied on kinetic power, rather than explosives, to do the most damage to the aircraft. These new missiles were exponentially smaller than their larger predecessors, allowing aircraft to carry large numbers of aircraft, increasing loitering and combat capability. Archer's Cheetah, callsign "Barracuda", could carry 20 on both of it's wings alone. Hardly counting the simple hard-points that could be tacked on to the body of the aircraft while on the ground.

The SDM-12, coined "Hacker-II" by the pilots and technicians around the world, slammed into the tail of the F-5 as it broke it's steep climb. The apex of the F-5's trajectory bringing it directly into the sights of the narrow missile, despite it's lack of maneuverability, the SDM found it's target and shredded the engine of the aircraft, creating a resounding explosion that obliterated the target. Archer's HUD flickered with the kill, and the radar shifted to find a new target. The soft beeping returned as Archer doubled over and banked the MiG, performing a clean hatch-back.
"That's one more you owe me, Blueblood. Remember that." He remarked before turning to move upwards and away from the thick of the fight. Tracers and missile trails divided the sky, where the remainder of the Red Halo's and a single squadron of the Azrican Airforce were enrolled in a brisk battle with several groups of Rohkan Interceptors.




"Shut the fuck up and get back in the fight, Barracuda!" Havok barked as he engaged the Phantom's two engines. The chunk of metal that was once dropping from the air now blasting through it as he assumed a staggered column behind Barracuda, the F-14 already struggling to maintain it's distance with the much faster Cheetah. Havok's terrible choice in aircraft had cost him the upper-hand in a dogfight a number of times, and it had been his skills as a pilot that had saved him in a portion of those times.
"Looks like the Halo's are kickin' ass, 'eh, Blueblood?" Archer said, the broad transmission easily carrying across to the mass of aircraft entangled in the furball.
"We picked 'em, Barracuda, of course they're kickin' ass!" Havok barked before throttling, a single MiG-21 jetting overhead and breaking from the dogfight. It was Havok's turn to smear the Rohkans across the wall. Breaking upward and slicing the throttle, Havok yanked the stick backward, the F-14 responding by barreling sideways and jutting into the sky. The decrease in the speed would allow him to turn the blundering behemoth easily while he simply tagged a ARM-4 on the large gun-rack on the belly of the aircraft. The Active Radar Missiles gave Havok the ability to annihilate an opponent from any given distance, if he could keep him within radar range and within the respected Circle of Influence needed for the missile to track in.


Squeezing the trigger on the stick, the aircraft shuddered as the first ARM was launched. Havok was now on his own with this one. He tried his best to steady his hand with the small meter beside the weapons display flickered as the missile drew close on his opponent. With the distance widening between the MiG-21 and Havok, the doomed pilot was signing his own death warrant, in seconds the ARM struck it's target, guided by the pin-point steadiness Havok had on it.
"Let's finish these guys off, Halo's!"

"This is Monitor. Kill confirmed Havok," Vic Packman called into his headset, "Two enemy craft remaining. Stay frosty guys, just because they're pissin' their pants doesn't mean they'll be any easier to kill."
A sarcastic reply blared through his headset. Vic ignored it. He turned and looked back into the cabin where his crew were busy monitoring other radar screens and communications. Vic and his crew were what gave the Halo's their edge. He was their eye in the sky, the guardian angel. At least, that's what he told himself. It made him feel important. Regardless of his actual usefulness, the E-3 Sentry's radar had picked up the MiGs before they even knew the Halo's were there.
Vic turned to face forward, "How's our altitude?" he asked his co-pilot.
"We're still out of range of enemy fire. Fuel is fine."
Vic nodded and leaned back in his seat. All that was left to do was to wait.