C43 Death From Above

"Our forces are scattered, our defenses are unprepared, and now the madman and his dogs are marching toward our borders."

He straightened his uniform and turned on his heel.

"Do what you will, Your Grace. I have an army to try and salvage."

With that, he stormed out, slamming the doors behind him.

The Grand Duke remained motionless for several moments, his mind sluggishly processing what had just happened.

Finally, one of the women, a blonde draped in fine silks, sat up beside him, resting a delicate hand on his shoulder.

"My Duke...?"

She murmured hesitantly. The Grand Duke's expression twisted, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

The Imperator had declared war. The wolves were at his gates. And he had spent the last week too drunk and debauched to see it coming.

For the first time in his life, true fear seeped into his bones.

...

Teutonica heartland, Teutonica Air base 06:17 AM.

The biting morning cold wrapped around Private Klaus like a damn noose. He cursed under his breath, pulling his coat tighter around his body, but it did nothing against the frost that clung to his bones.

The night had been long, miserable, and uneventful like every other night stuck on this g*ds forsaken watchtower.

He shifted in his seat, his numb fingers gripping his bolt action rifle as he cast a glance toward the southern horizon.

Just a dull, endless stretch of gray clouds and frozen fields, nothing but the occasional flickering of cigarettes of fellow on patrol duty soldiers from below breaking the monotony.

His shift was nearly over, thank the g*ds. He could already picture it, warm barracks, hot coffee, maybe even sneaking in a few extra minutes of sleep before the officers came around barking orders.

Klaus yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, when something in the sky caught his attention. Distant dots. Small, barely noticeable against the early morning gloom.

He frowned, reaching for his binoculars. The lenses were fogged from his own breath, so he wiped them clean with a gloved hand before raising them to his eyes.

The dots were growing larger. Moving fast. Aircraft?

His brows furrowed. The airbase wasn't supposed to have any returning patrols. Had he missed a briefing? Maybe an unscheduled flyby?

A chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"...Wait a minute."

None of their planes had taken off this morning. His heartbeat quickened as he lowered the binoculars and squinted toward the airfield below. The floodlights had snapped on, cutting through the darkness. Then...

WEEEOOOO! WEEEOOOO! WEEEOOOO!

The air raid sirens shrieked to life, shattering the early morning silence. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

No. No, no, no, this cant be happening.

The base commander's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, panic laced beneath the authority in his tone.

"This is not a drill! I repeat, this is NOT a drill! We are officially at war! All personnel to battle stations! Scramble the fighters!"

Klaus felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him.

War?!

For a single heartbeat, he sat frozen, unable to move, unable to think. His breath hitched, his fingers trembled. Then, instinct kicked in.

He lunged for the landline phone, yanking it off its receiver so hard he nearly ripped the cord from the wall.

"Enemy planes! Enemy planes!"

He roared into the speaker, his voice hoarse with disbelief and terror. As the words left his lips, the sound of aircraft engines finally reached his ears.

...

Above the Teutonica Airbase 06:19 AM.

Pebbles Spartanum Imperiums First Fighter Wing, Callsign "Pebbles".

The moment the air raid sirens blared, Pebbles bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. The fools below had finally realized what was happening but it was too damn late.

"Alright, boys,"

Pebbles' voice crackled through the radio, calm and sharp as a razor.

"We're up. Keep it tight, stick to your wingman, and make it rain hell!"

A chorus of acknowledgments filled the radio. With a slight push of the throttle, the TX1 Falcon plunged forward, leading the charge.

The world narrowed to a single point of focus as the Teutonica airfield rushed toward them. Below, dozens of enemy fighters were parked in neat, vulnerable rows along the tarmac, their pilots scrambling toward them like panicked ants.

A few had already reached their cockpits, engines roaring to life. Others weren't so lucky.

A rapid burst of 20mm autocannon fire from the airfield's defensive emplacements lit up the sky, tracers slicing through the early morning haze like fiery threads.

The Imperium's biplanes twisted and rolled, dodging the first wave of fire. But not all were lucky.

"F*ck, I'm hit! I'm bailing!"

One of the Imperium's fighters burst into flames, a direct hit from an AA emplacement sending it spinning out of control.

The pilot jumped out from the open cockpit, and a white parachute blossomed in the sky, the pilot barely escaping before his plane slammed into the ground in a fiery explosion.

Another biplane took a hit to the wing, spiraling toward the treetops. The pilot never had time to eject. His aircraft struck the ground, erupting in a fireball.

Seeing this Pebbles gritted his teeth.

"Stay focused!"

He snapped.

"We knew this wouldn't be a f*cking picnic!"

But he wasn't flying a biplane. He was flying the Falcon. And it was about to earn its name.

"Engaging AA guns,"

He growled, lining up the TX1's sights. The Falcon's dual cannons roared.

30mm and 20mm HE, AP and tracer rounds tore through the first anti air emplacement, shredding the sandbags and sending bodies flying. The explosion sent shrapnel raining down onto the tarmac.

The next AA crew didn't even have time to react before Pebbles strafed their position, a concentrated burst reducing their gun to twisted metal and bloodied wreckage.

"Two AA emplacements down!"

He barked into the radio.

"Keep those f*ckers busy!"

Below, the enemy fighters were finally getting airborne.

The first flight of Teutonica's biplanes lifted off the runway, their double 7.62 mm machine guns already blazing toward the Imperium's attacking force.

"Look alive lads! Enemy birds in the air!"

One of his pilots called. Pebbles didn't wait.

He yanked the stick hard to the left, rolling the Falcon into a steep climb. A Teutonica fighter shot past his previous position, guns blazing at empty sky.

Amateur. Pebbles flipped his Falcon over, nose diving directly onto the poor bastard.

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!

The TX1's 30mm cannons shredded the enemy fighter in a single pass. The plane exploded mid air, a smoking wreck before it even hit the ground.

"One down,"

Pebbles muttered. More Teutonica fighters swarmed into the sky, their propellers screaming. Dogfights erupted everywhere.

A friendly biplane was chased down by two enemy fighters, their tracers sparking off its frame.

"Hang on, Hammer!"

Pebbles dove, lining up his shots. One quick burst and the lead enemy fighter erupted into flames. The second immediately broke off, panicking.

"You're clear,"

Pebbles barked.

"Appreciate it, Pebbles,"

Hammer's voice came over the radio, shaken but steady.

The Falcon wasn't untouchable. Rounds slammed into its fuselage, puncturing the metal with loud, jarring thunks.

Pebbles grimaced as he checked his instruments. Fuel leaking, but stabilizing. The self sealing tanks were doing their job. Armored cockpit plate held.

"Still good,"

He muttered to himself. Another Teutonica fighter cut across his vision, guns flashing.

"You cheeky little..."

He rolled to the right, dodging the burst, then immediately pulled into a tight loop. The enemy plane was right in his sights.

BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM.

A burst from his 20mm cannons tore through the cockpit, leaving nothing but a smoking ruin where the pilot once sat.

The wreck tumbled downward, slamming into one of the parked enemy planes on the ground, setting off a chain reaction of explosions.

"That's five,"

Pebbles grinned.

The battle was far from over. The Teutonica fighters were putting up a fierce resistance, but with each passing second, their numbers thinned.

And once the paratroopers hit the ground, the real slaughter would begin.

...

06:21 AM Above the Teutonica Airbase MC POV.

The Gunderian made transport plane rumbled as it cut through the war torn skies. Inside, my Death Squad sat in absolute silence, the red glow of the interior lights casting shadows over our skull faced helmets.

Our custom made fifty cal. assault rifles with 30 rounds magazines of which In total we had 32, sixty on our stomach and sixteen on our left thigh and under barrel grenade launchers pointed to the ground their muzzles pressed against the alloy floor.

The entire First Paratrooper Cohort was dropping alongside us. One thousand men, plunging into the heart of enemy territory.

"Sh*t, it's gonna happen any moment, isn't it?"

I muttered under my breath. A feeling of impending doom churned in my gut, and I didnt like It one bit.

And then, ERC finally fought back In a violent and hands on way. Just as the transport plane's master chief turned around, his mouth opening to yell the drop signal.

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!