Chapter Five Part Σ | GripΣn
Chapter 5 Part Σ | GripΣn
07:21 ― Hokkaido: Shari Airbase ― 8°C Clear
«Scramble! All units, sortie and intercept the unidentified craft attacking the base! This is not a drill!»
«Air Surveillance Radars readings unknown! Unable to track!"
«What's happening?»
«Large squadron of unidentified craft inbound! Radars are being scrambled!»
«Clear the runway, we don't have all day!»
«Parousia squadron, taxi to runway. Que behind Minagi squadron. Linked to AWACS.»
Artificial boiling winds spewed from waiting fighter craft spray across the tarmac.
«Minagi 01, cleared for, take off! Punch it!»
The morning sun had risen, given light to the coast and waters. Well out of eyesight, a squadron of aircraft fly in formation. Inwards towards the island.
JADF bases across the northern coast of Hokkaido had notified each other of an incoming grouping, unsure who they were, unsure of the numbers.
They scrambled whatever they could. The approaching force could be anything at this point. Nephilim, extern influence, revolution. All they know for certain, is this ghost squadron answers no communication attempts, barely going to static.
Though a source is know. A JMDF destroyer patrolling with it's flotilla encountered the presence of a massive Armada who'd just sailed into the sea of Okhotsk. A gentle snowfall clouding their advance. They displayed no direct hostilities to the patrol flotilla, yet, through the view of long-range cameras, they could see those ships had their guns trained on their position. Even from over the horizon.
They felt compelled to leave, and that they did. Changing their course, and reporting their discovery to friendly forces.
Radars hadn't detected the ghost squadron of aircraft until they were far too close. Hokkaido's northern areas where completely taken by surprise. If these mysterious foes decided to launch an attack, they'd be hopelessly defending.
«Visual contact! Prepare for combat!»
«Roger!»
«We've without coastal gun support! Electronics malfunctioning!»
«Radar lock! They're locking onto me!»
«Shit!»
«Break formation! Scatter!»
The once neat formation of JADF fighters and interceptors shoot off into evasive manoeuvres, trying to break their locks, expecting the worst.
But that ghost squadron don't move an inch, remaining tightly bunched together.
«What are they doing?»
«I don't know!»
«My MAW is going crazy! Orders?! What are our orders!?»
«Comms are struggling!»
«Consider them hostile. Engage! Weapons free, take down all unidentified aircraft!»
«Copy that AWACS.»
One pilots places their missile lock onto an approaching jet.
Instantly, the ghost squadron scatters into the sky like dust in the wind. Aircraft performing impossible movements, escaping the trained eyes of JADF pilots.
«It's no good! Those jets are generations above ours!»
«He's behind me!»
«I've lost them! Where'd they go?!»
«They're everywhere!»
«I can't see anything!»
«He's on my wing! They're Northern Federation guys!»
«What?!»
«They are real?! What are they doing!?»
Before Minagi squadron, or any other for that matter, had time to report and react, the squadron of allegedly Northern Federation fighters disperse into the clouds. Even trickles of their radar signatures bleeding away.
Whoever they were, it's clear they were probing for something. Also clear is their technological supremacy. It's a miracle Minagi squadron isn't plummeting towards the salty waters.
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