Red Skies Part 1

Chapter 1

March 12th, 2030. Renfrew Ontario. 2nd Lt Russel Hartmann

I looked outside into the dark cloudy sky which was creating a light mist. The sky seemed to make everything grey mixed with a dead forest that passed by in a never ending blur. We rode in a truck that had a makeshift cover over its back end made out of what seemed to be a tarp. The pilots closest to the back and moved deeper into the makeshift cave to protect themselves from the mud the truck kicked up.
I held on to my few meager possessions that had been cramped into a digital camo kit bag. It had been a dead aired flight on a C-17 followed by an even quieter one on these large transport trucks. Of the possibly 140 people I had started fighter training with only 20 had passed. Considering the fact that our country was being invaded it wasn't so amazing that 20 had been passed as four was the usual number.
Eventually the two vehicle convoy came to a stop in front of the palisade gates of CFB Renfrew. CFB Renfrew was originally a small radar training center that had been turned into a fully operational fighter base when the US had invaded. I jumped out of the truck and took in a deep breath of the fresh frigid March air. The cold was a beautiful thing that I embraced like never before after exiting the humid truck.
After pulling all of our belongings out of the transports, the palisade gates, flanked by two machine gun towers, swung open. As it swung open it revealed the hero of our childhood. His air force officer cap and leather jacket seemed to shine in the darkness of the horizon. He smiled as the assembly of rookie pilots stopped and stared.

"My name is Tucker Sanderson of the 294th TD Squadron. I assume you guys know where you've been assigned so 294th, come with me. 295th wait for Gilles," his voice echoed in the silent nature. After the message registered with the star-struck rookies they returned to work.

I looked across to my only friend in the group. Her name was Vanessa Cole, an old friend from basic training. She was a tomboy in all respects, perhaps even more manly then me in some ways. She smiled for the same reason I was. We would actually get to fly with Tucker Sanderson. We headed off together into the defended air base laughing all the way.

"Hey wait!" yelled an unfamiliar voice behind us.

"Hey is for horses, what's up?" I asked the man running up behind us. He was relatively short but thick. He had poorly kept long blonde hair and blue eyes. His accent was British and he wore a unrecognizable uniform.

"My name is Scott Williams. If you guys are 294th then I'm flying with you," he replied upon reaching us. Scott took a few moments to catch his breath. After he managed to complete the task we once again followed Tucker who was leading by a large margin.

CBF Renfrew, being engulfed in an endless coniferous forest, was made mostly out of wood. The wood had been cut when clearing the land for the base. Almost every structure, excluding the enormous metallic hangars and the strange dome near the end of the runway were wood. The building which Tucker led us to was another one of these wood buildings. Much to my surprise, the inside was brick with a ceramic floor.

The building was essentially a long hall with doors on both sides. Above these doors were the names of various officers and NCO's. Near the end we found the name plate Cpt.T.Sanderson. We entered.

"Well, I was wondering what was taking you guys," he explained with his trademark smile. His office was small, consisting of a desk and computer, two chairs and a Canadian flag on one wall and a large landscape photo of the 294th in South Vietnam on the other. The room glowed with the harsh lighting that rained down from the ceiling.

"Well, this guy here…" Vanessa began to explain.

"Scott Williams of Basildon, UK Scarface. It's a pleasure to meet you!" interrupted Scott pushing through Vanessa and I to reach Tucker's hand.  He shook firmly and then stood back up at attention. Tucker smiled and then leaned back in his wheeled chair.

"All righty then. This is my office and well, I guess you guys aren't interested. What you really want to see is your planes right?"

We headed back out and set a course for the large metallic hangars.

"Only the best for my pilots!" explained Tucker as he finished typing in the code to open the doors of the building. Watching them open was like peeling and orange. The process was tediously slow but the end result would be much worth the wait. Inside stood four CF-115 Skyraiders, the RCAF's main fighter.

The CF-115's looked stunning as they sat shining despite the shadows of the hangar. There matt white paint schemes glowed, picking up what little light reached the back. All the while the black stripe down the sides of the jet cut the glowing ring around the airplane in half. After the few seconds it took for Vanessa and I to realize we could enter we still stood away from the planes as if they were protected by a glass case. After a few minutes of inspecting the birds we headed for the place we would call home until the war ended.

Just like almost every other building on the base, the dormitories were wood as well. Unlike the officers building, the dorms resembled wooden cabins. On the inside, both wall and floor, were wood. They were a single room with twin bunk beds, a desk, a few reclining leather chairs, a woodstove, a map of Ontario on the wall and another computer under the map.

"Don't take too long kids, just drop off your things here; dinner will be soon and we fly at 1900 hours," explained Tucker checking his wrist watch and leaving us alone.

Dinner that night consisted of Ham sandwiches, baked beans and Canada's most abundant resource, water. I hardly touched the meal as I tried to take in the size of the dome building and the number of people it contained. Canadian's have more space per kilometer then any other country but you would never know it living here.

As I sat at the table, two emotions hit me in a conflict back and forth for my mentality. First was the excitement of flying for the first time. There was no fear, just confidence that I was a master of my domain and that I was prepared. Second was the knowledge that I wasn't back home with my parents. I wasn't watching the hockey game with my dad and uncle. This didn't feel like where I belonged. I didn't manage a bite out of the sandwich.

* * *

I sat in the cockpit of the CF-115 Skyraider. The dashboard consisted of three screens. The one on the left was a bit smaller and showed fuel, engine, hydraulic gauges and other internal parts that needed watching. The center screen was larger and showed weapons and radar. The one to the right was the same size as the one on the left and showed speed, altitude, outside temperature and other things needed for normal flight.

I slowly turned on the engine. The Avro Iroquois breathed in the air and then, once getting the first taste of its food, the fuel was added bringing the small beasts to life. They almost screamed at first but then calmed down noticing that they were in no danger.

I cautiously urged the bird forward and taxied to the runway.

"Colt 1. Hold on runway 2 heading southwest."

"Copy that tower, Colt's 1, 2, 11 and 12 are waiting for clear."

"Roger that Colt 11. Wind is 15 northeast. Radar call's sky's clear. Have a nice flight."

The four planes took off in groups of two streaking of into the pitch black sky. The squadron, as predetermined was Tucker Sanderson, Colt1 as the lead, Scott Williams, Colt2 as the second, I was third on the wing flying as Colt11 and Vanessa was dragging the rear as Colt12.

The ground and sky were both black giving the sense of being in purgatory. The continuous hum of the Iroquois engines and the distanced radio checks between Tucker and base were the only sound to keep us company while the wings of the other three Skyraiders were the only external light. The solitude was one of the reasons I loved flying so much. Every once and a while it's nice to be left alone.

"Bloody, this is Colt2! I'm being tracked. Taking evasive maneuvers!" yelled Scott as he hit his afterburners and his plane spewed a trail of yellow flame diving away.

"Copy that Colt2. This is Colt1 to all units. We have bogeys. Probably F-15SE's. Take evasive maneuvers." instructed Tucker calmly through the intercom. Tucker, Vanessa and I climbed taking advantage of the Iroquois power and pulled above the clouds. The radar's finally picked up the USAF stealth air craft and they appeared on the HUD 15 miles away.

"This is Colt1, engaged!" yelled Tucker to the tower he was communicating with, "This is Colt1 to all units. Weapons free on bogeys bearing 2-7-5." As he finished his last order a Candair Iron Glove missile folded out of the weapons bay of his jet and flashed like a magnesium rod in the dark. Even here above the clouds where the moon casted an eerie glow the missile appeared to be a more powerful source of light.

In my helmet a low toned beeping began. This was the sound of enemy radar tracking me. As a missile flash was produced by the opposing aircraft the low beeping became a strong high pitched wail.

"This is Colt 11! Missile Launch! Missile Launch!" I yelled losing me calm. I hit full afterburner and dove away. Soon the beeping stopped. The enemy was using an active homing missile. This meant they had to keep me in front of them to hit. Relieved I checked my radar and found myself below and behind the enemy. I pulled an Immelmann turn to bring myself back up to altitude and behind the scattering F-15SE's. I chose a target and pursued.

Slowly in the spiraling downward turn I managed to get a clear shot. During combat training at Cold Lake, they teach you how to use your guns before your missiles. In the USAF you would have to go through Top Gun to get the same training. I flipped up the pepper for the 20 mm canon and lined a shot.  I fired a burst which passed by as the F-15 reversed its turn. Once again I fought against the airplane and my own body straining under the pressure to line another shot. Before I could get the burst out the F-15 pulled up. The error seemed fatal as I was now lined up perfectly and had been drawn dangerously close.

My CF-115 rattled violently and was knocked sideways. I looked back to find another F-15SE firing at me. The most terrible sense of fear overcame the adrenalin that had been pumping only moments before. Even though most of the canon shells passed by harmlessly as the inexperienced pilot wasted them I was scarred and almost froze. I managed to even out and then began my own attempt at escape.

Before the F-15SE could fire a missile it was destroyed in a magnificent multi-color light show. I looked around the sky to try and find the plane that had saved me.

"This is Colt1 scratch one bogey!" yelled a jubilant Tucker. He was already an ace several times over but to him every kill was as exhilarating as the first.

I tried to find my original target but the American aircraft had already retreated outside of my MRAAM missile range. I slouched back into my seat. I had survived my first duel.