Reich Marshal of the Belkan Reich

RM Vol 4: War – Chapter 25: Case Yellow (Day 7 – Airshow?)

Somewhere in the airspace over the port city of Arash, 15 kilometers above ground level.

Floating at a height that one never even bothers to look at with the naked eye, a gigantic zeppelin can be seen lazily dragging a set of extensions. If one can get a closer look, the blimp is painted with a light blue finish and a Belkan Air Force livery. The extensions the supersized balloon is dragging are actually four sets of probe-and-drogue air-to-air refueling systems. All of which are occupied by a pair of Harriers and a pair of Phantoms. All around the zeppelin, there are multiple Jet Squadrons that are flying in escort formations or are just simply awaiting their turn to refuel.

A radio ping is heard by the Harrier pilots before a mature lady's voice flows into their ears.

"This is Stratostation Okonkwo to Knight 1 and 2, you've made good contact with the hoses! Transferring mana to your aircraft now. You boys can't seem to stay away from Mama's milk, huh? Miss it already?"

Knight 2, Sir Hellington, quips. "Ew." The guy can be seen pushing at the Stratostation's remote-viewing camera with his hands exaggeratedly. "Sister, ew... What's that you're spouting!?"

Instead of being offended, the Chief Operator of Okonkwo laughs. "Aww~! For the record, I am a fine and beautiful lady. You just broke my heart for acting so disgusted, Sir Hellington."

"My sister in the Mother Goddess, I may be a fine healthy male, but there are some images that I don't want to imagine. You basically just ruined whatever good impressions I have about aerial refueling!" Hellington deadpans, rolling his eyes when Okonkwo laughs even harder.

"Totally not the banter I was expecting from you, but I'll take it because it's fresh." The Operator comments.

As Knight 1, Sir Toyjet, watches his mana tanks being filled up, he interjects.

"As weird as it sounds, Hellington seems to uphold very specific standards when interacting with the opposite sex. Those standards fluctuated hourly if not minutes so don't mind the doofus, lady."

"Understandable." Okonkwo replies with a snicker. "I actually like my guy a bit on the younger side of things, anyway."

"Oi, should I call the MP and arrest you?" Hellington retorts.

"Pretty sure the lady is older than the both of us combined, Two." Toyjet adds. "So her comment is actually a trap."

"Wait, really?" Hellington snaps his head to the side, looking through his cockpit to see Toyjet's plane.

Instead of Toyjet, it's Okonkwo that answers. "I can easily double your total age, pal. Yet, I am as pretty as the day when I reach maturity. How old exactly is up to you to fuck around and find out."

"What?" Hellington asks, feeling a weird chill.

"I mean don't ask about my age or I will whip the hose right at your cockpit, understood?" Okonkwo says teasingly but both Toyjet and Hellington feel that she might do it for real.

"Roger roger." Hellington replies before changing the subject. "Say, what's the meaning of the name Okonkwo, anyway?"

"Real subtle there, mate." Okonkwo teases.

Hellington bows exaggeratedly at the Stratostation's camera. "I strive to impress."

Toyjet cuts in. "See? The man is weird."

"Quite so." Okonkwo replies. "Anyway, Okonkwo actually has two meanings. In the African dialect, Okonkwo translates to 'man born on Nkwo day', with Nkwo being one of the four market days over there. Still, that was me grossly simplifying the first meaning. The other meaning, however, is also why I picked that name for the Stratostation. Okonkwo in the old Harpy tongue translates to Sky Eye, which is actually very fitting for this zeppelin."

Toyjet looks around the gigantic blimp, fitted with not just mana tanks and refueling systems but also defensive weaponry and capital-ship-grade sensors. The Stratostation is vast, and flyable only by using a combination of Magitech and ingenuity. At a height of 15 km, it can monitor far into the Erusean Kingdom's territory while still safely in Belkan soils. It also flies above any contemporary AA weapons and fighters, putting it clear out of harm's way. These traits, alongside a seemingly infinite flight time, not due to a void reactor but multiple mana condensers, make the Stratostations the stalwart eyes in the sky and major force multipliers. The name Okonkwo is truly fitting for a Stratostation.

"Anyway, that's enough fun and games, boys." Okonkwo announces. "Knight Squadron, refueling is completed. Now go and vanquish your enemies, Knights."

"Will do, Okonkwo." Sir Toyjet replies before both he and Hellington unhook their Harriers from the Stratostation.

"Form up with the other Squadrons. You'll be part of the interception wave against the RAF Bomber Groups. Voidling and Antares Squadrons will be flying decoys with their Skyraiders to lure out the enemy escorts. Once that happens, you will have free reign on the B-17s. Be advised that you only have ten minutes of action time. After that period, the Reichsmarine will pitch in." Okonkwo briefs. "Stick to the engagement plan and keep your bloodlust in control. They may be antiquated, but those machine guns can still score a lucky hit. Your Harriers are nowhere as fast as the Phantoms."

"They have hundreds of aircraft and we have 8 Jet Squadrons. That seems fair enough in my book." Toyjet comments. "And while we ain't fast, we sure can pull some crazy stunt to keep their gunners off our tails."

Hellington smirks. "Damn straight, boss."

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Erusean Royal Air Force, proudly flying the wings of the Crown and are Marshals of the sky... Both of these are painfully untrue at this point, but the RAF still has to save some face by running their mouths off with that slogan. These days, the RAF uses little to no Erusean-made aircraft on the frontline, noting their complete lack of effectiveness and combat range. Instead, they dedicate resources for the continued procurement of American-made warplanes like B-17 Flying Fortress, P-40 Warhawk, and P-38 Lightning. All of which are vastly superior to what the current Erusean military industries can produce. Instead of building actual planes, these factories are now dedicated to producing spare parts for the American workhorses. It doesn't stop these humiliated plane designers from petitioning the RAF to use homegrown aircraft, nor does it stop them from reverse-engineering the American workhorses. Regardless, it's a story for another day.

Taking off from multiple airbases in the Erusean Kingdom, five RAF Air Group, all kitted out in American planes, form up for a dash to Belkan territory. They aim to bomb, damage, and even destroy strategic sectors in the Belkan Reich. A strategic bombing, in other words, targeting crucial infrastructures belonging to both the Reich military and civilians. To fly that far inland, only the American planes with their external fuel tanks are capable enough. Bombers, and fighters alike, form into combat boxes that, if viewed as a whole, look like a giant sphere with overlapping fields of fire. This is to ensure that the gunners of the bombers can protect each other while escorts are stuck engaging Belkan fighters. Truthfully, it's a revolutionary defensive tactic, made possible only because of sheer desperation and fear of the unknowns.

To this day, the targets for the bombing are based on data from years ago and mere hypotheses. The RAF is, quite literally, flying in blind. Knowing the comms blackout yet not understanding the enemy, the RAF is forced to adapt. They backtrack to rudimentary communication methods like flares and light signals while also developing new defensive tactics. Yet, none of these are tested in trial by fire. It remains to be seen just how effective these countermeasures truly are.

"Nav!" The Pilot of a B-17 Flying Fortress shouts. "How are we looking?"

"Got the course and the fuel all planned out." The Navigator shouts back from the middle of the bomber. "Damn it, I can barely hear you call out for me, man!"

The Radio Operator, which is now demoted to a Signal Man, quips. "Well suck it up, bro. We haven't had working radios for days. It's a miracle that the brass could implement the current signaling system this fast for this operation alone."

"Right." The Flight Engineer, manning the top turret, chime in. "I still can't wrap my head around how the Belkans are fuzzing up our radio, even the intercom ain't working proper. I would hate to be Eddie down in the egg sack."

The Ball Turret Gunner, who is actually sitting idly outside of his turret, replies.

"Short of screaming and banging on the hatch, I have no bloody way to talk with you chaps. And that alone is the scariest part of being in the egg sack. I can't chat, not without the intercom working."

"Other than being shot out of the ball?" One of the Waist Gunners chimes in.

"Other than that, yeah."

The banter goes on and on in a very unprofessional manner with only a degree of alertness. As they're still flying in Erusean airspace, barely clearing the islands and into the open sea, the aircrews allow themselves a last moment of mental relaxation. With them still in friendly territory and forming up in a gigantic hundreds of aircraft formation, the Belkan won't be able to hit them yet, right? Even when the B-17s are intercepted, the P-38s and P-40s should be more than enough to handle any aerial threats that come their way. After all, they're supposed to be the newest and best fighter craft available, right?

Right?

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