Jacksonesia
07-02-2005, 21:32
OOC: Okay, I thought I’d jump in and try my own (probably short) RP thread. This is semi-open, so just let me know before you jump in at any point. Specifically, I need at least one other person to RP the other aircraft, but multiple people are fine as there is more than one. BTW, Jacksonesia is located where Britain is.
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JAF 04
E-2C Hawkeye Airborne Early Warning Aircraft
East Coast of Jacksonesia
“St Athan, this is Juliet-Alpha-Foxtrot-Zero-Four, waypoint Charlie reached, turning south for waypoint Echo.”
As St Athan confirmed this, Radar Officer Jack Anderson leaned back and looked down at his radar.
The screen was virtually clear. The radar expanded out across the Irish Sea, partially covering the uninhabited landmass that was Ireland. Nothing was coming in from that direction. To the east, into the west of Jacksonesia, a number of civilian flights were moving lazily across the screen as they flew their cargos across the country. Anderson yawned.
“You want to not do that into your mike?”
The headphones crackled as the joking voice of Co-pilot Peter Samuelson retorted to Anderson. Leaning around on his chair, Peter grinned back at the Radar Officer.
Anderson looked back at him, and gestured with his hand. Peter drew his breath mockingly. “Say, I don’t think that’s in the flight manual.”
“Cut it out, you two.” The pilot, Flight Lieutenant Greg Pen, glanced at his Co-pilot with a frown. “You guys get at each other all the time, and it’s bloody irritating.”
Samuelson raised both hands. “Geez, Boss, why you in a bad mood?”
Pen sighed, flicking off the autopilot and began his turn towards waypoint Echo. “I just want this flight over, that’s all.”
Anderson frowned. “This your girlfriend again, Boss?” Hearing no response, he shook his head to himself. “Boss, due respect, but how many times have we told you she’s not worth it?”
“How many times have I told you it’s none of your business?” Pen snapped, easing the aircraft level and resetting the autopilot. He then exhaled. “Sorry boys,” he said quietly. “Just a bad week.”
Samuelson smiled. “Tell you what,” he said, resting his hands on the control column. “We’ll go out later, get drunk and pick up some girls.” He glanced at his senior officer. “Or have you lost your touch?”
Pen raised his brow. “Hey, I haven't lost my touch,” he said firmly. “I’ll have you know that-”
“New contacts,” Jack leaned forward as four new blips came onto his screen from the east. “Four aircraft, subsonic speeds, twenty thousand feet, coming over the west coast of Ireland.” He picked up a pencil and began jotting down the time and details they were picked up. He frowned, using his computer panel to zoom in on the group. “No squawk codes transmitting.”
Pen frowned. “Frank, you awake?”
Frank Andrews, the Air Control Officer who had not spoken yet, was already checking his flight books. “Yeah, I’m up,” he responded. “No flight plans booked to bring aircraft in from the west today.”
Pen glanced at Samuelson, who raised an eyebrow back. Pen sighed. “Alright, let’s call it in.”
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JAF St Athan
West Coast AEW Airbase
“Yes?”
Squadron Leader Harry Gardner picked up the telephone and answered bluntly as he always did. He was relieved in a way; the paperwork in front of him from the maintenance section was tedious to say the least. Any sort of distraction would be good.
“Sir, this is Lieutenant Saunders, Radar Supervisor on Duty.” The women spoke firmly and officially. “We have an AEW alert from Oh-Four along the west coast.”
Gardner began to regret what he had said about any sort of distraction. He sat straight and sighed. “Okay, give me the details,” he said.
Saunders continued. “Four unknowns, subsonic speed, no squawk codes, twenty thousand feet, heading east towards the mainland.” She paused. “No flights of any kind scheduled from that direction,” she added a moment later.
Gardner frowned. “Any communication with them?”
Saunders paused, conferring with someone. “No Sir,” she said finally. “We’ve been trying but got nothing.”
Gardner nodded to himself, and looked at the red telephone on his desk. “Okay,” he said a moment later. “The base is on Condition Red, scrambled Oh-three and Oh-two for greater airborne coverage.”
The telephone line clicked off as Saunders went about her orders. Harry exhaled, waited a moment, and then picked up the red telephone.
“Get me JAF Central Command.”
----------------------------
JAF Central Command
Nottingham
Central Command was the heart of the Airforce management. Comprised of one main room which maintained a radar screen of coverage across the nation as shown by the radar stations and E-2Cs that were airborne.
General Jennifer Alexis was looking up at the screen from where she stood near the back of the room. In front of her, three banks of computers operated by controllers of various air space monitors were intently scouring the skies for other targets.
The call from St. Athan had come in only moments after the Central Command computers were relayed the information by JAF-04. Technically, the system did not require a call from airbase Commanders, but Alexis liked to hear what the people in the field made of the situation.
Alexis nodded to herself. “Alright,” she said to herself, before looking at her executive. “Get me a line to the President. Put the First Squadron on alert and the Second through Fifth on standby. Tell the First to put a couple of aircraft in the sky and try to get visual on the four bogies.” With that, she picked up her own red telephone. “Mr. President, good afternoon.” She looked back up at the four green squares on the screen as they closed on the west coast. “We may have a situation developing down here…”
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JAF Donaldson
First Fighter Squadron (F4-G Phantoms)
“Full House!”
The four pilots around the table groaned as the fifth grinned as he reached for his winnings. Pilot Officer Farley Vann raised an eyebrow at his wingman David Wellington. “You seem to be having pretty good look,” he remarked icily.
David shrugged gleefully. “Just lucky boys, just luck-” he froze as he glanced at his sleeve and saw a card peeking out of his cuffs.
Farley frowned and grabbed it before David could object. He looked down at the Ace of Clubs, and looked up at Wellington. “You little bas-”
The klaxon above their heads went off. The four men jumped to their feet instinctively and scrambled for the door as the loudspeakers crackled to life.
“Code Red, Code Red. Incoming UFOs, launch the Alert Fighters. This is not a drill.”
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JAF 04
E-2C Hawkeye Airborne Early Warning Aircraft
East Coast of Jacksonesia
“St Athan, this is Juliet-Alpha-Foxtrot-Zero-Four, waypoint Charlie reached, turning south for waypoint Echo.”
As St Athan confirmed this, Radar Officer Jack Anderson leaned back and looked down at his radar.
The screen was virtually clear. The radar expanded out across the Irish Sea, partially covering the uninhabited landmass that was Ireland. Nothing was coming in from that direction. To the east, into the west of Jacksonesia, a number of civilian flights were moving lazily across the screen as they flew their cargos across the country. Anderson yawned.
“You want to not do that into your mike?”
The headphones crackled as the joking voice of Co-pilot Peter Samuelson retorted to Anderson. Leaning around on his chair, Peter grinned back at the Radar Officer.
Anderson looked back at him, and gestured with his hand. Peter drew his breath mockingly. “Say, I don’t think that’s in the flight manual.”
“Cut it out, you two.” The pilot, Flight Lieutenant Greg Pen, glanced at his Co-pilot with a frown. “You guys get at each other all the time, and it’s bloody irritating.”
Samuelson raised both hands. “Geez, Boss, why you in a bad mood?”
Pen sighed, flicking off the autopilot and began his turn towards waypoint Echo. “I just want this flight over, that’s all.”
Anderson frowned. “This your girlfriend again, Boss?” Hearing no response, he shook his head to himself. “Boss, due respect, but how many times have we told you she’s not worth it?”
“How many times have I told you it’s none of your business?” Pen snapped, easing the aircraft level and resetting the autopilot. He then exhaled. “Sorry boys,” he said quietly. “Just a bad week.”
Samuelson smiled. “Tell you what,” he said, resting his hands on the control column. “We’ll go out later, get drunk and pick up some girls.” He glanced at his senior officer. “Or have you lost your touch?”
Pen raised his brow. “Hey, I haven't lost my touch,” he said firmly. “I’ll have you know that-”
“New contacts,” Jack leaned forward as four new blips came onto his screen from the east. “Four aircraft, subsonic speeds, twenty thousand feet, coming over the west coast of Ireland.” He picked up a pencil and began jotting down the time and details they were picked up. He frowned, using his computer panel to zoom in on the group. “No squawk codes transmitting.”
Pen frowned. “Frank, you awake?”
Frank Andrews, the Air Control Officer who had not spoken yet, was already checking his flight books. “Yeah, I’m up,” he responded. “No flight plans booked to bring aircraft in from the west today.”
Pen glanced at Samuelson, who raised an eyebrow back. Pen sighed. “Alright, let’s call it in.”
----------------------------
JAF St Athan
West Coast AEW Airbase
“Yes?”
Squadron Leader Harry Gardner picked up the telephone and answered bluntly as he always did. He was relieved in a way; the paperwork in front of him from the maintenance section was tedious to say the least. Any sort of distraction would be good.
“Sir, this is Lieutenant Saunders, Radar Supervisor on Duty.” The women spoke firmly and officially. “We have an AEW alert from Oh-Four along the west coast.”
Gardner began to regret what he had said about any sort of distraction. He sat straight and sighed. “Okay, give me the details,” he said.
Saunders continued. “Four unknowns, subsonic speed, no squawk codes, twenty thousand feet, heading east towards the mainland.” She paused. “No flights of any kind scheduled from that direction,” she added a moment later.
Gardner frowned. “Any communication with them?”
Saunders paused, conferring with someone. “No Sir,” she said finally. “We’ve been trying but got nothing.”
Gardner nodded to himself, and looked at the red telephone on his desk. “Okay,” he said a moment later. “The base is on Condition Red, scrambled Oh-three and Oh-two for greater airborne coverage.”
The telephone line clicked off as Saunders went about her orders. Harry exhaled, waited a moment, and then picked up the red telephone.
“Get me JAF Central Command.”
----------------------------
JAF Central Command
Nottingham
Central Command was the heart of the Airforce management. Comprised of one main room which maintained a radar screen of coverage across the nation as shown by the radar stations and E-2Cs that were airborne.
General Jennifer Alexis was looking up at the screen from where she stood near the back of the room. In front of her, three banks of computers operated by controllers of various air space monitors were intently scouring the skies for other targets.
The call from St. Athan had come in only moments after the Central Command computers were relayed the information by JAF-04. Technically, the system did not require a call from airbase Commanders, but Alexis liked to hear what the people in the field made of the situation.
Alexis nodded to herself. “Alright,” she said to herself, before looking at her executive. “Get me a line to the President. Put the First Squadron on alert and the Second through Fifth on standby. Tell the First to put a couple of aircraft in the sky and try to get visual on the four bogies.” With that, she picked up her own red telephone. “Mr. President, good afternoon.” She looked back up at the four green squares on the screen as they closed on the west coast. “We may have a situation developing down here…”
----------------------------
JAF Donaldson
First Fighter Squadron (F4-G Phantoms)
“Full House!”
The four pilots around the table groaned as the fifth grinned as he reached for his winnings. Pilot Officer Farley Vann raised an eyebrow at his wingman David Wellington. “You seem to be having pretty good look,” he remarked icily.
David shrugged gleefully. “Just lucky boys, just luck-” he froze as he glanced at his sleeve and saw a card peeking out of his cuffs.
Farley frowned and grabbed it before David could object. He looked down at the Ace of Clubs, and looked up at Wellington. “You little bas-”
The klaxon above their heads went off. The four men jumped to their feet instinctively and scrambled for the door as the loudspeakers crackled to life.
“Code Red, Code Red. Incoming UFOs, launch the Alert Fighters. This is not a drill.”