Ostnordia at War - chapter 1 of 3 - Sex Stories

Ostnordia at War - chapter 1 of 3

... again. The Captain’s voice announced, “All ASW aircraft prep for immediate launch! Begin anti-sub zigzags! Launch countermeasures!” I commanded one of the strike-fighter squadron’s three flights of eight planes. I figured our squadron would be fourth in the launch sequence. Once the ASW helicopters and patrol bombers launched, next up would be the electronic warfare group with their huge radar plane, two EW planes, and a pair of fighters to escort them. Next would be the fighter squadron. I estimated we’d have at least 15 minutes to get ready.

I called, “Ten-hut!” as the Admiral strode into the ready room. He told us, “We’ve been hit by three torpedoes. I’m giving you new targets and ordering strikes immediately.” He gave the other two flights their orders and they ran out. He spoke to us last. “I want Knife flight to take out the Ostnord submarine base. It’s 400 kilometers, but anti-air defenses should be light. We don’t have time for full recon or detailed planning. Here are the photos we have.”

He set his large tablet computer on the table and ordered, “Take out this munitions bunker, the barracks, these two SAM batteries, and those fuel tanks. The prime target is the headquarters building, here. Destroy it first, then hit it again to be sure. If you’re lucky enough to see enemy ships or subs, sink the sons-of-bitches.” There was another explosion and another alarm went off. The admiral picked up a phone and ordered, “Strike squadron launches once the EW squadron ...

... is up. Their Air Force is pathetic, so defensive fighters can wait. I want some payback!”

We ran to our jets and got ready. By the time we were on the flight deck and our first jet was being hooked up for catapult launch, the ship was listing to port, tilting about five degrees to the left. I thought the deck was usually farther above the waves, too. I doubted anything could sink a supercarrier, but we had clearly taken on a lot of water.

My XO had the honor of launching first and I would go last. I watched the cats shoot our jets into the sky a pair at a time. It was a dangerous and highly choregraphed dance, with people running back and forth pulling off safety caps and plugs, double-checking systems quickly, and hooking landing gear to catapults. They didn’t think much of it, but were often within a few meters of running jet engines, helicopter rotors, or planes being catapulted down the deck. A pedestrian hit by a two-ton pickup truck going 80 kilometers an hour is usually a goner. Powerful blasts of steam propelled heavy pistons most of the way down the ship, dragging our thirty-ton aircraft behind the cat sleds at 300 kilometers an hour. A pedestrian collision with one of them would leave a pink mist instead of a corpse.

I usually enjoyed watching the launches and patiently waited for my turn, but I was getting worried. The ship seemed to be settling further into the water. The Admiral announced the last thing I ever thought I’d hear. “Shoot all aircraft, then ...