"All NATO forces in the area, commence the operation." a voice over all radio waves suddenly spoke softly.
Almost at once a wave of aircraft appeared on the horizon in a single long line.
"Full ahead power. No turning back."
With the moon behind them, vague shadows slid over the battlefield like phantoms in the night. Their bellies were lit by the fire of war below, burning away like Hell made manifest on this mortal plane. Swinging around they came parallel to the frontline. They flew low at top speed. An attack run.
The Harriers took the honor of the first volley. The four rocket-pods under each wing emptied their load in moments. Spears of black smoke shot followed behind the squealing frag-missiles and an entire stretch of the battlefield disappeared in a series of orange detonations that quivered the ground.
Just behind them, A-10 ground-attack made their approach, the chain guns in their weapon pods spinning. There was a moment where all seemed to become silent and the air seemed to become heavy as if the whole world was waiting in anticipation. Then everything was deafened by the ear-grating screech of the main cannons each blasting out one hundred 30mm depleted uranium shells every single second. It looked from the distance like a white-hot scythe had been dug into the earth before being dragged along at supersonic speeds, destroying all in its path. There was an actual fog of liquefied tissue in the air.
Several shoulder-mounted missiles responded from the horde and half a dozen aircraft were shotdown, turning into flaming wrecks that crashed into the ground. A pilot ejected and regretted it at once as he slowly drifted into the horde.
He was torn apart in a second.
"Ground-forces contribute. We cannot do everything."
