A harsh, stinging scent fills my nostrils. I instinctively tear my eyes wide open, only to find a medic looming overhead with the smelling salts. Further above him lies the ceiling of a hangar, perforated with holes.
"What happened?"
"While you were running, a stray bullet hit you squarely in the back of the head. You were knocked out, and someone had to carry you all the way over here. It's a good thing you wore that combat helmet before coming."
"How long was I out?"
"A good fifteen minutes. I was starting to get worried since you wouldn't wake up, but thankfully it doesn't loo- Woah, take it easy! Don't get up just yet. I still need to do a quick check-up before we let you go anywhere."
The medic briefly shines a light in my eye, checks for any possible wounds, and asks me several questions before finally deciding I'm fit to fly. I thank him and the other person who carried me before standing up and looking around the building. The F-16C sat in the middle of the hangar, fully loaded and miraculously unscathed.
The marshaller quickly fills me in, and I inspect the pylons before climbing into the roosterpit and starting up the fighter. The weapon stores page on my left MFD indicates that the aircraft is loaded with two AIM-9Xs, two AMRAAMs, four CBU-97s, and two AGM-65 Mavericks. Well stuff, I sure as forget know what I'm in for.
I gain clearance from the tower and get up in the air posthaste. Blackwater gives me an in-flight briefing, notifies me of a joint terminal attack controller in the area, and directs me to the targets. The communications channel is alive with chatter as flights of hostile S-32s lock our squadron into a furball.
"Swordsman, ingressing north into airspace B8R (lol square table). Requesting sitrep."
