RM Vol 3: For a World without Boundary – Chapter 41-2: Flight of the Polar Bears (Part 2)

RM Vol 3: For a World without Boundary – Chapter 41-2: Flight of the Polar Bears (Part 2)

"This is Group 1 leader to all 509th elements. We're five minutes out. Conducts combat status check."

"This is Group 2 leader. Group 2 is green across the board."

"Group 3 here, no issue on our end."

"Group 4 reports no problem with our package."

"This is Group 1 leader. Group 1 is at full readiness. Confirming A-OK across all elements. Alright, boys and girls, get ready for some Shock and Awe. Group 1, opens the bomb bay doors."

Though barely illuminated by the moon 14000 meters in the air, the crew of the Enola May still tries to lay their eyes on the visages of Group 1's bombers that are flying to their left. Currently, the Enola is flying parallel to Group 1 while Group 2 and 3 are hanging back till 1 have made their bomb run. On her part, the Enola will be flying solo to destroy the hidden naval base. But only until they have watched the bombs obliterate Taranto, they're allowed that much leeway as the entire Wing would like to watch the recording of their handiworks.

So, before Group 1 drops off their ordnance, the Enola is swinging about for a holding pattern above Taranto. Staying at cruising speed, the flight chief instructs one of her two officers. "Alright, you know what to do."

The defensive system officer gives a thumbs up, already operating his terminal and deploying a ventral turret of the Enola. Pointing it at maximum zoom, thus sharing with them a view of nighttime Taranto on their MFDs, the defensive officer starts the recorder at this moment. By the time everything is set up, the Group 1 leader has made an announcement.

"This is Group 1 leader, arriving at the drop point. Deploying in ordinance in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1. Bombs away!"

With that order, eight hundred and eighty 500 kilograms of bombs start dropping in quick succession from the eleven Polar Bears in Group 1. By flying in an arrowhead formation, Group 1 ensures that the bombs will come rolling down like the red carpet of a party venue.Finnd new chapters at novelhall.com

Through the view of her multi-function display, the flight chief spectates the moments before the bombs land, hearing the Group 1 leader announcing. "Splash." Five seconds later, the explosive carpet starts enveloping the unsuspecting Taranto.

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Mario loves his job.

In the tumultuous period that Sardegna is experiencing, your bog-standard civies have it hard just trying to procure daily necessities. Yet, Mario is lucky to be a military chef thanks to a fortuitous encounter with a few good officers. From running a minor restaurant, Mario is now working as a full-time head chef for the Taranto naval base's officers' cantina. This allows Mario easy access to the well-stocked supplies of the base, giving him the chance to make sure his baby girl is well-fed. Being a single father is hard and praise be the Lord for making his duty a tad easier.

His little angel is well-known across the naval base, so it isn't a surprise for him when a couple of familiar soldiers push open the door to the cantina, right before its opening hour.

"Yo, I am here to deposit one little imp." Said a gruff male voice, his rank denoting the status of Sergeant.

The sentence is soon followed by an excited squeal as a little girl rushes to embrace the outstretched arms of her father. "Papa! Good morning!"

Mario hugs his daughter tightly before giving her a spin, much to her glee. "Morning to you too, sunshine. With you here, I will have enough strength to tide through another long day."

Holding up Chiara in a princess carry, the Sergeant moves out from the cantina. He takes in a sharp breath when he lays his eyes on the total devastation of the entire block around the ruined cantina. Not one building escaped unscathed. In fact, the cantina is lucky that it wasn't outright destroyed. Fearing that this is the prelude to something else, something much worse, the Sergeant limply walks at his best speed to the nearby bomb shelter. It's one that is reserved only for officers like him but he will be damn if he leaves little Chiara somewhere else.

The Sergeant ignores the many cries for help from injured soldiers and even his fellow officers. He ignores the sight of emergency responders running amok. He ignores the sight of rag-dolled bodies and decimated corpses. He only needs to walk.

And that decision may have just saved his life and Chiara's.

Please place a heavy emphasis on the word, 'may'.

By the time the Sergeant has reached the bomb shelter that he knows it's well-stocked and well-maintained, the Sardegnian garrison in Taranto has barely managed to eke out some sort of response against the surprise attack. That being ragtag bands of survivors going from one place or another to lend out their aid. Uncaring about any possible prying eyes, the Sergeant lays the unconscious Chiara down by a bench before going to push the shelter's bulkhead door wide open. It's dark inside, but with the Sergeant himself being in charge of keeping the facilities in this sector in good condition, he knows there's a generator in there that he can draw power from.

Once again picking up Chiara, the Sergeant carries her inside the shelter. He is just about to find someplace that is comfortable enough to place Chiara down when he hears that dreaded sound again. The sounds of imminent death from above.

Hastily placing Chiara while breathing out a panicked 'Sorry!', the Sergeant runs to the bulkhead door. Ignoring the people outside, ignoring the lives that are about to be reaped by an unknown Grim Reaper, the Sergeant uses his entire body weight to push the door, closing it and casting the internal of the bunker under a veil of darkness.

The last thing he sees is something land on the ground outside, detonating and enveloping the soldiers that are dashing madly with fright towards the very place he is sealing.

May God above have mercy on their souls and mine for I have sinned.

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"Beautiful." The flight chief commented as she watched the fiery carpet of incendiary bombs being rolled out on Taranto. Eleven lines of bombs, eleven lines of flame, culminating together in the largest firebombing in history to date. By morning, there won't be anything left of Taranto to be saved.

"I would say I pity the poor bastards down there if it weren't for the war crimes their government committed." The flight engineer commented, earning nods from all of the crew.

"And it would seem the naval air wings are pitting in." The offensive officer added, seeing more smaller explosions dotting the docked vessels in the harbor area. He whistles when he sees a big ship being blown up. "Look at them Navy go, I think that's the flagship of the Alexander fleet being hit right in the magazine. I think it was a JDAM that did her in."

"It was the Vittorio Veneto, right?" The defensive officer asked, to which the offensive one replied. "Yup, they have a few battleships here. Antiques by our standard but still pretty powerful for other navies in the world. With them going down under though, Sardegna can kiss goodbye the Seven Seas."

"Her," The flight chief interjects. "I think a few vessels are making a break for it."

The offensive system officer barks out a laugh. "They can certainly try! Group 3 already laid the CAPTOR mines. They won't even know what hit them!"