Operation Onéru

On July 7th, 2024, the armies of Nationalist Kan withdrew troops from its borders of long time ally Republic of Irean after four months of political fighting. The reason why to Kan did it in the first place was still being questioned: Why was Kan building up near the border? What were these helicopters doing flying over Irean troops? Why were artillery batteries being placed close to the border? These were just some of the questions Irean military officials worried about. Three years later, and it would dawn to them why, but it would be too late.

December 30, 2026, the same thing occurs. The Irean government immediately orders Kan to remove its troops once again, they do so.

April of the first, 2027, the exact thing happens as it did the past 3 years. But this time the Kan armies refuse, and without warning, the first 45 divisions of the Kan Army moves past the border, and into the soft, mushy soil of Irean. Operation Onéru has just begun. And into the next fifteen years, five million lives will be lost on both sides.

This story is told by both Irean and Kan soldiers alike, some have different views, some are nervous, but all the soldiers have one thing in common: To get through this hell whole alive.

I remember that day almost like it was yesterday, we were constantly on the retreat. We never bothered to take the heavy equipment with us. Let alone care about food or supplies. Occasionally, in our greediness, we left the sick and wounded to fend for themselves, oh what poor souls we left behind. How much did we leave behind? Fifty? Hundreds? By the Heavens and Earth, I think it was even hundred thousands! I can still feel the burden that day leaving my colleagues to die. I felt sick, twisted, but most of all I felt- sinned. But... It was a necessary loss, if not horrifying. If we did not retreat, and helped them- I don’t think I would be here telling you of this ugly oh-god-forsaken-war now, would I?

When I and the company finally made it (somewhat) safely to the nearest Forward Base of Operations we felt relived, we have just retreated a few 20 miles from the border to the base. The division relaxed, but not that long before our company was told to move on to the next FBOP(Forward Base of Operations). This was plenty far away out of the reach of the terrorizing for now. I remember asking my lieutenant “Sir, why can’t we stay and relax a bit longer, maybe help out?” I don’t know exactly what he said, but I think it was something among the lines of “We aren‘t ready yet to do anything yet, most of the men here have barely any ammunition or are still weak”. That shut me up for a while.

A few hours later, while still on the march towards our destination we learned a few hours before, sometime we embarked that the Base of Operations was over-runned by Kan troops. I again felt depressed for the young men and woman stationed there that were probably killed or became POWs‘.

By the end of the day we managed to reach the half-way point. We stopped yet again to relax and eat before being sent on the trail again. I felt that the amount of food we carried on us was not enough for the walk. But I kept quiet.

As I drifted off to sleep in one of the many bunks of the FPOB, it finally concurred to me, I still remember the cold pale feeling at that exact moment: This was no joke, no drill. No dreaming. No buffing. This was a sneak attack, an undeclared war, no, this was an invasion.

“Bogey 4; 3; 2; 1 in sight flying at a very high altitude head of us, over”

I tightened my grip on the smooth leather grip of the joystick. Patiently waiting for further orders. My colleague Dave Kolleruson, the gunner, activated the targeting system and checked all the weapons and made they were loaded property. “Aye! I’ve been waitinn’ fo’ this mome’t fo’ quite so’me time, Andel!” He said happily through the mike with a grin. At least I think he was smiling? I couldn’t tell with the filthy muck on my visor and the black ski mask he was wearing.

I nodded in agreement, “Haven’t we all, Koll, haven’t we all.” Before this and before this hell we have been staying in the Far South where we have been testing a new plane that was going to be put into active IAF service, the A65- Night Hawk Blawker. Or as some foreign observer liked to call it: “Mr. Blawker”. Right now we are currently seeing its ability to dog fight because we did not have enough time to actually test it, you see. We just flew around in huge eights’, nothing more of the like and nothing more of importance. I think right now I’m in one of the few eight to be made the past few days. If this is dog fight is ever successful, says the big man under all the shiny medals, then we will consider putting it officially in service.

Just then, a voice cracked up over the radio:

“Bogeys’ going into a parallel line, it looks like they noticed you and are gearing to attack, over.”

“Six minutes until engagement!!”

“Copy that. Fox two and three you will follow me. Fox five, six and seven will come in from the right and attack them from the left rear, and for Fox eight, nine, and then it will be vice versa for you. Fox Tail One out.”

I struggled to catch up with Fox Tail. I honestly didn’t recall the jet to be this slow! It was pretty fast when we were still testing it. I guess it’s because of all the weaponry stored, but then again this is state of the art, right?

“Estimated two minutes: thirty seconds remaining until engagement.”

I turned my head slightly to catch a glimpse of Dave before looking back and keeping the distance between me and Fox steady. “Hey Dave.. I never asked you this before, but. what made you join the Air Force?” I waited for a response.

I turned back to look at him. He made a fist and shook it almost like a bobblehead, “To kik’ some Bogah’ ass!” He exclaimed and laughed. I smiled and chuckled a bit too. “What was ‘yor reazun, Andel?” He asked in return.

I turned back to face my HUD. “I joined because all the males in my family served in the military at one point in time. They all survived their terms, too. I just felt it was right to do the same. Y’know?”

“But why the Air force? Why not the IGF or the `Nava or-“

“Fifteen seconds until engangement.”

I grinned, looking at that fifthly visor of his for a few seconds. “Good luck Dave, do your best!”

He nodded, “ “Ou tuu, mate.”

“Five..”

“four..”

“Three…”

“Two…”

“FOR THE IREAN MOTHERLAND! FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!”

It all happened too fast. My mind could not process it all.

Fox Tail One’s A65 shook horribly, I watched as smoke quickly brews out of the three engines. And a few seconds later; our beloved friend, mentor, commander was gone like the quiet cold wind. He left behind a seven year old son and a pregnant wife. There was no time to mourn his loss; we had to continue the fight. I quickly dodged the remains of the jet. One of the bogies fires two missiles in my direction. Managing to perform a loop in order to avoid them, but sadly Fox-Tail Three was rather unfortunate. The enemy wasn’t aiming for our aircraft. They were aiming for Three, poor lad. Jerking the joystick to the left to follow a bogey I quickly tell Dave to fire four rocket missiles at hostile, “’oger that, sir.” Two of the four missiles score a hit but I don’t think they’re were critical hits; I’ll never know how that monster will ever keep flying, flying and flying with smoke screaming out of its ass.

Dave took a quick glance at his radar. “Hey! Where’d the ‘thers ozzers go?” I glanced at my radar too. To see what he was talking about. He was right, they were gone all right. Weren’t they there just a second there? I wonder…

“FOX TAIL TWO, THERE IS A MISSILE FLYING AT YOUR DIRECTION BEHIND YOU!”

“Shit! ‘Dnel! Drop flares man! Drop flares!”

I quickly smash the control to drop a load of flares, and sure enough I hear that familiar Bzzzzzz sound of the flare compartment opening off. Luring the missile away from our A65. Just then another bogey came into my HUD. Grinning wide, I fired the two machine-guns at the bogey, filling the devilish pilot with lead. Watching them explode brightly, like fireworks on a Fourth of July night. I felt better about myself. Almost like a revenge for my friends and comrades.

Later on, after the bogeys’ were high on casualties and sent retreating back into their own air space. The remaining units of our Air group, which was nicknamed Red Tailed Foxes because our A-65’s wings were blood red, were told to land for repairs, rearming and fuel. But I guess Command did not know Dave and I were probably the only ones still alive. We don’t really know the whereabouts of the other guys; they had just suddenly disappeared without a trace. I wonder if they were caught off surprise and were annihilated. Who knows, they could’ve ran out of fuel for all I know.

After Dave and I landed our A-65 Blawker at the airstrip, we were greeted by two high-ranking military authorities including the Airforce general with his giant silver and gold medals that sparkled dazzlingly. We were questioned