Ch.11 of the story and as of 4th April 2010 this is currently the latest Chapter, I am working to get the next chapter finished. As usual I would appreciate comments and opinions on this story. Just a short chapter to tide my readers over until i can get the next one finished.

Ch.1 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2852145
Ch.2 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2852148
Ch.3 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2852159
Ch.4 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2852172
Ch.5 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2856405
CH.6 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2856420
CH.7 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2862976
CH.8 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2885841/
Ch.9 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2885853/
Ch.10 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/3667713/
Edit: i screwed up, this is Ch.11, not 10. sorry.
Ch.12 http://www.furaffinity.net/view/4985394/

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Castle Digram
Command Centre
6pm

A pair of combat boots trod a well worn path across the recently laid carpet as Colonel Vulpin paced back and forth in the command centre, occasionally glancing at his watch as he paced with a look of concern etched on his face. The tension in the command post was almost unbearable as everyone present waited for news from the daring naval raid but so far the radio was quiet, the Battle fleet having not reported in and to make matters worse a severe storm was brewing off the coast that was threatening to shut down combat operations in the sector.
With a sigh he took a mouthful of his coffee and instantly spat it back into the cup as the cold liquid touched his tongue. With his mind occupied with the raid he had lost track of time and had been holding the same cup for over an hour. With a look of disgust he placed it aside and worked his mouth to rid it of the horrible taste.
As he passed the nearby bank of monitors he glanced at the readouts showing current fleet, unit and Squadron readiness, deployment and status. Even after all the years he had been in the MCF he was always amazed at the assortment of old equipment that the MCF would deploy alongside the newer types and sometimes felt like he had stepped through a timewarp. This was one of those times as the nearest screen displayed the status of the 972nd Interdictor Squadron’s A-26K Invader attack aircraft while the next showed, in contrast, the status of the 776th Interceptor Squadron’s F-14E ‘Super Tomcats’.

“Sir, Bravo Seven Tango reports that they are approaching the storm” a nearby tech said as he watched the data flow across the screen.
“They are cleared to proceed“ Vulpin replied, looking at his watch again. Something deep inside was nagging him but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. All he could hope was that the storm would alter course or blow itself out while deep down he knew it wouldn’t. Directly in the path of the storm was the Airbase and the castle.
“Good Luck Bravo Seven Tango” he muttered quietly under his breath as he left to get a fresh cup of coffee.

Bravo Seven Tango
Approaching the edge of the storm
6:15pm

The thunderous drone of the four Pratt & Whitney R-4360-35 Wasp Major Radial engines permeated the cabin of the WB-50J weather recon plane as it approached the leading edge of the storm that filled the horizon.
Captain Walt Bowman, a Timber Wolf, glanced around the cockpit and adjusted his headphones as another bolt of lightning lit up the clouds ahead of them and the first drops of rain splattered on the windshield.
Suddenly the voice of his radio officer, Lt. Martin Fresco, came over his headphones.
“Captain, message from Command, we are cleared to proceed into the storm”
Walt smiled as he thought of the Raccoon sitting at his communications console in the rear of what had once been the aft bomb bay. Keying the microphone so that he could be heard in microphones of everyone on board, he said with a smile,” Ok, boys and girls, hold onto your tails, this could get a little rough. “
Despite the fierce storm ahead, every member of the crew had the utmost confidence in their aging aircraft which had carried them safely into storms and back for many years.

The old cold war bomber had seen many duties over its long life, from being a nuclear bomber for SAC to being an Aerial tanker for the USAF. For its current role the aging bomber had been stripped out and completely redesigned to carry the most modern weather analysis equipment available anywhere in the world and had been also been strengthened during the upgrade to cope with anything nature could throw at it. This Aircraft had flown into Hurricanes, Cyclones, Typhoons and even had a run in with an supercell that spawned an F5 tornado in the years it had been an MCF weather reconnaissance aircraft and each time it had performed admirably.

Pushing the throttles up another notch Captain Bowman adjusted the aircraft’s heading and looked across at his co-pilot, a young Rabbit named Thomas Nomad, with a smile Thomas had been a last minute replacement for the regular Co-pilot who had a family emergency and had to be rotated home the day before. The look on the young Rabbit’s face clearly showed the nervousness and uncertainty for he had never flown into a storm before and although a trained Co-pilot he had never flown in an aircraft as old as the WB-50J before. The old dials, switches and gauges spread before him were nothing like the modern ‘Glass’ cockpits he was used to, with their backlit screens, HUDs, push buttons and digital systems and he had began to feel somewhat worried the moment that the mighty Radial Engines had been fired up.

“Relax Lieutenant, she may be old fashioned but she will get us through” Bowman said with a chuckle,” She is from a tougher time.”
The words only drew a slight nod from Thomas as his thoughts again nagged at him. He was on an aircraft that closely resembled those he had seen only in museums and they were flying into a severe storm over the ocean.
As if to reinforce his fears the aging bomber was rocked by turbulence as it entered the outer edge of the storm and rattles and clanks could be heard throughout the aircraft.

The lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up the cockpit and reflecting off the fuselage’s paintwork, and the thunder mixed with the roar of the old Pratt & Whitney Radials as their four bladed propellers clawed their way through the clouds, leaving trails due to the prop wash trailing out behind the tail.
Throughout the increasing turbulence the crew went about their duties of collecting information for transmitting back to the Command so that they had an idea what to expect when this storm made landfall. Suddenly the old Bomber dropped 3,500 feet in a matter of moments and finally levelled out again at 9,500 feet before Bowman began to gain altitude again, running the mighty Radial engine’s throttles to their stops and pulling back on the Yoke. Ever so slowly the needles on the altitude began to climb again and the large lumbering aircraft clawed its way back towards its former operating altitude.

Glancing over at the Co-pilot’s seat, Bowman saw Thomas looking very ill and as white as a ghost. The drop had occurred so suddenly that he had let out a startled scream when the old machine had fallen, his blood had gone cold as he had watched the Altitude needles plummet. His heart was again in his throat at the prospect of the fall happening again.
“Don’t worry Mate” Bowman said in his cheery Australian Accent,” we have seen worse than that and all of us are still here.”
As the old bomber reached 13,000 feet again Bowman throttled the engines back to the same power setting as they had been at prior to the drop.
“We had one mission where we flew into Hurricane Katrina, we dropped almost 10,000 feet and once we regained altitude we were again thrown downwards. That time we could see the ocean below us and came up at about 200 feet above the surface.”


Again the old bomber shook as Thomas looked across at Bowman and spoke.
“And you still do this for a living? You could have been killed!” His voice was full of shock and awe but he had regained some of his colour.
Before Bowman could answer something thumped into the windshield, causing both men to snap their heads to straight ahead. Another thump, then another resounded through the cockpit.
“Ok, now it gets interesting” Bowman said calmly as he looked ahead,” we have hail.”
Within moments of him speaking hail was slamming all over the aircraft and, to make matters worse, visibility dropped to zero. Thomas turned pale under his fur once again as his fears were brought to the forefront of his mind for the second time today. He was flying in a refitted cold war vintage bomber in a severe storm and now with visibility gone they had to rely on ‘ancient’ dials and gauges to make sure that they didn’t crash into the sea or go off course. Silently he prayed and wondered why he ever joined the MCF Air force.

Over the next two hours Thomas lost count of the number of times the plane lost altitude and he had found himself with a newfound respect for the crew of the weather recon planes. Only two days prior he had been belittling them in the officer’s club and saying how they had the easy duty while he and the other combat transport crews had to go into harm’s way and drop parachutists and cargo, under threat of enemy fire, while the weather recon guys only had to fly through some clouds and the sensors would do the rest. He promised himself that if he lived through this he would never belittle a Weather Recon crewmember again.

Finally the old bomber clawed its way into the clear sky and to Thomas’s delight, Bowman turned the old aircraft for home and pushed the throttles to their stops. The massive Pratt & Whitney Radials engines roared in the confined space of the cockpit and they broke out the thermos of hot coffee as the system sent the data package back to Command for analysis. Behind them the sky rumbled with thunder and was split by lighting as the deadly storm rolled effortlessly onward towards the distant shore.