Here is an explanation of differences as stated by
one F[orce] R[econ] marine: "I personally think the difference between
Force and Bn is sanity level (Oh, wait I was Force, quick think of something
else)... I mean dedication. [smile] Seriously though, the difference seems
to be mental more than physical."
The emerald hills were sliding silently, almost effortlessly past her. It had dawned bright and clear with the promise of a fine, warm day. Sara wanted so bad to break formation and sail along the coastal cliffs to hunt seagulls. The last few patches of sterile snow would soon be gone from the fertile earth. Sara and Bryant were flying through the valleys of the coast ranges. Other sections were behind them, ahead of them, further west along shore cliffs, or further east among the Sierra Nevada foothills. High above an R1R was tracking the fighter-bombers. The idea was a coordinated hit on the target from as many different directions as possible. They wouldn't know which way to fire the SAMs.
ISA was still pushing from the Cascades. Because of blown bridges, a routing mistake, or stupid overconfidence, they had concentrated their fuel and ammunition near Chico. And now Sara and her friends were coming for a friendly social visit. A little tea, or TNT. She had a couple of tons of grenades and phosphorus strapped to her belly she wanted to contribute to their collection.
Still it was a beautiful morning. She glanced at her wrist and rememberred
when winters meant death and decay, in Liege and Syracuse. At least
Marcel would never break another girl's arm.
Sara and Bryant slowed slightly as they came up to the turn. It was a hard bump over the last ridge and then slammed down to the Sacramento Valley floor over the farms and oak groves. She was now on a straight run. She activated the altitude laser and lancer controls.
She jerked left from some kind of ground fire. She was too low and fast to focus, but she did get the impression of men and machines below her. In the sky above were distant flashes and glints as the escort fighters cleared the way for the bombers.
Their planes was rattled by another pair of R1s flying out of their bombing run. The problem with this maneuver was that, yes, it did confuse enemy fire, but it also confused friendly fire. She and Bryant lifted from the valley to get the lay of the land. Intelligence had given the rough depot locations, but with all the movement Sara and Bryant would have to select specific targets. Three columns of smoke and flame rose ahead of them. She detached all four lancers.
She ignored the big tent: it was too obvious and probably only held food. Along a line of century old bay trees were sandbagged pits and bunkers. She popped the bomb covers and dropped everything along the trees. She then broke right hard.
It was a gift from gods, just so perfect: A train full of tanks on flatbeds and soldiers in sleepers. She could see the soldiers tumbling out. She locked one missile on the engine, two of the flatbeds, and the last one on a troop car. They roared off. Another four from Bryant streaked away, leaving a trail of blue-white plasma.
The world slowed down as Sara watched the missiles hit. They disintegrated a hundred meters from the train, showerring it with shrapnel. The cars, and the troops, were shredded. With crystalline clarity she could watch their limbs flying into the air. The engine split open and spilled diesel oil all over the tracks. Then whole train derailed, smashing up like a child's toy, tumbling through the burning fuel. Sara felt deep warm glow in her belly. Her toes were tingling.
Something
thudded next to her head. She started to bank away and then changed her
mind and flew into the fire. Sara had dropped all her weapons, so if she
could get them to fire at her, it would improve the chances of another
bomber making its run. It wasn't bravery, but simple arithmetic.
She was infuriated when she saw it was a gunship. Some damn helicopter trying to take on a R1. She punched it to top speed. The gunship fired a few more rounds before its pilot lost his nerve and dropped to the ground. But it was too late for him. Sara passed just over the rotor. Rearward she saw her plane's shockwave shatter the rotor and crumple the tail boom.
Sara had gone too far north, well beyond her escorts. The R1R was feeding her radar plots as enemy fighters closed in. ECM howled in fury that she painted by dozen of radars. Still, if she could draw fire, she would continue. She punched through an openning to the north, through the rough air over Shasta.
Fighters from Washington and east Oregon were bottling her in. She had one more trick. ISA stilled didn't know how powerful the R1's drives were.
Sara pointed the nose straight up and climbed twenty five thousand meters. At that altitude she cut her engines to simulate flame-out, but the R1 would coast up to about forty thousand in high arc back home. She checked the rad. The drive shielding held with no problem.
The sky was black and the earth hung above her head like a summer apple.
The stars beckonned, but the earth was still too much of a temptation.
The R1 fell back and Sara with it.
When a stranger sojourns with you in your lands, you shall
do him no wrong. The stranger who sojourns with you shall be to you as
the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were
strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.