1st BiPAD Initial Test Fic

In late 2010, the Australian Army, desperate for a hard-hitting, highly mobile force, and shocked by the dismal failure of the M1 Abrams MBT to provide the kind of punch they required, commissioned an Australian Aerospace company to design and build what they descirbed as 'an attack helicopter with legs.' This vehicle, unveiled in a top-secret ceremony in 2012, just 21 months after design work began, was the BF-19 Experimental Light Battlefield Support Mechanised Fighting Vehicle. The design was found to be sound in theory, but much to weak to withstand the punishment the ADF intended to subject it to. After extensive redesign and testing, in 2013 the BF-20 Light Battlefield Support Mechanised Fighting Vehicle was unveiled, again in secret. The vehicle was unveiled to the public some 11 months later, in August 2014. With its new fighting vehicle looking ever more viable, the Army needed to recruit and train pilots from within its own ranks. The best and brightest young students from Royal Military College Duntroon's Attack Helicopter Conversion Course were selected to begin testing of and training on the BF-20, with the goal of an operational force by 2020. However, the flareup of renewed civil war in Somalia forced the ADF's hand, and the unit was rushed into service, with just four operational mechs, 8 pilots, a small support crew and 2 A-10A Warthogs purchased from the US Marine Corp for Close Air Support of the still fragile little vehicles. Pretty soon, however, despite many teething trouble with the excessively fiddly Mecha, the unit established something of a reputation for itself. The Fighting First BiPedal Armoured Division was born.

March 12, 2015 – 0145 hours
C-130J, Mike Two-Zero
Airborne, FOB McGuire Final Approach
Mogadishu, Somalia

The C-130J Hercules roared low over the barren desert landscape, extending its landing gear as it approached the airstrip on the outskirts of the city. The big aircraft’s flaps groaned down into position as it entered the final phase of its approach. Small arms fire ticked off the fuselage, but was mostly suppressed by the heavy machine guns surrounding the field. The Herc’s undercarriage extended, and a few seconds later it touched down on the roughly paved airstrip, slowing to a fast walking pace as two Humvees drove out of the extended rear ramp and a 5 ton truck followed. The aircraft’s engines screamed as it accelerated once more, powering into the dark morning sky.

Down on the strip, Lieutenant Natalie ‘Jackpot’ Boone of the 1st Bipedal Armoured Division, Australian Army, grimaced as small-arms fire ricocheted off her Humvee’s armoured flanks. She gunned the engine, and the vehicle roared across the field, heading for the command bunker. Seated next to her, firing his AusSteyr 33 Assault Rifle at anything he could see, was Captain Richard ‘Wes’ Wade; while manning the .50 Cal machine gun mounted atop the vehicle was Second Lieutenant Benjamin ‘Midge’ Senghaas. At 5’6”, Senghaas was the smallest guy in the unit, so by default he was given the largest gun. He was also a helluva mech pilot.

In the second Humvee, flinching at every zing and snap, was a rather annoyed and somewhat nervous pilot by the name of Flight Lieutenant Benjamin ‘Ferret’ Leece. Driving his vehicle was Crew Chief Staff Sergeant Alison Usher, whose face was set in a mask of casual disengagement. Manning their .50 cal was Second Lieutenant Ashleigh ‘Smash’ Tomkins. He grinned maniacally and sprayed fire with reckless abandon at the muzzle flashes he saw piercing the darkness – all the while crowing ‘everything’s funnier with monkeys!’ Leece listened in wonderment, searching for targets for his MP-5K PDW, but to his frustration finding none. This would be so much easier from 500 feet, he thought.

The small convoy roared across the field, entering a Hardened Aircraft Shelter and disappearing from sight. They had arrived.

March 12, 2015 – 0158 hours
Transport Hangar
FOB McGuire
Mogadishu, Somalia

‘Ah, Lieutenant Boone, good to see you made it,’ said Colonel Rachel ‘Hardon’ Hardy, commandant of the 1st Bipedal Armoured Division. Her commander of ground forces saluted sharply. ‘Lieutenant Boone, reporting as ordered, Colonel,’ she said. The Colonel almost smiled. ‘You can dispense with the pleasantries, Lieutenant, I’m just glad to see you’re all in one piece.’
‘It’s good to be here, Ma’am,’ Boone responded. At this the Colonel did smile.
‘You won’t be saying that after three days of eating out of tins and crapping in too-shallow latrines, I can assure you, Lieutenant,’ she replied. Boone grimaced ever so slightly, in that slightly terrified way junior officers do when they are told something they’d rather not know. Not the too-shallow latrines…

‘Ah, paradise,’ said Captain Wade, stepping stiffly out of his Humvee. He decocked his Steyr and looked around. ‘Hmmm…that can’t be right…’
There were no Mechs. None. Not a single one of the impressively powerful little bipedal vehicles from which the unit drew its name were to be seen. Wes nearly screamed there and then. Stuck in a war zone with no mechs, he could well be forced to slug it out with the infantry grunts, a prospect that filled him with no end of fear and loathing. Just as he was about to accost the nearest lowly supply sergeant and box him forcibly around the ears with his own boots, Wes felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Staff Sergeant Alison Usher, who, as the head crew chief, had the responsibility fir ensuring the availability of the unit’s mechs. ‘Perfect,’ Wade said, ‘Staff Sergeant, answer me this, please: precisely where in the name of all that is holy have you put my beautiful, shiny, stompy machines?’
‘Sir, they’ll be here tomorrow – we’re dropping them in by Herc.’
‘Ah - Good,’ said Wade. With that he turned on his heel and headed for the officers’ mess. ‘I’m hungry, where’s the beer?’

Usher shook her head with a grin. Captain Wade was a character, to be sure. She chuckled slightly and busied herself with the pressing task of locating the Sergeants’ mess.

Meanwhile, 2LTs Senghaas and Tomkins and FLTLT Leece had already located the Officers’ Barracks and were grabbing what little sleep was available to them in the remaining hours of darkness. As pilots, of one variety or another, they all recognised the importance of a good night’s sleep to optimal performance. Colonel Hardy insisted on well-rested pilots; as a pilot herself she also understood the importance of sleep to their breed. With the occasional crackle of automatic gunfire punctuating their rest, the three of them slept as the base wound down operations for the night.

March 13, 2015 – 0545 hours
Operations Room
FOB McGuire
Mogadishu, Somalia

With a thundering roar, a pair of F/A-18 Hornets screamed down the long runway of FOB McGuire, formerly known as Mogadishu International; rising into the air as if on rails some two-thirds of the way down its length. The pilots of the aircraft were a little agitated at having been put on the early morning CAP, but still relished the opportunity to go flying. The two aircraft pulled into a hard right turn, the pilots goosed the throttles, and they roared up into the sky, rapidly disappearing from view as they approached the CAP altitude of 25,000 feet, Angels 25.

Meanwhile, Flight Lieutenant Benjamin ‘Ferret’ Leece rubbed his eyes. No matter how much he slept, it never felt like enough. He pulled on his boots, before realising he wasn’t wearing his flightsuit, cursing softly and starting from the beginning.

Finally dressed properly, his hair neatly in place (he would never let on his secret to just how he did it), Ferret strode out of his CAG quarters and stretched mightily. He jogged from his quarters to the command centre, about 2km away. By the time he arrived, there was already a fair crowd gathered around the operations table. His curiosity was piqued when he noticed the presence of Lieutenant Natalie ‘Jackpot’ Boone and Wes Wade. Something had to be going down for the Regimental Commander and Commander of ground forces to be consulting with the Division Commander. As CAG, Ferret felt perhaps he should be involved in what looked like a fairly serious meeting. He fixed himself a cup of coffee and walked over to the table. As he approached, Nat fixed him with an accusatory stare. ‘The Hornets didn’t wake you up?’
‘Hornets?’ Ferret replied, ‘what Hornets?’

‘Alright, you two,’ said Colonel Hardy, well aware of the rivalry between the Commander, Air Group and the Regimental Commander, ‘we have work to do.’ She pointed to the map. ‘See here? We’ve got a column of tanks, picked up by P-3 surveillance overnight. They’re supported by what appears to be ten platoons worth, 300 infantry. Also, they appear to have helicopter support.’ At this Ferret grimaced. There was nothing he hated more than facing helicopter opponents in the air. They were like mosquitoes: small, fast, manoeuvrable and extremely annoying. Hardy went on: ‘We expect the BF-20s to arrive in 25 minutes, by which time the column is expected to have reached this area.’ She pointed to an area just outside the FOB perimeter. ‘While we have vehicles and infantry on the base, we don’t yet have anything powerful enough to annihilate that armoured column. The best we can do at present is hold them back until the BF-20s are ready to go.’

Just then Staff Sergeant Alison Usher walked in. ‘Staff Sergeant,’ called Hardy, ‘a moment, please.’ Usher was quickly at her side. ‘Yes ma’am?’
‘How long after they land until the Mechs will be combat ready?’
‘Well, Ma’am,’ Usher replied, ‘We’ve gotta get their turbines up and running, fit the arms, spin up the internal gyros, realign cockpit instrumentation with vehicular centre, perform any necessary ancillary maintenance-’
‘Sergeant!’ snapped Hardy, ‘I asked how long, not the maintenance SOPs!’
‘Yes Ma’am,’ said Usher, admirably showing no external signs of being shaken by the Colonel’s outburst, ‘about…say, 22 minutes per vehicle, give or take?’
‘Dammit.’ The Colonel frowned. ‘If you can do it any faster, I don’t care how, that is highly desirable at this point. If you have to give them partial weapon loads, shortcut the gyros, whatever you have to do, we need them as soon as possible after they’re on the ground.’
‘Yes Ma’am, we’ll do out best,’ replied Usher.
‘Thankyou. Dismissed.’
‘Ma’am.’

Hardy turned to Captain Wade and grinned. ‘If this doesn’t go as planned, Wade, you might just be living out your worst nightmare soon enough.’ Wade shuddered.
‘Infantry,’ he muttered, going slightly pale. At this point, Ferret spoke up:
‘Ma’am, I have two A-10s ready to provide Close Air Support and Interdiction until the Mechs are serviceable,’ he said, secretly enjoying the fact that his virtually indestructible flying machine would not be playing second-fiddle to the army’s latest cantankerous, fiddly toy on the unit’s first operational mission. ‘Good,’ Replied Hardy. ‘You and Wagner get up there ASAP. Get a low level CAP established and await their arrival. We want them to think they’ve gone undetected. Now, aviator! Scramble!’
‘Ma’am,’ responded Ferret, rushing out of the room to find his aviator counterpart – Flight Lieutenant Emily ‘Wags’ Wagner.

Wade, meanwhile, was left little to do but wait. He resolved himself to be there when his babies arrived, to lend a hand in any way he could to the highly capable mechanics who serviced them.

March 13, 2015 – 0549 hours
Aircrew Barracks
FOB McGuire
Mogadishu, Somalia

‘Wags! Wake up, dammit!’
‘Huh…? Ergh…’
‘Yeah, nice to see you, too, Em,’ said Ferret, shaking her harder. ‘C’mon, we’ve gotta suit up. We’re up. There’s a hostile tank column supported by infantry and helos inbound, and the Mechs aren’t here yet! We gotta go, we’ve been scrambled!’ In a flash, FLTLT Emily Wagner was fully awake, with the kind of wide-eyed astonishment peculiar to combat pilots who’ve just been told they’re about to be required to do their job. She snapped into action, leaping out of bed, before stopping suddenly. ‘What is it?’ Ferret asked.
‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t watch me getting changed, CAG,’ Wags replied.
‘Ah. Yes,’ the CAG replied and left. Damn, he thought, I was so close, too.

He leaned up against the wall, his mind racing. How much fuel do we need? How much do we have? Are the aircraft loaded or unloaded? Unlike the unit’s BF-20s, the A-10s were at the base when they’d arrived, having been left behind by the Marine Unit the Australian Army had purchased the aircraft from. Wags’ head poked out the door, her aviator sunglasses already perched on her nose. ‘Shall we?’ she said with a grin.

They sprinted for the Flight Ops Room, stopping by the Life Support Shop to grab the essentials: helmet, gloves, oxygen mask, G-Suit, kneeboard, briefing cards, sidearm and money. All standard equipment whenever they flew, the sidearm being for self defence and the money for offering bribes should they ever be shot down. Upon entering the Flight Ops Room, they came face to face with the Base Air Commander, USAF Lt. Colonel Daniel O’Neill, who gave them the necessary frequencies, flight information, and informed them of the status of their birds: two fuelled and ready to fly, loaded with Sidewinders and Mavericks – perfect.

Nine minutes after he had woken Wagner, Ferret was seated in the cockpit of his A-10, running through the pre-start checklist. Not bad, for a pair who were supposed to be on 20 minute alert. In another two minutes he had the engines started. He ran them up to full power, holding on the brakes, before bringing the, back down to idle, releasing the brakes as he did so to get the aircraft rolling. He saw Wags’ jet out of the corner of his eye bouncing along the uneven ground next to the main runway. Ferret lowered the flaps, set takeoff trim, and keyed his mike: ‘McGuire Tower, Guntrain 409, flight of two A-10s ready to depart runway 16.’
‘Guntrain, cleared to go on 16.’
‘16, Guntrain.’

Ferret eased the throttles forward and fiddled with the pedals, getting the nosewheel straight as he lined up on the runway. He keyed his mike once more. ‘407, go hot,’ he said, referring to a hot mike, meaning the pilots would no longer have to activate their radio switches to talk to each other. Fiddling around for the damn radio switch could be the difference between life and death in the high-speed world of aerial combat. ‘Roger,’ replied Wags, ‘407 is hot.’ Ferret grinned at the unfortunate choice of words and made the call: ‘407, let’s go.’
‘Roger,’ Wags replied.

Together, they brought their throttles forward to full power, their aircraft straining to be released. Ferret began a countdown, carefully watching his engine gauges. ‘3…2…1…NOW!’ He ripped his feet off the brake pedals and his aeroplane leapt down the runway. As the airspeed rose, he felt the wings begin to bite into the air more, and as they reached flying speed, he gently lifted the nosewheel and the aircraft flew itself off the runway. He snuck a glance over his right shoulder at the impressive sight of 407 bobbing in the air alongside his aircraft. The A-10 was extraordinarily ugly on the ground, but took on a kind of menacing elegance in the air. With a gentle flick of his wrist, Leece stood the aircraft on its left wing and turned in the direction of the enemy tank column, Wags following on his wing.

Meanwhile, back on the ground, Wade waited tensely, unsure whether to don his Mech battlesuit or infantry fatigues. He cursed softly to himself yet again and resolved never to leave home on an aircraft other than that carrying his mechs. Just as he had this thought, Wade noticed a low rumble coming from the South. Surely not…

March 13, 2015 – 0559 hours
C-130J, Flash Fifteen
Airborne, FOB McGuire approach
Mogadishu, Somalia

‘McGuire tower, this is Flash fifteen, urgent delivery for the 1st BiPedal,’ radioed the lead C-130’s pilot, USAF Major Tom ‘Jep’ Jephson. He was flying in command of the lead aircraft of a four-ship convoy. His copilot, RAAF Flight Lieutenant Gareth ‘General’ Hammond, grinned. ‘Cleared to land straight in, Flash,’ came the reply, ‘taxi direct to maintenance hangar zero-three.’
‘Roger,’ Jep replied, and lowered the next stage of flap.

On the ground, Wade whooped for joy and pulled on his battlesuit shin guards. ‘I’m going stomping!’ he crowed.