Chapter 78: Patrolling Over Maruno River (Patreon)

As Bell continued to circle above in his F-15S, the scale of the military build-up below was a sight to behold. From his vantage point, the organized chaos of preparation unfolded like a meticulously crafted play. Despite the jamming that rendered his radar screen partially useless, the visual confirmation of ground forces in action was both reassuring and awe-inspiring.

The terrain around the Maruno River had transformed dramatically. What was once a serene and undisturbed natural landscape was now a bustling hub of military activity. Tanks and armored vehicles formed formidable lines along the riverbank, their barrels pointing ominously northward, towards an unseen but palpably present enemy. Infantry fighting vehicles and armored personnel carriers were interspersed among them, ready to transport troops across the terrain with speed and efficiency.

Small bridges, seemingly fragile yet strategically crucial, spanned the width of the Maruno River at various points. These temporary constructions were a testament to the ingenuity and adaptability of the forces, designed to enable a swift offensive push towards the northern mountain range. It was clear that every element of this build-up was geared towards gaining a tactical advantage over the enemy, with mobility and speed being paramount.

Command centers, easily identifiable by their robust and somewhat hastily erected structures, dotted the landscape. They were the nerve centers of the operation, buzzing with activity as officers and strategists coordinated the movements of troops and the allocation of resources. 

The new road networks that snaked through the area were another marvel of military logistics. Constructed with remarkable efficiency, these roads served as vital arteries, ensuring the steady flow of supplies and reinforcements from Frostwood. This was important since he needed to sustain all of those divisions for a long defensive war until he got enough resources to wage war beyond the mountain range. 

Some people on the lower command rank began to question why they hadn’t invaded the south yet, the answer was obvious. It was not only the matter of attacking, but it was also the matter of holding the position, which required a lot of resources alongside with a lot of logistics. They still had to deal with insurgencies, rebels, and so on. 

Bell's thoughts were interrupted by the crackle of his radio. The voice of the command center cut through the static, a reminder that he was not alone in this vast theater of operations. "Crimson One, this is Frostwood Command. How’s the flight, sir?” 

"Frostwood Command, it's all clear on my sector here, continuing routine patrol, over." He maintained his vigilance, eyes scanning the horizon as the last rays of sunlight disappeared, giving way to the darkness of night.

The transition to night operations was seamless for Bell. Equipped with night-vision goggles that cut through the darkness, he could see the landscape below with remarkable clarity. The lights from the encampment in the mountain range glowed like a beacon, indicating the presence the southern coalition. He adjusted his targeting pod, zooming in for a closer look, those encampments were filled with soldiers carrying their weapons left and right while marching towards the north. 

His night-vision goggles pierced through the darkness below, revealing the encampments in the mountain range ablaze with activity. Through the lens of his targeting pod, he observed the southern coalition's forces in motion, a sea of soldiers marching with purpose towards the north. 

The glow of their encampment against the night sky was a stark reminder of the imminent threat they posed. Bell pondered the possibility that these forces remained unaware of their fleet's demise. The scene below resembled ants swarming a hill, a vivid illustration of the daunting task that lay ahead in dislodging them from their mountain stronghold, especially under the current conditions of electronic warfare.

"The jamming is more severe than anticipated," Bell mused aloud, his gaze shifting from the scene below to the radar screen, now rendered nearly useless by the electronic interference. The situation was complicated by the presence of multiple jamming facilities, their locations obscured, effectively blinding Bell and his fellow pilots to the enemy's precise movements. 

This tactical disadvantage was unsettling. In Bell's experience, engaging a peer adversary without clear intelligence was fraught with peril. The notion that the enemy might be leveraging the jamming to their advantage suggested a level of sophistication and coordination that could significantly alter the dynamics of the confrontation. However, this was not coming from the Southern Coalition. 

The dilemma of how to respond weighed heavily on Bell. His colleague, Lukas, had proposed launching a HARM missile to neutralize the jamming sources, a direct and potentially effective countermeasure. Yet, Bell remained hesitant. The decision to escalate their response and potentially initiate open hostilities with a peer opponent was not one to be taken lightly. 

Such a conflict promised not only to be lethal but could also have devastating consequences. The forces assembled along the Maruno River, while formidable, represented the primary line of defense against the advancing threat, and against a peer with this kind of capability, it would mean a total destruction of multiple armed divisions. 

Why Bell was so confident that they were peer opponents? Well, in his experience, against the southern coalition, they would at the very least get a report of an intense fight, but this, half of the air assault division was simply gone, disappear into the mountain coldness, and that included Del Moore, the commander of the 120th Air Assault Division. The flight to search for them was also gone, and that included two F-35A fighter jets. They were gone without even firing a single shot, that was a scary prospect. Was it another stealth fighter? Possibly. 

Then, there was that sound that interrupts their radio the moment they got close to the ‘zone’.

“WARNING 22-12-21 21-4-7-6-15-12-9-9-8, 16-12-22-19 8-5-12-14-8-1-18-4, 25-9-19-9-20 51.5074Q, 0.1278Z. WARNING 22-12-21 21-4-7-6-15-12-9-9-8, 16-12-22-19 8-5-12-14-8-1-18-4, 25-9-19-9-20 51.5074Q, 0.1278Z."

Number stations came to mind, but why would he need to decode it first? Wouldn’t it be more effective if the other party simply give him the message and he can give him whatever they wanted. Too many lives been lost to that other party, and right now, he remained undecided. He wished he could send Aya and her gang, but they were hunting Anika in the south. What was their intention? Sheer disturbance to the Federation’s armed force? 

The nightmare scenario would be if the coalition all of a sudden become a peer opponent, then all advantages would be lost. Right now, the main advantage of Bell’s force was the quality of it, if they were peers, there was a possibility that the southern coalition would decimate and eradicate the demonic race once and for all. 

The psychological impact of these broadcasts was undeniable. The morale of Bell's comrades was visibly affected; the relentless intrusion of the number station into their communications network sowed confusion and fear. The once routine night patrols were now exercises in endurance, as pilots and ground forces alike grappled with the unnerving presence of an enemy that seemed to exist in the shadows, speaking in codes and tones designed to unnerve and destabilize.

The sequence of numbers, interspersed with static, created a dissonant symphony that seemed to warp the very air around Bell. The eerie broadcast, a blend of cryptic messages and unsettling tones, transformed each night patrol into an ordeal that tested the limits of everyone’s resolve.

As Bell soared through the night sky, the ghostly music from the number station mingled with the beeping of his aircraft's systems, creating a surreal soundscape that felt like a descent into madness. The relentless repetition of the message, "WARNING 22-12-21 21-4-7-6-15-12-9-9-8, 16-12-22-19 8-5-12-14-8-1-18-4, 25-9-19-9-20 51.5074Q, 0.1278Z," echoed in his mind, a cryptic puzzle left unsolved.

As he continued his patrol, the night seemed to grow darker, the stars above dimmed by the cloud of uncertainty that the number station and clouds began to appear, making the night sky even darker. What if something or someone besides the satellites were watching his every single move. The once familiar cockpit felt like a cage, trapping him with the spectral voices that spoke in numbers and tones.

The darkness outside merged with the darkness within, blurring the line between reality and the nightmarish landscape that the number station seemed to conjure with each broadcast. The sensation of being watched grew stronger, an oppressive feeling that he was not alone in the cockpit. 

What if the empty WSO seat behind him suddenly became occupied? 

What if suddenly he got eaten by the clouds? 

Bell could almost hear whispers, not just through the radio but in the air around him, whispers that spoke of secrets too terrifying to comprehend. There was only one thing Bell really wanted. He wanted to know what the number tried to say to him. Or, he wanted to scream on top of his lungs. 

“MAKE THE NUMBER STOP!”