by Ricky Sides
It helped that he supplied some of the officials involved in the decision making process with drugs and women, young girls or boys. No matter which they preferred he supplied them with their sexual fantasies, because Henry Silba understood people. They could be controlled if one knew the secrets. To control a man’s mind you had to enslave that mind to drug addiction. To control his body you grant him the sex of his darkest secret dreams, and then inform him that you will take that away and reveal his secrets to the world unless he complies with your instructions.
Silba was a perverted man, whose appetite for bizarre sex knew no bounds. It was common for him to force men to watch as he sexually abused their wives. This was even true of men he suspected of violating the rules of the cartel within his own organization. Silba didn’t just abuse their bodies. He abused their minds as well. He often forced the women to cry out as if in passion while he raped them in front of their spouses. He would threaten to kill their spouses if the women were less than eager in the sex act. If he was in a good mood, he had the men killed after thus tormenting them. If not, then he also sexually abused them before having them killed. He always killed the women after disposing of their husbands. One woman had resisted and scratched his face. What he had done to that woman in retaliation made bodyguards, who themselves were hard hearted, cold bloodied killers, turn and look away in horror.
Silba and the other cartel bosses climbed into their cars and drove back through the tunnel that ran under the bay. They emerged inside Havana, and drove down to the harbor. Emerging from their vehicles with a veritable army of guards surrounding them, they hurried aboard the ship that they planned to use as their command vessel for the invasion of America. The ship was one of the medium sized cargo vessels, and was loaded with tons of drugs. These drugs would be used to enslave the survivors of the plague, which Silba believed he had unleashed in America. With the right people addicted to the drugs he could then carve out the largest empire a drug lord had ever controlled.
They had planned to leave the bay the next morning. However, some unknown flying machines had attacked their armada once, and Silba was not inclined to wait and see if they would return. He ordered the ships to begin the slow process of exiting the Havana Bay. Inside his cabin, Henry Silba sat down at his desk and opened his private journal. In that journal, he noted that tonight he had seen something, which he had only heard about until now and had believed to be fiction. He had seen a pair of unidentified flying objects. With a flourish he wrote, “The aliens are real! They do exist!”
Closing his journal, Henry Silba placed it in his desk drawer and locked the drawer. Shouting for his guards who entered the room immediately, he ordered them to have the other cartel bosses notified that they would be meeting in the conference room in fifteen minutes. They had plans to make.
***
The council had studied the evidence from both surveillance tapes that the fighters had taken on their mission to Cuba. Jeff’s video had indeed captured something not noted on Namid’s video feed. Beside one of the cargo ships, had stood a large group of heavily armed guards. That ship had more guards than any other vessel in the armada. To be certain of this, they carefully reviewed both tapes again and that fact was established. No other ship had anywhere near the fifty men present beside the ship on the dock as guards. The council concluded that it was almost a certainty that this large group of guards would be guarding the ship utilized by the cartel bosses. Pete pointed out that even on deck; the ship had easily three times the guards of any other ship comparable in size. Looking at Bill, he said, “Make that ship a priority.”
“With pleasure, Pete,” Bill responded and asked Patricia to make him a copy of that piece of tape so he could have his crew examine it prior to the battle.
“I’m glad to see that I could contribute something with my footage,” Jeff Brown said from his place at the table.
“Considering the risk that you took to retrieve it, so am I,” Pol said soberly.
“That did get a bit hairy for a moment,” Jeff admitted sheepishly, and Namid glared at him. Jeff knew she was still upset because he had almost gotten himself killed to retrieve that tape. To change the subject he asked, “Is there a spare fighter on the base that I can fly in the coming battle?”
Jim replied, “A pilot delivered an electronic component needed for a repair to our battleship module. You can fly her fighter. She was supposed to fly back to Base One after a few hours sleep, but Maggie took one look at her and grounded her for forty-eight hours minimum.” Frowning Jim said, “It appears that your Sergeant Sally Rutherford has been flying almost non stop all week delivering items that base engineers need for last minute upgrades and repairs. Maggie says she is on the verge of a physical collapse from exhaustion.”
Jeff cursed, but then he said, “Sorry, sir, but I specifically ordered Sally not to make another run for a few days when I saw how she looked the day before yesterday.”
“Go easy on her, Lieutenant. She said she knew that she was violating orders, but no other fighter was available to bring the component that was ordered, ASAP. The rest of the fighters were off dealing with a band of rogues who’d thought to raid a tanker convoy in the Birmingham area,” Tim explained.
“Yes, I guess we are stretched a little thin at the moment,” the lieutenant said and rubbed his face tiredly.
Seeing this Tim asked, “Do you two pilots intend to participate in the battle tomorrow?”
“Hell yes,” Namid stated fiercely and Jeff nodded enthusiastically.
“Not unless you get at least six hours sleep. Eight would be better,” Maggie said in a firm tone of voice.
“In that case, I’m off to my cabin for a while,” Namid said rising. Turning to Jeff she said, “Cowboy, you can be my wingman anytime.” She walked out of the room.
“I think she likes you,” Maggie said and winked at Jeff who stared at her in surprise.
“I think she tolerates me because I can fly close to her skill level, but that lady is the hottest pilot we have in a fighter. No other pilot that I know could have used a fighter in my rescue in the manner that she did. That includes me. I don’t think any man interests her one tenth as much as her fighter,” Jeff said.
“I think you need some sleep, pilot,” Maggie said sternly. “You must, because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Maggie said and smiled to take the sting out of her rebuke.
Smiling, Jeff rose to his feet and exited the room.
The council had just finished amending their plans after viewing the evidence on the reconnaissance tapes when the call came in from a patrol that the armada was now in the Gulf on a course that, provided the course was maintained, would take them to New Orleans. That made sense. Two attacks had been launched at the New Orleans area, but the peacekeepers hadn’t been sure that this was because the city was the true target for the destination of the armada. By entering Lake Pontchartrain, the invaders would have almost immediate access to a major American city and its citizens who could be used as hostages, should that prove necessary. The warship would have been able to shell most of the city if needed. The submarine could have blocked the entrance to the salt-water lake from the Gulf thus effectively giving the cartel control of the vast lake. From a strategic point of view, it was a good plan.
They were fortunate indeed that they had opted to send the fighters. The drones would have found it impossible to destroy the warship and difficult at best to destroy the submarine. During the discussion of the matter, Pol offered to give Jim the mathematical formula but Jim wisely insisted on laymen’s terms. A somewhat disappointed Pol explained that the more powerful lasers and the bombs carried by the fighters made it possible for the fighters to accomplish the mission successfully. He doubted that the drones could have done so.
Then Pol grew very serious for a moment. “Captain, there is something that I think you should know,” he said and paused. He wasn’t sure just how important this was in the overall scheme of things,
but now the captain and council were waiting. Sighing, Pol said, “I’m not certain how important this is, but thought it best to inform you. Namid’s rescue maneuver is impossible.”
Silence in the room greeted that announcement and Tim surprised them all when he said, “I know.”
“You do?” Pol asked.
“I’m a pilot, Pol. I think Jeff knows as well,” Tim responded.
“Jim said, “What are you two talking about?” Then seeing the broad smile on Pol’s face he knew that the man was about to launch into a mathematical explanation. “In laymen’s terms, Pol,” he said quickly.
Sighing in feigned disappointment, Pol said, “I can do better than that. He walked to his engineering computer console and brought up a simulation. Spinning his monitor around so that the council could see it, he activated the simulation. It paused at the beginning and he explained. The simulation takes into account all known variables including the weight of the pilots. The additional weight of the water on the pilot’s clothing is even taken into account. Weather data such as temperature, wind speed and direction and barometric pressure are all factored into the simulation. The recreation is set in such a manner that the switch that pitches the nose upward is triggered at precisely the optimum moment every time. Now please watch what happens when the pilots attempt the maneuver while hovering at just a few inches above the surface of the sea,” Pol explained and the council watched in silence.
Pol ran the simulation five times. Three times of that five, the fighter splashed into the surface of the sea tail first as the nose pitched upward. The impact caused a wave to swamp the open cockpit and the fighter sank. Once the fighter rolled to port and again the water entered the cockpit and it sank. Once the pilot attempting to climb onto the nose was unable to do so as the nose went up and he slid off the slick surface of the aircraft. That was the only instance in which the pilot managed to keep the fighter attempting the rescue airborne. In all cases where the pilot in the sea managed to climb aboard the nose, the rescue fighter was lost. In all cases where the fighter was lost, the pilot tied to the aircraft was pulled down beneath the surface of the sea by the rope. In all but one case, the rescue pilot was also lost when the fighter sank.
“What you are telling me is that Namid pulled off the impossible?” Jim asked.
“Yes, Captain. I bring this to your attention because I am afraid other pilots may hear of this and attempt similar maneuvers. As you can see the results of that would be very bad,” Pol explained.
“Isn’t it possible that the simulation software is just wrong, Pol?” Pete asked.
“The math is not wrong, Pete. The pitch engine supplies X amount of tilt thrust. When that tilt thrust is applied, the airframe will tilt to a specific degree of angle. When the aircraft tilts to that degree of angle, the tail will submerge beneath the surface. This is a mathematical fact, and not theory,” Pol explained.
“Then how did Namid do it and succeed?” asked Pete.
“Call it divine intervention, if you will or telekinesis, if you prefer. But the fact is, the maneuver is impossible and pilots will die if they attempt to emulate her maneuver,” Pol answered.
“You said that the simulator activates the pitch at the optimum time,” Jim noted. “What if the pitch motor was not activated at the optimum time or not activated at all?”
“One hundred percent loss,” Tim answered grimly.
Pol nodded soberly and activated the simulator again. This time the tilt motor was activated too slowly or not at all during the simulations. In every case, the results were the same. The nose of the fighter submerged sufficiently for the water to enter the cockpit, fill the airframe, and the fighter sank like a rock. In two of five tests, the rescue pilot managed to survive but the person, being rescued was lost.
“With the coming battle I felt it important to bring this matter to your attention. Pilots will likely be downed. Other pilots may attempt similar rescues. I think the pilots should wear harnesses. Rescue pilots can then use their ropes, which can be attached to the harnesses. Otherwise we may lose men and women needlessly,” Pol warned.
Pete nodded soberly and said, “There are harnesses aplenty at the Key West naval airbase. I’ll have some men retrieve them and the fighter pilots will wear them over the Gulf. Normally they never bother with harnesses because they don’t wear parachutes. At their altitude, parachutes are pretty much useless and we don’t have ejection systems in the fighters.” Looking at Pol he said, “Thank you for bringing this to our attention my friend. Once more, your work will be saving peacekeeper lives.”
Turning to Tim, Pete said, “I’ll leave it to you to explain to the pilots why they should use harness rescues instead of Namid’s maneuver. You’re a pilot and they respect your judgment.”
“I’ll take care of that before the attack,” Tim said. “And, Pol, I agree with Pete. You never seem to get much recognition for your contributions. Medals aren’t awarded for prevention. Maybe they should be, because no peacekeeper I know of has saved more lives than you.”
“I couldn’t have said that better, and I’d add Maggie to that list. Her work on protecting our people from contamination from the disease saved untold numbers of lives,” Jim said.
Both, Pol and Maggie, smiled appreciatively and the meeting adjourned. After sending the orders that would get men moving to gather the flight harnesses, Pete headed for bed to grab a few hours sleep before the coming battle.
Chapter 17
Ramon Marino stood at the head of his Cuban-American company in full fighting gear. He had been waiting this moment for the past months. They were about to board the patrol ship of the California peacekeepers. Beside Ramon’s unit stood Lieutenant Wilcox with his ten-man strike force team.
Lieutenant Wilcox turned to address the combined forces and said, “Alright you people all know the drill. In a few minutes, we will be boarding the ship. Detach the magazines from your weapons. Keep them pointed in a safe direction and lock open the bolts. The sergeant and I will be inspecting all weapons to ensure that they are unloaded.” Grinning, Lieutenant Wilcox added, “Any man stupid enough to load a rifle onboard Captain Barnes’ ship without proper authorization will walk the plank. For those of you unfamiliar with that term, it means that the cargo bay door is opened then you walk out on the door and step off at two hundred feet altitude. Survivors will be picked up to walk the plank again,” the lieutenant said, humorously.
The Cuban-American company laughed but complied with the instructions. Two minutes later the efficient lieutenant and Sergeant Marino had personally checked the weapons of every person about to board the patrol ship. The lieutenant nodded to the sergeant who faced the men and shouted, “Bolts to home and safeties on!” The men complied and released their bolts from the locked open position and then they flicked their safeties to the on position. “God help the man who isn’t wearing his full armor,” the sergeant shouted, causing more than one man to slap his chest hard in response. The thudding sound confirmed that they were indeed wearing their armor.
Captain Barnes exited his ship and approached the men he would soon be transporting into battle. The airfield, that only yesterday had been crowded with the larger ships and fighters, now only contained his patrol ship and the eight fighters assigned escort duty. The airfield seemed almost barren by comparison. Stopping before the assembled men, he said, “Gentlemen, you know the rules on the California. No one goes into the control room without authorization. Lieutenant Wilcox, as a command level officer, you are free to come to the control room at will. The rest of you men come only when ordered to do so if you please. No loaded weapons onboard my ship with the exception of my security team and, Lieutenant Wilcox’s, team if he feels it necessary. Lieutenant Wilcox, you are of course an exception to this rule. Lieutenant Wilcox will brief you on the mission in transit. You will have approximately thirty minutes before we arrive at the target. The Lieutenant will brief you on the rest,” Captain Barnes said.
Turning t
o Sergeant Ramon Marino he continued, “Sergeant, I have followed the progress of you and your men since I first learned that I would be involved in your mission. A captain likes to know the sort of men he is risking his ship and crew to support. Let me say that both you and your men have come a long way in your training. I have the utmost respect for you all. You have shown marked improvement since your last drill with me. I wish you all the best of luck. But lest you think that this is turning into a love fest, you should know that if any of your men enter my control room without authorization, I will make that man walk the plank,” Cliff said this last with a smile. He had heard that standing joke that was going around about his strictness and frankly, he found it amusing. He saluted the men and said, “Lieutenant, take the men aboard. We lift off in five minutes.”
As the men marched past him, Captain Barnes heard one man say, “I don’t know about you, but I think maybe he was serious.”
“Were you planning to take a stroll into the control room to see what would happen?” asked his buddy.
“Hell no!” he exclaimed and his friend laughed.
Aboard the ship, Lieutenant Wilcox briefed the men. He had a large-scale photograph of the aerial view of the target leaned against the wall. He said, “Gentlemen the enemy has made a series of mistakes which will ultimately lead to their defeat today. Their defenses are set up for a land-based attack by Cubans, who are trying to take the walls of La Cabana from the south. However, they will prove their undoing against an enemy with the capability to approach from the north and attack from the rear. For example, note the machinegun nests on top of the fortifications furthest south,” he explained and pointed to the area he was referring to. “See how all of the guns are pointing to the south in the direction that the Cubans would have to take to attack the fortification by land. Gentlemen, it would take the men a minute, maybe even two minutes to release the detaining bolts in those mounting brackets and swivel the guns around to face a threat inside their own fortress. That’s if they remain calm and don’t panic,” he added wickedly with a grin causing the men to laugh. “Our fighter pilots will sweep them from the walls long before they can adjust their weapons. But that is the second mission goal.”