by Ricky Sides
For a brief moment, Namid wondered why men seemed to have precognitive dreams relating to her dangerous situations. If Jim hadn’t warned her in advance, she might not have pulled off the target. She’d honestly felt she could hit the missile if she’d tried one more shot. But after the close call, she knew it would have ended badly. Even if she’d managed to hit the missile, by then it was too close, and the resultant explosion would have taken out her fighter as well.
A moment later, there was a shout of exhilaration, and Jeff shouted, “We got it, Phoenix.”
The next pair in the attack run, hit the remaining missile and there was an explosion as the missile blew, taking the mobile missile command center with it. That confirmed in Namid’s mind that the airborne missile would have destroyed her fighter.
“Nice shooting guys. Sorry I missed the first missile,” she apologized to the squadron.
“It was too close. There was no way you’d have had time to acquire lock,” Jeff said.
Another pilot chimed in, saying, “I don’t know how the hell you got off three shots and managed to avoid the missile. I wouldn’t have thought that possible at that range and speed.”
“It wouldn’t be possible for us. Don’t ever try that. You know Phoenix routinely does things with a fighter that no one else can do,” another pilot advised.
“Well, right now we need to find the damned nuke,” Namid said. “Coming about and opening up to five hundred for the chase. Two of you make sure the remaining missile carrier can’t send a message to the one with the nuke. The rest of us will fly ahead. Catch us when you can,” Namid ordered.
The last two fighters turned and made another pass at the missile command center that remained. In moments, that unit had been destroyed and they were racing north to rejoin their squadron.
***
Aboard the Peacekeeper, Doctor Michael Crane and an assistant were striving to save the lieutenant’s life. Tim looked on anxiously as the doctor worked to stop the bleeding. When the emergency surgery was completed, the doctor said, “That’s all I can do surgically, now to see how many people aboard match his blood type. He needs blood, and he needs a lot.”
“I got the list from Patricia, Doctor,” Tim advised. “The men are outside in the hall waiting to help.”
“Thank you, Captain. Your efficiency may just save this man’s life,” the doctor stated as he stripped off the bloody gloves and discarded them. Taking the list and looking it over, the doctor said, “I hope this is enough. He’s lost so much blood that I’d feel better with a few more volunteers.”
“You get started. I’ll get you more from the Constitution,” Tim said.
“Thank you, Captain,” the doctor replied with a look of relief on his face.
“You hang in there, Jack,” said Tim.
For the next twenty minutes, the doctor and his assistant drew blood from the volunteers who matched the lieutenant’s blood type. Some of the lieutenant’s former strike team members aboard the Peacekeeper tried to coerce the doctor into taking too much of their blood, but he adamantly refused to trade one life for another. “You don’t understand, Doc,” one of the men said. “The Lieutenant saved my life a half dozen times. I can’t stand here and watch him die,” the man said emotionally.
“If blood can save him, he’ll get all it takes to do the job without killing you, Corporal. That is assuming you get the hell out of my way so I can get blood from the next volunteer,” the doctor said irritably.
“Sorry, Doc,” the man said sheepishly and vacated the chair so the next man could give his share of blood.
Tim personally flew the Peacekeeper back to the base and landed beside the Constitution. He landed so gently that not soul onboard realized they’d landed until the cargo bay door opened and the volunteers from the Constitution ran up the ramp followed by Captain Bill Young. He met Tim in the hallway and said, “This is all my people with the right blood type.”
“Thank you Bill,” Tim said. Then he asked, “Do you need my boys to help with the mop up operation?”
“We’ll handle that. As soon as the doctor is finished with my crew, you should ferry the wounded back to the citadel. Maggie has much better facilities there for critical care. His chances are better there.”
“That’s what I was thinking of doing. You’ll inform his strike team, and send them there when they have finished their work here?” Tim asked.
“Of course I will,” Bill assured Tim. Then he told Tim about the unfortunate communication between Holly and Namid. Tim frowned and said, “I’ll have Patricia give her an updated prognosis. He’s critical. His chances aren’t great, but he is no longer expected to die. I’ve also got to inform Jim.”
***
Namid flew her fighter along the expected route that the enemy would have utilized to move the missile north. “Jeff, haven’t we already come further than the carrier could have brought the missile from the last site in the time available?” she asked.
“I was just thinking the same thing, Namid,” Jeff responded.
“Alright, this is what we’ll do,” said Namid. She sent word to the two fighters closing on their position advising them to drop airspeed and begin checking the landscape for signs of a concealed missile carrier. She sent two fighters on ahead. They were to search all the way out to one hundred twenty miles from the last site, and then come about to rejoin the squadron. The remaining fighters were going to backtrack at a slower airspeed to see what they could find. This time they would be looking for a concealed missile carrier.
Ten minutes into that search, Namid received a call from Patricia who gave her an updated prognosis on Lieutenant Wilcox. Patricia assured Namid that they would soon be flying the lieutenant to the citadel, and that there was no shortage of blood donors.
Namid felt better after that conversation. She now had a sense of hope that Jack would recover. “I told you he’d pull through, Phoenix. The man’s got a lot to live for,” Jeff stated.
“Thank you, Cowboy. When this is over, I’m heading to the citadel,” she said.
“Roger that, Phoenix. If you want to do so, you can go now. I’ll cover for you here,” Jeff volunteered.
“I can’t. There’s too much at stake. One more pair of eyes looking could make a difference,” Namid responded. But then she said, “I do appreciate the offer.”
“No problem, Phoenix. I just want you to know I wish you both the best,” Jeff explained.
“Phoenix, we have contact,” said one of the two pilots who’d remained behind to finish off the remaining mobile missile command center. Then he said, “Oh my God! They launched the missile! We are in pursuit on your vector! It’s too fast. It’s pulling away and we can’t get lock!” the pilot said.
“Pilot, give me the trajectory,” Namid said calmly. Then she waited for the man to respond.
“It’s heading a bit west now. West of the search cone,” the pilot responded. Then he reported that it had disappeared.
“Fly west guys,” Namid urged the fighters still north of the missile. She then reported the missile launch to Patricia, whose more powerful radio sent that message to the Valiant.
Moments later, Namid saw the missile streaking past. They turned and tried to close in with it to get a lock and shoot it down, but the missile was to fast. Soon, it disappeared from sight. She radioed the two northernmost members of the squadron with an updated vector and advised them to get on that same vector, and fly north at top speed. Maybe the missile would pass close enough that they’d get a shot at it.
That almost worked, but the missile was just too fast for the fighters. By the time they were aware it was passing them two hundred yards to their west and corrected their heading, it was too late to get a computer lock. They sent an updated vector to the Peacekeeper, which passed it on to the Valiant.
Patricia sent the squadron a message that they should return to the citadel. They’d done all they could do. Now it was up to the others to stop the missile.
Nami
d ordered her squadron to reassemble, and then she led them back to the citadel at full throttle. No one questioned some of the less than safe shortcuts she led them through. They understood that she had good reason for rushing the flight to the base.
Chapter 19
In the Valiant, Jim studied the map on Lina’s navigation monitor, then ordered several changes in the lines of drones, ships, fighters, and APCs preparing to attempt to shoot down the missile.
The drone operators had just shifted positions, forming a line a mile long, when the missile reached the southern end of their line. Jim had shifted them to a line oriented due south along the projected course of the missile. He wanted the missile to have to run a gauntlet of firepower. He was hoping that the drones would have a chance to shoot it down before the missile could reach the next line of defenders.
But as the missile raced past them, the drone operators missed. There is a slight delay between the operators firing with their controls and the drones actually discharging their weapons. Normally, that delay was irrelevant. But in the case of a target less than six meters in length, flying at six hundred miles per hour that delay was critical. Not a one of the dozens of drones hit the target.
The drone operators did give an updated trajectory, and once more Jim shifted the lines of remaining aircraft. “I’d give anything for a battery of Patriot missiles now,” Jim said quietly.
“We’ll stop it, sir,” Lina said confidently.
“I’m glad someone is confident of the outcome,” Jim said.
“We have to stop the missile. The consequences of failure remove it as an option,” Lina said and smiled at Jim.
“If they get past the fighters, do you think you could time a turn so that we’re broadside of the missile in that slip maneuver?” he asked.
“Broadside? No, sir. That won’t work. The target would be moving so fast that it would flash by us too quickly. Remember I have to slow the ship for the slip maneuver to work without the ship becoming unstable.”
“If we’re sufficiently ahead of the target, could you perform it so that the missile is closing on our position as we slip sideways through the air? That could give our gunner time to hit the target,” Jim suggested.
“That might work, but it will require precision timing,” Lina explained.
“Let’s hope the next defensive line stops the missile. But if it passes the mainline ships, and it then gets past the fighters, I want us in position to make an attempt,” Jim said. He asked the engineer to assist with the timing by working the numbers and giving them the estimated time, they would have, if the missile got past the last line of defense before reaching them. Max surprised him by instantly providing the answer. He’d anticipated the need for the information. They would have two minutes, fifteen seconds, give or take a few seconds based on the speed of the Valiant.
“Maybe we should line the fighters up wingtip to wingtip in the path of the missile. They could wait until the right moment, and then all of them could open fire at the ground below, thus forcing the missile into flying through a curtain of weapons fire,” The gunner suggested from his seat.
“That would start a massive wildfire,” Lina pointed out.
“We could try it with conventional miniguns, but we don’t have sufficient aircraft with the conventional miniguns to effectively attempt it here in California. But we can try. It can’t hurt,” Jim said. He sent the message that organized the fighters armed with conventional miniguns to attempt the suggested maneuver.
Within moments of that order, the missile flew past the line of waiting patrol ships. Several of the gunners came close, but no one managed to hit the missile.
As planned, the fighters armed with laser miniguns got a running start so that they would be flying at speed when the missile flew past if the other fighters didn’t get it. Unfortunately, the line of conventionally armed fighters was out of position by a hundred yards. The missile flew past them to their west and they were unable to do anything to stop it.
Evan came into the control room at that point. He said, “Captain, Lisa, and I would like to volunteer to fly the drones. We are qualified drone pilots, and we want to help.”
Jim was about to say no, but a pleading look from Lina caused him to rethink his instinctive reaction. “Alright, Evan. Man your drones. Just try not to start a wildfire.”
“Yes, sir, we’ll be careful,” said Evan. He turned and walked out of the control room with dignity. But when he was outside the control room, Jim heard him yell, “Alright! Lisa! He said man our drones!”
The control room crew heard an equally exuberant, “Oh wow!” from Lisa.
“That was kind of you, Captain,” the gunner said.
Jim smiled, but then something occurred to him. “I’ll be right back,” he stated, then turned and went to speak to the two drone pilots.
When he returned communications informed him that the fighters said the missile had gotten past them. “Lina, bring us up to speed, and wish the APCs good luck,” he said.
“Aye, sir,” Lina responded. She transmitted the message as she slowly brought the Valiant up to one hundred eighty miles per hour, leaving the line of APCs to make their attempt to stop the missile as they headed out to be the last line of defense.
“I’m sorry, Lina. I should have been more specific, bring us up to full speed. On my mark, the drones will detach. When I give the order, I want you to brake for the slip maneuver,” Jim instructed.
“Yes, Captain,” said Lina, as she increased their forward speed.
“I just had an idea that will give us two last chances to hit the missile. I’m hoping one of the drones will manage to get a target lock. They’ll be traveling at six hundred miles per hour, but will immediately begin to slow. If they detach just before the missile reaches our position, then they may be able to get a lock with their weapons. You wait for a five count, then implement emergency breaking and execute the slide maneuver.”
Lina smiled and said, “That sounds crazy enough that it just might work.” She warned the crew to prepare for hard breaking maneuvers.
Jim got into his chair and fastened himself in place.
Moments later, the APCs reported that the missile had gotten past them. Now all that stood between Los Angeles and the nuclear missile was the Valiant and her crew. The APCs gave another update on the course heading for the missile. Lina adjusted her course accordingly.
Max yelled to the captain, reminding him that they should have just seconds over two minutes before the missile overtook them.
“Each time our defenses get closer to the target. Hopefully, this last course correction will enable us to get a target lock,” Jim said.
A full minute elapsed. The crew of the Valiant was nervous. They knew that they were the last hope for the people of LA. All of the other defenses had failed to stop the missile.
“Drones, you are a go for separation,” Jim announced.
Jim waited for five seconds. “Begin the slip maneuver on my mark,” Jim ordered. “Mark,” he said.
The Valiant went into a hard deceleration. Jim felt the pressure of his shoulder harness pressing into his body.
At the drone control stations, Lisa and Evan watched their monitors as the Valiant flew away from them with increasing speed. In the distance, they had just begun to see the ship make her turn when they saw the missile fly past them. They adjusted their courses to pursue their target. It didn’t seem to be flying all that fast, but it did seem to be speeding up. In reality, their drones were slowing down from the six hundred miles per hour they had been flying at the moment of release, toward their top-flight speed of three hundred miles per hour. Both, Evan and Lisa targeted the missile and fired. Their lasers hit the missile just as the Valiant unleashed her main laser on the target. The missile exploded from the multiple hits, but there was no nuclear explosion.
***
In the control room of the citadel, Pete activated the bay intercom and said, “Maggie, the Peacekeeper has detached f
rom the battleship module and is about to enter the tunnel.”
In the bay below, Pete saw his wife turn to him and wave an acknowledgement. Beside her stood two base medics who had delivered a gurney with which they would transport the lieutenant to the base infirmary. Glancing at the light above the tunnel, Pete noted that it was now green. He headed for the door and walked down the stairs to join Maggie.
He arrived in time to see the Peacekeeper exit the tunnel and fly to the area where the medical staff was waiting. The ship settled to a feather soft landing, and Pete suspected that Tim had flown her into the tunnel. Few pilots had the ability to land the big ships as gently as Tim somehow seemed to manage.
A moment later, the cargo bay door opened, and strike force members carried the lieutenant’s stretcher over to the gurney. The medics with Maggie gently slid the wounded man onto the gurney and raised the protective rail while Doctor Michael Crane hooked a bottle of whole blood to the rack. Turning to his assistant, the doctor took the medical chart that the man proffered. He moved over to Maggie and said, “This is Lieutenant Wilcox’s medical chart. We have a supply of blood drawn and we are ready to deliver it to your infirmary. Beware his old strike team. Those guys are insane. They keep insisting I take more blood,” he warned Maggie.
“I’m not surprised. Lieutenant Wilcox is dear to us all,” Maggie said. Then, for the benefit of the eager looking strike team members, she said, “But we have also drawn blood for this emergency. There’s no sense in drawing more from you boys now.”
Without further delay, the medical personnel left to get the lieutenant set up in the infirmary.
“Well, the Valiant did it,” Tim stated in obvious relief. “I understand the kids shot it down.”