“How do we get out the launch door?”
“Well, hopefully, no one has raised the alarm yet, so the automatic controls should work. If not, the main pulse engines may be able to knock the doors open. In theory, at least.”
Cliff hit the release for the magnetic clamps that held The Hope in place. He heard the satisfying sound of the release. The landing gear on which the spaceplane was sitting had electrical motors attached with a drive mechanism, allowing a pilot to move the craft around a flat area at about two miles an hour, max. Engaging these motors and firing a couple of maneuver rockets to break the inertia, The Hope began to slowly move. “Remind me to figure out a way to increase the taxi speed on this thing.” Cliff grunted in frustration.
Just then, Cliff noticed that his radio phone, attached to a small velcro pad on the control panel, was flashing. Cliff cursed, managed to untangle and unseal his helmet faceplate so he could hear it. Everyone on the Platform was given a small radio phone that worked in, on, and around the station.
“Hunter here.”
“Cliff, it’s Sandy. What’s going on? I can’t raise Bettie. The Tschaaa and their minions are rushing around at the Smith’s laboratory. Was there an accident?”
“Yeah, you could say that. Sandy, I have no time, so listen carefully. Bettie and I are bugging out on The Hope. If you can get to the berth and launch area, I would appreciate it. I may need your help. But you it really piss off the Squids if you get caught helping us. Copy?”
“Tell Bettie I’ll be there in five,” Sandy replied.
“Thanks.” Cliff reattached his radio phone to the control panel.
Under Cliff’s control, The Hope was now pointed at the airlock door. He hit the automatic door opener and was relieved to see the large airlock door begin to slide open. Slowly, on its motorized landing gear, The Hope crawled to the airlock. It seemed like an eternity, but finally they were in. Cliff hesitated for just a minute before he signaled the door to close. Now, they would be locked in if the Tschaaa realized what was going on.
“Cliff. It’s Sandy. I’m at your launch berth. The doors locked and sealed so I guess you are cycling the airlock to leave.”
“You got it. Anybody else there yet?”
“Not yet… wait. A soldier is approaching.”
Bettie watched the closing airlock door. “We could try blowing the outside blast door. I know there is an emergency exit and launch protocol in case you had to get out of the bay with everything jammed up. I think we can do that without the airlock closed and cycling.”
Cliff glanced at the small rear area view screen. “You had the original in-depth briefings on landing and taking off from this Platform. I just dealt with living on it. I’ll leave it up to you. Work your magic.”
Bettie quickly brought up the specifics on her monitor. A quick review and she had the correct emergency procedures in her head. She was poised, her hands over the controls. Turning her head toward Cliff, she asked, “Ready?”
“Yes. Blow the door.”
Bettie’s hands flew over the control panel keyboard, entering the correct codes in just the right pattern. A second’s pause, and the outer blast door was blown open, just as the airlock door closed. The air rushed out, and Cliff hit the maneuver rockets, the combined forces easily lifting and propelling the spaceplane outward.
He quickly retracted the landing gear. “Boy, that’s definitely going to piss off the Squids,” he grinned. Ten seconds later, Cliff hit the Pulse engines. One moment they were slowly moving at maybe forty knots per hour, the next moment they felt a kick in the ass and were traveling at over six hundred knots. He angled the craft’s nose downward, toward Earth. “Man, I will never get used to those sudden accelerations when I hit the pulse engines. Zero to six hundred is not exactly fun.”He kept his eyes on the cockpit glass straight ahead.
“Bettie, keep an eye on the rear video feed. The Squids have at least one delta on board the Platform at all times.” He activated the various search radars on board, trying to watch everything at once. The Hope was in the Earth’s gravity well, and began to accelerate downward. Its skin and structure were designed to take the heat and stress of reentry at a high angle, using its wing and flap designs to help control the overall speed. It was easily stressed to take Mach 25, and could take probably a lot more in a pinch due to the “fudge factor”.
“Cliff, we have company on our six.” He glanced at the rear monitor screen and tail radar. A delta had launched and was trying to acquire them on its sensor systems.
“Bettie, make sure you’re strapped in tight and your G-suit’s cells are inflated. This is going to be a wild ride.” Cliff shifted the downward angle of The Hope to increase initial speed. He would have to then switch to a high angle of attack to induce drag to slow it down. Based on Space Ship One, it also had shape changeable airfoils that could help to control its descent.
“Let me tell you what I know about the delta fighters. They have rudimentary but fairly powerful search radar. This lack of radar capability is because those big eyes of the Squids provide them with outstanding vision, especially for moving objects at long range. The eye in the sky surveillance system they use is based primarily on lens-based optics, not electronic enhanced cameras and radars like our former satellites.”
At that moment the spaceplane was passing quickly enough through sufficient atmosphere to cause a sonic boom. “I hope this bucket is as tough as they say it is. The delta behind us will pick up our direction of travel and hit their gravity pulse engines to start catching up. In the atmosphere, the ram jets will be used. They can pull more Gs than we can because of the delta’s design and Squid physiology. We can’t out turn them. I will dive as fast as I can and hope this beast doesn’t overheat and come apart. I can jink and release landing flares. Eventually, I’ll have to do some s-turns to try and slow us down. That’s it. No offensive capabilities.”
“You’re not headed toward Key West or the Cape, are you?
“No, Bettie. Luckily, our place in orbit gives us a pretty direct flight toward Montana, U.S.A.
Bettie patted his arm. “I love you. I my gut tells me we can do this.”
“Babe, I love you to bits. I hope your confidence is not misplaced, or else we are going to make one hell of a fireworks display.”
The initial delta’s pilot was trying to catch up without overheating his craft. The delta had no specialized force field like protections that the Falcons had, just the tough organically-based structure. The delta was like a chunk of a super barrier reef, reinforced by metal.
The Tschaaa warrior radioed for assistance. Five more deltas were launched from one of the spokes of the wheel-shaped orbiting ship, the size of an aircraft carrier. They were soon plummeting downward in an attempted intercept solution. Bettie, monitoring everything on the rear-facing radar systems, picked up new hits on her monitor. “Cliff, we have new targets, coming in at a bearing of 160 degrees to our rear, about five o’clock high.”
“Shit. Well, they won’t catch us before the first one does.”
It was a delicate balancing act, trying to maintain high speed in order to keep the delta from catching up, but having to flare out to control the descent to prevent the craft from becoming a flaming rock. Cliff knew the tough literally organic grown skin of the delta, like a super tough carapace of some superior crustacean, could take abuse and be able to disseminate heat in a superior manner to manmade materials. It had been built not as a true spacecraft, but rather a high atmosphere based attack craft; to swoop down from high perch, blow the hell out of its target, use its gravity pulse engines to boost itself back into orbit, then repeat. The ram jets gave it control and high speed in the atmosphere, up to about one hundred thousand feet. In a one-to- one comparison, the spaceplane’s engines were nearly equal in power and mobility to the Tschaaa technology engines.
“Bettie, I have to start s-curves. The speed and heat are building up way too fast. Start looking for somewhere to hide, if possible.” Bett
ie had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Hide? Where? It wasn’t like there was a foxhole somewhere.
Suddenly, Bettie knew there must be a God. “Cliff. Two o’clock low. Thunderhead. A big one too.”
In Cliff’s attempt to closely monitor the spaceplane’s gauges, he had missed the huge cloud formation over the Montana/North Dakota Area. It appeared that it might reach close to as high as seventy-five thousand feet. Inside were likely to be large electrical discharges. Lightning. Their craft, built for Earth weather and humans, was grounded and insulated for lightning strikes. Cliff had no idea to what degree the deltas were built to take electrical strikes, but now seemed like a pretty good time to try and find out. “Hang on! After this, rollercoaster rides will seem pretty boring.” He pointed the spaceplane’s nose down toward the weather formation. The speed picked up, and with it, heat and vibrations.
The forgotten Guard radio frequencies, standard still on all human aircraft, crackled to life. “Unidentified aircraft. We have you on our radar. Turn back or we will fire.”
Bettie grabbed the emergency mike, and yelled, “Mayday! Mayday! Spaceplane The Hope with two on board. Request emergency asylum. Help us, goddamnit! The Squids are trying to eat us!”
Cliff focused on trying to keep the craft aimed toward the weather formation and in one piece. Something flew by the side windshield. “Aircraft, you are headed toward Malmstrom Air Base, U.S.A. You will be shot down.”
“Go ahead. And hoot the damned deltas following us while you’re at it!”
The Hope hit the top of the huge thunderhead, as Cliff tried to flair the craft out more to slow it down. It began to shake and buck. “Bettie. Escape capsule ready status. Activate.”
The spaceplane had been built so that the nose and cockpit area formed an escape capsule. No shuttle disaster for space trips in the future. The nose area separated from the body, being blown away from the spaceplane body and fuselage. Then, large parachutes hopefully executed a controlled descent to the ground. Hopefully.
The Hope took a large electrical strike. Monitors and gauges flickered; the powered flight controls cut in and out, and Cliff cursed and swore. “I thought this beast was grounded and shielded.” He fought to keep the spaceplane under control, fighting the up and down drafts in the interior of the thunderhead. He changed the craft’s angle of attack, nose up as best he could to slow it down, and began s-turns.
After a couple more minutes of an extreme rollercoaster ride, The Hope popped out of the other side of the thunderstorm. Cliff fought to steady the spaceplane. “Fuck! Come on, baby. Hold it together. At least until we get shot down.” Somehow, he began to control the descent.
Something large zipped by the left side of cockpit. Cliff glanced over and saw a delta inverted in a power dive. “Shit. That Squid must have been hit by lightning also. Maybe the water in the cockpit they use as G-cushioning will fry him.”
“Cliff…I think something is burning.” Bettie unlocked and unlatched her faceplate so she could sniff the air. There was the smell of burning electrical wiring and ozone, as well as a little smoke. She could not locate the source. “Can you bring this thing under control? I can’t figure out the source, but something got fried.”
“Just don’t turn on any oxygen sources. Seal your helmet back up, Bettie, so your suit oxygen won’t help spread a fire.” The suits had a small tank with less than pure oxygen because the cockpit was pressurized. If the cockpit failed and the air escaped, the small quantity in their suit system should last until they landed. They had been breathing it since they left Platform One, due to the threat of attack.
Cliff kept circling The Hope at a high angle of attack to slow their descent. He completely lost sight of the delta that dove by. “Bettie, can you get the rear search radar working? I need to know if those other deltas that were launched are headed this way.”
Bettie attempted to get the monitor screens up. Nothing. “That burning smell must have been the circuits involved with the screens and monitors.”
“Try the Guard Radio.”
Fortunately, that still worked. Bettie repeated another version of her previous message. “Mayday! Mayday! Spaceplane The Hope requests emergency landing instructions. Two souls onboard. Request asylum.”
Someone at Malmstrom Base Control must have figured out something more than a Squid incursion was occuring in their air space. A new voice answered.
“Hope, continue on your exact bearing. Two aircraft will be intercepting and will try to escort you in. Any sign of hostile intent will result in instant destruction. Acknowledge!”
“Colonels Hunter and Bardun acknowledge.”
“I wonder what they are sending up to meet us.”
“Well, good-looking, I hope it’s something with some offensive capability. I think the other deltas may be catching up.”
Cliff maintained the heading as ordered, keeping a high angle of attack to slow down the descent of The Hope. Years ago he had been at Malmstrom Air Base, after they had reopened the airfield primarily for rotor aircraft. He had a passing thought as to what it looked like now. Finally, he broke through a cloud cover and saw Great Falls, Montana, and located the Base. Everything seemed more sprawling with more recent construction. It looked like a lot of survivors had made their way there, away from the south and the coasts, and therefore less chance of being bothered by The Tschaaa. The Air Force Global Strike Command seemed to have survived the initial attacks. Cliff swung the spaceplane in a wide circle, trying to slow more as he lined up on Runway 47 Right. He noticed two F-15Es shadowing him as he started to drop below Mach One.
“Damn, Cliff. Those have Japanese Self Defense Forces markings,” Bettie exclaimed. She called them on the Guard frequency. “To the fighter aircraft escorting us, do you read me?”
“Yes, Spaceplane Hope. We read you loud and clear. This is Colonel Yakashita. We will escort you until you touch down. Please do not make any rapid course changes. We have orders to launch missiles, fire if you violate instructions”.
“Colonel Yakashita, do you have any other aircraft on your radar?”
“There are deltas some thirty miles out and closing. They are being engaged by ground to air defense… now.”
Although neither Cliff nor Bettie could see anything being launched, it would not be worth the risks involved attempting a go around to check. Cliff tried to bring the spaceplane down as easy as possible, but landed a little hot. The landing gear had locked down, one of the few indicator lights that still worked on the instrument panel. They hit hard, and Cliff tried to brake with flaps, speed and wheel brakes. Security and fire rescue vehicles hauling ass down the runway after them, trying to keep up with the landing aircraft. Cliff used up the total airfield, and the overrun area, finally coming to rest with the nose gear in the dirt. Fortunately, The Hope had held together. Cliff patted the instrument panel. “Thanks, honey.”
They went through the normal shutdown procedures, and finally popped their helmets. Cliff stood up with Bettie, giving her a quick hug and kiss. “We made it so far, Babe.”
Bettie answered with a game smile. “Let’s see what our reception is going to be. After all, we are in an enemy aircraft.” They un-toggled the airlock, and not needing to pressurize, popped the outer door. Then they hit the automatic control to lower the stairs, and found at the bottom at least a dozen armed Security Police, weapons pointed at them.
Cliff quickly raised his arms, and Bettie followed suit.“Don’t shoot! We’re unarmed.”
“Get down on the ground, Squid loving bastards!” A dark skinned man with NCO stripes yelled at them.
Cliff and Bettie moved to comply. As they started to kneel, four uniformed personnel quickly closed on them. The two Colonels were slammed to the ground, arms painfully bent behind them as they were handcuffed. Cliff soon realized that the cuffs were put on so tight that his hands would soon go numb. “Hey guys, we’re not going to try anything. How about loosening these cuffs?”
A foot suddenly forced h
is head to the ground, embedding rock and soil into the side of his face. “Shut up, Squidshit. If we want something from you, we’ll squeeze it out of you,” the black NCO spat at him.
Suddenly another soldier called out, “Ten hut! Good day, General.”
A voice he had not heard in years asked. “Cliff Hunter, is that you?”
Cliff, the foot no longer on his face, spit some dirt out. “I think I hear John Reed. Yes, John, it’s Cliff. And I’m in the shit again.”
General Reed chuckled. “That is an understatement. Sergeant, let the Colonels up and take the cuffs off. If they were going to do something, they would have tried it by now.”
“General, these Squidlovers killed my people.” The NCO had the sound of hatred in his voice.
“Excuse me,” General Reed began. “Did my stars fall off my uniform? Let me check… Nope still there. Let them up! Now! Take those cuffs off.”
The security troops scrambled to comply. No one wanted a pissed off General, especially one that wasn’t known to be shy about punishing those who didn’t follow his direct orders.
Cliff quickly rose to his feet, and then helped Bettie to hers. “May I present Colonel Bettie Bardun, Astronaut Extraordinaire, and my wife.”
“Now that is a surprise. It’s bad enough everyone believed you dead. Now, someone actually married you? Good morning, Colonel Bardun, and congratulations on your nuptials.”
Bettie attempted to salute. “General...” Suddenly, she went white, and her knees buckled. Cliff caught her before she hit the ground.
“EMT. Help the lady,” General Reed commanded. The medics seemed hesitant, and didn’t move. In response, the General did something he didn’t do often. He exploded. “Goddammit! Move! If no one likes the fact I’m in charge, then shoot me now. Otherwise, move!” Everyone was now scrambling. “Let’s get something straight right now. They may have just come from the Tschaaa, but they are still human military officers. You will treat them according to Military Regulations, UCMJ and the Geneva Convention. Clear?”
The Gathering Storm Page 37