Neighbors

by Brian Whiting

  efforts are concentrated exclusively to the north, in the area between New

  York and Maine.” Alex took a deep breath and considered the wisdom of

  what he was about to do. When the government announced themselves,

  not all surviving units responded equally. Many of the units we already

  established a relationship with have denounced their official affiliations and declared themselves members of the UEF. We have decided to not interfere

  with their decisions. I am sure there are members of those units who do not

  agree with their commander’s decisions. We are willing to transport those

  people to wherever they would like to go.

  “I want to be clear that the UEF is not encouraging this behavior. We

  maintain a neutral position, and so this decision is entirely theirs to decide.

  Two months ago, we all experienced the EM surge which prohibited com-

  munications for about a minute. There have been many rumors as to what

  many of you heard on your radios and communication devices. In truth,

  we still don’t know what the entire message is about.

  “The Seraph was mourning her dead and salvaging materials from the

  Raziya. A ship appeared on sensors, located a bit past the orbit of Pluto.

  The interference we all experienced was a transmission of information. We

  are still trying to decode and utilize the transmission, but we were able to

  obtain one image from the transmission.”

  A screen behind Alex lit up: the image of the galaxy, with all its markings.

  “For those who cannot see but can only hear my message at this time,

  we received an image of the galaxy; we assume we are located near the

  end of one of its arms, at this golden dot. Near the center is an area col-

  ored purple, the color partially extending up into our galactic arm. It could

  mean anything, but it’s something. We are going to find out. Command

  has decided that we cannot let the universe evolve around us; we must leave

  our Amazonian village and strike out in the world. We are continuing con-

  struction of our first FTL ship, in orbit in the Brandon Memorial Shipyard,

  which was untouched in the Zorn attack. With this ship, we will find allies,

  humanity will gain new knowledge and technology, and we will be ready to

  defend ourselves.

  “To those still lost and alone, please stay tuned for a list of established

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  safe zones, including two new locations. With love and respect, good day to you all.”

  * * *

  “THE PROBLEM IS we don’t have the manpower or logistics to reclaim

  the stability we enjoyed not so long ago.” Hammond put a glass of water

  carefully on a coaster in front of him.

  “We have units reporting in from all around the country.” General

  Green flipped several pages in a report in front of him. “Every unit is

  reporting losses or missing personnel.”

  “What’s the current population estimate?” the President asked.

  “It’s far too early to tell, sir. Statin Island is a morgue, while places like Hartford went largely unscathed. Much of the country is dark and there a

  few states with no units reporting back,” General Green replied

  “Australia took a few Zorn pods, yet they somehow aren’t in need of

  assistance. They must have kicked some butt over there.”

  “Probably like Texas, where well-armed citizens helped quell the losses.”

  “The UEF is providing our units with their flying craft and pilots,

  along with food and supplies to them and their families.”

  “Not entirely neutral at all, I’d say.” The President reached out and

  grabbed the glass of orange juice in front of him. “What’s our response?”

  “Our response, sir?” the Secretary of State, Lucy, asked.

  “Certainly. We are going to respond to acts of treason. They are abet-

  ting treason. Do I have to explain this to anyone?”

  “Sir, I strongly recommend against this line of reasoning.” General

  Green leaned forward at the conference table. Many people around the

  table nodded their heads in affirmation.

  “You suggest we let entire units, with their equipment included, secede

  from the United States of America?” His voice increased with each word.

  “I’ll be damned if I become a President that allows that to happen, and

  worse if I allowed it to go unchallenged!”

  “Mr. President, things are different now. We don’t have the resources or

  manpower to support this country and go to war.”

  “Who said anything about war? I’ve got dozens of destroyers off the

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  coast hoarding cruise missiles. One decisive strike and it’s all over. The problem is gone!”

  General Green stood forcefully, pushing his chair far behind him. “You

  are going to launch an attack on American troops, sir? American citizens?

  The President stood as well. “No, I am going to launch an attack on

  a sovereign enemy that supports treason within the USA, and I’ll destroy

  anyone who supports them!”

  “I will not carry out this order.” General Green stared directly ahead,

  unwavering in his steely stature.

  “Fine. You’re relieved of duty…General Gabe.”

  The man behind General Green started to attention, looking the presi-

  dent in the eye, his hand raised in salute, his feet together at the heels.

  “You have served the Navy with distinction for thirty-one years. Will

  you carry out my orders?”

  General Gabe looked at General Green, who removed himself from the

  table and stood against the wall.

  “Mr. President, those units are only going to where the resources are

  that can support their families. Right now, we don’t have the means to

  transport meaningful amounts of resources anywhere, even to them.”

  “Is that a ‘no’? I can’t tell with all that other shiddit crap your saying.”

  “I will not carry out that order. No, sir.”

  “You’re relieved! Sergeant!”

  The sergeant-at-arms stepped quickly from the entrance door, looking

  worried, even as he snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

  “I want the on-duty watch commander in here right now!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The President only had to wait a couple minutes before the watch com-

  mander entered the room. Both relieved Generals stood against a far wall

  but said nothing as the watch commander appeared.

  “Your supervisors have been relieved of duty for failure to follow orders.

  Will you carry out my orders, Commander?”

  “Yes, sir, of course, sir.”

  “Good. Order our ships to launch a targeted cruise missile strike and

  decimate the entire complex and all UEF facilities within the country. Do

  it right now!”

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  The relieved generals glared at the watch commander. General Green subtlety shook his head.

  “Yesss, sir.” The watch commander offered a hesitant salute, which the

  President returned. The watch commander slowly walked towards a phone

  on the wall. He stared at it a few moments before he picked up the handset.

  “Priority action mission.” The watch commander slowly turned and

  gazed at the two relieved generals, sweat forming on his forehead, despite

  the cool temperature of the room. His hands were already shaking.


  * * *

  The bridge of the destiny was largely deserted. The ship itself was locked

  into a hover position about seventy thousand feet in the air. Since most of

  the satellites were down, they were acting like a communications relay for a

  large section of the country.

  “How much longer do you think we will be up here pinging mes-

  sages?” The ship’s XO, Selma, asked the Captain while she tossed a three

  of diamonds.

  “I don’t know, but we are saving lives by just sitting up here, so I’m

  comforted by that fact.” Brandy tossed a Jack of clubs. The card sailed over

  the small bucket.

  “Did you like being Cindy’s XO before you got transferred, because

  of Jiya?”

  Selma tossed another card, which entered the bucket on the other side

  of the bridge. “Ha! Tied four up.” Selma relaxed a bit. “Well, it’s not like I served under her for a long time. She seemed okay to me.”

  Brandy did her best to straighten her wrist and flung the next card in

  one smooth motion. It spun in the air and curved away from the target,

  clipping the rim of the bucket and fell onto the floor.

  Beep.

  “That’s radar I think, let me go see.” Selma readjusted her screen and

  pulled up the sensors. “Huh, looks like a naval destroyer just launched a

  missile, heading inland.”

  Beep.

  “Another launch, same general direction.”

  Brandy pulled up her sensor display and watched the growing number

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  of missiles track in a line across the state of California, heading inland.

  She placed her pen on the screen and used the edge of the pen as a guide

  to pre-dict its intended path.

  “Where are they going?” Selma asked.

  “Beats me, they track over quite a few cities. Depends on where they

  fall out of the sky.”

  Beep.

  New targets appeared on display.

  “Flight of F-18 Hornets heading south from Colorado.”

  Brandy watched their direction of travel and used the pen to figure out

  the area where the two paths would intercept. She blinked for a second,

  unsure, then tasked her display screen to place an icon of the Complex on

  the map. The targets intersected directly above the Complex.

  “Mimi, combat stations!”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “Contact the TIC, send them our sensor data.”

  Through the interior of the ship, lighting changed to include hues of

  red while power surged to the decouplers, followed by Alex’s original alert

  tone. One by one, people ran into the bridge and strapped into their chairs.

  As soon as both the tactical officer and the pilot entered, Brandy spoke up

  as she snapped her last buckle.

  “Cruise missiles fired from naval forces, inbound to the Complex.

  Target and destroy.”

  “The cloud cover will scatter the beam too much. We need to get below

  the cloud cover,” said the tactical officer.

  “Decreasing altitude,” said Stacy.

  Slowly at first but growing in speed, the Destiny fell out of the sky.

  Brandy calculated the approximate time to impact, which was hard for

  her since the F-18s were not yet at speed.

  “About eight minutes until impact,” she finally reasoned with an edu-

  cated guess.

  “What about the jets?” Selma asked.

  “They are still increasing speed. We won’t know with enough time for it

  to matter,” the tactical officer suggested.

  The Destiny broke through the high-altitude cloud cover. Brandy

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  sensed that everyone was thinking about their families at the Complex, utterly oblivious to the danger incoming.

  “Steady our altitude.”

  “I’ve got eyes on the nearest missile.”

  “Don’t ask for permission, fire!” Brandy said, glaring at the tacti-

  cal officer.

  A red beam shot forth from under the Destiny, intersecting with the

  path of a missile. The armament exploded into a small ball of fire and fell

  from the sky.

  “One down.”

  “You’ve got nineteen more to go.”

  “Jump on the other turrets,” the tactical officer called out across

  the bridge.

  Selma pulled up the controls on the second turret systems and searched

  for targets on her screen. The missiles were low to the ground and did

  not leave much of a contrail, making them hard to spot from the Des-

  tiny’s altitude.

  “Down two… make that three,” the tactical officer announced.

  “Got one!” Selma excitedly shouted.

  Red beams shot forth from the Destiny as they approached, the Com-

  plex between the ship and the missiles. With each hit, an occasional missile

  would explode in the air, but most times, the missile would only fall out

  of the sky or fly off in a random direction until it crashed somewhere, not

  necessarily exploding on impact.

  The last missile was less than a mile away from the Complex when a red

  beam struck the nose of the missile head-on, causing the missile to explode.

  Beep.

  * * *

  “Greyhounds are down. Switching to AA. AA selected and armed,” the co-

  pilot said into his mask.

  “Target is the Destiny?” the pilot asked in disbelief.

  “Target confirmed, locked on. Fire.”

  “Firing, Fox Three.”

  “Confirmed, Fox Three, away.”

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  An air to air missile with active radar tracking screamed out from under the right wing of the fighter jet, heading towards the Destiny.

  “Target is banking left, heading 310 degrees, altitude at 10 thou-

  sand feet.”

  “Bump up.”

  The pilot pulled back on the stick to increase his altitude, his wingman

  following suit. Once he was at thirteen thousand feet, he leveled off.

  “Missile is down. Re-engage. Target locked, swarm fire on command…

  Fire.”

  “Fox one…Fox one.”

  Two missiles, one each from the lead jet and the wingman, shot forth

  towards the Destiny.

  Red beams shot across the sky over the cockpit.

  Boom.

  The jet shuddered under the pilot’s seat, and he was flung to the right

  side of the cockpit. Red indicators flashed all over the place as the master

  alarm grew steady and blaring. The horizon danced around the cockpit,

  and the pilot tried to reach the ejection handle. Before he was able to do so, the canopy burst open and his seat shot into the air at breakneck speeds.

  A parachute immediately deployed, the pilot and co-pilot both descending

  towards the surface.

  * * *

  “Lead fighter is down. Missiles are down. The other fighter maneuvering

  for close combat. Less than five miles and approaching fast.”

  “Just disable it.”

  “Captain, I only touched the tail on the other one. It broke apart on

  its own.”

  The Destiny was losing altitude fast as it banked more, attempting to

  keep the lasers in a firing arc against the fighter. The tactical officer targeted the tip of the F-18’s nose and released a half-second beam.

  The Destiny resounded with harsh vibrations.

  “This ship has sustained damage. All decks are exposed to space, bulk-

  head
s have been activated,” said Mimi.

  “The jet is heading north and losing altitude.”

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  “Receiving a message, it’s in the clear.”

  “Mayday…Mayday… Flight bulldog is down, bailout at

  grid coordinates—”

  “Turn that off.”

  “Receiving another message. It’s Alex.”

  Brandy motioned with a finger towards the main viewscreen. A

  moment later, Alex’s face peered back at her.

  “Brandy, I’ve been monitoring the situation. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, we got hit with a strafe of gunfire. The ship seems okay, though.”

  “Good. I want you to disable the targets that launched the

  cruise missiles.”

  “The navy destroyers?”

  “Yes. Eliminate anything that approaches within one hundred miles of

  the Complex or any alert fighters launched against you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We are boarding the Seraph and will launch to support you shortly.”

  “Sir, why did they fire at us?”

  “No idea, but we won’t sit here and let it happen.”

  Beep.

  “Sensors have high-altitude bombers coming over the horizon.”

  “I’ve got holes in every deck, I can’t fly above fifteen thousand feet, lack

  of air pressure and all,” Brandy said looking to Alex's eyes on the screen.

  “Don’t worry, Captain, we’re launching in a moment. We will get the

  bombers, you get the destroyers.”

  Brandy nodded and the line disconnected.

  * * *

  “Target Destiny is cresting the horizon on fast approach,” a naval

  officer informed the watch officer in the Ticonderoga class destroyer.

  “Launch intercept missiles. Bring it down,” the commanding

  officer said.

  “Sir, I think this is a bad order.”

  The senior officer hesitated as if he was thinking the same thing. “We

  have a direct order from the President, launch or be relieved,” the

  officer managed to mumble, hesitation evident in his command.

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  “Locking target.” The officer turned back to his control station and activated radar guidance.

  “Make a note in the log that officer Ortega objects to t—”

  The display screens in the CIC went dark.

  “What happened?”

  “We have incoming data loss from the array, switching to short range.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Sir, my terminal says the deck gun is down.”