by Jaime Mera
“Estabon, please.” Estabon corrected him with a weak smile.
“It has been an honor serving you. If things were different, I would not hesitate to serve under your command.” Nevis’ candor was genuine, having not allowed the other telepath to hear as it dug deep into Estabon’s well of blissful and wishful what ifs.
“How are you and Courtney doing?”
“We’re very good…” Nevis patted his knee. “How did you know?”
“Know what?” Estabon kept a straight face.
“That she and I would be together.” Nevis imagined he had some superhuman precognition ability.
“I’m good at reading people and everyone back home loves that about me. I have always been able to make people see the best in themselves. But to be honest, you and Courtney did the work, I just happen to be there.”
“I want to apologize for my uncalled for innuendoes in the past.”
“It’s okay Brian, you were right to call it like you saw it. But you don’t have to worry about Brenda, I would give my life for her.”
“Yes, I believe you would.” Nevis admirably smiled.
“So did you see the Patriots game?” Estabon changed the subject.
“Yes, I did.” Nevis tilted his head slightly. “I didn’t know you were into football?”
“Are you kidding? I followed the Cowboys go to Superbowl X in 76, and mess it up against the Steelers. It was so depressing that I stopped watching for a while, but I still like to watch good games.”
The men talked about sports the entire way before getting to St. Mary’s Hall. Estabon escorted Brenda out of the building shortly afterwards. Brenda’s black dress brought out her beauty as she sat next to Estabon in the back seat. Nevis sat in the front of the motor cage, giving the couple privacy.
“What’s wrong honey?” Brenda asked sensing he wasn’t his assertive self as they kissed and squeezed each other’s hands.
“Nothing that time won’t solve. So let’s make the best of it.” Estabon smiled.
Brenda kept the dread of his departure deep inside as she focused on receiving his love. “I wish we didn’t have to go to this dinner, I miss the resort.”
“As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we go.” Estabon kissed her.
The dinner was small with five hundred guests. There seemed to be more security personnel than anything else as a dozen SIA telepaths and fifty secret service agents covered the ballroom and several other floors. The reception went well as they joined Brenda’s parents. But Estabon’s Presidential position placed him and Brenda at the VIP table. There was music and speeches in the agenda with elegant cuisine. Brenda saw another side of Estabon as he spoke and acted like a true diplomat. He took every opportunity to softly lay a hand on her lap, unseen by normal sight, maintaining an appearance that they were on a friendly date.
Brenda knew he was trying to keep people from seeing how much they loved each other, but it hurt as she thought about not being able to tell the world about her love for him.
Honorable Cary Palmer, the Secretary of Defense came in close proximity of Estabon as expected; all they did was greet each other and exchanged compliments, but it was enough for Estabon to get the last piece of information from select high officials.
Estabon finished his desert and excused himself to the men’s room. As he walked to the door, a telepathic message he prayed would have forgotten about him and Brenda eased into his mind. “How are you Estabon?” Ramus’ tone was calming.
“Better now, knowing it’s you.” Estabon felt a little bit relieved, even with the imminent lost to come.
“Eduardo didn’t suggest it, but I will. I can give Brenda the ability to remember you and still hide itfrom their telepaths…”
“But she will have to hold that secret alone, until I can one day marry her.” Estabon ended his train of thought.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Ramus’ thoughts felt vividly sympathetic.
“If she waits for us to unite the world, it will be several decades before she can be with me.” Estabon paused. “She, we; want to have children. Are we to wait over twenty-years? What if I die? She will wait for me and end up wasting away her life. She needs someone who can make her happy now and later. It’ll be better that she doesn’t remember me.” Estabon stood in front of the mirror as a few men came in.
“I won’t do anything to her until after you leave tomorrow. My guys will make sure everyone else will think you visited, and had cordial dates with different women. Even Nevis and the telepaths around you will not remember about your two week long relationship with her. Brenda will remember only that you tagged along with them to the club, and live a normal Weatherly lifestyle.” Ramus assured him.
“Thank you.” Estabon washed his face and walked back to sit next to the woman he loved.
Estabon and Brenda stayed up all night knowing Estabon would be leaving the next day. Brenda shed many tears, but Estabon said the right things to ease her pain all the way to the airport. Hours after Estabon’s private plane left, Brenda made it to her dorm making sure the SIA agents assisted in giving her privacy. The day dragged in her seclusion, but was disturbed by a knock on the door. She reluctantly opened the door to her dark dorm room.
Ramus stood in the hallway with both hands behind his back. “Don’t be alarmed Brenda. May I please come in?”
Brenda’s wide eyes showed fear as the man stood without an escort on the floor and with a very foreboding tone. Her still wet face and sore eyes hid her despair. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Estabon. May I come in?” He asked but it was evident he was going to with or without her approval.
Brenda looked down as she turned around, thoughts racing throw all possible nightmares, one was her not remembering what would happen in the next ten minutes and forgetting the last two weeks of the happiest moments of her life.
Tears she thought were dried out, ran down her cheeks as Ramus entered her room and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 10
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Caribbean War
Bogota Airport, Colombia
The modified DC-10 touched gracefully on schedule using only a fraction of the two mile long runway. The normal upbeat service was outwardly shown, but the aircrew knew Estabon was depressed. Something only a handful of the staff had seen once before, during his father’s passing. With a gloom over the event Estabon quickly got into his escort of armored cars and left for home. A three week countdown began once Ramus returned and country spies confirmed the status of each southern country.
The latest satellite launch took off on time making twenty four Colombian high orbit satellites providing laser communications capability and unmatched surveillance of all South America.
Hours after the satellite launch, the news took a different spin as Colombian military forces invaded all of the South American countries. Six thousand hypersonic fighters took to the air, two million ground troops raced across the terrain with little resistance, for the first few hours. Argentina and Chile had the most time to prepare, but Colombian weaponry saw no equal. Tanks were stronger than the newly produced US M1 Abrams, ripping through Cold War European and US armored vehicles used by the South American countries. Soldiers in full body suits able to step on mines and have a five percent chance of spraining an ankle defied imagination. Military installations, key transportation sites and communication nodes were taken within the first day. What once used to be French and British colonies called out for help, only to receive jamming chatter or musical rock songs.
Colombian naval vessels moved south in support of the invasion into Chile and Argentina making sure not to venture back up north. Eduardo directed the war from the bridge of the United Federation Space Fleet Cruiser Tarsus. The starship was inside the mountain launcher with inoperable sections still under construction and only one working engine, but its communication capabilities were functioning perfectly. “Sir, British vessels have been diverted to
join the US fleet.” One of several intelligence officers reported.
“Send the details to 4th Corps. Estabon will move four wings to intercept.” Eduardo replied.
As Councilman Jose Begestano finalized the surrender of ten countries, Brazil and the three colonies were stalling to surrender thinking NATO would step in.
“Estabon, there’s two carrier fleets and HMS Wales on their way approaching a thousand miles north of Venezuela.” Eduardo alerted him while watching reporting from SIA headquarters.
“Got it.” Estabon kept it short as his hypersonic fighter flew through Argentinean airspace providing close air support to ground forces. “Wing Commanders, change of mission. Take your fighters home, refuel and rearm. US naval fleet is inbound. Mission brief in forty-five minutes; see you on the ground.” Estabon waited for the four wings of 500 fighters each to reflect a track towards the north on his digital map surrounding the inside of his cockpit. Once satisfied, he activated the pursuit configuration, wings sweeping back and ram jets kicking into overdrive. He quickly felt five sonic booms, but his thoughts were always looking ahead.
The US and Royal navy vessels were state of the art as far as the rest of the world was concerned. Even though Colombian technology was far ahead of them, it didn’t guarantee Colombia wouldn’t take heavy losses.
Special Operations Command South, Tampa, Florida
A hundred Soldiers and civilian specialists shuffled in all directions of an organized mess around the Crisis Action Center. “Mr. President, we need authorization to enter Colombian waters before we can move any further. The fleet is reporting a high level of activity along the coastline. But I’m more concerned about the reports of their massive air force heading our direction.” Admiral Wellington sat at the main console in front of the telecast screen.
“Authorization is granted Admiral, but under no circumstances will nuclear weapons be used. Congress and I don’t want a radioactive cloud blowing through the Gulf or over our neighboring islands.”
“Thank you Mr. President, we will commence Operation Poseidon in twenty-five minutes.”
Admiral Wellington’s white hair almost matched his pale skin. His once younger muscular stature was now replaced by lean slender limbs and a stick-like waistline. Three half crushed diet soda cans were visible in the wastebasket by his feet. His camouflaged battle uniform was too warm for him as he rolled up his sleeves; turning to the side as the president disappeared from the screen.
“Have we heard anything from your guys?” The Admiral’s peeved stare at the SIA Station Officer was obvious.
“Quatris, says their hands are tied and won’t take sides since we will be the ones starting hostilities against Colombia.” Agent Marcus said with a deadpan face.
“We're intervening for the colonies and allies on the continent.” Wellington countered.
“Admiral, I’m not in a position to debate politics or ROE (Rules of Engagement), but I will say that no other countries will get involved if EFL is being neutral about the situation.” Marcus was in his mid-twenties with a clean cut as most desk side spooks were. But his reputation as a special operations expert in naval combat and rescue operations was unmatched by any person.
Wellington sighed as he turned to his staff on both sides and behind him. “Are you sure their hypersonic jets can’t evade our ship to air countermeasures?”
“With the radar systems and sea sparrows, we can engage the fighters within 150 miles even with them going past Mach 4.” A Lt. Commander replied.
“It’s confirmed, but if they decide to do a kamikaze attack with all those aircraft, a few jets might make it to the carriers.” Marcus pointed out the most dangerous course of action.
“Let’s hope none of that happens.” Wellington said as he pointed at his action officers. “Inform the fleet to continue their course, Congress has approved hostilities.”
Super Carrier USS Independence, Caribbean Sea
“Sir, we have three two two bogeys bearing one six three at three seven zero miles.” The radar operator reported 322 enemy aircraft 370 nautical miles south-southeast.
“Captain, a message is being transmitted on all tactical frequencies.” The Quartermaster of the Watch reported.
“Let’s hear it.”
“US Task Force, this is Councilmember Estabon Ramirez of the South American Federation, you are about to enter South American waters and airspace. You will reverse your course and not approach the newly combined South American territory. Any residents in South America will be provided safe passage home or an opportunity to join the new South American union. If you do not comply in fifteen minutes, we will accept this as an act of war and you will be fired upon. We do not wish to inflict harm on you or anyone else; reverse course, and get your leaders to accept our terms.” The message repeated three times and was replaced by the same message but in French, Russian, and German.
“Where’s the transmission coming from?”
“It’s coming from the ship.” The Mini Boss announced in bewilderment. “It’s right on top of us.”
“I don’t buy that. Find out where he is.” Captain Alistair calmly commanded.
“Captain, it’s a transmission from our satellite. Somehow they are using our secure frequencies through the satellite.” The Quartermaster of the Watch explained.
“So we don't have secure comms?”Alistair sprang out of his seat, and looked at the radar indicators. “How many birds do we have in the air?”
“Three squadrons, Captain.” The Air Boss replied.
Alistair looked out towards the horizon. Ships surrounded the aircraft carrier, but instead of feeling safe with the protective escorts and additional ships to secure a landing force on the British colony of Guiana, the compromised communications was sourly unsettling.
The midday overcast of clouds was usual for the summer and prelude to hurricane season, but nothing mattered to Estabon’s pilots except the enemy military force with a history of nothing but major sea victories spanning two centuries. Six hundred miles from the US fleet Estabon’s swept wing hypersonic Hawk fighter soared at 10,000 feet while fifty other fighters trailed behind him. Twenty-four squadrons flew at higher altitudes closer to the fleet but maintained their four-hundred mile distance in a holding pattern.
Digital readouts covered the cockpit, three onboard computers flashed warnings as Estabon sped up to Mach 3; descending to between fifty and a hundred feet depending on who’s perspective you were going by. The vibrations from the altering temperatures and salt beating on the fuselage and engines would have crashed any aircraft moving at that speed so close to the water. But the craft was configured to use salt as part of the fuel in the ram jets. The map navigation buffers and vibration cage surrounding the cockpit kept him and his pilots from brain damage with impacts to the skull or other serious physical issues associated with gravity and speed.
He peeled off from the group, two minutes on his course, he armed two of his torpedoes. The ships came on the 3D screen in front of his helmet. The targeting computer counted down at 37 seconds to the USS San Jacinto guided missile cruiser. Estabon’s hand manipulated the fourteen button fly by wire stick close to his side; while his other hand manipulated the infused interactive control panel giving him the ability to push controls and digital icons all throughout the cockpit without having to actually reach with his arm and fingers.
Even with the vibration cage, the plane was jumping about enough for him to have to concentrate to not accidentally auger in the jet into a watery disaster. “Transmit Alpha 1: This is your last warning, reverse all ship courses.” Estabon spoke with the transmission being sent to the carrier fleet after the number one was heard by the communications computer.
The horizon revealed five ships in front of him as he launched two ten foot long torpedoes a fraction of a second half a mile out from the US cruiser. The missile ship and other ships within the twenty mile radius saw Estabon’s aircraft beep on their radars for less than ten seconds of reactio
n time as he flew northeast away from the fleet, with the horizon hiding his approach and departure. The backwash of water was enormous from the jets afterburners and airflow. One of the two torpedoes bounced away from Estabon’s craft, lowering slightly with its small wings and propellant slowing down drastically before coming within two hundred meters abaft of the cruiser. It soared through the air and dove just shy of the moving cruiser’s propellers. The aft of the cruiser lifted and dropped a few meters as the water and shockwave changed the volume of water under the vessel. The second torpedo missed its target and self ignited twenty meters above and past the ship, attracting more attention to nearby observers than the underwater damage caused to the cruiser. The sound of the fighter and torpedoes was frightening as if thunder decided to personally visit the crew of the San Jacinto.
Automatic responses let out two Sea Sparrow missiles at Estabon along with two mini-cannons spraying the horizon from the missile cruiser and another escort vessel. Estabon banked right lifting away from the water and sped up. The missiles were hitting Mach 4, but too slow to catch up, falling into the ocean after a radar lock was lost fifteen seconds out.
“Admiral, the San Jacinto reports rudder loss and two propellers down! Casualties unknown at this time!” A report came to the bridge of the USS Independence; lead aircraft carrier and flagship of the fleet.
“Transmit Alpha 1: I repeat, reverse course now while you still can.” Estabon said as his fighter swung around to meet his fighter wings preparing to attack. It would be a few minutes before he would rejoin the attack having to travel in a very wide circle climbing to get rid of salt residue and stay out of the long range radar and surveillance systems.
American F-14 Tomcats and British Harrier Jump Jets appeared red on his combat screen. The aerial encounter told him they were trying to expand their long range surveillance and bait his fighters high into the air. Phoenix missile locks from the Tomcats made twelve Hawk fighters turn away and out distance themselves from the fleet. But as the Tomcat inceptors approached the fighter wing, three hundred fighters took maneuvers to enter into close air to air combat. Another set of long range salvos of Phoenix missiles met a counter by South American versions of air to air missiles. To the US and British pilots’ horror, none of the Phoenix missiles hit their targets.