Outside Context Problem: Book 01 - Outside Context Problem

by Christopher Nuttall

  Sandra picked up the phone again. “Units Alpha through Gamma, you are authorised to open fire,” she said. “I repeat, fire at will. Good hunting.”

  Newer contacts appeared on the display as the lumbering 747 laser transports moved into position. They’d been scattered around the country and based alongside the fighter squadrons that would protect them if they came under attack, yet it looked as if they’d made a serious error. The laser weapons weren't effective against hardened targets without a sustained or massed firing pattern, but that was no longer possible. The 747 aircraft were too vulnerable to risk for long and simply lacked the power to put out a coherent beam for the time required. The only advantage the lasers had was that the first warning the aliens would have would be when the lasers struck their craft.

  She watched as brilliant lines appeared in front of her, marking targets. The alien craft seemed to dance away from the laser beams, yet none of them were seriously damaged. The ground-based lasers took far too long to retarget against a new enemy contact, forcing them to fire bursts at any target that happened to wander into range, yet it was becoming increasingly clear that the worst that happened was a brief burst of heat surrounded the targeted craft. It seemed far too clear that the aliens were barely affected.

  “We’re not making any impact?”

  “No, General,” Robin said. The lasers simply couldn’t hit the alien craft long enough to burn through their hulls…or force shields, or whatever. “The lasers were never designed to cope with targets that could manoeuvre in space like birds wish they could.”

  She frowned as the first wave of THAAD missiles roared up towards the alien craft, challenging their control of the skies. For the first time, the aliens showed some real concern, dancing away from the missiles before they could get too close or shooting them down with their mysterious weapons. Robin checked the remaining orbital satellites and ground-based sensors, but was still no closer to determining what the weapon actually was. If it was a laser so powerful that it could burn through a satellite in a split-second, the aircraft the USAF had launched would be wiped out before they had a chance to realise that they were under attack. The only optimistic sign was that the aliens weren't engaging the 747s or their fighter escorts directly, preferring to remain in orbit.

  “General, Colonel Montgomery is reporting that three of his laser units are overheating,” one of the operators said, quickly. “He’s requesting permission to cease fire before the laser melts.”

  “Denied,” Sandra ordered, harshly. The lasers were making no impact at all, as far as Robin could tell, but she understood. The aliens had to be kept as far back as possible. Losing the lasers would be a small price to pay for success. “Order him to continue firing until the lasers go unserviceable.”

  “General, all military and civilian American satellites have been taken out,” another operator said. Robin looked up at the big board. All of the satellites she had tracked over the years were gone, nothing more than space debris drifting down towards the planet. Her imagination filled out a picture of alien craft crashing into the wreckage and exploding, but she knew that it was unlikely. The main body of the wreckage was on a trajectory that would send it into the atmosphere within a few days at most. They’d be seeing spectacular firework displays in the night – if they lived that long.

  “I see,” Sandra said. Her ability to command her forces had just dropped a notch, yet she didn’t seem very worried about it. Robin decided that it was probably because she’d planned and drilled for such a situation in the past. “What about foreign satellites?”

  “They’re untouched,” the operator said. “They just ignored them. Didn’t even buzz them as they raced past.”

  Robin frowned as a new point flickered up on her screen. “They’re taking out dead satellites as well, from every nation,” she said. Earth’s human-built moons included a number of satellites that had simply failed once in orbit. Some had been repaired by the space shuttle, or brought back to Earth to be repaired, but some had just been abandoned to drift endlessly in the vacuum. “They’re smashing them into pieces. I think they’re clearing the space lanes, getting rid of all the junk…”

  “Why would they bother?” Sandra asked. The General leaned over Robin’s shoulder. “Why would they even care?”

  “They want to land on this planet,” Robin pointed out. “Perhaps clearing LEO of space junk helps their preparations.”

  “Perhaps,” Sandra agreed. “Or perhaps…”

  “General, General Henshaw reports that his THAAD units have shot two-thirds of their load without scoring perhaps more than one or two hits,” another operator said. “He is requesting permission to hold fire and move his position before it comes under attack.”

  Sandra’s voice was very composed. “Order him to cease fire,” she said, finally. Robin caught the bitterness underlying her words and shivered. The United States Strategic Command had absorbed all of the nation’s space-related assets, from orbital weapons to ground-based laser systems, and deployed them…for what? The aliens might have lost a craft or two – looking at the data, she honestly wasn't sure if one had been hit, let alone two – and in return, the United States had lost every piece of orbiting capital it had. The military results were staggering, well worth the loss of an alien craft or two, but the economic results would be absolutely devastating. Every telecommunications firm in the nation would go bankrupt. “Keep tracking the bastards…”

  “Yes, General,” Robin said. It was easier to track the aliens now, somehow, despite all the falling space debris. They seemed to be gathering back into their formations, preparing their next move. It was so maddeningly familiar, yet the more she worried it, the less sense it made. Why were they flying so close to one another that their contacts merged into one?

  “General, the Civil Aviation Authority is asking if the Air Defence Emergency is over…?”

  Sandra’s voice hardened. “Tell that stupid ass that the emergency hasn’t fully begun and all civilian aircraft are to remain grounded until further notice,” she snapped. Robin winced at her tone. Civilians could come up with some stupid ideas, but the unlucky idiot was about to have the skin peeled off his bones. “Furthermore, tell him that…”

  She broke off as new contacts appeared on the display. “What are they?”

  “I’m not sure,” Robin admitted. The new contacts seemed larger than the first set of contacts, roughly comparable to the craft that had crashed…had it really been just over a month ago? They still weren't that large, but they didn’t have to be massive to be potent – or dangerous. The alien craft were forming up into new formations, one high over the Atlantic Ocean and one high over the Pacific. It looked as if they were preparing to swarm down on America on both the East and West Coasts. “I think they’re preparing to move into the atmosphere.”

  “Get the uplink to the fighter bases moving,” Sandra snapped. Her voice tightened. “Launch all fighters in accordance with the Operations Plan. Inform them that the ROE are now Alpha-One.”

  She paused. “And tell them I said good hunting,” she added. Robin nodded, watching as sudden flares of heat in the atmosphere marked alien craft swooping down towards the planet. They seemed to move with a cold coordinated precision that implied determination – and hostility. “Down in the atmosphere is our turf.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Atlantic Ocean

  Day 38

  The signal made chilling reading.

  FLASH TRAFFIC CRITIC

  FRIGHTFULNESS. FRIGHTFULNESS.

  REPEAT CONDITION DEFCON ONE, REPEAT DEFENSE CONDITION ONE

  ALIEN CRAFT HAVE OPENED AGGRESSIVE ACTION.

  ALL UNITS PROCEED IN ACCORDANCE WITH OPLAN 6666.

  ROE ALPHA-ONE: REPEAT ALPHA-ONE.

  GOOD HUNTING.

  MESSAGE ENDS.

  Colonel Thomas Mandell looked down at it once, and then up at the main display. The AWACS was orbiting on a wide course that took it near several USAF bases, escort
ed by a swarm of American fighters and two tankers, yet he knew that it would be one of the prime targets. Intelligence had no idea what kind of weapons the aliens used – speculation ranged from heat rays to antimatter bombs, with everything in-between extensively discussed – but he was sure that they would be formidable. It was quite possible that the aliens would destroy the entire USAF within minutes of opening fire.

  “Colonel,” Lieutenant Rogers said, “we have multiple incoming contacts, coming in front orbit. I am picking up at least thirty alien craft on a direct course for Washington and the surrounding area, moving at Mach Six. They’re shedding heat into the atmosphere as they move.”

  “The Global Warming freaks are going to love them,” Mandell muttered. It was a pity that they didn’t have a missile-armed ship directly under the alien re-entry positions, but there had been no way to predict their arrival point. Aegis cruisers had been deployed to positions where they could provide additional firepower in support of the defences, along with most of the carriers and other ships. He looked down at the signal again. ROE – Rules Of Engagement – Alpha-One allowed the American aircraft to open fire without provocation, or the enemy firing the first shot. The previous orders had had the fighters holding their fire until they were fired upon, or believed that they were under threat. “Pass the message on to the squadrons.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Rogers said.

  Mandell nodded grimly. The problem with maintaining DEFCON ONE over any period of time was that it put colossal wear and tear on the equipment. The USAF would have had to start rotating aircraft out for repairs within a handful of days, hence the decision to remain on DEFCON TWO until the aliens made unambiguous signs of hostility. Shooting down the satellites, someone had decided higher up the food chain, clearly counted as a hostile act. The aircraft on CAP were being recalled now to form up with their comrades who were just leaving the ground, before they departed to engage the enemy. They had been far too exposed on their own.

  No one knew what tactical doctrine the aliens possessed, or what they considered an acceptable loss rate, but their technology gave them a number of options denied to the USAF. One possibility was that they would lure out the air defence units and then rocket past them, heading overland and bombarding their bases before they could react. It was why Air National Guard units had been kept in reserve to shield likely targets, yet without knowing just what the aliens could do, it was impossible to know how effective any of the defence measures would be. The aliens might have weapons that could take out an entire airbase in a single shot.

  “The fighter pilots are responding, sir,” Lieutenant Rogers said. On the display, the handful of Raptors were racing out towards the alien craft, still dumping their heat into the atmosphere. They might even remain hot long enough for heat-seeking missiles to be used against them. “They’re on their way.”

  There was no point in issuing any further orders, Mandell knew. The pilots knew what they had to do and issuing any other instructions would only have distracted them. The AWACS could only continue to supply information to the pilots and wait. They had orders of their own. If the alien craft came near them, the AWACS was to break contact and escape – if possible. Mandell knew that it might not be even remotely possible. No one had lost an AWACS in combat since the concept had first been developed, but there was always a first time…

  ***

  Captain Will Jacob tensed as the Raptor lifted off from Langley Air Force base and rose into the sky. It always felt as if the aircraft was straining at the leash, yet today it felt different. The base had been preparing for war since before the announcement, but after the aliens had dropped their bombshell at the UN, non-dependents – the families of people who worked on the base – and non-essential personnel had been evacuated and moved to safer housing elsewhere. The mobs of protesters outside the base, demanding a peaceful solution – as if the pilots themselves didn’t want a peaceful solution – had been told to move on, but many had chosen to remain. The base security staff hadn’t pushed it. If the base came under attack, it would be their own stupid fault if they were caught up in the battle.

  He checked his HUD and winced when he saw the decelerating alien craft. The radar telemetry suggested that the aliens had real problems flying in anything other than a straight line at speeds over Mach Three. A simple predictable flight path would have made them easy targets, although no one was sure what would happen when one of the AIM-120D AMRAAM missiles struck an alien craft. The pilots had argued it over time and time again, believing that the missiles would be completely effective, or that the alien craft would be protected by force fields and they’d all be killed before they could escape. The aliens seemed to be slowing down in preparation for a dogfight and, with their full manoeuvring capabilities open to them, would definitely be tough targets.

  “All right, everyone,” he said, knowing that the rest of his squadron would be right behind him. “Prepare to engage. Lock missiles on target.”

  The USAF was facing a problem it had inflicted on several nations since the Vietnam War. They were opposing an enemy force that got to pick and choose the time and place of combat. There was no reason why the alien craft couldn’t come out of orbit right over the heartland of America, or enter on the other side of the world and fly right around the globe to hit their targets. The aliens could and presumably would hit American bases; the United States could not hit their mothership and take it out once and for all. It was rather like battling an aircraft carrier. Even if they took out all the fighters, the carrier could retreat, rearm and return at a later date. The only way to win the war outright would be to take out the mothership and that was impossible.

  Will had never been a fan of Star Wars, but two of his fellow pilots had come to the USAF because of watching A New Hope. They’d been fans of the Expanded Universe and they’d been happy to discuss the inevitable results of the Death Star’s explosion over the Forrest Moon, with the extermination of the cute little teddy bears who had somehow defeated the Imperial Stormtroopers. The results of destroying the mothership, even if it were possible, would be comparable. The human race would be exterminated.

  He glanced down at his HUD as the two forces converged. The strategists had spent hours arguing over what moment the USAF should open fire, but with alien countermeasures still an unknown, no one knew for sure. The USAF – like all modern air forces – had attempted to develop weapons that allowed them to engage their targets well before the range where the increasingly expensive USAF aircraft could themselves be engaged and destroyed. Yet the longer the missiles took to reach the enemy craft, the greater the chance that the aliens could avoid their fire or deploy countermeasures.

  “Stand by,” he ordered. The aliens were still decelerating, yet the two forces were flying towards each other at terrifying speed. He peered into the distance, but the alien craft were still out of sight. “Lock on…”

  His finger uncapped the firing button. The missile was already locked onto the lead alien craft, a spacecraft of a completely new design. Will thought of it as a very odd-looking F-117, a smaller version of the retired stealth aircraft. It looked as if it was deadly enough to take out all the Raptors on its own and he felt a twinge of envy for the pilot. The aliens could have taught the human race so much, yet now they were on the brink of going to war. The President’s speech had galvanised the pilots. Even though many of them were annoyed that no one had told them about the alien craft, few questioned the President’s decision. It helped that the President was a military man.

  The firing tone echoed in his ears. “Shadow Lead; Fox-Three!”

  His Raptor jerked as the AMRAAM launched from the fighter, racing away into the distance, followed rapidly by missiles launched by the other fighters. The alien craft showed no reaction at first, and then suddenly they seemed to spring into life, dancing through the air to evade the missiles. He felt another twinge of envy – the Raptor couldn’t move like that on a bet – before realising that there was an
other threat. The aliens had returned fire and flickering multicoloured flashes of light were racing towards the human aircraft. They moved terrifyingly quickly…

  “Evasive action,” he snapped, twisting the Raptor sharply. A flash of…something raced past the cockpit, nearly blinding him for a second. The weapon, whatever it was, didn’t seem to move at light speed, but it was fast enough to be worrying. “Watchman; hit count?”

  A flash of light in the distance caught his eye. Something had detonated all right. “We assess that you have three hits,” the AWACS said. Will blinked. They’d fired twenty missiles at the alien craft, but only three hits? “The alien craft successfully evaded the other missiles.”

  Will cursed as he yanked the Raptor aside. The alien craft were growing closer, firing as they came. Their weapons didn’t seem to be that accurate, but it hardly mattered. The amount of…whatever it was that they were firing would almost certainly guarantee a hit sooner or later. The Raptor formation was being broken apart just by the hail of incoming fire. Mutual support would soon become impossible.

  “Fire at will,” he ordered. He achieved a lock-on and fired another missile at an alien craft, bringing the Raptor around in a tight turn to follow the alien fighter. It dived and twisted like a living thing, but it couldn’t escape the missile. It slammed home…

  For a crazy moment, Will saw a flickering ball of light surrounding the alien craft; just before it exploded with enough force to shake the Raptor badly. Green-blue flickers of light raced past him as another enemy fighter rolled onto his tail, firing madly in an attempt to bring him down. He twisted desperately, seconds before one of his comrades put a missile into the alien craft, a moment before it would have had him. The alien craft exploded with shocking force.