Back at NORAD, General Straub’s Aide came running into his office. “Sir, thirty minutes to complete readiness for all bases. About 75% are ready. Should I issue attack orders now for those that are ready?” “No, Sergeant O’Malley, we don’t want to tip our hand. If we launch the attack, those bases not ready will be destroyed rapidly in the counterattack by the enemy. If must be all at once. The minute the last site is ready, let me know immediately.”
The samples from NYC and San Francisco jetted in by special courier have arrived at the CDC in Atlanta and been logged in. “Who should they be transferred to,” asked the office manager, Jill, in Director Soule’s Office at the CDC. “Give them to Amy Wang. She’s the best one we have for DNA and RNA detailing and identification.” Those were the last words spoken by the Director, or indeed, anyone else at the CDC in Atlanta. The entire facility vanished in a blast of bright light and heat, as did the immediate neighborhood. The alien craft sped off, having launched a surgical strike missile armed with a tactical nuke. Plum Island and several other major level 4 biological facilities at Bethesda, Boston, Galveston, Grafton, Hamilton, Kent, Manhattan, Richmond, and San Antonio met a similar fate at the same time. Alarms sounded at NORAD and the Mount Weather facility.
Back at NORAD, a sense of panic set in. “Mr. President, we have lost the CDC, Plum Island, Fort Detrick, Pine Bluff Arsenal and the top level bio-safety labs in Bethesda, Boston, Galveston, Grafton, Hamilton, Manhattan, Richmond, San Antonio and. Looks like surgical strikes from small nuclear missiles launched from the alien crafts. Satellite imagery also shows that the BSL-4 labs in the other 19 nations have been hit simultaneously. I think we can’t sit back any longer about the tactical nukes. We must hit the remaining crafts with everything we have, including nukes. No, I can’t guarantee that it won’t be suicidal. We have to try, for God’s sake. They’ll pick all our air force bases off one by one next and then move on to the army and navy bases. We have pussy-footed around long enough. Too many lives have been lost already, with due respect, because of your inaction. No, contact with the crafts is useless. They don’t respond to any radio or laser signals, regardless of what language is used. Yes, we can wait until they ask us to surrender, assuming they intend to leave any of us to surrender.”
President Tomlinson went silent for a minute. “General Straub, I...“ Straub yanked the phone away from his ear as a high pitched screeching noise came from it. General Straub knew what the noise meant. He didn’t need any confirmation that a tactical bunker nuke had just taken out the Mount Weather facility and the President. General Straub rubbed his head. He wondered how the President could have been so stupid as not to have seen the hostile intent of the aliens. He wondered about the Vice President at the other secure bunker as well as the Chinese Premier and the Russian President in their Himalayan and Siberian bunkers. Later he found out all were gone, except for the Vice President.
General Straub made an immediate decision. He knew that the Joint Chief of Staff and the Secretary of Defense also died with the President. Their deaths meant he was the highest ranking Air Force general left alive. He was now the commanding officer of not only NORAD, but surely in total charge of the defensive response from the Air Force. Technically, he should have consulted the Vice President in her hidden facility, assuming it was still there and someone here knew where and how to contact it. He decided not to, as it would waste critical response time for him to bring now President Chung up to par. Besides, she was likely to be as weak-kneed as Tomlinson. Too much time had already been wasted with President Tomlinson. Given he was the only five star ranking general remaining, he rationalized that he should make the decision before more time and people were lost in nuclear ashes. If fault was found later with him, so be it. He wondered if anyone would be left to find fault with his decision.
His Aide came running in at his call. General Straub said, “Sergeant O’Malley, authorize the Air Force Plan Omega immediately. Issue the following orders to every Army, Navy, Marine, and Air Force military base.” Sergeant O’Malley looked at him with a questioning look. “Sergeant, the President, the Joint Chief of Staff, and the Secretary of Defense are all dead. I am now the highest ranking General left in all the military branches. Make the chain of command clear to the other armed forces beyond the air force. My orders can be considered advisory, if they wish. If the other branches don’t want to follow my orders, it will be to their detriment. Use any and all means, including tactical nukes, to destroy the alien craft over their facilities. Bases without Wedgies should expect that they will be targeted once the major bases are destroyed. First strike should be with Warthogs and any and all experimental weapons at their disposal. Follow up with land based defensive weapons. All commanders are now operating totally on their own initiative. DEFCON one, Color White, is now in effect. Let our allies know that we are activating our last stand and they should do the same before enemy retaliation begins. Order all USAF bases stationed in Germany, the United Kingdom, Italy, Japan and Turkey to assist the host countries’ air defenses. Oh, one last thing. Recall the Warthogs headed to the bio-safety facilities. Send them to defend the military bases nearest to their present position. God bless and good luck to all.” He then picked up the intercom and called in the Duty Officer. “Let our NORAD Warthogs know that Plan Omega is initiated. Immediate attack is authorized. Have the experimental laser brought to bear on the alien crafts.” “Yes, sir,” responded the Duty Officer.
Some vilified General Straub for not following the chain of command. Others thought him a hero. In the end, criticisms became more muted as General Straub rose to even greater prominence. The arm chair second guessers and bureaucratic wonks did not prevail. Laurent smiled at this narrated scene in the video. General Straub was now very much like himself, part of the global response and advisory group.
By now there were four crafts above NORAD. Those previously over cities and bio-safety facilities had joined up with the others over air force bases, swelling their numbers. Most of the 72 air force bases in the United States were known to have one Wedgie, except for Area 51 and NORAD with four each, and two at several other larger bases.
Captain Irene Newcomb acknowledged the Plan Omega order. Her squadron over NORAD air space consisted of six A-10 Thunderbolt IIs, aka the Warthog. Each was armed with 11 AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles on its eight under-wing and three under-fuselage pylon stations plus the fully armed 30 mm GAU-8/A Avenger Gatling cannon. The Captain hoped that the 13 missiles for each craft would do the trick. She was well aware that the Iranians had failed with 12. Even if all the missiles were intercepted, they still had the 30 mm cannon. Hopefully, the alien craft would concentrate on the missiles and not worry about the small depleted uranium slugs, figuring their armor would protect them. While the firing rate was 3900 rounds per minute, the maximal load for each A-10 was 1174. Newcomb knew the cannon fired a mix of both high explosive incendiary and armored piercing incendiary ammunition. She wished the odds were a little higher, say one more Warthog. However, you go with what you have, she thought.
Captain Newcomb radioed her squadron on the scrambled com. “Plan Omega in effect on my mark. You are to approach Wedgie tails and lock. Able and Baker, use a two on one for bogies at one and seven o’clock, respectively. Charlie and Dick, single on other two.” Each Warthog approached what they thought was the rear of their assigned wedge-shaped craft and painted it with the targeting laser. It made sense that the point of the wedge was not as well defended as the front or sides of the wedge shaped crafts. They were at 4,000 feet and would have preferred to be lower. You go with what you have, thought the captain.
The Wedgies were within firing range. It appeared that the alien crafts were starting to turn in order to present the wedge front to them. They were right about the weakest spot on the craft. Captain Newcomb said with deliberate firmness, “Mark!” Sixty six Sidewinders roared away toward their targets. Captain Newcomb could see the lasers firing from the alien crafts and sidewinders blowing apart.
Eat this, she thought, as the 30 mm GAU-8/A Avenger Gatling cannons on each Warthog spit their ammunition out right on target thanks to their helmet integrated target system. With some satisfaction, Newcomb noted that a few sidewinders survived and hit their targets. The crafts appeared to rock a bit, but seemed intact. “Damn,” explained Captain Newcomb. Suddenly her cannon stopped firing half way through the load. “Shit, a hang fire.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that the mixed high explosive incendiary and armored piercing incendiary ammunition now had an effect on three of the crafts. They were going down uncontrollably and would crash soon.
Unfortunately, Newcomb’s target was alive and well. Alarms sounded in her helmet as the alien craft brought its laser to bear on her plane. The titanium armor plate stopped the laser from penetrating and exploding the plane, but judging from the flames, sparks and rising heat, she wasn’t going to last long. Newcomb executed a barrel roll, causing a momentary loss of laser contact on the plane’s front. She hoped to buy enough time for the experimental ground laser to take out the last enemy craft. Her squadron companions watched helplessly, having expended all their ammunition.
On the ground the experimental laser group waited for their one opportunity. They had only one shot, as the repower time for the laser was too long for a second shot. They would be vaporized before it was ready. The firing officer roared, “Locked on target; fire.” A brilliant white hot streak of light seemed to fire out from the structure through an opening in the roof. At first, nothing happened, then the craft seemed to rock a little, then there was a blinding flash and the craft seemed to go into pieces that fell rapidly to the ground. Cheers went up in the control room. Newcomb’s voice came from the loudspeaker. “That was closer than I would like. Thanks, boys. My hog is damaged, but still able to land. I owe you boys a drink.”
On the ground, General Straub surveyed the area where the other crafts had crashed. Through his binoculars, he could see that three were reasonably intact. His salvage team was all suited up with biological gear and two armored vehicles were ready to move them out. The gunners on the Humvees were manning the heavy machine guns in case there were any surviving aliens still looking for a fight. General Straub wondered how he would quarantine their remains or, if lucky, a prisoner, as they did not have a designated isolation ward with NIH P4 protective levels. His answer came sooner that he wished, as three massive explosions were heard from the alien crafts’ direction. Damn, he thought. The alien crafts must be equipped with self-destruct mechanisms to prevent us from reverse engineering them. Well, there would still be metal parts or perhaps composites to analyze. Their armor was certainly good and worth following up.
The team went out for retrieval. Geiger counters showed only minor residual radiation. The team spent several hours carefully collecting and tagging pieces, both Wedgie and body parts, with their specific locations on the grid map created by the laptop computer. They were brought to a holding shed far from the base which was encapsulated with a double plastic covering kept apart by forced air from blowers. It was the best they could do. In another building nearby, their suits were sprayed with chemical disinfect, then bleach, and finally bathed in UV. After the suits were off, they discarded their clothing in red plastic bags labeled biological hazard. Next, they showered in a lower concentration of chemical disinfectant, followed by UV treatment. They donned new clothes and walked back to the base. Another team was treating the two armored vehicles as they left.
Plan Omega was also proceeding in Area 51 simultaneously. Contrary to popular belief, the military did not have flying saucers or aliens locked away there. But they did have the latest experimental weapons. It was a perfect location for secret work. The open desert prevented anyone from approaching unseen. The base was protected by multiple layers of security and heavily enforced restricted airspace. Sensors were placed all around in the desert. Unfortunately, most of it was of little avail, given the four airborne alien crafts headed their way. Their weapons site was located near the test airfield next to Lake Groom. Weapons and planes were placed under camouflage nets that looked just like more sand colored desert from above. General Reginald Douglas hoped they were invisible to the crafts above. They would know shortly how well the camouflage worked.
When General Reginald Douglas had been briefed during the meeting with other country military leaders held at the UN, he had accelerated the testing and readiness of the experimental weapons. While he respected the fire power of the Warthogs, he wanted a little more survival insurance. There were five Warthogs loitering overhead. Four were standard issue, loaded with the same ordinance as those in the NORAD location. The fifth one had its Gatling cannon replaced by a heavy duty laser which could turn steel into molten slag in short order. In addition he had prototypes of truck mounted lasers and fixed rail guns and particle beams at the ready. All had been tested, but never against formidable crafts like the aliens had. Power requirements were huge and reload time was of a magnitude such that second shots would be unlikely. His last ditch defense were several ground based truck mounted C-RAMs, a system used to destroy incoming artillery, rockets and mortar rounds in the air before they hit their ground targets. These were the latest upgrade with focused lasers that provided better targeting through increased range and time-to-intercept. The fire power came from 20 mm M61 Vulcan Gatling gun auto-cannons loaded with tungsten projectiles capable of destroying incoming missiles with their 3,000 rpm firing rate. General Douglas hoped to not have to use the last line of defense. In truth, his base was the best defended in North America, thanks to their concentration on experimental weapons development. In the long term, much more advanced weapons were going to be needed, if the alien invaders were to remain a constant threat, of which General Douglas had no doubts. It was times like this like this that General Douglas was happy he didn’t get married. He wouldn’t have to worry about anyone except his men.
Captain Jesus Alvarez acknowledged the order initiating Plan Omega as he flew above Area 51. He radioed his team members with “No action until my mark.” They knew that meant the ground based weapons were going to open up first and their Warthogs would attack when the alien crafts returned the ground fire. He hoped that the alien crafts would ignore them initially, thinking the base was their primary target and that the Warthogs posed little threat. As sweat poured down his brow, he hoped he was right.
On the ground the Fire Officer, Lieutenant Bruce Hefflerman, said, “Ready on my mark. Report if unable.” No reports came back meaning all the weapons were armed and ready to go. The Lieutenant bet that the rail gun would take out one craft with one shot. In fact, he had wagered that with several comrades. Others put their money on the particle beam. A few placed their bets with the Warthog group. Most just hoped they would live to see the results of the weapons fire. This was live action, not like the previous tests that they took part in. Literally, their lives were riding on the outcome. Lieutenant Hefflerman based his bet on the fact that the rail gun had a 40MJ punch that delivered a 15 kg tungsten rod at roughly MAC 12. With any luck, the solid state recharging system might be able to deliver a second punch before laser fire from the craft took it out. The only downside was that the tremendous heat and powerful forces tended to make the weapon short-lived, but that wasn’t likely to be a problem today, thought Lieutenant Hefflerman.
The particle beam weapon was huge, required massive amounts of energy, and wasn’t likely to become a mobile, battlefield weapon for quite some time, thought the Lieutenant. Nevertheless, its beam of neutrons at near light speed packed a powerful punch and would pass through any armor like a hot knife through butter. It would heat the interior of the craft, causing it to fail. However, one shot in the allotted time frame was all they had. So, the Lieutenant rated it below the rail gun. The lasers were somewhere between. They could take out an armored tank, but the armor on the alien craft appeared to be much stronger. However, concentrating the two ground lasers on one craft followed might do the trick. However, that left one
craft untouched, so they would split the lasers between the two. Lieutenant Hefflerman figured the Warthogs would most definitely be needed for finishing off at least one alien craft.
Lieutenant Hefflerman gave the order. “Marks 1 through four authorized.” They didn’t bother to remove the desert camouflage. The weapons fired right through, giving them the element of surprise. The rail gun hit was the most spectacular. The tungsten rod went right through the craft and its impact energy caused the craft to fly apart with explosive force. The noise was deafening, but the ground crew with their hearing protection hardly noticed. The second craft was hit by the particle beam. At first, nothing happened. It appeared to just sit there. Suddenly, it was just gone. “Holy shit, someone yelled. It’s vaporized.” Unfortunately, the two lasers did not have the same results. They hit the craft, but didn’t penetrate the armored exterior. Lasers flashed out toward the ground. The two ground based lasers went up in an explosive flash, killing their crews instantly.
Captain Alvarez screamed over the radio, “Marks 3 and 4.” All hell was unleashed as the sidewinders and the Gatling guns roared away. The laser equipped Warthog concentrated on craft three. The combined massive firepower caused the third craft to wobble off, then break apart, and crash to the ground. The fourth craft lasted slightly longer. While their lasers were effective, they were just overwhelmed with sheer numbers of incoming missiles and depleted uranium rounds. The forth craft started to wobble, but before it failed, a missile was seen leaving it. Captain Alvarez yelled, “Incoming missile.” The C-RAM crews already knew there was an incoming missile as their C-RAMs lasers had already acquired and painted the target. The 20 mm M61 Vulcan Gatling gun auto-cannons loaded with tungsten projectiles roared away in a cacophony of noise. The missile was destroyed in seconds. That was most fortunate, as it was a tactical nuke. Damage to the Warthogs from hostile laser fire was minimal. They would fly again. On the ground hazmat teams went out to collect whatever pieces could be found. Reassembly was always possible or perhaps chemical and metal analyses might provide some clues. Later forensic teams would look over any body parts or tissues for reconstructive purposes.
The Manhattan Incident Page 9