by WADE, T I
Maggie extended their shield. Already in orbit, she would leave their weapon out and would work on the climbing missiles on the next pass. Captain Pete and his laser had much work to do, and he could only see the missiles once they were halfway into space and the first twelve were coming directly toward him. Sounding action stations, Boris began locking onto the approaching missiles, and one by one they disintegrated, some still in Earth’s upper atmosphere. It seemed only one was active, and a massive nuclear explosion lit up the sky over China at about 140,000 feet.
The cubes could destroy themselves against the shields, but the nuclear missiles were another matter. Ignoring the cubes, Boris aimed and locked onto one missile after the other. He counted 21 hits before Penny Pitt 10,000 miles behind the mother ship could lend a hand. It was a harder at this distance, as her lasers actually had to pass through the Earth’s atmosphere, but she managed five hits before Maggie came into sight.
As planned, Captain Pete was increasing altitude. America One was presently at 270 miles above Earth, and Maggie, at 110 miles, could begin blasting the nukes as they climbed up after the ship.
Ryan, down below, could do nothing but listen in to the shouts, orders and commands coming from above him. That was until Allen Saunders came back online.
“All 28 aircraft now over the Red Sea,” he said to Ryan in Matt via Captain Pete’s crew on the bridge far above them. SB-II and Ryan were out of range of each other, apart for their messages being relayed as the battle above intensified.
“All craft in space,” commandeered Captain Pete. “There could be cube strikes on your craft within the next 30 minutes, depending on your altitude. All incoming missiles are destroyed. Extend shields and good luck. Relayed message, Sierra Bravo II, message from Ryan. Follow the aircraft and destroy one every five minutes, until your fuel is low, then return to base. Once the cubes hit, we can continue blasting the aircraft all the way back to China from up here.”
“Roger, copy that. Laser hitting the first aircraft now,” replied Allen Saunders.
The first Chinese bomber crew, thinking that they had got away, were shocked when the tail of their aircraft began to disintegrate and the empty bomber went into a slow spiral. They managed to get a short message out before the darkness of the night engulfed them and the million parts of their aircraft. Immediately, the other aircraft turned due north toward Syria, far closer than Karachi where they seemed to be heading.
Once Ryan learned of the change in direction, the formation heading up the Red Sea, he closed down the destruction to three minutes per aircraft.
Three aircraft later, the pilots knew their fate was sealed and dropped down to low altitudes, and at their slowest speeds possible, ejected out of the metal coffins about to disintegrate around them.
Commander Joot was shocked when the first of dozens of explosions rocked his shield around him. So were Jonesy and the Pitts, far lower than America One. The cubes had found easy targets, and within hours of the first strike, only three hit the shield around the mother ship six hours later.
Now it was time to show the Chinese government the fury of America One.
Chapter 9
Good Riddance
Ryan waited until Allen said that he needed to return. Captain Pete gave him his direction to get back to the crater. Within ten minutes SB-II could see the massive fires raging on the airfield.
“Captain Pete, all craft in space, I want every air base, every space base, and every government building in every city in China blasted over the next 36 hours. Then we will start on Russia,” commanded Ryan in English over as many radio frequencies possible.
“Why do you want to hit Moscow? We have done nothing.” Captain Pete heard a Russian voice several minutes later in English.
Captain Pete said that the 200 Russian paratroopers heading for the destroyed base had one hour to turn back, or they would be terminated. He heard nothing more, and the 200 tiny heat sources were still heading toward the airfield until the sun made their heat signatures nearly disappear with the warming sand.
“Twelve more missile launches, and I count thirty cube launches. It looks like from the middle of six high density Chinese cities,” said Captain Pete next.
“Keep your lasers tight. I don’t want to kill civilians,” Ryan replied as he saw Allen Saunders in SB-II, still with his shield extended, return to the crater. “Allen, you still fit to fly?”
“Roger, but not in this bird. We are down to 3 percent fuel.”
“Copy that. Head for the Chinook. Mr. Noble is positioning a heavy machine gun inside the rear ramp. I want you to fly Mr. Noble, Igor and me over the airfield then over to the area where the Russians are. I want to warn them not to come any closer. Bob Mathews is moving the last of the sand around the small door area into the Matt base. He needs several hours, so let’s go and warn those Russian guys.
As every laser in space destroyed incoming missiles, or melted bases, aircraft, cube launchers, military bases, and government installations across China, the Chinook headed out.
To the new crewmembers inside SB-III’s forward crew compartment it was party time. Dr. Nancy had warned them what to expect, and not knowing about the battles around them, allowed the new crew to undo their seatbelts and float for the first time in their lives.
All were wearing plain brown flight suits. Several dozen had been delivered a week earlier by the Royal Australian Air Force.
There were yelps and cries of amazement as people floated out of control around the compartment. Dr. Nancy, Suzi and Saturn Jones did their best to control the excited crew. Only Mrs. Jones had not left her seat, and was staring at the others, totally amazed, her hair standing straight up. She didn’t move until Mars Noble and her husband floated through from the cockpit and the door was shut behind them. They unbelted her and she floated up to join them on each side of her.
“Oh my, I’m sure my hair is a mess!” was all she could say as she floated out of her seat.
Mars and Saturn opened a cooler placed on each side of the compartment and began giving out pouches of food and drink to the crew as they floated by. Fresh pouches of orange juice, scrambled eggs, potato soup and even minced spaghetti with a red sauce came from the stores NASA had been asked to supply. The newbies had to be taught how to eat in space.
There had been a space toilet mounted on the flight from Mars into the rear of the compartment, and once they had learned how to eat in space, one by one the newbies were given instruction on how to use it.
Meanwhile Jonesy and Maggie flattened parts of China as SB-III passed overhead. The Asian part of Earth was already getting dark, the computers still had a couple of hundred targets to be engaged, and the whole of China had hundreds of fires raging. The fires could be seen from space, and China was twice as bright as any other country once night closed in.
To the crew aboard the Chinook, the late afternoon sun brought total destruction of their new base. There was nothing left, and the whole area looked like dozens of meteors had all hit in the same area. Allen Saunders still reckoned that there were a few hundred feet of untouched runway remaining, and hovering above the ground, in between the smoke rising everywhere, discussed with his wife and Ryan whether the Dead Chicken could ever return. It was close, but possible with a very light load.
They landed and searched the whole area, and then walked the short, undestroyed part of the runway. The whole airfield looked like the end of the world. The hangars were all gone, only the odd steel beam stood here and there. The actual runway area looked like a kid with bad acne. It was surprising how much damage could be done in so little time. Where the last two liquid hydrogen containers had stood were holes thirty feet deep, blown right into hard rock. The same situation prevailed with the third hangar, which had held the rest of the ammunition flown in by the Dead Chicken. Here, there was absolutely nothing left apart from fires and smoldering piles of fire-resistant materials. Where the hangar had stood it was still too hot and smoky to get closer than
100 feet. With two to three hours of daylight left, they flew halfway back to the crater and quickly inspected the equipment they had saved. The hydrogen containers were fine under tarps. There was a load of food, a couple of still cold deep freezes, and a ton or so of food, clothing, gasoline, the two Bradleys and jeeps, diesel, water, and ammunition and several dozen drums of fuel for the Chinook. This was all the stores they had left, as there wasn’t much left in the crater.
Ryan became really angry. What a waste of work by two countries. What a waste of valuable supplies and equipment. What a waste this planet was, with the types of leaders running these countries. He was tired of being Mr. Nice Guy.
During the next hour they topped up the helicopter, and then left for the latest Russian position.
Captain Pete led them to where the Russian troops were. As expected, they went to ground and tried to bury themselves when they heard the Chinook’s rotors, but Captain Pete high above could still see the 200 hot glows in the already cooling sand. The dusk was about an hour over the eastern horizon.
“Place her there,” said Ryan, pointing to a small semi-flat rocky outcrop. He had taken off his white T-shirt under his flight suit and had it in his right hand. “If they shoot me, destroy the whole of Russia,” he ordered Captain Pete and the crew in the Chinook.
“I’m going with you,” said VIN.
“You need an interpreter, not a soldier, Ryan,” said Igor.
“Mr. Noble, you man the machine gun. Igor, you come with me. Mr. Saunders, hover about 500 feet behind me and at about a hundred feet altitude with the machine gun pointing over my head. I want to talk to these Russians. I have had enough, and if they want to shoot me holding up a white cloth, then they are not fit to live either.”
“A rather stupid move, but you are the boss,” replied Allen.
“This is an official Libyan Air Force helicopter. I don’t believe they will fire on a Libyan helicopter in their own territory. They will be signing their own death warrants,” returned Ryan angrily. That seemed to appease the pilot.
Once the Chinook had the positions of the most forward men hidden in the sand about 300 yards away from the rocky outcrop and well within sniper distance, it landed. The Russians watched as two men exited the rear ramp wearing what looked like flight suits, and the helicopter headed away, a machine gun and gunner pointing out of its still open rear ramp directly at their position.
As the chopper headed away from the two men, one used a megaphone and spoke their language while the other held a white cloth above his head and between his upraised hands.
“We know 200 men are directly in front of us hiding in the sand. We want to know why you are here on Libyan territory. Will your commander please come forward?”
Nothing happened for a minute. The two men weren’t shot, and nobody in the sand moved.
“There are 2,000 Libyan soldiers who will arrive here tomorrow with the entire Libyan Air Force. If you want to live, somebody come forward, or we will leave you to your fate, certain death, tomorrow,” bluffed Igor.
Ryan’s arms, still above his head, were beginning to hurt, when a piece of sand moved and two men got up less than 300 feet directly in front of them. The sun was losing its strength, the shadows long and the light perfect to see the two camouflaged men slowly walk toward the outcrop. They held AK 47s, had water bottles fixed to their belts around their waists, and had their ammo on shoulder straps. They were lightly armed for attack troops.
The two men, sunburnt and their faces unshaven, stopped twenty feet in front of the two unarmed men. They said nothing.
“You are in foreign territory. We saw your six aircraft drop you. We assume you are heading toward the new desert airfield 65 miles southwest of here. I suggest you turn around and go home. The base was completely destroyed by Chinese missiles this morning. There is nothing left. So, if you want transport out of here, I will have Libyan Air Force helicopters here tomorrow morning to evacuate you to an airfield on the coast. We will alert the Russian Air Force to pick you up. Or you can fight and die here tomorrow morning. Which one will it be?”
“You say the airfield is completely destroyed?” one of the men asked.
“Da, seventy large missiles can do a lot of damage. Didn’t you see the light on the horizon about two hours before dawn?”
The man replied that they had seen the attack.
“We have just flown over the area. It looks worse than an atomic explosion. We don’t know why you are here, but you are unwelcome in Libya, and I am here to ask you politely to leave. Tomorrow morning, the incoming forces will not be so polite.”
Igor, and Ryan, who hadn’t said a word since prepping Igor before they had landed, watched as the two men conversed about what they had just been told.
“If the airfield has been destroyed, we no longer have a mission. We accept your invitation to return to the coast,” was the reply.
“Stay around this outcrop. Libyan helicopters will be here just after dawn to evacuate you to your connection point. The Russian government will be notified.”
With that Igor waved the helicopter back, and Ryan lowered his shirt. Ten minutes later the Chinook climbed into the dark sky to radio in to the closest Libyan base to ask for the evacuation of 200 Russian troops to an airfield, and to ask the Russian government to come and get them.
Ryan felt better. Not a drop of blood had been spilled, and he was happy to return to the Pig’s Snout in one piece.
“A brave but stupid move in my book,” said a tired Allen Saunders after several cold beers had been opened.
Bob Mathews had started a barbecue, and the meat smelled really good when the chopper had come in to land. The aromas made everybody’s mouth water. Even Ryan, who had been a vegetarian now for several years, had the desperate urge to taste what was cooking.
Over dinner and cold Budweisers, the remaining dozen crew sat around a fire, the last fire with the wood they had previously lifted over from the now burnt-out airfield.
“I agree, but I’m so tired of all this stupid fighting. I just wanted to tell them to go home. I suppose it was rather risky, but soldiers are still soldiers. They can be trusted far more than politicians, and what would you have done in their position, Mr. Noble?”
“Being found is enough of a bummer. Asked to leave or face certain death is another,” replied VIN, smiling.
“Located in a foreign country illegally, and somebody else already cancelling their mission, I believe, that is what changed their mind,” added Igor. “They might be tough Russian troops, but they are not stupid enough to die for nothing.”
Even though he had lost his airfield, Ryan felt lighter and enjoyed the evening, especially when Bob Mathews told him that the small door into the underground cavern was clear and ready to be inspected.
Commander Joot and Elder Roo were told that they could enter their old home in the morning.
Chapter 10
The Cavern
Early the next morning and minutes after they could see the ground, Ryan, Igor, the two Matts and VIN headed down the long slope into the hole.
Over the meal, talking and ultimately a party the evening before, Bob Mathews had been told to stay away from entering the Matt cavern or he would have to be kidnapped into space. To him and his two crew on Earth, fishing was far more important, and he was happy not to see what had been uncovered. Bob would be leaving in an hour or two anyway. He was to fly down in the Chinook and leave it at the new supply dump, as an Israeli helicopter was coming in from Israel to pick him up from there and return him to Tel Aviv.
There, he would organize to get Kathy and Max Burgos across the equator and into the southern hemisphere in Jonesy’s Gulfstream when the time came. Its range for Kathy and the two girls was far better than Ryan’s own aircraft. Bob was to offer Ryan’s own Gulfstream to Israel in return for jet fuel and for leveling the pockmarked runway so that the Dead Chicken could land one more time. They were moving.
Bob’s love for the sport m
ade Ryan remember to give the Jones family some valuable fishing time as well. With the Chinese blasted, the Russians having to pick up their team of attackers, and the U.S. who had already felt the sting of Ryan’s lasers, he hoped that he and his crew could be left alone for the near future.
He was getting sick of being bullied, and he hoped that the destruction going on in China would give him the peace on Earth he wanted. He had also changed his mind to take the Australians up on their offer. In the morning he would send word via Bob to organize the offered base in Australia’s Gibson Desert. Doug had been told that the airfield needed a bit of work, and the crater had supplies for only one more week, ten days at most, so the Aussies could have some time to get it refurbished. He had also realized that he wouldn’t need 10,000 feet of runway anymore; the shuttles would be using the shields in the future.
“There is the door,” shouted Commander Joot excitedly as they neared the clean area. Ryan and VIN peered at the white steel-looking roof that had been uncovered.
“Titanium oxide,” said Ryan to VIN.
“Even titanium rusts over time,” added Igor. “Most people don’t know that titanium rusts, although far slower than steel, and its rust is white, not brown.”
He and Ryan knelt down and cleared the thin white powder about half an inch deep. Below it, the thick metal door was just as white.
“Ten thousand years to rust half an inch,” Ryan said.
“Well, underneath damp sand I wouldn’t know if that was quicker or slower than being underwater, or in salt water,” replied Igor. “Even aluminum rusts,” he told VIN. “Except that aluminum oxide is a clear substance.”
“Is America One rusting?” asked VIN. Igor smiled.
“No VIN, not in space, but you bring up a good point. We wanted to fill the shield around the mother ship with an atmosphere. We better do some tests before we try that again,” Igor replied, looking at Ryan.