Chapter Eight: Attack on Higgs-Boson!
High above the freighter, a lone satellite has monitored its every move for the last eight-hours. Controllers for the ‘eye in the sky’ are based in Langley Virginia. About two weeks before the blast in the Atlantic, both ships had been on the terrorism watch list. The ship in the Atlantic had fallen off their surveillance-radar a few days before it disintegrated, but the second ship didn’t fare so well with the Houdini routine.
It had been easily tracked since a few days after it left the maritime chop-shop in Shanghai China…. However, what it transferred into its cargo compartment in the middle of the Pacific Ocean during bad weather, was not so clear until its sister ship vaporized in the Atlantic. Now suspicion is stacking up to be what every major government around the world greatly fears; ruthless ideology, coupled with weapons of mass destruction.
Lowering his binoculars, the captain with the iron-fisted lightning-bolt flag, is unable to determine if the ship on the horizon is an enemy, or just another oil-industry vessel. From his vantage point, it’s almost impossible to tell what manner of ship it is. Hopefully, his ship will be free of any incriminating evidence by the time it gets closer. Except for the tiny fact that the vessel was stolen, and therefore entirely incriminating evidence; in which case if caught, he and his crew are boned.... very boned indeed....
On the main deck, a large section of steel plating is being pulled to the side by the ships crane. It strains, as the heavy plating resists movement. But, it soon wins out and a 30 by 45-foot-section of the ship’s guts, are open to the sky. Deep inside the cavern, men scurry here and there as they prepare the helicopter for flight. Soon, after the two pilots have entered the machine, a hydraulic system goes to work lifting the platform which holds the helicopter, toward the main deck. Inside the aircraft, the first officer pulls a tarp back over their lonely passenger. The cone-shaped object is so large, a hole had to be cut in the aft bulkhead of the compartment just so it could fit snuggly for the flight.
As soon as the helicopter is lifted free of the ships bowels, a starter/generator on one of its two turbine engines, begins to turn. Main batteries discharge massive amounts of current, getting very hot while doing so. This is soon followed by a fuel/air mixture being injected into its combustion chamber and ignited. With a heavy thump, the ignited vapor begins to breathe new life into the aircraft. After getting both engines running and stabilized, the large main-rotor slowly achieves a flight-idle-speed as it gains more and more momentum. With each passing second it spins faster, until finally becoming a noisy blur above the worker’s heads. They scramble for cover as the great machine menacingly threatens destruction.
Inside the cockpit, the pilots monitor the engines operating indications, and soon determine that the machine is behaving well within its design parameters. They want to open the engines air-valves which feed the air-conditioners.... cockpit is so hot. But, they know that action will only rob power from the engines, and hurt the crafts lifting ability, which is already maxed. With their heavy passenger in back, they need every bit of horsepower they can get for lifting from the ship and gaining airspeed. After that, they can perhaps open those precious air-valves and cool things down a little bit without over-temping the engines. Without fanfare or permission from any authorities, the pilot increases power, changing the rotating blades angle-of-attack. They bite into the hot, sticky air of the Gulf and lift the bird clear of the ship, allowing them to continue the last mission of their prayerful lives. They’re glad to be off the ship, and away from the infidels that operate it.
From the bridge observation deck, the captain breathes a sigh of relief as he watches the helicopter rise from his ship and bank towards the northwest. It heads off to someplace he didn’t give a tinkers-damn about. His job is nearly done. All that’s left now, is to scuttle the ship and quietly disappear into history, with a whole bunch of money. Mexico is easily within the range of the ships fast-boats, and a good place to start living it up.
At only 300-feet off the water, the helicopter cruises at 225-mph toward the mainland of Texas. The Rio Grande River is going be their main landmark as they head toward the south central, New Mexico region. Keeping the river on their left and staying at a low altitude, they can remain off most radar systems along the way. It’s a one-way trip anyway, so the pilots remain focused on completing the mission, and not much else at this point.
At Langley, a shift-change is happening, and observation of the ship in the gulf is temporarily side-tracked due to seemingly harmless chit-chat about personal things and whatnot. When the incoming agent finally sits down to her beloved surveillance job, she backtracks the last 30-minutes of video to see what she had missed. To her shock and dismay, she sees that the ship had launched a hidden helicopter from deep within its bowels about 20-minutes earlier, while she was carelessly shooting the breeze.
“Damn, my freaking luck!” She mumbles to herself, thinking about her performance evaluation that’s just around the corner. “Damn, my luck!” she mumbles again. Then, contacting her supervisor, she set in motion a series of events that will hopefully lessen the impact of her neglect.
Through a set of binoculars, the first officer of an unmarked U.S. Coast Guard Cutter out of Corpus Christy, witnesses the launch of a helicopter from the ship they had recently marked as suspicious. “Captain, that tanker just launched a helicopter! It’s leaving on a northwesterly heading, hugging the deck.” He reports excitedly, pointing at the distant ship.
Using the FO’s binoculars, the captain can just barely make out a tiny dot, that is the departing helicopter. But when he looks to the ship, he notices a spectral-mist rising from all around its hull. What an unusual sight he thinks to himself, but quickly figures it out.
“Mister Danbury, that damn captain is scuttling his own ship!” He declares angrily, as he keeps the glasses glued to the incredible spectacle. He had never witnessed such a brazen act before, but knows it happens quite often around the world for many reasons.... Insurance fraud he suspects. But damn it! Not on his watch! Not today! .... Unfortunately, his ego will have to absorb the hit, because it’s already too late to do anything about it.
In the rush to get to the stricken ship, the crew of the Cutter completely misses the departure of three fast-boats, escaping like so many rats fleeing a sinking ship. By the time the cutter arrives at the scene, the freighter is already on its way to the cold depths of the Gulf of Mexico; taking Moe, Larry, and Curly along for the ride. She settles onto the sandy bottom, where she’ll leak diesel fuel for the next 400-years, or so. The iron-fisted, clenched lightning-bolt flag, is on its way to Mexico, and the bad guys are getting away with murder .... Again!
Back at Langley, chatty Cathy and her supervisor watch the monitor with disbelief as the freighter quickly sinks beneath the waves. Nothing is left behind except a growing oil-slick and a lot of debris. Nobody mentions anything about the helicopter getting a 20-minute head-start, but instead, they quickly switch to damage control. There’ll be plenty of time for finger-pointing later .... Cathy’s heart beats like an overwound clock, as she estimates the flight path of the fleeing helicopter, uploading the data to the eye in the sky.
High above in space, thrusters come to life on the surveillance satellite, causing it to sweep its powerful cameras on a straight line from the oil slick, to the mouth of the Rio Grande River and beyond. The weather is partly cloudy in the search area, with a turbulent storm moving in from the west. Time is running out.... Cathy interfaces the satellite data with any aircraft transponders broadcasting in the area. Soon, she’s looking at a screen with lots of aircraft, but few are using transponders. She doubts very seriously that her helicopter is transmitting anything either. And it ‘is’ her helicopter.... because, now it’s personal!
She quickly ciphers math in her head, figuring the machine could only be about 150-miles from the point of departure. Estimating how far that search area would be, and allowing a 50-mile buffer in front and behind, s
he zooms the satellite camera by 40-percent. This action restricts the viewing area, but at least she can now tell if the aircrafts on the screen are fixed-wing or not. It doesn’t take long for her helicopter to show itself. It actually isn’t so hard to find, because it seems to be the only rotary aircraft in the area.
Supervisor nervously micro-manages over her shoulder, as if she didn’t know how to do her job. However, she’s already making the suggested move. Zooming in on a tiny keyhole of opportunity ahead of the bird, hoping to capture an image as it fly’s through. Breaths are held as precious moments move past in slow motion. Just as hopes are failing, a flash moves across the screen! Cathy gets lucky! Within moments, an image pops up for their viewing pleasure. Great sighs of relief, as everyone remembers to breath once again.
Supervisor is impressed, when after only 45-seconds, Cathy has a high-definition photograph of the suspect bird on half of the screen and on the other half, a photo of the ships helicopter at its time of departure. Close examination proves that they are identical! The definition is fine enough, that discolorations in the aircrafts paint, matches with the machine that flew away from the freighter. Like digital fingerprints, the fleeing helicopter is so busted!
“Good work Cathy. Stay with him. How long until we lose the target if it continues on that heading?” He inquires, while scrolling through his phone for a number.
Taking a few moments to calculate, she soon looks up. “My best guess on fast notice, would be about ten minutes before he gets under some very thick cloud cover. The storm system is moving east fast, and that really helps him a lot.... ten minutes.” She repeats.
Thanking her, supervisor returns to his office. He wishes there was more time! This bird could be just about anywhere by the time the military or civil authorities act on his warning. Well, there’s one person in all the southwest, that will be very interested in finding this machine! And he just found that persons phone number. He’ll call the President, secondarily .... Greatly risking his job.
After seven rings, the agent starts to get concerned, but he’s determined to let it ring until somebody either answers, or a messaging system chimes in. At the eleventh ring, a weak voice sounding rather sedated, answers. “Hello, Doctor Max here.” He had over-slept anyway, it was time to get back to work.
“Hello Max, this is Ethan Marcus.” He didn’t have to say ‘from the agency’. The doctor had known Ethan for many years .... a lot more so, recently.
Spooling up fast for an older gentleman, the doctor knows that Ethan is calling about something that’s right up his ally.... ‘security’. “Yes Ethan, hello. I’m all ears.” The doctor wants to hear any bad news, as fast as possible.
Ethan didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Max, there’s solid Intel regarding a rogue helicopter flying your way. It’s coming in from the Gulf of Mexico, hugging the deck as it follows the Rio Grande northwest. If it stays the course, it won’t take long before it’s in your neck of the woods.” .... Ethan’s tone, gloomy .... “Max, this bird left a freighter that’s a sister-ship to mega-ton girl. Now, I admit that we dropped the ball on this one, so I’m sending you and Bob Thompson all the data we have about the helicopter. I think your people have the best chance of stopping this thing. I still haven’t called the President. We won’t be able to track it for much longer, because it’s heading into stormy conditions. Whatever you do Max, don’t let this thing get any closer to Higgs than 30-miles.” Ethan, didn’t have to elaborate on that subject. It’s the worst-case-scenario for the aging doctor, as he seems to have all his eggs in one basket.
Moments of silence, while the doctor absorbs the shocking news. Finally, he speaks with a sad voice. “Thank you, Ethan. I know it took a lot of nerve for you to call me before anyone else, and I sure do appreciate that. I hope you don’t take much heat for it. Take care, and keep your fingers crossed for humanity’s future.”
“I wish you the best Max, good luck.” With that, Ethan ends the call. Doctor Max dials a number, and waits for an answer.
“Hello doctor, how may I help you?” Bob Thompson asks with concern. The doctor rarely calls, to just chew the fat.
“Hello Mr. Thompson. I have alarming news.” The doctor relates everything he knows about the current emergency. Bob listens intently before making any statement.
“Okay doctor, I understand.” He responds, as his data-pad vibrates. “Please hold for one moment doctor, I’m receiving something now. After a short pause, while he scrolls through the information, he continues. “The data concerning the helicopter just came in doctor. Give me a few minutes to digest it and formulate a plan of action. Meanwhile, I’ll have Tyler start an evacuation of the airfield.” Another pause, as Bob considers a rare option he has at his disposal.
“Doctor, you may not know this, but Carter is relocating an F-88 Raptor from the paint shop up in Albuquerque. I don’t know if the jet is finished yet, but I’m sure it can be made airworthy relatively quickly. Even though it won’t have any ordinance, it would at least be an extra set of eyes searching for these clowns.” Bob, knows the doctor will pull out all the stops on this one. After all, the threat of thermonuclear annihilation is a good reason to use any force necessary to make it go away.
“Yes! Yes! I recall Carter telling me a few days ago, that he’s traveling north to see how the job is going. Good thinking Mr. Thompson! Please contact him and authorize whatever steps he deems necessary, to find and stop that helicopter. Be sure to inform him of the minimum safe distance required for Higgs-Field to survive. Ethan says 30-miles, but I’m changing that to 40. Make it your first-priority.... will you do that for me Mr. Thompson?”
“I’m already on it doctor. Rest assured, we’ll find these guys; or die trying.” Bob, knows the doctor needs a colorful description of how far he and his team are prepared to go, when meeting this horrendous challenge.
“Thank you, Mr. Thomson. Those words just lowered my blood pressure by five points! Let’s just hope nobody must die, before this is over. We have only about an hour, before safe distance is violated. Good luck Mr. Thompson.” The doctor hangs up the phone and sits on the edge of his bed for a minute, wondering when he’s going to wake from this nightmare.
He crosses the bedroom to his armoire and dresses in his most comfortable cloths. If he is to die this day, it won’t be in stiff, formal attire. Opening a tiny drawer, he removes a special trinket that’s attached to a thin gold chain. It was given to him by his fiancé when he was still a young man of thirty. Shortly after giving him the gift, she was mysteriously killed in what the doctor always suspected as murder, but could never prove. He wears it during trying times, for the good luck she said it would bring. ‘Rest her soul’, he thinks as he kisses the charm and puts the chain around his neck.
A quiet knock on his bedroom door; he moves to open it, and see’s the kind face of Shirley looking back at him. Her smile quickly disappears as she notices the sad, blank-look on his face. “What’s wrong Max? Didn’t you sleep well?”
“Oh, my yes! .... I slept great, but woke to a nightmare, my dear.” The doctor responds with an unusual tone, as he slowly shuffles past. “A real doozy!” He adds, while mechanically making his way towards the elevator. But before reaching that goal, he stops and spills the beans about the tremendous danger they are in.
“So, you see my dear, the haters of progress appear to be making a move against it, and we’re in the way.” Taking her by the arm, he urges movement toward the elevator as he continues. “We don’t have much time; are Nyla and Wil here?” His tone sounding better as he mentions the youngsters. The elevator doors open, and the worried people enter.
“Yes, they’re here Max. They arrived a few hours ago, and are playing chess in the parlor.” The conveyance arrives at ground level, the doors open, and they begin a short walk down a beautiful, marble-lined corridor. Entering the parlor, Max feels his blood pressure drop noticeably when he sees Nyla and Wil. He crosses the room quickly, embracing them both at the same time
. For a few glorious moments, he’s transported to another world.... another time.... one without troubles.... he feels 50-years younger!
“My goodness, you two are a sight for sore eyes! I trust you both had a good flight back to good old Terra-Firma?” He inquires, holding them at arm’s length, soaking up their youthful auras.
With an ear-to-ear grin, Nyla replies, “Oh yes Max, we had an awesome flight! A person really earns their paycheck when the autopilot calls in sick.” She jokes with a laugh and elbow jab into Wil’s side. “And this big lug helped, as best he could.” She adds, humorously.
“You should’ve been there Max!” Wil says excitedly, his hands held 3-feet apart to add flavor. “Nyla, was tearing up the sky, like it never got tore up before! In fact, she set the air on fire!” They have such a great laugh.... Then, the doctor drops his little bomb-shell, effectively ending the joyous reunion, almost before it began.
Wil, responds firstly. “We saw firsthand how powerful their weapons can be.” He reminisces. “If that aircraft has a sister-weapon to the one Nyla and I saw detonate, 30 or even 40-miles, is really going to be cutting it close. You said Carter will be aiding the search? That’s great! He’s a good person to not have angry with you. I pity the fools.” He says of his good friend, adding. “How much time is left, before minimum safe distance?”
“A little more than an hour. Carter is relocating a Raptor back to Higgs from Albuquerque, but I’m not sure if the aircraft will be airworthy in time for him to join the search. I’ll try to contact him in a few minutes to find out more, but first I need to ask a favor of you two. I need you to take Shirley to hanger-one and fly her out of here on ole Bessie.” Bessie, is the doctor’s personal supersonic transport which is just sitting there, not doing anything except waiting to tear up the sky once again.
Shirley chimes in on the conversation. “Oh, now wait a minute, Max! I’m not leaving if you’re not! No way, no how, not going to happen!” She, leaves no shades of gray in her protest. “If you think a few measly megatons is going to muss my hair, don’t worry about it. I happen to love mussed hair! In that department, you and I are like two peas-in-a-pod.” She jokes in the face of death. “Besides, Bessie would be better put to use as another search platform for those thugs.” she responds bravely.
“She’s right Max.” Nyla, joins the fray with some solid advice. “Wil and I can take Bessie out for a spin and maybe get lucky. Please say yes?” She begs, her hands pressed together in front of her sad-puppy-looking face.
The doctor sits down, rubbing his temples, thinking. After long moments, he looks up and says with heart. “By golly’s, if you three don’t put more white hairs on an old man’s head!” Standing, he takes Shirley’s hands, looking her in the eyes. “If you really want to stay and give comfort to an old man during this dark time, who am I to stop you? I am honored my dear.”
Suddenly, out of the blue, their plans are changed by random chance, as Nyla leans towards Wil, exclaiming with a weakened voice. “Wil, I don’t feel so good .... something’s wrong!” She quickly loses her balance, and before Wil can respond in a meaningful way, she crashes down upon the chess table with incredible force. The game board, pieces, and even the table all go kersplinters, as her posterior smashes its way through to the floor; leaving a large dent where her gluteus maximus breaks the floor boards from the force of the impact.
Wil is at her side immediately. Taking a cushion from Shirley, he lifts her head and slides it under. The doctor moves closer to ground zero, shuffling his way through the debris as Nyla begins to stir. She opens her eyes, looking up at everybody; she doesn’t remember falling. Wil tells her to lay still and try to relax, but she’s determined to at least get off the chess pieces poking her in the back. With assistance from Wil, she’s able to move to the couch, where she remains laying down. She hadn’t had an episode in a long time, and can’t figure out just what brings them on.
“Do you think you can walk my dear?” The doctor inquires, concernedly.
She sits up a little, and doesn’t feel too bad. “Yeah Max, I think so.” Then she looks around. “Wow I really made a mess of things, didn’t I?”
Wil can’t resist making a joke. “I would have had you in checkmate soon, anyway. You didn’t have to go and break the good doctor’s house, Nyla. Jeez, you weight a ton! Time to lay off the space-cookies I’m guessing.”
The doctor doesn’t have the luxury of time anymore. Now that Nyla is feeling better, he makes a command decision. “Wil, get over to hanger-one and start the preflight on Bessie.” He instructs firmly, as the time for debate is now over. “I’m calling Tina Feldman to co-pilot for you. She’ll meet you there. Now, don’t get too brave with the time limit. If you don’t get results soon after you begin the search, get your butts out of Dodge immediately. That’s an elderly order my boy. There may very well be two sunrises in the desert, this day!”
Turning to Shirley, the doctor asks that she help take Nyla to see Alice Foster, while hoping she hadn’t already evacuated from the area. There wasn’t any particular reason to hang around the house anyway, when he could monitor the situation with his trusty data pad. Bending down and taking Nyla’s hand, he helps her up from the couch. She’s feeling much better, so it didn’t cost him any actual effort.
Nyla, holds onto her friend’s arms as they escort her out to the car. She really wants to go with Wil, but knows that she might be more of a liability than a help. She really did need to get checked out. Besides, Tina is an awesome pilot, and Wil would be lucky to have her, she thinks. As far as evacuation is concerned, she didn’t want to leave the area, if Max and Shirley are going to stay. And being inside Bessie wasn’t any safer either, because Wil won’t give up the search until the target is either neutralized, or he and the jet are vaporized.
At hanger-one, Wil meets with the doctor’s long time maintenance crew chief, Grady Wilson. “Hello Grady, long time no see. I wish this visit were under different circumstances.” Wil receives a firm handshake. “It’s always good to see you Wil.” Grady returns the greeting, as the jet is being towed past them and out the large hanger doors. She’s a beautiful machine, that glows when its brightly polished aluminum fuselage reflects the bright sunlight. Bessie has an impressive starburst emblem painted on each side of her vertical stabilizer. “I guess you’ll be taking Bessie out for a few spins around the block? Well, she’s fueled and ready to go, so good hunting. All you need now is a co-pilot,” he says dubiously, still unsure why Nyla wasn’t with.
Just as he’s saying that, Tina Feldman drives up to the hanger like a tornado, wrapped in a hurricane. She’s fit to be tied, as she greets the two people. Unable to stand still, she exclaims excitedly. “Times a wasting, gentleman! We’ll see you later Mr. Wilson!” She waves, while nearly dragging Wil across the hot tarmac towards Bessie. “Let’s kick the tires and light the fires! We don’t want to glow in the dark tonight, do we?”
Wil had only met Tina a few times; shortly after Max had brought her into the team. She was much more reserved then, as compared to her current elevated energies. He half expects her to light up a big stogy while she does her walk-around inspection of the aircraft. Well, Max didn’t get as far as he had, by employing fluffy bunny-types, he guesses. She might be a good match for Nyzilla the destroyer on the handball courts, he thinks with a stealthy chuckle as he climbs the jets entrance stairs.
He’s already buckled into the left seat, when Tina enters the cockpit. She quickly takes her seat and buckles herself in. “Okay captain. She’s looking good outside.... no leaks, no bypass-pins popped on the hydraulic filters and all accumulator pressures are in the green. Also, the brakes look good and the tires have lots of rubber. Oh yes, and the main cabin door is closed and locked. Let’s get this checklist done, so we can turn and burn!” The energized woman, already has a pre-flight checklist in her hands, and starts reading it off with enthusiasm.
Wil turns in his seat and just stares at her for a few moments, not answering her
challenges. She stops with the checklist, giving a quizzical look as he calmly says. “Now Tina, I know you’re a bright and energetic woman. However, I’m still the captain on this ride.” He reminds, while reaching and taking the checklist from her hands. Without ceremony, he slowly tears it in half, allowing gravity to take the pieces to the floor of the cockpit. Tina’s eyes go wide, her jaw drops open as he performs such a sacrilegious act.
“The first rule-of-thumb for chasing after thermonuclear weapons,” he tries to keep a straight face, “is to focus on flying by the seat of your pants, and hope they don’t catch fire.” He instructs, adding. “Sometimes you have to just throw the book away, and say the hell with it.” He keys his radio, informing the crew chief that he’s ready to start the engines and depart. He also informs that he’ll be starting the second engine, during taxi to the runway. This will also save a couple of minutes, he calculates correctly.
Efficiency is the name of the game today of all days, they could be cautious another time. The colorful metaphor, ‘you snooze, you lose’, was never more accurate than it is this day.
Soon, Wil has Bessie taxiing double-time toward the beginning of the runway. They’re six or seven minutes ahead of the game by not dilly-dallying with the checklist. And, Bessie didn’t seem to mind in the least. Tina has already communicated with the Higgs-Field control tower, and they have the green light as soon as they’re in position. The moment they’re lined up on the runway, Wil firewalls both throttles, causing the twin afterburners to kick-in immediately.
Massive amounts of pressurized fuel is metered into both engines, and exhaust-nozzles, causing a combined thrust of 80,000-pounds. With surprising quickness, Bessie gets up and dances! .... Both pilots are squashed into their seats with almost three times the force of gravity as she greedily eats up the runway. There are no accommodations for using g-suits on this jet, because it wasn’t built for aerobatics; just acceleration, speed, and maximized comfort.
Wil glances at Tina, seeing a woman that now weighs about 340-pounds. She has a determined grimace on her distorted yet still pretty face, as the powerful engines, in full afterburner, push them violently down the runway. The big machine, accelerating dramatically every split-second of the way. Copious amounts of hot desert air is sucked into the inlets of the engines, and extremely hot, high energy plasma, shoots 20-feet out the exhaust nozzles. After traveling about 2,000-feet, Wil pulls back on the control column and the powerful bird climbs into the sky at over 400-mph and accelerating dramatically. This aggressive rotation puts several more g’s onto the two pilots, causing a gray-out in Tina’s brain.
Wil could have left the deck much more aggressively, but he has to consider Tina. He doesn’t want to injure her, or cause a blackout. She recovers quickly.... Rapidly climbing to 5,000-feet, he accelerates the jet to 1,200-mph, breaking the sound barrier and sending a shockwave across the desert below. With afterburners drinking like they’ve never drank before, he turns the jet to a south-easterly direction. Five-minutes at this velocity, will put them in the ball park for the search area.
As Tina and Wil, climb out of Higgs-Field, Carter sits in the cockpit of his still-grounded raptor, checking the best route to take south. Outside, a fuel truck fills the old girls wing-tanks. It took 30-minutes to get the aircraft airworthy. A dozen aerodynamic-panels had to be installed and the hydraulics serviced. But with his help, the paint crew had the aircraft ready to go quickly.
Finally fueled and ready to go, Carter taxies the powerful fighter jet to the beginning of the runway. Gritting his teach against the heavy acceleration to come, he pushes the balls to the wall; an ancient aviation term. Accelerating much faster than the doctor’s jet, Carter pulls nearly 5-g’s during takeoff rotation, going nearly vertical on his way to 5,000-feet. Every ounce of paint that hadn’t yet cured, peels off the fuselage like a viper shedding its skin. Extremely hot jets of plasma, shoot 50-feet out the exhaust-nozzles, as hungry engines and twin afterburners, suck greedily from the wing tanks.
After climb-out, Carter heads southeast towards the search area. When he gets to the rural boundary of Albuquerque, he accelerates to 1,600-mph. Every pane of glass directly below his flight path, is violently shattered as the powerful shockwaves spend their terrible energies. Carter cringes at the thought of all the damage he’s causing, but time is of an essence, and humanity’s future might very well hinge on how fast he can get to the search area. Fortunately, his flight path takes him over some of the least populated regions in the state, so the damage is minimal.
Dropping to an altitude of 1,000-feet, he pushes the predatory fighter to its very limits. Temperatures on the wings leading edges, soon violate design limitation, as he forces the sleek, razor-like machine through the thick atmosphere. Ten minutes out of Albuquerque, he eases back on the throttles, entering into search theater. The last thing he wants to do is overshoot the determined zealots, and miss them. That just wouldn’t do!
“Higgs-Field, this is Raptor-43 Alpha Tango; do you copy?” Carter thinks it good to check in, even though he’s been listening to the chatter all along.
“Carter, is that you?” Comes a surprised voice.
“Copy that Sanchez, it’s me.... I’m on station, 25-miles out from the field, heading southeast. Any new developments yet? I see multiple contacts on my radar; but they all have authentic transponder codes.”
Sanchez takes on the question with some bad news. “Well, nothing on the target yet, but two aircraft searching for it, collided and went down a few minutes ago. No news of any casualties yet. Keep an eye peeled Carter, there’s at least 20 aircraft out that way, looking for these guys.” Everybody assumes that males are at the controls of their target aircraft. And, more likely than not, it probably is the more aggressive of the sexes....
Just as he’s about to answer, another jet rips past, missing by only 200-feet! Not good, Carter thinks desperately! “Yeah, copy that Sanchez. I just had a near miss with somebody in a fighter. I’m heading east a few miles to the McCormick badlands. I’ll keep you informed.”
Carter figures the pilots of the helicopter, won’t remain on a straight-line flight after they gain cloud cover. Any attackers will most likely vary their approach as much as possible, while at the same time trying to not waste too much time while doing it.
“Copy that Carter, and good luck…. Oh, by the way, Wil and Tina are searching for these guys in the doctor’s jet.”
Carter grimaces, thinking about Tina being out here. “Copy that Sanchez.” He knows that wild horses couldn’t keep her away from this action, but he wishes she had evacuated to a safe distance instead. And just how did she get teamed up with Wil, he wonders. Not one to easily get distracted, he quickly puts her out of his mind, regaining his predatory focus.
Back at Higgs-Boson Airfield, only a fraction of the people evacuated to safety. Mostly it’s folks that have children living with them at the fields housing complex. Who could blame them when there’s a good chance that the day is going to get much, much hotter. However, most of the personnel knew what they might be up against when they started at Sohn Space Systems, so they take it all in anxious stride. At the heavy-lift towers, technicians scurry here and there, in a frantic yet somewhat controlled attempt, to secure the mammoth rockets in place. The heavy-lifters are within a hairs breath of viable launch readiness. There are four separate assembly towers that enclose the tall vehicles. Each, can provide limited protection in the event of catastrophe. However, if the event were to happen too close, it’s game-over for Doctor Max’s great dream. Fifty-years in the making, and perhaps snuffed-out in a flash. Along with several-thousand, dedicated lives.
Wil and Tina, zig and zag across the countryside, looking for the target. It’s an enormous search area, even for two-dozen flight crews doing their best, and Mother Nature not helping at all. The cloud-base hangs low, laden with moisture. Many times, they have to fly through heavy downpours that are falling in isolated bursts. Only to emerge from the deluge, and have
to race around the outer perimeter of the storm cell, in hopes of finding their target flying out of a blind spot on the other side. They hear the exchange between Carter and Sanchez. So, their hopes rise a few notches, from just above despair. Tina wants to contact Carter, but knows it would only cause him to lose focus.
Thirty-five-miles away from the airfield, in an area of desolate canyon-like badlands, a lone, dark blue helicopter, stealthily snakes its way toward its intended target. Hugging the deck, and slinking its way through a maze of deep canyons, the pilots follow a well-rehearsed choreograph of sneaky flying. Their forward progress is hindered somewhat by the terrain, but the man calling the shots, is determined that if they went too boldly, they had a high likelihood of failure. So, they stick to the plan, and now have only 35-miles to go, and only 5-miles until they reach the minimum-destruction boundary.
Carter sees the badlands ahead; they’re coming on fast! He pulls back on the throttles, bringing his aircraft well below the speed of sound. The jets wings swivel forward from a swept configuration, allowing the heavy fighter to remain stable. Climbing to 5,000-feet, he begins a series of S-turns right through the middle of the region. He didn’t see any other aircraft searching the area, so a feeling of confidence comes over him that maybe he’s in the right place. A few minutes after that, he comes to the end of the badlands, and the eastern edge of the search area. He has nothing to show for his efforts .... Frustration builds!
However, there’s still other lanes to mow.... Mentally dividing the region into lanes, Carter searches systematically. He swings the menacing fighter back and forth, with an airspeed that borders on stalling. Wing flaps are deployed, decreasing the stall speed and increasing stability. Still butt-kiss, to show for his efforts.... One last dip in his port wing, and he’ll be off to the next search-lane. But from below, an unnatural glint of light hits his eyes from inside one of the deeper canyons. He swings the powerful fighter onto its left wingtip, beginning a severe 11-g swiveling-dive towards the source of the glint. Wings and fuselage of the jet, deform from the tremendous forces involved during the warranty-voiding maneuver. Directly below, sneaking around a bend in the canyon at only 50-feet altitude, is his target of opportunity! Not much time!
There’s no time for analysis, beyond the description of the craft within his digital memory. There’s no time for a politically correct warning shot; hell, he didn’t even have missiles or bullets. There’s only enough time, to make a very quick and bold decision. Diving from 5,000-feet at 400-mph, will put you into the planet in about six-seconds. Carter had never killed anybody before, but now he has just moments to get his mind around it. The target is 35-miles from Higgs-Field; and everything he holds dear. The target, looms large in the canopy!
He makes a decision that will forever prove, that a sentient computer can put its own safety above that of others, especially during times of extreme stress. With the fighter jet in a power dive, Carter quickly closes with the ground! Estimating that he’s lined up with the center of the helicopters main-rotor, he leads the target, hoping his calculations are accurate. Firewalling the throttles, afterburners violently push the jet towards its final-destination! Reaching, he activates the ejection system. As the canopy explosively departs the aircraft, his life flashes before his circuits! A millisecond later, a powerful solid-fuel rocket, propels him and the entire seat-assembly violently into the slip-stream, causing blackout from the tremendous jolt. He’s a tough hombre, but not indestructible....
About the same time as when his seats parachute begins to open, American taxpayers cough up the price of a two-billion-dollar fighter jet, in an effort to thwart a wild plan of destruction. The aircraft is not exactly on the money; but close enough! The right wing puts 20-feet of its hardened carbon-composite structure into the rotating disk of blades that keeps the helicopter flying. Then, almost instantly after that contact, the jet creates a deep, fiery hole in the desert floor, with a monstrous fireball reaching for the sky; roasting the fatally wounded helicopter as it passes on the way to its own crash site. Carter hits the ground hard, while still strapped into the seat. The seats parachute needed about another 50-feet of altitude, to fully open and adequately slow him for just a bone-crushing impact.
He lays in the dirt unmoving for several minutes, before coming back to consciousness. He had never been hit so hard, as when he impacted that rocky desert floor. He’s having a hard time moving his limbs. Finally, after several long minutes, he’s fully aware of his predicament. Looking at his left arm, he notices that it’s bent outward at a 45-degree-angle, just below the elbow. ‘Intriguing’, he thinks momentarily, as he tries to move the fingers on that hand. For his efforts, he’s rewarded with chaotic twitching and sparks, as linkages and electro-polymer muscle groups have been torn asunder.
His harness still has him strapped in his seat, and that doesn’t help. Looking around, he still isn’t even sure if he made the right decision. If he miscalculated, the helicopter might still be on its deadly path. Laying there in the dirt, he mentally kicks himself for not having the bolts to kamikaze the jet, just to be sure.... Now, Tina could be in unnecessary danger, and that thought gives him determination to find out just how accurate his attempt actually was.
He can smell something burning, and he can feel intense heat behind him. With a great heave, he causes the seat assembly to roll over on its side. This increases his field of vision greatly, and from that new position he can see black smoke rising into the air from behind a tall outcropping of rock, not very far away. His hopes are given a fresh start, but he must be sure. Finally able to move his other limbs somewhat, he reaches for the release mechanism of his harness. Rolling free from the seat, he slowly gains the ability to rise and stand on wobbly legs.
Walking unsteadily to the edge of the outcropping, he can finally see what lays beyond. To his immense satisfaction, he can see a thick column of smoke rising from what can only be the second crash site. He can’t believe his eyes! Throwing his head back, he gives a victory yell that’s very animalistic for his species. The second crash site, means that he has successfully completed his mission. He puts his shame back into its little cubby-hole, and hopes to never see it rear its ugly head again. It’s a new sensation for him, and not one he wants to ever experience again.
He moves in the direction of the second crash site, with an awkwardness he has never known. Disturbed equilibrium, causes him to weave and stumble like a drunken man. Past the smoking crater, he stumbles. Stepping on pieces of smoldering wreckage, and avoiding others, he sees nothing that’s recognizable. Soon he’s able to walk beyond the rock-outcropping and witness something that brightens his day considerably.
Just 40-yards away, is the second crash site. Pieces of helicopter attest to that fact, as they lay all over the area. Big chunks of the main rotor assembly are shattered. Some, are sticking into the ground like spears. As he approaches the wreckage, he must avoid a large cone-shaped object that’s in his path. It’s blackened, but other than that, it looks like the only thing that’s still in one piece after the horrific crash.
He accurately surmises, that the object is the focal-point of everyone’s concern that day. Beyond the cone-shaped thermonuclear weapon, is a large piece of the helicopters fuselage, that had remained relatively intact. Blackened and destroyed, but not completely shredded; Carter moves towards it. As he gets closer, he can make out an arm protruding from what was once the cockpit of the aircraft. Pushing aside large chunks of smoldering debris, he’s able to gain access to the gruesome scene. Inside the twisted wreckage, he sees one body that couldn’t possibly still have life left in it. It didn’t take a medical degree to figure that out at a glance.
However, beyond that gooey mess, another body starts to stir, moaning loudly. Carter moves to the other side of the wreckage, gaining access to the miserable fool laying there face down amongst the twisted wreckage. Taking the person by the shoulder, he rolls it over and sees a male, looking back at him with a disconnected and shocke
d gaze on his face. In the injured man’s hand, is a strange looking device, that he holds onto for dear life. Carter, quickly understands the gravity of the situation when he recognizes what can only be a deadman’s switch, that’s being held so tightly in that shaking, bloodied hand. Before the half-dead person can release his grip, and unleash hell itself, Carter moves fast, grasping the man’s hand, so he couldn’t detonate the bomb.
“Well Well, my dumb-ass friend! It seems, that there are two of us today that didn’t want to die!” Carter, says smartassingly to the dazed and non-comprehending man, as he finesses the device out of his hand. Not knowing if the switch or the bomb is still functional, he didn’t take any chances, holding it firmly closed. Then, after securing the switch with a strip of torn cloth, he drags the man out of the wreckage with his one good arm, to a safer place a short distance away. He knows that government-types will want him alive, so they can garner any pertinent information the jackass might be persuaded to divulge.
Soon, he can hear aircraft approaching from what seems like all directions. The many canyons echo a cacophony of noise from more than a dozen aircraft, as jets and helicopters fly over the site. One black helicopter comes closer than the others, hovering nearby for a minute, before losing altitude and settling to the ground. Four, heavily-armed marines, exit the aircraft and cautiously approach the smoky scene with rifles at the ready. Carter, quickly becomes their main focus. With automatic rifles pointed, he’s ordered to lay on the ground.
Knowing these guys don’t fool around; Carter drops to his knees, holding his good hand above his head. The lead marine, once again orders him to his belly as they approach, but Carter isn’t going to have any of that! Instead, he calls out who he is, and who he works for; adding that he’s the one responsible for bringing down the renegade helicopter. That gets their attention, and seems to change their attitude about shooting him. Instead, they hold their ground at 20-feet, and survey the situation, while keeping Carter in their crosshairs.
“What’s that in your hand?” The marine with the most stripes, demands. “And why aren’t you in pain from that broken arm?”
Pointing with a nod of his head in the direction of the cone-shaped object, Carter inquires. “Do you see that thing over there sergeant?” The marine turns his head, focusing on the object that is Ironman. Carter notices that the marine quickly recognizes death-incarnate, as it lay just a short distance away in the dirt. “That my friend, is a thermonuclear warhead! And this thing in my hand, is a deadman’s switch! I retrieved it from the poor schmuck laying over there dying. He didn’t have the balls to go out with a bang, and I didn’t allow him time to reconsider.” He didn’t think it time to inform the sergeant about his nonhuman anatomy, even though his arm did hurt like hell!
That statement got the marines undivided attention. They cautiously take possession of the switch, replacing the bloodied piece of cloth with plastic tie-wraps. They radio for technical assistance with disarming the beast. Carter becomes the hero of the day! After a while, when the dust had settled, the sergeant comes over to him, asking. “Hey there bud, how’s the arm? They tell me that you’re some kind of robot, or something. Is that true?”
Carter has already taken off his flight suit, and is inspecting his arm which had split open near the break. He had never actually seen what’s under an android’s artificial skin, and is curious. “Yeah sergeant, it’s all too true.... I would’ve told you earlier, but I didn’t want to complicate the situation.” He admits, adding. “And from the looks of it, I’ll be needing a complete replacement of this arm.” He responds honestly, trying once again to move his fingers. More sparks.... More spasmodic twitching....
The sergeant comes closer, inspecting the inner workings of the arm. With a long whistle, he offers his opinion. “Damn Carter, you’re more complicated than I can shake a stick at! You must’ve cost a bundle!” Pointing towards the other crash site, he adds. “Well, at least you didn’t end up in that smoking hole over yonder. You better hope they don’t take that fighter jet out of your paycheck!” Pushing his helmet further back, he offers another whistle and heartfelt laugh.
Carter, tilts his head in a questioning manner, looking at the sergeant with feigned incredulity, asking innocently.... “Paycheck”? .... “What’s a paycheck?” .... They both laugh hard.... And it never felt so good, Carter thinks.
Breaking Interstellar: Android Lives Matter Page 9