by Evan Currie
“Dory Command and Control, VFA-147 ARGONAUTS Actual,” She said calmly as she worked the stick.
“Go for Dory, Argonauts Actual.”
“Patrol loop completed, No contact.”
“Roger Argonauts, proceed to waypoint Epsilon and continue as ordered.”
“Roger that Control, Argonauts out.”
Elise leveled her fighter, eyes dipping to check the fuel status briefly before she adjusted her course. Then she opened up the team comm.
“You heard the man, Argos,” She said, “Alter course heading as designated, stay tight, stay right, and keep those eyes open.”
“You got it, Cans,” her wingman replied.
Elise rolled her eyes.
Her callsign wasn’t exactly PC, or entirely welcome when she’d had it hung on her, but that was life in the Navy sometimes. It helped that, obvious jokes aside, the origin wasn’t quite as… crude as it sounded.
“Are we sure that there’s anything out here to find?”
“Observe radio discipline, Bishop,” She snapped, before sighing. “And no, we’re not, but that’s not going to keep us from making sure. Clear?”
“Clear, Ma’am,” Argo Four, Bishop, responded automatically.
The squadron was running about Mach point Eight Five, five thousand feet off the deck, with their RADAR screaming for attention as they looked for anything out of order in the water below. It didn’t really help tensions that they weren’t exactly expected to spot anything, not at that speed, despite the low altitude.
What they were doing was playing bait just in case there was something out there that was armed an inclined to take pot shots.
Slower moving P3-C and P8-As would be following in their wake, along with surface movers as soon as everyone got into position. If there was anything out here that was hostile, well the idea was to hopefully flush them out before anyone else was turned into a sitting target.
Not exactly the best way to pass a morning, but it was a living.
She was pushed into the seat of the fighter as she finished bringing it around to the correct heading. With the sun now at her back as it peeped over the horizon, she rocked her fighter slowly from side to side, craning slightly to look out over the water.
Nothing. Starting to wonder if there ever was anything out here. Maybe the system was jumping at shadows, after what happened in San Fran…
She hoped that was it.
As she rocked the fighter another time, though, a glint of sunlight reflected back off something in the water.
Elise twisted in her seat, banking to port as she looked down. Whatever it was flashed by under her without her being able to identify it, however.
“Argos, I think I saw something. Coming around.” She said as she pulled the stick over.
Elise was comforted by the pressure of the plane pushing her back into the seat.
“Roger that, Cans,” her Wingman responded, “We’re with you.”
Almost as comforted as she was by that.
She looped around easily, dropping speed down to Mach point Six Five as she aimed back to cross over the same spot.
“Crossing the location of interest in three… two… Mark!” She called, rolling to starboard and looking down. “Anyone see anything?”
“Negative Cans,” Her wingman called, “Didn’t see a thing. Sorry.”
The others called back with similar statements, one after the other, and she swore softly under the breath and off the radio.
“Alright, I’m going to come back around for one more look,” She decided, “Then we’ll move on to the next waypoint.”
“Roger that.”
Probably nothing, she thought. Just some garbage in the water, chances were. The lord knew there was enough of that. They were nowhere near the Pacific Gyre, that was West of Hawaii by a fair bit, but there was still plenty of junk floating around down there.
Completing her turn, she again approached from the East, with the sun at her back, hoping to catch the glint again.
Further reducing her speed, Elise dropped below FL40 to thirty- five hundred feet and once more started rolling her aircraft from side to side so she could look out over the water through the side of the canopy.
They roared over the spot again, not finding anything.
“Alright,” Elise said, “Nothing there. Let’s move on, Argos… next up is waypoi-”
She was cut off by her fighter suddenly screaming at her as every system came to life, warning alarms going off from all sides.
Elise didn’t even look at the instruments as she slammed the throttle forward and pulled back into a climb.
“Lock on! Scatter Argos!”
*****
CVN 81, USS Doris Miller
Morrow spun on his heel as he heard an alarm go off, and spotted people rushing across the deck. Something had just happened, that much he didn’t need anyone to tell him.
He fast marched, but didn’t break stride to run, back to the war room.
“Report.”
“Yes Admiral,” His aide said instantly, “The Argonauts were running a low altitude recon flight over sector Epsilon, when Commander Cannel spotted something from the air. She couldn’t confirm the sighting, however, on a second pass. On her third circle, just as they were about to break and move on to the next sector, someone acquired active lock. The Commander ordered her squadron to take evasive action.”
Morrow nodded in thanks, “Put up the radio.”
“Yes sir.”
They listened to the pilot’s earnest and urgent chatter, Morrow’s eyes flicking over to where the squadron plot was shown moving against the map on one of the large screens. They were moving fast and erratic, as they should in an active lock situation, but there didn’t appear to be anything else in the region with them.
“We don’t have any eyes on the source?” Morrow demanded.
“Not a thing,” his aide said, “We’re not even sure if it’s actually happening, or if there’s an instrument malfunction, but they’re not taking any chances.”
Morrow snorted, “I don’t blame them.”
His heart began to slow. Instrument malfunctions happened. Not often, but they did happen. If that was the case, they’d know shortly and move on. If not… well, that was what the squadrons on deck were winding up for.
*****
Argonaut Lead
Elise panted, pushing air with force through her lungs as she tightened all her muscles to resist the sudden application of gee forces as she twisted her fighter through a tight turn, thumb hovering over the flare and chaff release switch as alarms screamed all around her.
“Anyone see the source? Report in!”
“Negative contact!”
“I’ve got nothing!”
“No contact! Where the hell is that coming from!?”
That, Elise thought, was a damn good question.
“Maintain radio discipline,” She growled.
It just wasn’t a question that needed to be asked over the radio just then.
She checked her system again, taking a hand off the throttle momentarily to tap at the panel in annoyance. There didn’t seem to be any fault in her computer, but there wasn’t anything they could see that would be the source for the lock on warning either.
A glance at the altimeter showed that she was passing FL100 and climbing, the turbines of the F35 screaming in her ears right alongside the warning.
Still no sign.
“I think it’s a system err-”
Her wingman’s transmission was cut off abruptly, without warning.
“Argo Two, come in. Argo Two! Sandy! Sandy!” Elise twisted in her seat, looking out over her shoulder.
All she saw was a plume of smoke.
*****
Chapter 10
Everglades
The Marines were dragged on board the skiff, waterlogged armor and kit taking up every bit of space available and some that technically wasn’t. They got everyone out of the marsh, tho
ugh, as the skiff floated closer to the downed chopper.
“Anyone left in there?” Ben asked grimly, eyes on the fallen bird.
“No one living,” the Marine corps Sergeant grunted.
Ben nodded in understanding, “You have your radios? Anyone? I hate to leave Marines in the field, but we don’t have room for bodies on this heap.”
“It was all fried in the pulse, or the crash, or the water…”
“Mine too,” Sandra said from where she was climbing back into the pilot seat of the skiff. “I’m open to options, but frankly I doubt there’s much more we can do here.”
Ben was about to say something, only to stop and turn as he heard a series of popping sounds in the distance.
“Gun shots?” He asked, frowning, finding himself uncertain exactly where it came from.
The Marine Sergeant nodded, climbing to his feet and looking north, “I think it was from up that way. Hunters?”
Sandra snorted. “Poachers more likely, but no, there’s a vacation lodge up that way. No poachers or hunters for that matter, would be screwing around that close to the lodge. They’ll report the shots, get the rangers out here.”
“Scourge…” Ben whispered, lips curling up.
“Excuse me?” the Sergeant looked at him, really looking at him closely, and clearly taking in the fatigues he was wearing. “Who are you, and what the hell are you wearing? I’ve never seen fatigues like those.”
“Later,” Ben growled, crawling back over a couple protesting Marines to fetch his pack. He pulled a device out and unfolded it, sliding his thumbs along the smooth material as it came to life. “We have a problem. A big one.”
“Buddy,” one of the Marine corporals snorted, “We just lost two friends and rode a helo into the goddamn swamp. Big problem doesn’t even start to cover this day.”
“How does extinction level event sound to you, Corporal?” Ben asked sarcastically. “We need to go North.”
He glanced at the Marines, frowning.
“Where are your weapons?”
Enough of them pointed to the sunken chopper to give him an idea.
“Well… shit.”
The Sergeant was still staring at him, frowning.
“Are you the guy who was in that damn hamster ball that fell from the sky?”
*****
Kirth found himself glaring at the rather large man with Asian features who’d helped pull them out of the drink. Something… actually, lots of somethings, about him were off.
His fatigues were strange, a sheen on them that reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place but were clearly like no other fatigues he’d ever seen, even including the high-end stuff private contractors often got. His gear was way too damn high end for any military service on the planet and looked strange even in that context.
And, of course, he was throwing around words like ‘extinction level event’ far too easily for Kirth’s comfort.
His hand was twitching toward his 1911, though he was trying really hard not to jump to conclusions.
“Hamster ball?” The big guy asked, looking puzzled, like he genuinely had no idea what the hell that was referring to.
Kirth snapped his hand out, pointing back the way they’d come, “Don’t fuck with me. I don’t care what you call it, were you the guy in that damn thing that fell out of the sky?”
“Fell is a harsh term,” The big guy shrugged. “It was really more of a controlled landing.”
The skiff’s pilot shorted with laughter, causing them all to turn to look at her.
“I saw the water spout from impact from three miles away,” She laughed at him. “If that’s controlled, I don’t want to see uncontrolled.”
Kirsh returned his focus to the big guy who simply pointed to the fires.
“That,” He said simply, “That is uncontrolled. Now, if we’re done talking in circles, we have a big problem.”
Kirsh now had a hand on his 1911, eyes still narrowed as he tried to get the measure of the man he was facing.
“Look, buddy…” He started, only to be cut off.
“Corporal.”
“Excuse me?”
“Corporal,” The big guy ground out through clenched teeth. “Corporal Benjamin Wachun, Allied Realms Marine Corps. And Sergeant, I don’t care if you are a Sergeant, if you pull that pistol, I’ll feed it to you.”
Kirth stiffened, drawing himself up as he felt his squad shift to get to their feet as well. If this prick thought he could pull that level of bullshit intimidation on him, he had another thing coming.
Wachun leaned in slightly, fists starting to ball up as Kirth carefully shifted his stance to put his right foot slightly forward. The tension between them neared the breaking point…
Then a single shot roared from just feet away, nearly causing both of them to jump right out of the damn boat.
“If you assholes start a goddamned dick measuring contest on my skiff and get us all dropped back in this swamp,” The woman standing at the pilot’s seat snarled as she levered another round into her rifle. “I swear to God, I’ll put a bullet in you and leave you all to the gators.”
Kirth slowly straightened from his involuntary crouch, noting that Wachun was practically mirroring him as they both looked at the armed and pissed off woman with some trepidation.
“Fair enough,” Wachun spoke first. “We can, uh… wait until we’re back on solid land to worry about this, right Sergeant?”
“Right you are, Corporal. Right you are.”
Kirth was a Marine, and that meant he was willing to do a lot of crazy stuff. Tangle with a pissed off civilian armed with a rifle while making an actually decent point about their current circumstances, well that wasn’t crazy. It was stupid. He could wait until they were on dry land.
They all slowly sat back down as she stood over them, until finally she nodded and slipped the rifle back into the sheath that was secured by the pilot’s seat.
“That’s better. Name’s Sandra, by the way,” She said, looking them over, “This is my skiff, and I’ve been working these waters for the last three years of my doctorate, so I’d appreciate it if you all would stop dropping shit in my glades!”
“Yes Ma’am,” Kirth said. “Sorry about that ma’am.”
“What he said,” Ben responded with a nod of his head toward the Marine Sergeant.
“Good,” She breathed out, sitting back down. “Now where the hell am I dropping you all off?”
The Marines shifted uneasily, looking at each other as they tried to figure out a safe answer to that one.
Ben finally sighed, clearing his throat, “North, please. That Lodge you mentioned sounds like a good place to start.”
“Fine,” Sandra grumbled, reaching for the throttle before she paused and glared at him suspiciously, “Wait a minute… start what exactly?”
“Please, just trust me, take us North.”
She sighed but nodded and started the engine again. In a few moments they were cruising North, away from the wreckage of the chopper that had sunk into the soft mud under the marshy water.
Kirth leaned closer to Ben for a moment. “Does she realize that she’s driving this thing toward gunfire?”
“I don’t know,” Ben admitted, “and I’m not going to be the one to remind her.”
“Amen to that,” another of the Marines mumbled in agreement.
*****
Ben braced himself in the front of the skiff, watching the passing wetlands flash by as they sped North, thinking about the situation he had found himself in. He knew that soon enough he’d have to deal with the officials in this region, which was going to be a pain in the ass at the very best.
Worst case, well he didn’t want to think about that too hard.
Before that, however, it seemed like the scourge had indeed made it to the surface of the planet. That was a big ass problem, and not just because he was currently sharing the world with them.
He felt more than watched as the Marine Sergeant shi
fted over beside him, the other’s eyes pointedly not looking at him as they both scanned the cypress trees and long grass as they moved on through the area.
“Name’s Kirth,” The Sergeant said.
“Sergeant,” Ben acknowledged the man with a nod. “Sorry, but those hash marks are all the name I need for you.”
Kirth snorted. “You sound like a Marine, I’ll give you that.”
“Been one for eighteen years.”
Kirth looked over at him sharply, eyes narrowing again, but said nothing to that.
Instead he just looked back out over the passing swamp. “Don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what this is all about?”
Ben snorted, the sound whipping away in the wind that was rushing past them both.
“Sergeant, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Yeah,” Kirth nodded, “I’m getting that vibe. Unfortunately, it doesn’t change the fact that I need to know right now.”
Ben considered that, sighing softly. The Marine was probably right, but that didn’t mean he knew how to explain any of it. Pre-contact cultures didn’t generally have the context needed to understand half of the stuff that a school child in the Realms learned as a matter of fact.
He was saved from having to answer immediately by Sandra calling out from behind him.
“That’s the dock ahead for the Lodge! Hold on, I’m going to put this thing up on the ground!”
The men braced themselves as the skiff hit the wet grass at the edge of the marsh and pushed itself up on the bank a fair distance. Ben jumped clear as soon as the skiff slowed, hand dropping to his sidearm as he looked uneasily around.
The Marines followed suit, a little less obvious ill at ease than he was, but Ben ignored that. They had no idea what they were dealing with if he was right.
The engine of the skiff sputtered down as Sandra killed it, then dropped down from the seat. She paused to retrieve her rifle, now feeling like it was just going to be one of those days, then she walked over to the side and jumped off to the bank before looking around.
“Where is everyone?” She mumbled. “There’s lots of cars over there, you’d think the guests would be out rubbernecking at the fire?”
