The Alliance
Book One
SHIP’S LOG
by
Lawrence P. White
www.spiritofempire.com
SHIP’S LOG
(The Alliance, Book One)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Copyright © 2019 by Lawrence P. White
Published by Lawrence P. White
First Edition February 2019
Cover design by Creative Publishing Book Design
www.creativepublishingdesign.com
For more information, email Lawrence P. White at
[email protected]
or visit
www.spiritofempire.com
The Alliance series
Ship’s Log
Conception
Genesis
Other books by Lawrence P. White
The Spirit of Empire series
Last of the Chosen
Knights of the Chosen
Voice of the Chosen
Sky Knights
Wisdom of the Chosen
Havlock
Chapter One
Greg lifted the tattered, camouflage baseball cap from his head and ran a hand through his hair. Once jet black, that hair had begun to show the first signs of gray. His wide-set, blue eyes kept up an unending search of the sky and terrain below, a basic ingrained habit of every pilot, though today those eyes glimmered in satisfaction. Flying always energized him, and packaging it into a week of wilderness fishing was pure heaven. His family’s annual vacation had, following the death of his parents, blossomed into a tradition shared with his sister and her husband. Civilization, jobs, crowds, mortgages, and all the rest were forgotten for this one week each year, and this particular morning could not be more perfect for flying a floatplane.
Of course, it’s always when everything is going really well that things fall apart, and today proved to be no exception.
Flash! His eyes drew instinctively to the right. Squinting, he discovered a fast-moving jet fighter turning toward him from the east at low altitude. His forehead creased as he held out a hand to shield his eyes from the sun for a better look.
What in the world is a jet fighter doing around here, he wondered? He shook his chart open one-handed, keeping the fighter in view as he did so. Stealing quick glances at the chart, he searched for symbols outlining a restricted area he might have missed during his flight planning, but to his relief there were none. He wasn’t somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.
Flash! again. This time he saw movement a couple of miles behind the plane. They must be doing Mach 2 he thought, growing excited. This could be interesting. The first plane flashed by under his nose, then turned north in a tight, climbing turn. It was large and extremely agile, but it had almost no wing or tail surfaces, just stubs. It looked a little like a larger-than-life SR-71 Blackbird, the Air Force’s old spy plane. But wait a minute, he thought curiously, the SR-71 had been retired years ago. You don’t display operational models at the Smithsonian, do you? And it was flying under him?
Flash! again. The flash drew his eyes to the second plane, then another flash brought them back to the first. It was still out in front of him and climbing steeply, but now a halo surrounded it. The halo disappeared, and he blinked, questioning his vision. The plane continued its climb as if nothing unusual had happened.
What’s going on here, he wondered? Maybe a training exercise? He set the map aside and grasped the throttle in case he had to maneuver out of their way. The jet suddenly shot straight up in a steep climb, flipped over on its back, and pointed at the second craft. Flash! This time the second craft glowed momentarily with a halo, but now it was closer, and he gasped.
A UFO! What else could it be? Disk-shaped, just like the stories. His mouth hung open in awe for a moment, but only a moment. His jaw closed firmly as his gaze narrowed, studying the UFO. Up, down, Flash! Speed up, stop . . . stop? It was stopped in mid-air? Sure enough, the UFO held stationary for an instant, then Flash! and it sprinted after the fighter again.
The fighter was now on the deck out in front, headed directly toward the flying saucer. The UFO came to another abrupt stop and Flash! Pieces flew off the fighter. It lost control for a moment, then it continued on in a series of impossibly jerky maneuvers, fast, slow, tight turn, Flash!
The flashes were weapons. A hard life had forced him to accept reality as he saw it, not as he wished it would be. He did not like this new reality, but he had no choice but to accept the fact that these guys were fighting.
Old, almost forgotten, clandestine fighting instincts surfaced. Greg had spent seven years in the army as a special operations officer, and he had seen more action than most, so he knew fighting. But he did not know this kind of fighting. His lips firmed as he tore his eyes from the two craft and searched the ground below. He had options, but not great options. He was in a float plane, so he could not exactly run away at high speed, and there were no hills or valleys out here for hiding. He could continue floating along on a steady course and hope they wouldn’t see him, or he could hit the deck and hide as close to the trees as possible. In a red and white plane. Sure. As a last resort, he could land on one of the many lakes below and tie up under some trees, but that was an option that closed off all others. Once on the water, he was trapped. He didn’t like trapped.
He started a shallow descent toward the trees far below. He would have more options down low than up here where he was a sitting duck. He guided the plane without conscious effort while gazing in awe at the two craft sprinting all over the sky in the distance. The UFO was definitely the aggressor. The fighter tended to engage only when necessary, whereas the UFO kept up a continual barrage of flashes at the fighter.
Minutes passed. He was abruptly forced back to the real world when the fighter streaked close by overhead as the UFO shot across in front of him at a higher altitude. They had to know he was here now. In fact, it almost seemed like the fighter was purposely staying near him.
He let his hands guide the plane away while his mind filtered through the same options he had considered earlier, but none of them felt right. He had always preferred winning over running, and this was his world. Could he turn this into an opportunity? After all, there was a real UFO out here. He focused on that thought and mulled it over. He was helpless in his small plane, but he liked the idea of staying and learning more about the UFO. And the fighter had been hit. Could that be why it was staying in his vicinity?
His lips firmed in resolution. He had experienced true horrors during his fighting in the Middle East and Africa. The starry-eyed lieutenant who had come out of training with such an amazing repertoire of skills had metamorphosed into a sober, practical executive who fought hard to preserve innocent lives and the lives of his men. Multiple wounds had forced him to leave that behind fifteen years earlier, but he had not forgotten the lessons he had learned. He needed a plan.
Searching the sky, he turned back toward the flashing ships as his mind considered. The first thing he had to do was accept the fact that the UFO was here. It didn’t matter if he liked the idea or not. He would deal with the whys and wherefores later. Okay, there was one UFO, almost certainly alien in origin, engaged in a fight with a jet fighter.
His focus slipped momentarily as the word alien thrust its way back into his thoughts, and he paused to take a deep breath. Why him? Was he going to become one of those kooks interviewed on TV who believed in flying saucers? He fought aga
inst the concept, but the reality stared him in the face.
Why were they fighting? He paused again, but watching them provided no clues. Could both ships be alien? Each of them fought with energy weapons. Also, each of them defended themselves with shields that appeared to dissipate the energy of the lasers, at least most of the time. The United States was developing energy weapons, but were they operational? He had no idea. Did we have shields? He didn’t think so, but again, who really knew what our scientists were working on?
The fighting was not a game. The fighter had already been damaged at least once—he had seen the pieces fly off with his own eyes—and the UFO was definitely outmaneuvering it. The UFO could start and stop in mid-air, turn on a dime, even reverse itself. That technology was not ours, he knew, nor was it from anywhere else on Earth. He had no choice but to accept the evidence.
How could anything maneuver like that? Both ships sprinted across the horizon and almost disappeared to the north. A moment later they flashed back toward him, passing off his right wing about a mile away. He turned to keep them in view, then immediately changed his mind as the fighter turned sharply toward him. It turned out to be a feint—the fighter raced off to the east with the UFO in pursuit. Their maneuvers were beyond fantastic. Rules governing momentum just plain did not apply to the UFO. Right angle turns, instant acceleration in any direction, its motion was acceptable only because it was a UFO. They were supposed to be able to do that, weren’t they?
He had been considering it the unfriendly aggressor, if only because it was a UFO, but the more he observed of the fighter, the more he questioned that assumption. It was no slouch either. It far outclassed anything he had ever seen. Apparently hypersonic, it managed to fly much slower than its stubby wings should allow, and the design was all wrong. Its wings were just nubs on the tail, and its fuselage, while sleek, was shaped oddly, resembling a whale more than a plane. Maybe it was a lifting body? Several high-speed aircraft used lifting bodies, but they also had some semblance of wings. On the other hand, who knew what our military was testing? The latest fighter technology—stealthy, powerful, and highly maneuverable—came to mind, but this craft did not resemble the oddly angled shapes and faceted surfaces of stealth technology.
He decided to stay, even if it was just to observe. After all, how often did an opportunity like this come along? He pulled his cell phone from a pocket and activated the camera. He clicked several pictures, then recorded a video of the two craft. His phone had the latest camera technology and would provide decent detail, but he really wanted someone out here with a better camera.
It was time to call for reinforcements.
The two craft were still dancing across the sky, clearly too engrossed with each other to threaten him. He quickly tuned his radio and picked up the microphone, excited.
“International Falls Radio, Cessna 36Uniform . . .”
Oh, no! The UFO turned right toward him. He choked in alarm. The UFO bore straight down on him. A head-on collision, no time to evade, his mind clamored. The windshield filled with the monstrous shape. At the last moment, he threw his arms up in front of his face and tensed every muscle in his body, cursing.
* * * * *
Time passed, how much he did not know or care. Drained, his senses reeled. Was he still alive? He had felt no impact, heard nothing. When he opened his eyes, he saw only trees. He grasped the yoke weakly and pulled back to gain altitude as he pushed the throttle to its forward stop, though he was really staring numbly at everything and seeing nothing. What had happened?
He continued a slow climb, his body limp. The UFO was gone . . . no, there it was racing back toward the fighter. He struggled against shock, and awareness that he was alive took time to return, but when it did, anger followed close on its heels. The UFO had tried to scare him. And succeeded, he admitted grudgingly, but it hadn’t frightened him off, not by a long shot. With mounting anger, he reeled in the microphone from where he had flung it across the cockpit and continued climbing higher.
He keyed the microphone again. “International Falls . . .” No! Here it comes again!
He dove for the trees. The UFO again swelled viciously in the windshield. Consumed with anger this time, he clenched his jaw and continued diving straight ahead into the path of the UFO.
It was over in an instant. When he was sure it was too late, that collision was unavoidable, the UFO made an abrupt right-angle turn and disappeared. He flew into its wake moments later and tossed violently out of control. The little remaining altitude he had quickly disappeared. Greg pulled back on the yoke, but the turbulence combined with his downward momentum pressed him lower and lower toward the trees. He held on grimly as his floats slapped through the tops of branches, then the plane leveled off. His hand was doing its best to push the throttle past its stop, and he focused on coaxing every ounce of performance he could from the plane as it lurched with impact after impact. Finally, with a last shrug, the forest released them, and they staggered up a few feet.
Barely skimming the treetops, he held his breath waiting for the stall, using all the skill at his disposal to milk the plane along. It took forever as each tree became another obstacle to be cleared until, all of a sudden, he was in the clear and safely inching his way back up to safety.
What have I gotten into, he wondered as he started breathing again?
He thought the two craft had left, but a short time later he found them going at it again some miles to the east. Lasers flashed viciously, sometimes simultaneously. Shields constantly winked on and off. He shook uncontrollably, not sure if it was from fear or anger. Why wasn’t he dead? Why didn’t the UFO simply shoot him down?
This was not his first bout with danger, not by a long shot. His last had been 15 years ago. Then, the enemy had essentially blown him up, but the wounds that had forced him out of the military had set him on a more pleasant path, and he no longer begrudged the life changes that had been forced on him. He had learned to consider every new day of life a gift.
But this! He was right back in the thick of it, without team members to back him up, and he could not defend himself against a flying saucer.
Despite his outrage at the UFO, he knew he could not choose sides in this engagement. Heck, he didn’t even know why they were fighting. It didn’t really matter since he couldn’t affect the outcome, but he wished he knew more. Something he did know with absolute certainty, though, was that either of them could destroy him in a heartbeat. One hit from a laser and he would be just a pile of slag falling to earth, if not vaporized on the spot. Why hadn’t he been killed already, he wondered again? The UFO seemed to be trying to scare him off. Should he take the hint and go hide on a lake?
No! This was his world, and if he wanted to get the Air Force up here, he would.
His plane was climbing as fast as it could, but that was only 600 feet per minute. Too slow! He knew enough about jet fighters to know that they had limited time aloft. This battle surely could not last much longer. There had been no response to his radio calls, which meant he needed more altitude to increase the range of the transmitter. He needed a few more minutes of steady climbing before his next attempt.
At least they were leaving him alone.
Out of immediate danger now, his adrenaline high began to slow. Probably used it all up he thought, he decided, nodding to himself. In the distance, the deadly combat continued. What a strain it must be on the pilots. They were all over the sky. For some reason, they were staying at a relatively low altitude. Were they trying to avoid radar?
It was time to try the radio again. The two craft were hard to see in the sun, but he had a good ten miles of safety this time. Clearly, the UFO did not want him transmitting, so he would keep the call as brief as he could.
“International Falls Radio, Cessna 36Uniform, over.”
“Cessna 36Uniform, International Falls Radio, go ahead,” came back a bored voice.
“International Falls Radio, Cessna ”
Here it comes a
gain! He dove in a steep left turn as the UFO blotted out the sun, nearly hit him, then disappeared. Again, the violent tossing around in its wake. Would the plane hold together? Struggling with the controls, he finally escaped the turbulence and continued heading for the ground at a steep angle.
He looked to the east and saw the fighter plane streaking northwest, but the UFO was nowhere in sight. He glanced to his left . . . and froze. There it was, right behind his left wing, motionless, ominous. A burnished crescent of metal blotted out the sky, seeming ready to touch his plane. He turned sharply away, still going down. He glanced over his left shoulder. Still there! Silent, no moving parts that he could see, it was glued to his wing.
Flash! He pulled back on the yoke, blinded. Did it get me? Am I melted? His mind screamed stupid thoughts as he felt all over his body. Everything seemed to be in place. His hand found the yoke and he grasped it firmly, but he could not see, and he had no idea which way to maneuver.
His peripheral vision gradually returned, though his vision remained filled with black spots. Through them, he searched the sky and decided he was alone again. The plane seemed to be okay, at least the engine was pulling strongly, and the controls felt normal. Surely the UFO had not missed. Why was he still in one piece?
When his vision cleared, he checked out the plane. The cabin was a mess. Charts, clothes, and fishing gear were strewn all over the back seat and luggage compartment.
At least they had not been vaporized he decided with a grim set to his jaw.
He reeled in the microphone from where it lay on the floor. After a brief search, he found the UFO several miles to the east. He squinted thoughtfully at it, then raised his fist toward it, shaking the microphone in his grasp. He willed his thoughts across the distance separating them with a feral grin on his face. “Okay, buddy,” he said grimly. “I got your message, but you made a mistake. Knowledge can also be a weapon. I know you’re not going to kill me. I was unarmed, but not any longer.”
Ship's Log Page 1
