Then I sent a file to Bart’s touch screen, thinking, I just wish he was more than just a friend. I really do! It would make things so much easier.
“If you’ll touch the blinking light bar, it’ll say, FILE WAITING. Open it up.” I whispered in a low voice, still caught up in the heat of the moment.
God, I wish I could reach over and kiss you right now.
Bart did so and he found a whole collage of photos I took while we were in motion.
Like a jetliner, the vista below was a splattering of streaky white clouds and green patches of land—overlapping with the blue quietness of the ocean beneath us.
And stretched on forever.
Heaven never looked so good from where I sat—despite my own personal hells and other problems.
“Thank you.” He said. “I will treasure this for as long as I draw breath.”
My heart filled with joy at hearing those words. They were better than anything I could think of.
And more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
USS Goliath.
“Impressive. Very impressive.” Commander Gregory Tillman was saying as he reviewed the recent engagement between the unknown contact and the squadron of F-15Cs.
Under normal circumstances, only four would’ve been sent to ascertain the situation, but based on the latest data available—?
It was clear that more jet fighters were needed for this little operation..
“I didn’t know such a craft like this existed.”
“It doesn’t.” Conrad was saying out the corner seat provided to him—next to the radar technician.
Puzzlement carried over to the other man’s face. “I…don’t understand.”
Conrad pointed up to one of the center screens dotting the wall and had the radar tech show him a real-time image taken by one of the roving military satellites orbiting around Earth.
All anyone could see was just a speck, but that was it. No matter how many times they refocused the imaging systems, the Peacemaker refused to play along.
“See how it toys with us, Commander? It’s advanced counter-measures are still at work—denying us the overall prize.”
“But…how? I was told that the Goliath had the most advanced imaging and radar systems on the planet! It should—by all accounts—be able to break through any stealth or specially shielded radar imaging pickups there is!”
Conrad could feel the anger coming off the decorated 20-year-old Navy vet.
“Calm yourself, kind sir. This is simply something we never thought would be possible—under the current course of circumstances. However, it doesn’t mean that we don’t have aces up our own sleeves.”
“Like what?”
“Am I correct in assuming that your attack squadron has some of the new high-altitude Ranger-series attack drones? The ones designed to operate above 40,000 feet?”
“We have them, yes. But why?”
“I want you to launch them in six minutes.”
“For what purpose?”
“Purpose?” Conrad echoed. “Why…to stir up the hornet’s nest—as it were. I want the Queen Bee to show herself.”
“You mean…” the man mulled, then pointed at the center screen. “That?”
“Yes…that.” Conrad reacted sarcastically. “I want to you to send some of your toys out to have a little fun.”
“But they are heavily armed, sir. We don’t launch them unless we ourselves are under attack, or we are at war.”
“But they haven’t been field tested, have they?” The man inquired with a great level of patience in his voice. “Not since they were added to this boat’s compliment of counter-measures and defense systems?”
“No.”
Conrad smiled. “Then wouldn’t it be a good time to start now? You have a perfect target upon which to throw your ship’s might against. And…? A perfect excuse—in case anyone asks.”
The commander considered the man’s words.
“If I do this…?” He started off, but Conrad quickly jumped into the fray and cut him off.
“If you do it? My dear captain, it is much too late to start second-guessing yourself or your squadron’s abilities.”
“I just don’t want to be connected in any way to your little operation.”
Conrad laughed this time. Laughed long and hard. When he was finished, he had to get some water to soothe his parched throat.
“If we are successful, commander—there won’t be anyone around to care. Now launch the drones.”
Tillman looked at his first officer, Lieutenant Kyle Beckingsworth, and nodded.
“Do it.”
The other man nodded to the weapons’ officer.
“Launch the drones, Ensign.” He ordered crisply.
The woman manning her station acknowledged by pressing a couple of buttons and throwing a few switches.
“Drones away.” She said.
At the center screen, there were a small number of blue dots spreading out from a computerized icon of the Goliath.
At the high middle section of the screen was the blinking red, white, and yellow dot which represented the Peacemaker.
It wouldn’t be long before they caught up.
***
So caught up in my own daydreams, I almost missed the TDI (Threat Direction Indicator) light up right in my face—as the computer picked up a dozen plus incomings coming up ahead of us—warning me of approaching trouble.
“Now what?” I said out loud—wishing that I could kill whomever kept interrupting my personal time.
A quick check of all systems didn’t reveal any problems. We were still cruising along at Mach 4 at 70,000 feet and fast approaching Long Island.
Our current course would take it right down the middle, but high enough so that we wouldn’t be disturbing anyone down below.
Even if we were going to be kicking it across restricted US airspace.
“Is it those F-15s again?” Bart asked from behind me. “They just don’t give up—do they?”
I checked the IFF database and waited for the computer to cycle through a number of profiles—200 a second—before it settled upon a very strangely shaped reconnaissance drone of unknown design.
“An 8-ball with two sets of wings?” I muttered to myself. That’s really bizarre! Then to Bart, I said, “No. Not the F-15s. Um…something else.”
“What?”
“I dunno. The IFF scan says that they are drones of some kind. But nothing I recognize, and neither does the computer.”
“What does it look it?” My prince wanted to know.
“Like an 8-ball from a pool table. But with one set of wings on top and bottom.” I explained to him and had his screen show him a picture.
“That…is…decisively odd. What does it do—exactly?”
A speed profile popped up next to the picture of the drone and I instantly did a double-take.
No…fucking…way!
I checked again, but the system kept popping up the same numbers.
I looked at our altimeter and then the numbers again.
“You aren’t going to believe this, Bart, but the computer profile indicates that these drones can exceed Mach 3.”
“That’s impossible!” He exclaimed in disbelief. “No military drone can do that!”
“Looks like someone’s been tinkering in their garage lately,” I told him mirthlessly. “Makes you wonder what else they can do?”
“I don’t want to bloody find out.” The teen complained. “We’ve had enough surprises to last one day.”
I nodded wholeheartedly. Things could be going a lot smoother if we didn’t have something trying to constantly bite us in the ass every waking second.
I kept an eye on the incomings on the forward screen, but nothing changed for the next few minutes or so.
“We’re approaching the Big Apple, your Highness. Eight minutes till we’re on top of Long Island.”
“Is anyone going to notice us?”
I shook my head. “
I highly doubt it. No jets fly this high. Seven minutes.”
And that’s when the numbers changed.
I blinked.
“That…can’t…be—!” I yelled fearfully.
“What now?”
The TDI was showing a new change in altitude.
“No way, no way, no…way!” And jerked the stick hard left—putting my plane into a slanted dive.
I didn’t like doing this, but those things…
“They’re climbing rapidly!” I bellowed out. “They’ll be reaching us in the next three minutes!”
Bart checked our altitude—seeing how fast we were shedding height in exchange for an extra burst in speed.
“But, but, but…!” He stammered. “We were at 70,000!”
I kept our nose pointed down as we slewed sharply to the left. Our new course would carry us well past Long Island and park us right above the skies of lower New York and quite possibly New Jersey as well.
“Tell that to the drones now chasing us. They just suddenly climbed to 40,000 feet and were still accelerating! At Mach 3.1!”
“So why are we dropping like a rock?!” Bart hollered back to me.
“I feel safer if we were at lower altitudes! Don’t worry—we’re still going to be all right!”
“That’s what you said when we left Vermont! And look where that got us!” Bart reminded me harshly.
I couldn’t help but agree with him, but I literally had no time to argue about semantics and everything else under the sun.
Not if we wanted to stay alive for the next few minutes or so.
“Not now, Bart! We gotta get out of range of these drones!” I scolded back, while the TDI was blaring warnings in my face.
“76 seconds till contact!” I yelled, putting my hand on the engine-thrust control lever. I had a mind to reduce our speed, but I figured that if we just blew right by…?
“Hold on! This one’s gonna be close!” The TDI painted the front view screen with a number of incoming red targets—each bracketed—each one showing their direction and speed.
We were charging right for it—clocking in at Mach 4 at 42,000 feet—and I was too busy paying attention to what was ahead of me to notice anything else.
Then a new sound rang throughout the cockpit and my blood turned to complete ice that very second.
“Weapons lock???” I screeched in astonishment—while the TDI markers suddenly changed to WEAPONS LOCK on all dozen plus targets.
“What? What? What?” Bart chirped off in succession—while I tried to determine just what the hell those things were locking on against us.
The computer’s IFF profile zeroed in on the drone’s right and left side—showing then popped open with missiles of a very familiar type.
HAMMERHEADS??? My mind exploded in abject fear. But they weren’t of the type I was carrying.
These were Mark 2s! Second-generation designs!
UNLIMITED RANGE. The computer kept flashing at me. UNLIMITED RANGE.
I know! I know! I thought back rapidly.
“Bart! Ready the Chasers!” I hollered back. “Be quick about it We’ve only got seconds before they launch their ordinance at us!”
The teen called up the countermeasures and selected ’CHASERS’ on the left-hand side of the screen.
“Got it! Chasers online!”
“Fire!”
Bart did so—just as the drones launched a full spread of missiles at us.
Just inside the engine manifolds, new compartments opened up and basketball-sized globes jettisoned out in two never ending streams for five seconds.
Their smaller engine pods engaged and they rose up around us like a protective cloud of birds and darted off in all sorts of directions—their bodies glowing yellow and orange at the same time.
The drones launched their missiles at us a second after I dumped my Chasers, but I didn’t have time to debate how the fuck I was going to get out of this one in one piece.
I just had to try.
I took the Peacemaker right down the middle of the whole flock of incoming ordinance—angling my jet so that I would provide a much smaller profile than the Chasers were at the moment.
It didn’t take some of the Hammerheads long to connect with their new targets.
Explosions of all different types dotted the skyline above my head as I twisted and turned my ship in a vain effort to avoid being picked off prematurely by what was flying into my face.
But the Hammerheads were no less agile as they were persistent in nailing me. They danced as well as I did—their guidance systems locked onto my jet’s profile from the rear.
“Aft Arc Cannons!” I called back. “Fire when ready!”
Bart didn’t have to ask twice where the weapons panel on the screen was.
He touched what was there and a button on the control stick in front of him started flashing.
Grabbing hold, he pressed down hard on the button. A target reticule appeared right before him and he locked onto to the closest missile chasing them—blinking red at tandem.
SINGLE SHOT OR SPREAD? The computer asked.
Bart touched the first option.
Four panels slid open on the back of the jet—allowing twin-muzzles to shift and lock onto the closest target available.
Bart pressed down on the button in question—waiting to see what would happen next.
In just a few moments time, five-second bursts chewed their way through the skies—lighting up on their designated flight paths and creating an instant kill zone for the incoming Hammerheads.
Bart was surprised that he managed to get as many as a half-dozen of the missiles with the first several shots, while stray rounds spun out into the wide open skies like sparks.
But there was still more than I desired.
“Got some of them!” He reported excitedly. “But the rest are making targeting more difficult!”
“Go for the Spread Shot!” I told him. “Clear my six!”
CHAPTER TWENTY.
USS Goliath.
“Hmm…” Conrad murmured—finding that the target in question a great deal pricklier than he first imagined.
The drones had only expended half their ordinance and were keeping at a good distance from the Peacemaker while they were at it.
“Not bad, not bad at all…” He said to no one in particular—as the other officers in the CIC watched the battle unfold on the screens.
Watching the jet take out some of their pursuers with well-placed shots from their weapons.
“Under normal circumstances,” the captain was saying, “the enemy wouldn’t survive the first missile salvo…”
Then a phone rang somewhere in the CIC and an enlisted tech went to answer it.
“But this isn’t a normal set of circumstances, now is it, commander, sir?” Conrad said in a soft voice—just as the man came back and talked to Tillman in a whisper.
Gregory nodded and looked at Conrad.
“Are you sure that we have to continue to do this? The Air Force is already having my ass for breakfast over launching the drones in restricted air space. Now they want to know what the hell is going on!”
“Tell them that it’s a test of your ship’s defenses and that your conducting war games over New York in the event of a future terror attack.” Conrad explained rather easily. “That’s usually how you people do things right—scare the populace with false flag operations and fake terror alerts?”
The commander had a look like he was about to spit nails or have the man thrown in the ship’s brig for insubordination.
Either option sounded pretty lucrative at the moment.
But now wasn’t the time for it.
“You better not be wrong, mister.” Tillman finally said.
Conrad shrugged innocently.
“When haven’t I?”
No sooner had I said that, did the Peacemaker get rocked by a near hit—throwing us both forward and me losing control of my baby for just a second.
“Bart! Hur
ry!” I yelled. “Those missiles are getting too smart for their own good! I don‘t know how long I can hold them off!”
“Right!” Bart acknowledged sheepishly and went to work. “Spread Shot engaged!” He hit the pad and the targeting reticule in his helmet locked onto every missile within range.
The prince hit the trigger—causing a large number of panels to slid back everywhere in sequence—all over the plane—with dozens of mini-gun ports showing themselves to both the battle and the elements themselves.
Seconds later, a hail of murderous fire erupted from every point on the plane—reaching out to ensnare every missile there was dogging them and even a few that went on their merry little ways.
Bart flipped up his visor-shield.
“Whew! That was pretty awesome!”
You would think, I thought to myself, trying to get a bead on those drones which were the cause of all of this.
Not too mention whomever launched them.
I kept scanning the area off Nova Scotia, but I kept finding nothing.
Somebody obviously was going to great lengths to conceal their identity.
Then I got careless.
The drones reformed their defense parameter and launched their remaining missiles at me.
And the shit storm started all over again.
Except I didn’t have time to play Pin the Tail on my jet.
“Bart?” I asked quickly.
“Yes?”
“Remember when I said about the Shadow Fire option?”
“You said not to push it.”
“Well…that’s changed.” I told him—watching as the missiles came within range again.
So many…
“What should I do?”
“Access the countermeasures like you did before and punch it in. The jet will do the rest.” I assured him, before moving my hand to the engine-thrust control lever.
And slowed us down gradually.
Mach 4.
Mach 3.7.
Mach 3.
“The jet? I don’t understand—” and paused. “Why are we slowing down?”
“Why haven’t you done as I asked?” I told him sharply, in no mood for games right now. The timing had to be perfect or—
The Peacemaker Page 12
