Conrad smiled. “Then make it so, Commander Tillman. Flush out our little game bird. Make her squirm under your reassuring touch.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.
Not two minutes past the USS Snohomish and suddenly—without warning—the whole aft quarter was filled with missiles.
I glanced at my TDI and IFF screens and discovered that these were BAT-21A decoys with dummy warheads attached.
“That wasn’t in the profile makeup.” I calmly said to myself, before punching in a more refined request on the Daedalus-class DEs which were now dogging me with dummy ordinance.
The computer gave me a more detailed explanation and I discovered that the system in question never considered such armaments to be much of a threat to the Peacemaker in particular.
“Why not?” I sighed—before I asked the computer for a simple, evasive course which would take me out of this mess. “No one expects to be hit by things which couldn’t scratch my jet’s new nano-armor.”
I watched on the screens as the ordinance came sailing in my immediate flight quadrant and detonated harmlessly off my beam and in front of me—causing the Peacemaker to bounce up and down a little in the process.
So far…?
Nothing.
I increased my speed just a little more—just to be on the safe side.
That’s when things started to get downright ugly.
The Snohomish and the Rutledge actually had the gall to open fire on my immediate position—spraying me with tightly wound salvos of kinetic energy—some of them blasting through the hail storm of dummy missiles and striking me amidships.
The optical stealth rang with each concussive hit—wavering and shimmering in time to each strike.
Another half-dozen rounds ripped across the top of the Peacemaker’s hull—throwing up a cloud of sparks as a result—and I started to get fucking pissed!
“Who the hell gave you morons the right to use me for target practice?!?” I screamed out and twisted the control stick hard over—while increasing my rate of thrust even more.
The jet howled its anger out to the skies as it sustained another twenty hits from long range. But the nano-armor was doing its thing and deflecting all of the incoming, live ordinance.
Afterwards, shield plating started to appear all over the stricken aircraft as 8mm Boxford shells made my evasive attempts all that more challenging.
A few struck me head on and all I could feel was the explosive repercussions tearing right through the Peacemaker like it was nothing more than ample tissue paper.
I banked right and then hard left—and down—as I struggled to get out of this mess with my plane intact—engines screaming in protest along with the new structural integrity baffles set in place for high gee turns.
Diagrams started popping up as the plane started to sustain real damage from the 8mm shells being lobbed in my specific direction, but I didn’t panic.
Instead, I pulled sharply back on the stick and pushed the engines to their maximum output—aiming skyward in under four seconds flat.
The jet took off like a rocket—thundering up towards the heavens—with me gritting my teeth all the way.
Let’s…see…how…you…retards…like…this…one!
I cut thrust after thirty-seven seconds of sustained output—my velocity indicators pushing towards Mach 6.5—pushed down on one of the two foot pedals which controlled both flaps, stabilizers, and ailerons and tilted the Peacemaker backwards all the way.
The sudden inversion at 83,000 feet produced a subtle cherry red glow around the plane’s airframe—as energy was converted into plasma and the Peacemaker dived back downwards—trailing fire and sparks all the way.
A check on the geography below and I found that I hadn’t moved more than a few miles off course—but I quickly made up for it by locking in on the first two targets in the Hudson.
Even as they opened up with live ordinance—8mm shells and Quickfire missiles.
The skies filled up quickly before me, but this time…?
I wasn’t going to be scared off.
My jet bore down on both destroyer escorts, while all of the incoming fire exploded all around and on me.
I was wildly buffeted in my seat—but I calmly accessed my ship’s primary weapons panel and selected a missile that would do some serious damage in the short term, but not sink my attackers.
Tiger Shark.
Targeting reticules swarmed all over both ships before the system chose the bow of one ship and the mid-section of another—just aft of the bridge—and locked on.
Small panels slid back at the rear of the jet—dropping two pairs of missiles that hung in the air for just a second before igniting on their own.
Trailing their own fire along the way.
I watched as they bore down—despite the ship’s best efforts to hit my incoming fire—weaving about erratically before dropping below the hard deck and disappearing from view.
I managed to get there two seconds before a pair of small suns erupted along the Snohomish and the Rutledge’s infrastructure; violently shaking their worlds like a cat would a mouse.
Smaller explosions consumed the bow of the Snohomish, while raging fires and clouds of smoke could be seen on the Rutledge.
I angled out the Peacemaker at or around 5,000 feet—my speed hitting around Mach 2.3—as I passed the Snohomish and watching fire spew out of the bow of the ship with a vengeance.
Fresh smoke billowed out—even as the destroyer still charged ahead at reduced speed. But my displays showed that both ships were slowing down to a crawl; while my communications grid picked up maydays from both ships.
Calling for help? I thought with astonishment—before my TDI lit up again (along with the IFF) showing the third Daedalus-class destroyer in the distance and what the computer identified as a Coupeville-class frigate farther ahead.
I slumped back into my seat and nodded.
Of course. How could I not miss the third destroyer?
But the fourth ship—the frigate—was going to be a different story entirely. Frigates—by historical standards—were fast, highly maneuverable, and were armed to the teeth.
Far more than your common place destroyer or picket-line cruisers.
They had been the turning point in some US conflicts—both past and present—and were looking more and more like the true workhorse of the 21st-century.
My IFF and TDI systems tracked the incoming Daedalus-class destroyer; with the frigate closing in from the other side to assist the closest ship.
I did not want to be here when they arrived on station in the next twenty minutes. So I turned my ship around and headed towards the last known position of the HMS Essex.
When I got there, I was treated to the humble sight of a British piece of exceptional engineering an national pride. The sloping decks, the strong lines, and the overwhelming presence of Royal naval might splayed across the deck of the super carrier.
I could see many jets parked up and down the ship’s main runway, while there were crewmembers dotted about like tiny action figures—going about their general, day-to-day tasks.
I sighed contently and pointed the nose of my jet down towards the Hudson—cutting back on the speed by 80% and lining myself up with the rear landing deck.
Cutting in communications, I said, “This is Peacemaker 1-0 on approach vector 283.”
There was brief silence before both the deck officer and the cat officer on duty responded.
“Um…hello…Peacemaker 1-0. May I ask that you identify yourself and your intent? Our flight logs show no scheduled incoming traffic of any kind. Nor are we prepared to receive any VIPs at this time.”
“Kina Anderson of Kina’s Courier Air Service. My intent is to hold a personal audience with your captain, Mariah Kari Mitchell.” I said. “I am on loan from the United States Defense Department and the Pentagon—under temporary command of Major Gary Richards himself.”
“That may be so, Ms. Anderson. But the British Ro
yal Navy has strict military guidelines when it concerns unidentified aircraft. We didn’t pick you up at all during approach—until the last minute; by eye—so we’re a bit concerned as to why you are here why your craft’s signature remained practically invisible till the last second.”
I slowed my bird down a little—still lined up and locked onto the rear landing deck of the Essex.
“I can’t explain that right now, sir. But it is imperative that I land. The sake of national security—to both our countries—is at stake and I feel that Captain Mitchell may hold the key to some of my questions which I have been meaning to ask. Please—let me land.”
There was more silence on the other end—before I heard some voice chatter.
“Stand by Peacemaker 1-0. For your safety, we recommend that you break off approach and come around in five minutes.”
“I can’t do that, sir. My own safety will be imperiled if I do.” I explained quickly. “But what I can do is hold station until clearance is given.”
“Are you armed in any way—Ms. Anderson?”
“I am, sir. But my weapons are currently on hot standby. They will only fire when I give the go-ahead. Not until then.”
“Is it your intent to harm this ship or its crew?”
I blanched white.
“N-negative, sir. I have no intent to harm Her Majesty’s glorious ship. I am simply a civilian with important information for the Royal Naval Arm of the British military.”
“You said you had questions for our captain.” The man said with an owlish voice.
“That too. But I also am led to believe that your vessel is in grave danger—given recent events.”
“Events that led to the harming of one of our air squadrons?”
My face warmed up a little as I put the Peacemaker into hover mode.
“Look—I know you guys must think I’m Queen Bitch from Planet X right now, but all I want to do is talk. Nothing more.”
The voices on the other end were a tad bit subdued as they considered my proposal.
“As long as you don’t present yourself to be a threat—I’m authorized to let you land.”
“Deal.” I acknowledged.
“Keep your approach vector level and your airspeed down to less than 200 knots.”
“Got it.” I said—resuming my course towards the HMS Essex.
It didn’t take me that long to reach the carrier—mindful of the sudden crowd of spectators coming up from the forward side of the ship itself.
Most were a mix of sailors, but a few dozen were also…
Civilians?
My scans didn’t lie to me as my cameras caught their mix of astonished and awed expressions written solidly all over their faces.
“Great.” I said—thinking about what my uncle or the rest of the Defense Department hawks would say if the public got wind of this one of a kind—ultra-secret—jet.
Not even the major powers knew of this plane’s existence.
And for good reason.
I VTOL’d my jet about 60 yards from the growing crowd of onlookers and then flipped up my visor shield.
I cut the engines right then and there—thinking that I wouldn’t need to be getting off anytime soon.
Not if I had anything to say about it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.
I climbed down the one side of my craft ten minutes after I had shut the Peacemaker down—with the help of a couple of deck hands on call to assist me in any way possible.
I felt hands on my legs and one on my butt as I was gently lowered to the ground and had a chance to feel some semi-solid ground beneath my feet in the process.
Pulling off my helmet, I shook out my hair and glared mockingly at the two young sailors whom had helped me out.
“Did everyone present get a good feel for posterity?” I joked.
The first sailor’s face went tomato red and the second guy immediately tried to apologize for any misconstrued intent on their part, but I just shook my head and laughed.
“At ease, guys.” I said. “I was just pulling your leg.”
“Oh.”
I eyed them both and asked, “so what’s with the crowd of spectators?”
“We just…never…” the first sailor started out—before he was elbowed by his comrade.
“What he means, miss, is that we have never seen a craft like yours before.” The other man explained quietly. “What is it?”
I winked at the second sailor in return.
“A secret.”
The other sailor’s eyes roved over the Triton-12 Peacemaker and he was heard saying: “I have a brother whose in the air force and I know that there is nothing like this in the British military. It looks like a space ship than a jet fighter.”
“It’s a combination of both.” I told him. “And that’s all I will say on that subject. The less everyone knows, the more safe they’ll be.”
The first sailor stopped me for a second—as I was about to make my way across the hard deck—and asked another question.
“How many are there?” He wanted to know and I suddenly felt the overpowering urge to kill him.
“You’re looking at it.” I said and then ducked out before I could be saddled with more questions which would break more than my fair share of DOD rules on military secrecy.
Another pair of sailors broke from the crowd to catch up to me and I was silently rolling my eyes at the sky as I stopped to confront the two men in general.
“What now?” I asked in a heated tone of voice.
“We’ll escort you to see the captain, miss.” One of them hastily said and then pointed to one of the forward hatches leading into the interior of the ship itself.
I looked back at my ship and said, “make sure that no one, and I mean no one gets near that.”
The other man stopped and whistled sharply to several sailors performing crowd control.
“Hey! You fellows get over to that jet of hers and stand guard! No one is allowed near it under any circumstances!”
Sounds of disappointment came from the small crowd of onlookers—including the sailors—but the small guard detail formed up around the jet; with the other two offering to help out.
“You have no objections to these two—right…miss?” Another sailor queried, waving his hand and then pointing to the two whom helped me down.
I shook my head. “The more, the better.” I hollered back and let the second sailor lead me up to the entry hatch and opened it for me.
“This way, miss.” He said, pointing to a small hallway and a couple stairways of steps—one leading up, the other going down.
“Which way?” I asked—as the hatch door was shut behind me; cutting me off from the Peacemaker and the rest of the world.
The first sailor pointed upwards. “It’s that way, ma’am. The captain wants to see you in her ready room—located next to the Services and Arms Locker.”
“Lead the way.” I said with a small bow.
It didn’t take long for me to get to where I was going. And before I knew it…?
I found myself in front of the door—with the sign, CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS, stamped on it.
“Captain Mitchell? Your guest is here.”
“Show her in, Lieutenant Bowers.” A woman’s voice carried back with underlying authority.
The man saluted stiffly and then opened the door.
“In you go.” He said. “If you need anything, the captain will let one of us know.”
“Thanks.” I said—before going in.
The room I entered was pretty nice—with its cherry-wood paneling, soft lighting, plush carpeting, complete with a couple of bay windows overlooking a splendid view of New York harbor and a part of the city skyline.
A couple of tables, filled with a dozen or so more chairs complemented that area, while some red recliners and a small coffee table occupied the center nearest to the door—with a couple shelves filled with books, strewn with various pictures, and three flat screen monitors lay in fron
t of me.
I didn’t know whether or not I was in a hotel room, or my own apartment!
“Wow…” was all I could get out as I entered the captain’s domain.
“Be with you in a moment, dearie. I’m just freshening up in the head.” A woman’s voice carried back to me as I finished deciding on just where to sit.
The recliner looked inviting and plush—so I took my seat and parked my helmet and waited for Mitchell to make her grand appearance.
It didn’t take long and I saw both a short and an attractive redhead come out of the back—toweling her hair and wearing a silk bathrobe with a couple of patches emblazoned on the left breast.
“Lemme guess: You needed a shower before I made my arrival?” I ventured, while getting up—holding my hand out to the woman in question.
Mitchell took it and we shook hands for a few seconds.
“Welcome aboard my boat, Ms. Anderson. I’m sorry about not granting you clearance earlier, but my people picked up some explosions in the distance and we were about to get under way—when you showed up.”
“Including the civvies that decided to make themselves known about ten minutes ago?”
“I was holding tours for the reveling public, Ms. Anderson. We’ll get them off before we disembark.” The woman told me—while her head was obscured by the purple towel which was being used to dry and fluff up her short—and curly—hair.
I liked the tomboyish look that Mitchell presented to me and I licked my lips in quiet approval as she continued to dry herself off.
“Nice hair.” I complemented suddenly—giving Mitchell a moment of pause.
“Thanks,” she said. “I must apologize forthwith for my appearance. But I needed to get this out of the way as soon as possible.”
“Why you had your air squadron harass my jet—imperiling the Prince of Hampton Courts in the process?” I started out.
“The…prince?” The woman bit out in complete shock. “Y-you mean…?”
“Uh-huh.” I confirmed. “He was pretty badly injured in a recent attack.”
The Peacemaker Page 20
