by Stuart Slade
Kozlowski Air Force Base, Limehuu.se, Maine
"It's quite a sight General, quite a sight." General van der Camp looked at the lines of silvery-blue bombers on the taxiways, the heat from their engines causing the blood-red rising sun to ripple and distort in the last fleeting shreds of pre-dawn darkness. "Your boy's number 17.'"
General (retd) Bob Dedmon swung his binoculars down the line in front of the control tower. There she was, Texan Lady II. Idly, he wondered if his Texan Lady, sitting in her enclosure at the end of Bomber Row knew that a Valkyrie bearing her name was going to war. The nose art was the same; only now it was in muted grays against the anti-optical paintwork of the bomber's airframe. "Fly high Robbie, fly high." The words were barely audible but the next ones weren't.
"‘It looks the same as it did back then, Rex, bombers are different of course but it looks the same. Only, back then, we all thought that if we did our job right, The Big One would mean we'd never have to do this again. I guess we were wrong."
Rex van der Camp shook his head. "We've had almost-peace for a quarter of a century. No major wars between nations at all. And look at the fuss down in the South China Sea, both sides keeping it limited to a small area and fighting like real gentlemen. Both scared spitless that if the fighting spreads or they don't stick to the rules, we'll end it with the sledgehammer. If it wasn't for you guys in the ‘36s back in ‘47, that would have spread to the whole Far East by now."
Dedmon watched his son taxi his B-70 forward. "By the way, Rex, thank's for letting my boy carry the name on. Guess it messed up the naming traditions."
"Nan, about a quarter of the birds carry non-Valkyrie names from older aircraft, usually the one's flown by the next generation.
Have you noticed how SAC's getting to be a family affair? Anyway, there's no way this command will get between a crew and their chosen name for their bird."
"Any word back from the lead elements?"
"Some. Navy's at work mining the Strait and blasting coastal defense positions around the Gulf. Last we heard, Maine and Ohio were hitting the air defense bases at the north end of the Gulf. Bahrain's already down we know that, four Vigilantes took it down, total of eight 100 kiloton Mark 61s."
Neither man said anything but after a small island like Bahrain had been hit like that, there wouldn't be anything or anybody left. An entire community wiped out for the sin of sharing an island with a very large strategic air search radar and the long-range SAMs that went with it.
"That's about a quarter of the Navy's laydowns to date. Last we heard, they'd lost seven planes, four Viggies, two F9Us and a P6M. Just like the old days Bob, the Navy's kicking the door in for us again."
"Hope it doesn't have the same cost." Dedmon's mind went back to the sight of Shiloh burning twenty five years earlier. "You seen the display we've got on Shiloh down at the museum?"
"Sure have. Great model, who built it? Newport News?"
"Bunch of kids believe it or not. Local high school. Made it their term project, NAVSEA looked it over and said that it was better than any shipyard model they'd ever seen. They're rolling. Still holding 15 second intervals I see."
The windows in the control tower shook as the first of the 100th Bomb Group's B-70Cs hurtled down the runway and rotated, heading upwards for the safety of the stratosphere. Even as its main wheels lifted from the runway, the second in the formation was accelerating down the runway while the third was just starting to move. One aircraft lifting off every 15 seconds. In less than twelve minutes all the 100th Group's 45 B-70Cs would be on their way to targets in Iran Satrapy, the Caliphate. The Group's 30 remaining B-70As would be sitting this one out, a decision that had caused some measure of discontent. Still, they might have their role to play if the Caliphate didn't get the message. Any sign of a fight or counterstrik.es and they'd go in, along with the lumbering B-52s.
Cockpit, B-70C Sigrun 100th Heavy Bomb Group, Runway Oh-Nine-Oh, Kozlowski Air Force Base, Limehouse, Maine
"Cockpit checks complete. Mission equipment operational?"
"Twelve Frisbees, four AIM-47s, eight AGM-76s in the front bay. Two 550 kiloton Mark 43s and auxiliary fuel cells in the rear bay. Onboard diagnostics confirm all safed but operational."
"‘Confirm, all weapons safe. All crew prepare for take-off."
Sigrun rolled forward; rolling fast since one of the B-70s little quirks was that she was uncontrollable if taxied too slowly. O'Seven counted three joins in the concrete sheets that made up the taxiway before making the U-turn onto the runway. The cockpit was so far in front of the nose wheels that maneuvering on the ground was a highly skilled art form. Then, Sigrun came to a shuddering stop. O'Seven reflected that North American still hadn't quite got the brakes sorted out. Then he stood on the brake pedals. "All engines full power!"
Jim Hook rammed the throttles forward, causing the six J-93 engines to spool up to maximum power. As they did, the view out of the cockpit changed from sky to runway as the aircraft's tail rose and the nose dipped. Then, Sigrun was sliding forward on her locked wheels, time to go before the tires blew. O'Seven let off the brakes and Sigrun bounded forward, her nose porpoising wildly as she picked up speed. Hook hated this bit; the motion of the cockpit, so far ahead of the nosewheels made him seasick. Then, as Sigrun started to rotate, the motion ceased and she was airborne, her undercarriage retracting as she headed skywards, climbing at 27,500 feet per minute.
"IAS five-sixty-five. Nose visor rising." Ahead of the crew, the Valkyrie's nose was elevating into its triple-sonic position. Technically, the aircraft could fly triple-sonic with its nose down but it cut range and speed. Those weren't the main problem though; fly triple-sonic like that and the heat from the windshield would make looking out of it like staring into an oven. Heat was the one constant, ever-present factor in flying the Valkyrie. "We'll level off at 75,000 feet and cruising speed Mach 3.15. That'll take us out to Gibraltar and over the Mediterranean. We'll refuel over the Aegean then go to 3.25 for the flight over Syria and Iraq Satrapies and to 3.4 and 80,000 feet for the final runs on the biofacilities at Kushk-e-Nosrat and Qom in Iran."
"This is for real, isn't it. We're not playing this time." Sigrun ‘s voice was apprehensive, a little frightened even.
"That's right Sigrun, this time we're going in for real. All the way to the Caliphate. Two hours flight time to Gibraltar, an hour and a half to Feet Dry and 30 minutes to get to target. Four hours total. Then we either return home or if we've got damage, divert to a base in Russia. Your MiG friends are waiting to escort you in if that happens."
"We didn't get the jackpot though. Texan Lady II drew those." John Henty was disappointed, he'd hoped Sigrun would get the two targets close to Tehran.
"You surprised? Robbie Dedmon's old man was in the control tower watching us go. Anyway, they'd make sure a Texan Lady got the capital targets again. We've got the big bangs though. Her Mark 43s are dialed back to 100 kilotons."
"Tehran. There will be a lot of people down there." Sigrun's voice was sad. "Even with her weapons dialed back."
"Look at it this way Sigrun. If we take away their ability to make bioweapons and hurt them badly enough so they don't try again, think of all the people, our people, who won't die of blackpox."
"I know. It's still sad."
War Room, Underneath the White House. Washington DC
"God rest ye merry gentlemen Let nothing you dismay, If things don't work out quite right The Valkyries are on their way."
The Seer reflected that if Messalina had been singing, the melody would have been perfect, the verse would have scanned properly and the accompaniment would have been a joy to hear. Naamah, on the other hand, had the singing voice of an unoiled cement mixer running a load of gravel. That wasn't what had made President Nixon wince though.
"Naamah. this is no time for levity."
"Quite right Mister President." General Thomas Power gave the impression he was speaking to a room full of new recruits. "We don't blow people up. Most people
think our nuclear weapons kill by blast, fire and radiation when in fact it's the fall to the bottom of the crater that kills them."
A ripple of laughter ran around the war-room it was an old joke but a goodie that got played on every newcomer. Nixon was about to respond when the door slid open again. Lillith entered with a series of files. She winced and limped slightly, it had been a busy morning and the bitter February cold was biting into the damaged joints in her feet. Power noted her discomfort and quietly slid a chair behind her, seating her. The gesture was deliberately unobtrusive. If it had been noted it would have spoiled the image he so carefully constructed, but it won him a dazzling smile of thanks from Lillith.
Despite the care, Nixon did notice and it put the graveyard humor that had been floating around the war room into context. These were grim times; laughing at them was a way of accommodating their gravity. He wondered, briefly, what sort of jokes had been floating around the war room twenty five years earlier, while The Big One destroyed Germany. "Talking about radiation, isn't there a danger we'll have another Great Famine?"
"We learned a lot from The Big One, Mister President. There, we planned many, most, of the air bursts too low. We're doing it differently now. We're dropping about the same number of devices as we did in The Big One, the Navy are doing 60 laydowns, the Valkyries 115 and the Russians 25. That's 200 total, but the total yield is more than eight times greater. The attack's scattered though, its across a much larger area than The Big One. The targets in Iran Satrapy, the ones we've assigned to the 100th, they're mostly in remote, barren areas. That doesn't apply to the ones the 35th are going after in Iraq Satrapy, some of those are close to major urban areas."
"Close to major urban areas. That'll mean a lot of civilians, did we have to hit those?"
"Mister President, if we gave a target a miss today because its surrounded by civilians, this time next week, every strategic target will be the center of a mass of them. I believe it should be our announced policy that military targets placed in civilian areas will be given high priority, not exempted from attack.
"Be that as it may, the devices we're using are far more efficient than the ones we used back in ‘47. They were horribly inefficient, about eight percent, they blew most of their fissile all over the place. That was a big contributor to The Great Famine. It was low-level heavy metal poisoning as much as any other factor, although there were a lot of other factors. The devices we're using today, fusion-fission weapons, some of them are over 90 percent efficient. For all that though, yes, there will be some radiation problems. That's why we waited, the wind's from the North East, it'll direct the plumes south west over Caliphate territory."
"Anyway, Mister President." Power spoke thoughtfully. "As far as radiation is concerned, you know, it's never been proved to me that two heads aren't better than one."
Nixon's jaw dropped at that but before he could say anything Naamah cut smoothly in. "But General, suppose one head wanted to vote Republican and the other Democrat? Who would the hand obey?'
Admiral Stanley had been speaking on one of the banks of phones. Now he looked up from his desk. "You know, my dear, I had a Senior Chief once who could have answered that one very easily. Probably recommended the use of a guillotine. Ras Anuras has gone. Cost us two A3Js and an F9U but the missile complex, radars and fighter base are all history.
"The Caliphate fighters are coming up at last, they've learned that if they stay on the ground, they die on the ground. According to Dickie Armstrong on Ohio it's like clubbing baby seals out there. Lot of Irenes, a few Brandis. They're like an elevator according to his CAG, going up. going down. We've pretty well cleaned out the Gulf, One target left, a long-range missile base just outside Riyadh. Once that's gone, the carriers will recover their planes and pull out. Navy's done, it's up to the Valkyries."
On the situation display maps, the red lines representing 100 Valkyries from the 100th and 35th Bomb Groups were streaking across the Atlantic.
Cockpit, B-70C Shield Maiden 35th Bomb Group, 77,000 feet over the Atlantic
"Outer skin temperature has stabilized at 624 degrees. All systems nominal. Hydraulics all in order." The last was critical, the B-70 had a temperamental hydraulic system that wasn't entirely debugged yet. The real problem was that the hydraulic fluid was at the temperature of the oil in a deep fat fryer. If the system leaked, the secondary damage could be very serious. Captain Mike Yates leaned forward in his seat and put a color snapshot into a clip in front of him. It was of a girl with a caramel-colored skin and black hair braided into cornrows then swept back into a bun. Beside him, his copilot grinned.
"She said yes then, Mike?"
"Last night. She said what clinched it was she'd heard how I'd been besieged by Natashas in Russia and anybody who could keep turning them down like that had to be serious."
"Yeah, what happened there? It seemed like they were coming in from all over. There were rumors one of the fighter regiments was flying them in towards the end."
"I suspect a foul plot. Anyway, Sellie reckoned that resistance like that deserved its reward."
Bill Cobb hesitated for a second, this was a sensitive area. "And your folks? How did they take it when you told them?"
"About Sellie being black? Pops didn't care too much, he just said we'd have to expect problems from others but we wouldn't get any from him. Momma threw a fit, burst into tears and stormed out the room. Pops just said ‘See what I mean' and ignored her." Yates was pensive for a moment. "Odd that, I expected it to be the other way round. Momma always acted so enlightened and tolerant. Guess when it was all right in the abstract but not when it came home."
"Set a date yet?"
"First Sunday in April. Sellie wants to be married in her home town, placed called Brandon in Maryland. So she's getting all that fixed up."
Around the cockpit, the crew made private notes of the time and place. A SAC wedding meant they had to make arrangements as well. One was a fly-past; another the traditional archway of swords. The rest would have to do with the stag party. That could turn out to be almost as destructive as the mission they were on now.
"We're coming up on Gibraltar now." A little less than 15 miles below them, the perfect curve of Algeciras Bay was passing underneath, the long finger of the Gibraltar fortress sticking out. It was a measure of how fast Shield Maiden was eating distance that the sight was quickly lost behind them and the Valkyrie had crossed from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean.
"I suppose that means I'm going to have to get you back home now, doesn't it?" Shield Maiden's voice was amused, slightly mocking.
Defensive Area Simone, French Algeria/Caliphate Border
The continuous thunder sounded like an artillery barrage. To the uninitiated anyway. The battle-hardened would realize the thunder was neither inbound nor outbound; it came from high overhead. It wasn't a thunderstorm though. The continuous barrage of booms came from the dozens of thin white threads, high, high in the sky overhead.
After a night in which the world had held its breath, the American bombers were on the move. General Marcel Bigeard looked up at the thin contrails with the first shred of hope for weeks in his heart. Morale in Algeria had plummeted as the blackpox took hold. Who could lay blame for that? To go to sleep every night, not knowing whether a fine, invisible, untouchable mist would descend and condemn to a dreadful lingering death.
"Look boys. Overhead. It's the American bombers on their way to the Caliphate." The troops around him looked up and cheered at the sight. Nearby other troops stopped when they heard the noise and then joined in, the first time in many, many, years French troops had cheered Americans. Bigeard heard the cheering spread down the defenses of the border line. To make his day even better, he had heard that a vaccine against blackpox had been tested and was on its way.
Then, Bigeard's thoughts were interrupted by a private who'd grabbed his sleeve. A gesture that would have been unthinkable in the old French Army but one which the paras viewed as being perfectly no
rmal.
"Look General, there's more of them up there." And there were indeed, accompanied by another rolling barrage of supersonic bangs. Once it had been thought that if aircraft flew high enough, the booms would be attenuated by the time they hit the ground. The B-70 had proved otherwise and a 250,000 kilogram aircraft made a very solid sonic boom.
Then another sound interrupted the cheers, music played over the loudspeakers that were emplaced every few hundred meters down the defense line. Bigeard grinned broadly as he recognized the tune, one not so often heard in a Europe where things German were still despised. It was Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries.
The Military Command Center, Dezful, Iran Satrapy, The Caliphate.
Morteza Farzaneh looked at the radar displays with fascination. The inbound American bombers were already visible, up high and coming in fast, they could be seen a long way away. That didn't worry the Americans; they actually wanted their aircraft to be seen approaching, to give the intended victim a last chance to back down and save themselves from destruction.
That wasn't why he found the sight so interesting. It was the historian in Farzaneh that was rapt. Looking at the plan, it was an exact replica of The Big One, the nuclear strike that had destroyed Germany. Two separate groups of bombers. A northern formation aimed at targets in the north and east, a southern formation heading for targets in the south and west. Going by reports and information from sources in America, it was even the same groups responsible. In The Big One, the northern formation had been the Third Air Division; in this strike, it was the 100th Bomb Group that had once been part of the Third. The southern formation in The Big One had been the First Air Division; here it was the 35th Bomb Group, a unit that had then been part of the First. Idly, Farzaneh wondered if representatives of the Fourth and Fifth Air Divisions would be following up with conventional bombs as they had so many years before.
