AMERICA ONE - NextGen II (Book 6)

by T I WADE

Gary replied telepathically, acknowledging what Mars had just said, and added that there was no way that he would lose this opportunity.

  As usual, once he was away from the growing shield with Gary, the female astronauts all lined up to hug him. They knew who was flying the Matt craft and were quite shocked to see an Aussie as co-pilot.

  Mars hugged Penelope Pitt, who had returned a few days earlier in SB-II. She told him that an aircraft would be landing at the airfield the next morning. Mars didn’t hangar his ride yet, but gave Penelope an order to get the girls to form a line and help him unload the cargo, ingot by ingot, once he was out of the suit. Only then would he hangar the spacecraft.

  Gary was tight-lipped about what he had seen.

  The gold was unloaded within 3 hours by the crew, and Mars started up the thrusters and floated the craft into the hangar.

  The new Aussies had been ordered to stay away by Gary, and once the ship was inside the hangar the doors to the hangar was locked.

  The girls were all happy to see Mr. Noble. They were very surprised that he was now the much darker skin color of Ruler Roo, very darkly tanned, and his blue eyes glinted out of his head like headlights. His frame was strong and muscular, much like the Aussies on the airfield, and the astronauts realized what a lucky girl Saturn Noble was.

  The next day, an Australian Air Force transport aircraft arrived with the ordered supplies, hauled in the gold pallets with the base’s forklift and was gone in two hours.

  The current shuttle flying security in orbit was given the base in Nevada as its re-entry destination by Mars, not the island, and the new coordinates and flight details given to the astronauts.

  Mars was enjoying a blissful relaxing swim when Penelope Pitt ran out of the command center and handed him an imail on a reader. It was from Joanne, who was still in the States.

  The imail news from the United States wasn’t good. Joanne’s father had refused to speak to his daughter, let alone meet with her, and had promised retaliation if she entered his separate country south of the Mason-Dixon Line, the border of his territory. Mars was told that Joanne’s father had a decent amount of air support, far more than existed in the north, and that he could be about to use it on Washington.

  Penelope then handed Mars a second imail, received few minutes after the first. This imail was from Mary Collins.

  “Dear Mars and Lunar, I hope you are achieving your plans and dreams back on Earth. I need your air support, as things are not going well here in Washington. As expected, we began removing our Canadian troops as a warning to Capitol Hill and the Oval Office, but had to stop yesterday once Joanne and I heard from her father. We believe that an attack on Washington by aircraft from the south could happen within a day or two. The southern force have most of the old U.S. Air Force fighters, and the forces under President Downs could not stop an all-out air attack. The old President, as Ryan found out, is purely egotistical and will stop at nothing to regain control over this country. He needs to be stopped, and once his air force is destroyed, only then will he have to come to the discussion table with his daughter. I will leave up to you how you can force his hand. The fewer deaths the better, but you will need to stop this attack. Washington believes that his aircraft will fly out of Georgia and Texas. Our Air Force cannot leave Canadian airspace. That would be an act of war. We need this one operation to get power over the whole country. Your Friend, Mary Collins.”

  Within three hours, SB-II, now at The Pig’s Snout, was ready to launch with Lunar in command. The third shuttle, SB-I, which was about to reenter, was ordered to stay up in orbit as it was needed as backup.

  Gary wasn’t on this trip, as Mars didn’t want any Australians involved with shooting down U.S. aircraft. The planet was in a big enough mess as it was, so Mars returned with Shelly Saunders in the Matt craft. They flew over to The Pig’s Snout at full speed to pick up SB-III.

  Once Saturn’s co-pilot was in SB-III, Lunar had Shelley Saunders and the two shuttles headed into space.

  “I hope it’s not weeks of just orbiting Earth again. This patrolling stuff is starting to get pretty boring hanging around in space,” stated Mars over the intercom as they reached the K�rm�n Line and headed into a low orbit at full thrust.

  “You can go back and carry gold anytime you want, Mars,” joked Lunar as she cut her thrusters down to minimal power.

  “I was actually enjoying the hard work. Once one is fit, the body seems to become one with the pull of gravity. Know what I mean?”

  “Well, this is the last time I’m running around space like a lunatic,” added Saturn. “I’m getting too heavy. My stomach is beginning to get in the way of flying, plus I feel space sick.”

  “Jane Burgos in SB-I. Saturn, at four months, you still have a long way to go>. You and your sister maneuver into our usual defense orbit. I see you on radar. We are only a thousand miles ahead of you and we need at least 15,000 miles between us at this altitude. Keep your scanners on the lower half of the United States. I don’t believe we can expect trouble from any other area. Mars, stay on heavy thrust, and you can lead. We need at least one bird over the area, Pacific to Atlantic, at all times. Out.”

  Over the next 12 hours they aligned themselves with the needed orbit and, spacing themselves accurately, waited for their scanners to light up.

  The aircraft movement around the world had increased slightly since they had arrived back from outer space a few months earlier. The shuttle astronauts on defense duty had logged most of the atmospheric flights far below them during each orbit. The scanner computers could record all flight movements over 5,000 feet.

  Most were small slow aircraft, and now around 200 flights a day was the norm worldwide, the computers showed. Most were in the Middle East, then Australia, Russia and lastly Western Europe. Europe beat the U.S. with 21 flights a day, all mostly old transport aircraft. The world’s airlines had been dead for longer than a decade, and it would take the same amount of time of start them up again. Only four countries on the planet were back in aircraft production: Israel, Canada, Australia, and France in Europe. The United States, once the largest manufacturer of aircraft 40 years earlier, needed a far larger rebuilding program and would need the latest ideas from the other countries to catch up.

  For two days, the only flights seen over the U.S. were again transport aircraft or small private propeller airplanes. It was on the third day of orbiting when Lunar’s co-pilot Shelly woke up the intercom.

  “SB-II here, I see 15 small, fast blips climbing out from middle Texas. They have just headed over 5,900 feet and heading due east. I have laser lock on the lead aircraft, over.”

  “Copy that,” replied Jenny Burgos in SB-I, the next in line. “Seven minutes and I will be over the western horizon, over.”

  “Leave some targets for me,” stated Mars having a floating meal with his rosy-looking wife. He was over Africa and would need 22 minutes to get into view.

  “I see fifteen more aircraft heading northeast from Arkansas,” stated Lunar. “Another 12 are rising out of northern Florida. They are all on meet-up directions, over North Carolina by the look of it. I have three minutes before I head over the western horizon, over.”

  “I see your targets and have another 12 rising out of Georgia. All the same tiny blips, fighters I reckon,” added Jane Burgos riding the laser cameras in SB-I. It was then that some voice on the ground came over the radio.

  “Pa-Pa Bear to all air bases, we have incoming from the south, at least 20. ETA 25 minutes. Scramble all fighters.”

  “This is Astermine’s Sierra Bravo II, above you in orbit, to whoever,” stated Lunar, far ahead of Mars and Saturn. “We have several spaceships in orbit above you. If you scramble fighters we will not be able to tell one from the other. Do you want to handle your problem down there, or do you want us to make sure nobody gets to Washington? Over.”

  “Pa-Pa Bear to Sierra Bravo II, can you count how many?” asked the voice.

  “So far, 60 and growing, fighters
from many different states, ETA all about the same time, 21 minutes from now, over.”

  “We would consider it a better advantage for you up there. We can handle that many but not much more,” was the reply.

  “Well, I’ve got bad news for you,” interrupted Jane Burgos. “I have 30 more climbing over 5,000 feet, close to the eastern coast of North Carolina, and a second group of 20 from eastern Texas, a second wave. That makes more than 100.”

  “Once they cross the North Carolina/Virginia border, they are only minutes from Washington. You have our permission to fire once they are in Virginian airspace,” stated the voice from Earth.

  “Well, that is about a minute away for the closest aircraft,” suggested Lunar, counting hard numbers. “They are heading in waves. Hold on, a new flight is taking off from Georgia. My computer counts 130 aircraft, all small jet fighters in total. A third group, about 20, are climbing out of somewhere in southern Virginia. That makes the lead strike force of nearly 150 aircraft all heading towards the Washington area, over.”

  “You have our permission to fire,” stated the voice.

  “And you are?” queried Lunar.

  “General Joe Bradley, Chief of Staff, the Pentagon. I have the permission of the President of the United States of America to give you this order.”

  “Ok, guys, we got that recorded. Remember what Jonesy and VIN taught us. Go for a wing or the tail. Let the pilots bail out. Did you copy that, Mars?” stated Lunar over the intercom, not the radio.

  “Copied, Lunar. Laser lock on forward three aircraft rising out from Virginia,” added Shelly Saunders, Lunar’s co-pilot.

  “Copy that. Seven minutes to horizon,” added Mars.

  “Permission to fire, first group from North Carolina heading into Virginia. There is about two minutes before the next group gets to the border area,” continued Jane Burgos.

  “Wait one,” replied Lunar over the intercom and changed to the radio.

  “To all aircraft heading towards Washington, please reverse course. You have 30 seconds before we take each one of you out. Now twenty-five seconds, or you guys will need parachute assistance. Confirm you copied this warning, over.”

  “You shoot down my aircraft and that is an act of war. These are American aircraft. You have no right to intervene, whoever the crap you are, lady,” stated a new voice.

  “Please hold, new voice. General Bradley, we are the official Air/‌Space Force of the Individual Party, Joanne Dithers Roo’s party. If you get us unbanned in Washington, we can sort out these perpetrators. They don’t seem to have any manners, over.”

  “That needs an Act of Congress. I cannot unban a political party,” came the reply.

  “Well, astronauts, we had better go home. Cancel all targets,” replied Lunar sarcastically.

  “Hold on. I will get the party unbanned. I will give you my word that Congress will do it,” replied the general.

  “Bull crap, Bradley! You always were a talker, a bullshitter, not a doer, even in my administration,” stated the other voice. Now they knew who it belonged to.

  “I have 98 seconds before I’m out of range,” stated Jane Burgos in SB-I over the intercom to the other astronauts.

  “Take my word, Ms. Richmond, or whoever you are up there. I will have your party unbanned within a week. You have my word,” stated the general.

  “And mine,” stated a weak and squeaky voice. “This is Rawhide II. I give you permission to fire on all incoming aircraft. Fox Four, Fox Four.”

  “Roger that, Rawhide II. This is Lunar Richmond. I was waiting for your permission. SB-I, fire in ten. All aircraft heading towards Washington, you have five seconds to turn back. You now have over 200 aircraft in the sky. That will take us less than a minute. Turn back now, out!”

  There was suddenly a mass of language over the radio as the fighter pilots all decided to either egg the others on or say their goodbyes. Some of the older pilots certainly had heard the tales of the power from space, and a dozen aircraft broke ranks and headed south, but the rest didn’t.

  Then the radio shouts of alarm started as aircraft began to break up. Jane Burgos was working the laser as fast as she was taught, aiming each blast for the rear of an aircraft.

  At less than 1,900 miles, it was a turkey shoot for her for a whole minute. Jane’s computer was programmed to aim only at the remaining aircraft heading in a northerly direction, and it was cocked on a half of one second burst every five seconds. She headed over the horizon 70 seconds later with nine aircraft in flames and spiraling down. She prayed that all the pilots got out safely.

  “This is an act of war!” shouted ex-President Dithers in anger as Mars Noble came over the horizon in SB-III, his wife flying. They were still 7,000 miles in a direct line from the targets, very close range. By now the lead aircraft were within 180 miles of Washington.

  “An act of war against the United States of America?” replied Bradley. “Dithers, you are an act of war.”

  Mars held off for 30 seconds. At 27,000-miles-an-hour forward speed, he was getting more accurate by the second. He didn’t want to take pilot lives, and this gave Dithers time to order his men to use their afterburners to get to Washington. A minute later Mars opened fire.

  He was as good as his father, and the lead aircraft began falling like flies. The pilots screamed, ranted, swore and complained, but one by one the lead flight dissolved.

  The second group were a minute behind and Mars rested the laser for that minute, as it needed repowering.

  The Air Force pilots headed in towards the area where they could fire their missiles, 180 miles, on full afterburner, and again they fell like dead birds. This time the numbers were greater. After a full two minutes of firing Mars’ laser shut itself down for 30 seconds to repower. He had damaged the pilots’ tenacity as they all watched lines of aircraft begin to disappear off their radar screens. But the brave pilots pressed on, and the population of Virginia increased with parachutes and ejector seats falling everywhere.

  “I need help, Lunar, there are just too many. The laser gets heated too quickly. I think I have hit at least 40. Twenty seconds to laser activation, over.”

  “I’m at full thrust,” replied Lunar.

  “I need four minutes. You have to keep them away from Washington. If they release missiles, we have even more work to do,” added Shelly Saunders, Lunar’s co-pilot in SB-II 15,000 miles behind him.

  “How far is missile range?” Mars asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know. I come from Mars, but in my studies of ancient Earth history I learned that the latest air-to-ground missiles the USAF had were 150- to 175-mile-range. How close are they?” asked Lunar.

  “The second wave, two hundred miles and closing fast, still about 20 aircraft. Third wave is now 30 miles due south and west of them, two separate flights of about 60 aircraft each. Lunar, my laser is back on line. Here goes.”

  For a full 90 seconds he blasted as fast as the target-lock system could target the aircraft below. He worked from the center and then to the left and right. Sixteen aircraft fell out of the sky before the laser heated up again. There were four left in the second wave, and he was shocked as three of them turned south. There was gabbled mention of “a suicide mission,” “cowards,” and angry insults. The lead aircraft still headed north, and Mars couldn’t bring himself to fire on it. He had to think of another way. He decided to try talking to the brave pilot.

  “Whoever is flying that lone fighter towards Washington. You are now alone in my sights. I’m moving further way and can’t guarantee that I won’t fry you instead of just your aircraft. Up to now we have only aimed at your tail sections. I am wanting to save your life and will give you 10 seconds to change course.” There was no response on the radio as Mars counted down the time. He still needed 20 seconds and Lunar about 90. “Come on, please, I do not want to kill you. This laser has taken on alien craft at 12,000 miles, destroyed thousands of cubes in orbit around Earth, demolished areas of the Capitol Building a few d
ecades ago, part of the Pentagon, the garden outside the White House, a bank building in New York… And, buddy, now it is your turn to fry. You have to turn, or you are dead. What is really unfair is that you can’t even shoot at me. I am thousands of miles away and I can see your aircraft as if you are my wingman. This is your last warning.”

  Mars’ laser came back on line a few seconds later as the other voice from the south ordered the poor pilot to continue forward and fire on Washington as soon as he was in range.

  The worried astronaut didn’t know if it was his words or the pilot below him finally thinking about firing on his Capitol, but as he was about to take out the lone aircraft, it suddenly turned away from Washington and headed westwards as fast as it could go. Mars breathed a sigh of relief, but the third wing, over 100 aircraft, was only 20 or so miles south of where the lone pilot had turned and still. He had gained breathing space for the laser gun, and Shelly Saunders was coming over the horizon.

  “Mars, I’m in range and have three aircraft locked,” said Shelly. Over the next three minutes,they took turns with their lasers for thirty seconds each to keep powered up, decimating over two-thirds of the third wave before Mars left the battle scene and headed over the horizon. Aircraft scattered in all directions, except towards Washington.

  Ex-President Dithers knew when he was beat, and he ordered what was left of his air force to turn back down south. He also sent a message to Washington telling his daughter he would see her if she came visit him in Atlanta.

  A week later, with the astronauts rested from flying by carrying up gold again, two of the shuttles headed west from The Pig’s Snout towards Washington.

  Congress had finally listened to the Pentagon and unbanned the Individual Party a day earlier. It had taken several days and several heated arguments in both the House and the Senate.

  Not surprisingly to both the parties, the President had been on the side of the Pentagon. To him, a young, inexperienced female in the nasty world of Washington’s politics would be an easy opponent to beat.

  Joanne’s new legal political party would be under the guidance of Debbie West, who was going to set it up, find a campaign boss, and fill all the other necessary positions to help Joanne get elected.