by Jeff Miller
“The name loophole?” Neil asked.
“Basically, a rule was grandfathered in that the only style of facial hair a soldier can have is that of the ship’s namesake. So, for example, the crew on the USS Lincoln gets beards,” Jones explained. An electronic bust of Van Buren appeared on the visor displays. “Unfortunately, President Van Buren enjoyed what we in the business like to call muttonchops. Those big patches of sideburn hair that tend to grow more out than down. Sadly, it seems the men of the ship are keeping that disgusting tradition alive.” Jones cleared his throat. “But you’ll see all that soon enough. Coordinates set?”
Neil and the others now piloting—Sam on his left and Yuri on his right—replied with an affirmative, and Jones gave them the go-ahead to start flying out of formation.
“Hey, Biggs and Riley, how you guys doing back there?” Neil asked.
“Great, man. This video camouflage stuff is awesome,” Biggs said. “I think I can get it to play giant cat videos. For later.”
“And I’m ready if you need me, your lordship,” piped up Riley.
Neil made a mental note to do a quick Google search on his phone for Renaissance terms once they were safely on the ground. He turned his attention back to the monitor, where the GPS beacon for the aircraft carrier was quickly approaching, and began to prepare for landing.
There was something else on his radar, Neil realized—a dot approaching from behind. At first he assumed it was another aircraft headed for the USS Martin Van Buren, possibly to refuel, but it wasn’t slowing down. It was accelerating. Acting on instinct, Neil swerved the plane hard to the right, knocking everyone against the taut safety straps of their seats.
“Andertol!” Jones bellowed in his earpiece. “What the—”
At that exact moment, a rocket shot past, missing the jet by a matter of feet and exploding in a fiery ball in the space ahead.
“That’s enemy fire, recruits!” Jones boomed. “Somebody get me some eyes on who that is!”
Neil and Trevor frantically turned their heads, as Biggs and Riley did the same in the back. Among the four of them, every direction was covered.
“There be-eth an unmarked bogey, my liege,” Riley replied.
“Somebody wanna tell me what he’s saying?” Jones exclaimed.
“We have visual on that bogey,” Neil confirmed. “Or, uh, we used to . . . ,” Neil trailed off as they all watched the enemy fighter begin to shimmer invisible—almost like the Chameleon could. Neil peered closely and could still see the outline.
“They’re trying to activate camouflage, but it doesn’t seem to be on a par with ours,” Jason 1 was saying from another plane. “Look, you can tell it’s created to broadcast from only one viewing angle. If we pulled up or below, we could probably see the plane.”
“You heard the kid! Pull up!” Jones yelled. “Pilots, back in command! Copilots, release controls!”
Abruptly, Trevor guided the nose of the fighter up, forcefully reclaiming the controls just as another rocket shot past them.
“Why haven’t we gone invisible yet?” Neil blurted out. The plan had been to activate the invisibility technology after refueling on the Martin Van Buren. But when they made that plan, no one knew they were going to get shot at.
“Good thinking, Andertol,” said Jones. “All Chameleons, activate camouflage. Abandon first destination and proceed directly to second coordinates. I repeat, continue on to second coordinates. You’ve all had enough practice!”
Biggs fired up the invisibility technology for the Chameleon, and Neil could feel it in his bones as the entire craft began to vibrate. As the formation of jets vanished into thin air, Neil hoped this was enough to shake off their strange, half-invisible enemy.
THEY FLEW STRAIGHT AND SILENT FOR A FEW SECONDS, BUT it seemed like an hour, while the enemy fighter looped around in search of Neil and company. It ducked up and down, firing frustrated shots into the distance as it scoured the air. But as the search came up fruitless, the aircraft eventually turned around, returning in the direction they’d just come from.
Neil breathed a deep sigh of relief. They were okay. But the faint, high-pitched buzzing sound that started when the invisibility scales were fully activated was beginning to make his teeth grind. It reminded him of when the cable box was turned off at his grandparents’ house while their old tube television was accidentally still on and the TV’s faint screech droned incessantly. Neil was always the first to notice it, as apparently the others in his family were unable to hear the frequency. He wondered if it would be the same now, or if this meant he possessed doglike hearing.
“Sam, you getting that buzzing sound too?” Neil asked into his headset.
“What buzzing sound?” Sam sounded confused.
Uh-oh. Dog hearing is sounding more and more likely.
While Trevor maintained control of the gears, Neil wished he could check out his jet’s invisibility in action. From inside the plane everything still looked normal—he could see the exteriors of the other jets, a safety feature so that the invisible planes wouldn’t crash into one another. But Neil had secretly been hoping that he would at least be able to look through the floor of his jet to the ground below, like those glass floors atop tall buildings designed to lure tourists.
“That was close, recruits,” Jones said, jogging Neil’s attention. “I’ve alerted the Martin Van Buren to the situation, and they’ll be in pursuit of the bogeys. Continue at full speed to our final destination.”
“But, sir,” Corinne piped up from the neighboring jet, “we haven’t practiced landing!”
“I have trust in you, cadet,” Jones reassured her. “Now, we’re going to bring up our satellite feed to see what we’re dealing with. I want all craft to stay at about thirty thousand feet for now. I’m thinking we can get a bird’s-eye on our craft and just hover down nice and quiet-like.”
Trevor pulled back farther on the joystick, but there was tension in the gears. He looked at Neil as if something wasn’t right.
“What’d you do, Ashley?”
“What? I didn’t touch anything. I haven’t even been flying!” Neil responded. He grabbed hold of his controls and tried moving them, but the plane continued to level out, barely idling forward.
Uh-oh, Neil thought.
At the same time, everyone’s visor display went blank. The coordinates, levels, and monitors disappeared.
“It’s okay, cadets,” Jones said. “Electrical systems are still operational, just not sure what’s going on. Mission Control. Mission Control . . . ,” Jones’s voice repeated, but there was no reply. “Wells, Lopez. Switch to the alternate channel on the telecom.” Neil could hear a click as they left to talk privately. Neil tried to stay calm and ignore the gnawing feeling that if something needed to be said on a separate channel, it probably wasn’t good.
He returned his focus to the gauges in front of him and concentrated on getting them to their final destination. Neil was just starting to get back into the swing of things when the jet suddenly hit an air pocket. In an instant, the plane dipped, but Trevor quickly pulled back up to correct their flight. His confidence guiding the plane was impressive, but Neil had a feeling that something still wasn’t right.
“Hey, Trevor,” Neil said, “we should slow down a little so we don’t leave a vapor trail or anything. Don’t want to make being invisible pointless.”
“Psh, I know, Ashley,” Trevor replied, but he increased the speed anyway.
The invisible fighter pushed on, covering hundreds of miles of ocean in minutes. The jets skimmed over a blanket of puffy white clouds, the choppy sea appearing in the small gaps between them.
“Pilots, let’s pull back a bit. If estimations are accurate, we should be getting close to our missing ship’s location,” said Jones, returning to the main radio channel. “Looks like we’re getting continued interference on our radar, though.” He slapped his helmet, and then the screens surrounding him. It was obvious Jones was not exactly familiar with th
e technology.
“Jones, I’d be happy to take a look at the radar. I’m wondering if there’s a—” JP started to say.
“Silence, recruits,” commanded Jones. He looked toward the horizon. “Due to apparent technical difficulties, we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way: with our own two eyes. On my mark, we’ll hover down to scout out what’s below us. If my map’s correct, I’m not seeing that there should be anything, so keep your eyes out for our craft floating below. Stay in formation as best you can, pilots, and do exactly as I say. Now, let’s do this.”
Switching the craft’s controls with a toggle of his thumb, Trevor dived toward the surface of the ocean. Neil felt his stomach get left behind at a higher altitude. They were falling fast—too fast, Neil thought, watching the altimeter drop from six digits to four. This was bad. Neil grabbed his controller and tried to correct Trevor’s flying, pitching the nose up ever so slightly. With a free hand, he pulled back on the throttle.
They slowed, but only for a moment. Neil looked to see Trevor’s hand firmly on the thrust controls, pushing well beyond the speed Neil had just corrected.
The fighter burst clear from the cloud cover to loom over a small chain of three islands. Neil could see where tidal pools had carved the land, leaving sandbars and jutting rocks scattered around the row of oddly shaped landforms. There was a larger main island that formed a misshapen triangle with two smaller ones. It looked like a spooky, half-smiling face, Neil thought. Two uneven eyes above a crescent mouth.
“What’s going on up there? Slow down, pilots!” Jones snapped as the jet sped down toward the smallest island. Neither of the boys responded. Neil just gritted his teeth, clutching the throttle as he tried his best to reduce Trevor’s pace.
“This isn’t fun and games, soldiers. Cut this out,” Jones commanded.
“I can land these things on a dime in the game,” Trevor insisted. “Just watch.”
Neil let go, as if to say “Fine, do it your way,” and immediately regretted his decision. Trevor just kept accelerating, and without Neil’s resistance, they plunged even faster.
The tops of the palm trees below grew terrifyingly close, and Trevor finally tried to slow down. But he’d waited too long.
At the center of the smallest island was a tiny crater devoid of trees. Trevor aimed for it. As they neared, a subtle red glow became visible from cracks in the bottom of the rocky circle.
“Trevor, that’s lava!” Neil cried out.
“Get us out of here!” Jones shouted.
The heat rising up from the small crater of magma below caused the thrusters to moan and fire out of sync. Neil felt the once-powerful fighter wobble in midair, circling unsteadily like a bad juggler’s spinning plate atop a stick.
“Watch out!” Neil shrieked as dozens of gauges began to beep in distress. The Chameleon thrashed through the humid tropical air, unleashing a sputtering howl as it lost control and launched into a violent tailspin.
As they spiraled down, Neil looked for something, anything, to help. He saw a handle marked EMERGENCY and pulled it firmly, before realizing that the next word was RELEASE. Neil stayed put, but a cache of gear spilled out from the belly of the plane into a thick patch of palm trees.
In a final, disorienting plummet, the jet took a nosedive toward the white sand beach that circled the small island.
“Thy ship is verily crashing!” Riley exclaimed.
“If anyone finds a recording of this, as my last living will and testament, I leave everything to my cat, Mayor Mittenbottom!” Biggs screamed.
“Tell that to Mayor Mittenbottom yourself,” Neil replied. “We’re not going down like this!” And with every ounce of strength he had, he yanked back on the throttle, forcing the tail of the jet to stabilize and breaking them free of their swirling descent. But just as he thought he might have regained control, the jet hit a tangle of vines dangling between tall palm trees and jerked to the ground.
The plane landed with a thick, powerful slap, first its tail and then its nose. Seaweed and driftwood flew in all directions, settling onto the sand like pieces of confetti. Neil’s safety harness dug into his body, knocking the wind out of him. As he gasped for air, his ears were ringing at a loud and unforgiving frequency. He looked up at the blinding sun and winced.
He was in trouble. This was far, far worse than broken headgear.
AS NEIL UNDID THE HELMET AND THE SAFETY BELT SECURED around his body, he could hear the muffled whines of the others around him. He shook his head, confirming that no bones were broken, only to grimace when Jones’s voice echoed through the cockpit.
“Grunsten! Andertol! Are you trying to get us killed?” Jones fumed.
Jones yanked open the ship’s glass top, hastily undoing his safety harness and slamming down his helmet. The major hopped out of the plane to survey the damage, his strong arms and legs moving like a machine.
“Out here, soldiers!” Jones yelled. The four recruits hurried to stumble out onto the fine white sand.
“Well, great. Just great,” Jones began. He walked around the fighter, frowning as he surveyed the damage. Fortunately, aside from a few long scrapes and a thick vine tangled into one of the turbines, there didn’t seem to be too much damage that couldn’t be fixed.
Neil glanced around at their surroundings, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the intense sunlight. The beach they were standing on ran around the edge of the island, skirting a dense jungle in the island’s center. The rim of the crater they’d flown over peeked out just above the top of the tree line. The island looked to be uninhabited, apart from large animal tracks that were sketched out onto the sand in every direction.
“Way to go, copilot,” Trevor spit, turning to Neil.
“Hey, I was just trying to slow us down. You were the one going too fast,” Neil replied.
“Listen up, everybody, and do exactly as I say.” Jones glared at Neil and Trevor. “Diagnostics confirm the Chameleon is still operational. We just need to dig it out. Since we’re here because of their little stunt, Grunsten and Andertol will go get the gear that’s now made a home in the jungle. The rest of you will stick with me and help dig—and when I say dig, I mean actually dig. We’ll rendezvous with the others once they’ve secured a location.”
“Jones, I—” Neil started.
“Andertol, I don’t even want to hear it. You two get moving—now.”
In silence, Neil and Trevor slowly plodded into the lush green landscape. Behind them, Neil faintly heard Riley ask Jones how he should begin digging out their metal steed.
“Great, now I have to get lost in the woods to make up for your mistake,” Trevor said. Neil did his best to ignore him and focus on their task.
As they walked farther into the shadows of the trees, a symphony of jungle noises immediately surrounded them. Tall, thin bamboo stalks stretched up all around, and birds of nearly infinite species squawked and warbled. Vines hung sporadically like tossed limp noodles. Huge trees cast cool shadows, while monstrous ferns and giant-leafed plants filled in the space on the jungle floor. Neil could barely see much farther than a few trees ahead of him and had to zigzag through the forest, making his way slowly ahead.
“I think the gear dropped down not too far from here,” Neil said, trying to get his bearings. Trevor just shrugged.
They walked on in silence. But soon Neil heard a rustling from the bushes behind them. He shivered, all his senses on edge, and paused as Trevor crept slowly forward. The noise grew closer. It was footsteps, Neil realized. Somebody was following them.
“Trevor, run!” yelled Neil, and the two of them took off, bobbing between massive trees that looked like dinosaur legs. Neil turned back to see who was after them, but he got only a faint glimpse before whipping his head back around to duck under a low-hanging branch. It couldn’t be, he thought. And yet he could have sworn that they were being stalked by an ostrich.
Just as Neil turned to look back again, he and Trevor collided in a small clea
ring where a small patch of daylight was shining through the spaces between the palm leaves overhead.
“Watch it!” yelled Trevor.
“No, ostrich!” Neil shouted back.
“Whatrich?” Trevor responded as his foot caught on something, and suddenly, in a flurry of green and brown leaves, he and Neil were yanked up and away from the jungle floor, engulfed in a handmade net of vines. They squirmed together, human pretzels in organic netting.
“How did you not see the trip wire?” Neil yelled in frustration as he looked over to see a tree house perched high in the nearby trees. A makeshift ladder was secured to one side. He scanned the ground below for any signs of its inhabitant.
“Whoever made this doesn’t know what’s about to happen to them,” Trevor fumed. “When my dad hears about this—well, let’s just say it’ll be a new record for a lawsuit on net-related trauma!”
“Dude! We’re in a net!” Neil snapped. “Your dad can’t help us right now. We need to figure out how we’ll actually get out of here!”
Neil reached for the vines encasing them and tried to rip them apart, but they were sturdy and thick, almost as wide as the climbing rope in his gym class.
“Do you have a Swiss Army knife or anything?” Neil asked, thinking of ways to cut themselves free.
“Um, no,” Trevor said.
Neil rolled his eyes and tried to examine his surroundings some more, but with his body stuck at a sixty-degree angle and his head jutted to the side, it was difficult to see much. Pushing his head through a small hole in the netting, Neil ratcheted his head to the left as far as possible. In the distance he could just see the cache of gear and food they’d dropped, and something else.
Out of the woods, a shadowy figure appeared behind their gear, lumbering slowly toward them. Neil caught his breath in panic. “Trevor . . . ,” Neil whispered, “someone’s coming!”
THE TREE HOLDING NEIL AND TREVOR CREAKED SUBTLY WITH their weight as they swayed back and forth twenty feet in the air. Rays of yellow sunlight leaked in splattered patches through the canopy of leaves. Neil twisted to see the figure as it approached, but the person remained shapeless, still nestled in shadows. Neil closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst; but after a few long, uneventful moments, he opened them again and saw only a boy, maybe fourteen years old, standing right below them.
