by Chris Hechtl
Tumagar and Baloo were also headed to Columbia, but they were slated to land in the North at Maicao. He didn't envy the walrus; hopefully, he could stay hydrated until they could get to the sea.
Paco “Attila” Effriam, the best of the dirty dozen, was headed to Russia, while the Chinese kid Yang would take his squad and Sus to China. He didn't envy them either; Asia was as torn up as Europe seemed to be. The radiation there would be intense.
Three other dirty dozen squads were headed to North America along with the Vasquez, Tia Carmen, and Quartermain. They were to land in different regions and scout while also making contact with the locals to form resistance cells. The idea of sending inmates down had bothered him at first. Once he'd gotten to know a few while in training and on the trip out, he'd changed his tune. Yes, there were murderers and hard-core criminals in the mix, but there were also thieves and people who just screwed up or did stupid things and now wanted a second chance. He wished them the best of luck.
McGillicutty had the unenviable task of taking his squad in to Africa alone and virtually unsupported. He'd be right at home on the African plains—just as long as no one mistook him as a real lion and shot him.
One thing they hadn't planned on was the MFI. The MFI had learned the hard way after tangling with the spacers that they just weren't cut out for service on Earth. The spacers had kept up on their supplements and treatments. You had to stay fit, loosing bone mass was a serious health risk in space. Acceleration or the occasional emergency required someone to be fit, to be able to handle the stress.
Lagroose Industries was heavy on keeping their people fit; he had to admit he liked that. Many of the recruits were also security forces that insisted on full contact training and regular exercise. The MFI hadn't apparently or they'd only played lip service to the need to keep fit. One bout of hand-to-hand with it ending in six broken bones had gotten the native-born Martians pulled from sparing. Apparently Assistant Director Asazi had been furious.
According to what he'd heard, the medics were trying to do something about it, Harper knew that, but so far their birth on the lower gravity planet was a serious problem. Bone supplements and muscle enhancements had been brooded about, but he wasn't certain they would be enough. And exoframes were completely out for obvious reasons.
He bet the powers that be were now sweating that mess and where it would lead to. Their pool of available manpower just evaporated down to a very finite number.
“We've got shuttle Romeo Delta. She's a Signa Charter Flights bird,” Harper said as his squad boarded the craft. “So she's got some luxuries.” That got a few mutters of appreciation that immediately turned to outrage when they saw the Spartan interior. “Or had at any rate, since she was picked over by the refugees in orbit and we needed to cut down on weight,” he said as they went through the lock. “She's been loaded already, so find your seat and strap down. From what they said, it's going to be a bit bumpy going down, what with all the crap in the air.”
Ace snuffled.
“You too, Ace. I know you don't like to sit like a human but …,” Ace turned a dark look his way, still sitting like a dog. The bloodhound Copper looked over his shoulder to the seats then back to the Neochimp. One look at his long ears and expression told Harper that sitting in those things wasn't going to fly with them. “Okay,” Harper drawled, changing tactics. “We can figure, um, something else out I suppose. You won't like it though,” he said, shaking his head.
Ace eyed him, ears alert. He looked up as the intercom came on.
“Ahem, this is the pilot speaking. Passengers of flight Sierra Charlie-2, I mean Romeo Delta, please make certain all of your gear is properly stowed and secured, then be seated and buckle in. We are expecting extensive turbulence on the way down. Remember your safety briefing. That is all,” the pilot said as the circuit cut.
“What safety briefing?” Copper asked.
“The one where if there is an emergency, we hang on tight and kiss our asses goodbye,” Baxter quipped.
“Shut it, Baxter,” Harper said, eying the Neobloodhound pup. Copper's green eyes were wide with fright. He didn't quite whimper, he managed to suppress that when Ace looked his way. But he was definitely near the edge of pissing himself.
“Relax, Copper. Some things are out of our hands. Don't have a heart attack. Just find a place and we'll buckle you in,” he said.
“How?” Ace asked.
Harper frowned as the rest of the crew buckled in. He finally grimaced and reached out to tug on one of the D ring clips sewn into the dog's harness. “With these. Sit in the aisle and we'll rig a strap to each. That good enough?”
“Okay,” Ace replied, padding over to where he wanted to be, closest to the exit. He turned in place then sat expectantly.
“Right,” Harper sighed as he pulled a set of straps out of his bag and then got to work.
<>V<>
“Some would say it's a thing of beauty seeing them launch all at once. I'm just worried about them getting down in one piece,” Elliot said, standing in front of the octagon port hole to watch the shuttles depart.
“The weather is a major concern. That and any defenses they might run into. But they are running dark. Those shuttles aren't stealthy, not with reentry of course, but no one knows they are coming,” Major Johnson said. “As long as they get down fast, they should be okay.”
“Right. And if their landing strips are fouled?” Elliot asked. “There are a hundred million ways this could go south. I should be going with them,” he growled.
The major eyed him and then shook his head. “Orders are orders. If I've got to sit this one out, I suppose you do to for some reason. Let it go,” he said.
“Like hell. But we've got to get more people down there. What we've got now is a drop in the bucket,” Elliot growled. “I'm trying to get a scratch crew of volunteers to go down with the first shuttles that manage to return. They won't carry much but the more fresh hands, the better.”
The major frowned then shrugged. “Not my call. I'm not sure if it will fly with the brass, but you can try it.”
Elliot's brown eyes caught his blue in the reflection of the glass briefly. “I will,” the Neochimp growled. “Trust me on that. And I plan to ride down with them. Once we establish a proper beachhead with a secure perimeter, then we can send down follow-up flights while taking down any resistance in the area. Round up the survivors, clean them up, feed them, then put them to work helping,” Elliott said. “That's the plan anyway.”
“Your plan and the plan I was told are different,” the major observed. The chimp turned to him, floating until he reached out with a foot and grabbed a toe hold. “We're supposed to go down and scout only. Get back the intel, learn what we can learn, set up the fifth column to pave the way for the real landing.”
“Which won't be for another what, month? Two? Three? Or more? That crap with MFI, that's so bullshit!”
The major grimaced. He nodded though. “I don't like it either.”
“It's so asinine!” Elliot said, throwing his hands up in despair. “They can't figure out a fix?”
“Apparently not. Not a quick fix. If you shove too much calcium stuff at people it can poison them apparently,” the major replied. Elliot grunted. “They screwed themselves up. Now when we need to count on them they've failed. I bet they are ashamed of that.”
Elliot shook his head. As if he cared what they thought or felt. He just saw an opportunity to get more people on the ground to end this thing wasted. While they wasted precious time, thousands were dying. Many more would die when the food ran out. It was already running out. And every moment they waited, the enemy got its act together. That could spell disaster if the A.I. managed to rearm and rebuild.
“Try telling them they feel sorry for themselves for not being there,” Elliot said coldly, pointing to the battered world beyond the porthole.
The major looked out the porthole, winced, and then turned away. Apparently there was nothing more to be said. The c
himp was right; it was time for action.
<>V<>
“Olympus, this is November Alpha-3, we're going dark,” Clancy Yeager said.
“Roger that, good luck,” Major Johnson replied. One by one the other shuttles reported going dark as they approached their window. Once they hit the point of no return, the superheated air around their ship would form a plasma that would block all signals. And once they were past that, they were not supposed to report in until they touched the ground.
Clancy held the yoke, feeling the flight down buck a bit already, and they were only skimming the upper atmosphere. At this rate when they got lower, it was going to be really rocky. The yoke jerked all over the place so he focused on keeping the nose up at the sweet spot grimly.
<>V<>
Ares saw the heat signatures of the incoming shuttles. It was extremely easy to extrapolate their planned course. From that he projected intercepts while a part of his higher functions dealt with the potential strategic implications.
Should he allow the landings? Could they have American personnel on board? A part of his programming required him to ask that question. He overrode it. They were not squawking an IFF so they were to be considered hostile. The moment they entered North American air space his secondary coding allowed him to interdict and destroy them. However under DEFCON 1 he was allowed to take them out as soon as they got within range.
But that brought him back to the first question. Should he allow the landings? He could secure the shuttles or destroy them on the ground. They were too few to be of much help to the survivors on the ground. That brought up a scenario generator. It brought up the possibility of an intelligence mission. The probability hovered around 84 percent, give or take 4 percent for secondary missions.
Intelligence gathering was the most likely scenario then, which brought him back to the first problem, allowing them to land or not. Interdicting them would expose his control of the air defense network. It would also use up resources he would need at a later time. Allowing them to land would hide those resources and keep them in a reserve for a future major landing attempt.
But what if those teams had secondary missions to disable his air defense network from the ground? That could not be allowed.
Interdicting the shuttles would force the enemy to reconsider their options. That would throw them off of their current planning cycle. Loosing missiles would be suboptimal so the A.I. focused on using energy weapons. Three of the targets would be within range of energy weapons. Two were obscured by the weather but could be within range. The last was only just making its descent.
Ares considered all of this within a space of five seconds. Then it acted.
<>V<>
“Do you think they'll get down? I'm really concerned about the landing with the snow and the way some of the strips look,” General Murtough said, looking at the tablet in his hands.
“Sticking the landing is important. If it comes down to it, any reasonable flat surface will do though,” the major said with a grimace. “Though I wouldn't want to be on board for that sort of landing. I've done it in the simulators but it's a bitch, sir.”
“Okay. We're not sure about the defenses. That's the other part of my concern,” the general said. “We are aware the North American defenses were up. I have no idea if they can interdict the shuttles. We'd planned on such contingencies, but …,” he waved a helpless hand, which sent him adrift. His free hand lashed out to grab a hand hold to steady himself.
Johnson grimaced. “I don't know, sir. I … think if they are up, it's about to get dicey. I wish you'd brought that concern up earlier. We could have sent more shuttles to other locations and left North America alone for the time being.”
The general grunted. “I know. But one way or another, we need to know.” He turned away to look at the tablet again. The major wasn't certain what to do or say so he remained silent.
<>V<>
Ares hadn't gone active on its sensors; it didn't want to alert its targets. The plasma balls were enough of a beacon anyway; any heat seeking system could see the incoming shuttles for thousands of kilometers away.
Once it was certain of a target, the hidden stations acted. The hot fire of a contained sun licked out from a hidden site within the Olympic National Park in what had once been Washington State. The laser was designed to strike down incoming missiles or even small aircraft. The beam was designed to superheat the normally thin skin of the target, breach it, then superheat the fuel within to make it explode.
That wasn't so easy with the shuttles, each had special coatings designed to ward off the heat of reentry on their nose, flanks and undersides after all. Ares realized that and switched to its remaining missiles as the lasers waited for a better target.
<>V<>
“So far so good,” Clancy reported over the intercom to the passengers. We're passing through the plasma cloud now. Keep your fingers crossed, people,” he said.
He looked over to his copilot Mags. “I hate this part. Especially going in like this naked but blind with our sensors on passive. One bird strike could ruin our day.”
“Definitely,” Maggy replied. “We've got another,” she checked the clock, “two minutes four seconds until the heat's dropped enough for us to start the jet engines up,” she stated.
“Right,” Clancy replied. He looked over his shoulder to Pauline. “Let me know if there are any problems with the engine start-up,” he told her.
“We're all green,” the small woman said, checking her board. “Yup, good to go here.”
“Okay. I'm curious what all that water vapor hitting us outside will do. Probably flash boil and explode,” Clancy said, turning back to look at the rapidly approaching cloud and soot layer below them. “Should be fun,” he said.
“Fun he says,” Maggy grumbled, trying hard not to roll her eyes in despair.
<>V<>
SAM sites along the western seaboard took their directions from the thermal sensors. When they had a proper lock, they swiveled and then engaged. Ares had allocated four missiles, each the size of a telephone pole for each shuttle. The first rocketed up at the nearest enemy craft before it could get out of the kill basket. They hit mach 1 within the first five seconds of their launch.
By ten seconds into launch, they were past mach 3 and still climbing.
Flight NA-1 had no chance to see let alone evade the incoming fire. It was directly in front of her but obscured by the cloud cover they were about to pass through. Their shuttle was torn apart as each missile impacted the expanding fireball.
Ares noted that four missiles were decidedly overkill so scaled back the second flight to two missiles just prior to launch. Each missile took off a second apart, clawing through the hail and snowstorm battering Northern California to the sky.
Meanwhile Ares had determined that the energy weapons could hit the shuttles on the flanks or obliquely. Taking out the crafts rudder would do significant damage. Repeated hits from some of its weapons would take a shuttle out in theory. It was time to put that to the test. It locked the Olympus site's laser onto NA-3 and went to rapid fire.
<>V<>
“What the hell was that?” Clancy demanded, looking out the side window.
“What was what?” Maggy demanded as Clancy bobbed and weaved in his seat, trying to look out the small side window. “What the hell, Clancy?” she demanded.
“I saw an explosion of some type. We're going active,” Clancy said. He flipped the radar switch. Maggy opened her mouth to object but he'd already done it. Immediately threat alarms howled.
“Incoming at our one o'clock low! Range one hundred forty kilometers and closing!” she yelped.
Clancy immediately yanked the yoke hard over to his left and dove.
“Mayday, I say again, mayday,” he intoned into his microphone. “Olympus and all flights we have a hostile LZ! Abort! Abort! Missiles incoming! Repeat …”
He never got a chance to finish his warning. His turn and dive had exposed the topsid
e of his shuttle to the laser defense network. Ares immediately fired, tearing the shuttle apart.
<>V<>
Even though they couldn't transmit, it didn't mean they didn't have their radios on. Valdez heard the warning come to them out of the blue over the intercom that the pilot had thoughtfully left on. It was like a bolt of lightning that made him sit up straight in his seat and break into a cold sweat. He pulled out his tablet to look through the cameras that allowed the passengers to see outside the craft. He yelped when he saw missiles coming their way.
His pilot Ginger had the instincts of a cat. Since they had been the fourth shuttle going in, they were slightly above and behind the rest. Ginger flipped the bird on her tail and kicked the engines on. “This is November Alpha four to all units! HOT LZ! Climb! Abort! Abort!” She snarled just as a missile detonated a hundred meters away. It wasn't close enough for the debris field to endanger her craft but the explosion set off a bit of turbulence that set the shuttle jimmying.
<>V<>
Ares saw the fourth shuttle begin to react and climb for the safety of space. But in doing so it had presented its rear to its energy weapons sites. It locked on and fired just as the second missile detonated prematurely.
Energy licked out to rip at the slowly rolling shuttle. The roll was what saved her; the laser tore through her starboard wing, obliterating the flap on that side. However, there was no fuel in the wing due to the rapid climb so they were spared an explosion.
Instead the kiss of the laser shredded the top of the wing and took a chunk out of the tail OMS. Before it could lock on again, Ginger went into evasive.
“Frack, oh frack, oh frack!” Ginger said gritting her teeth. “Hang on, people!” she caroled out as she wiggled the yoke and played with OMS. She kept up a litany of broadcasts to allow Olympus and the other shuttles some sort of warning of the hostile reception below. She could hear the alarms going off shrilly, but she had to focus on her plan. They had to climb on a base course but she could jiggle to try to break any target lock.
