Die Glocke

by M C Drake

  “Acknowledged Commander, we will see what we can do but currently all air support is tied up with enemy fighters. Do your best son. Admiral Moorer out.”

  Sleek fighters raced out over Norfolk and then Virginia Beach, the first rounds poured out and struck the Destroyer, USS Duncan, the plasma orbs impacted along the front decks and several hit the control tower.

  The alarm went out just after 09.00, “Fleet under attack, all antiaircraft personal to their battle stations.

  The Atlantic fleet was coming under heavy fire from ME 262 fighters; the sky was full of them and the ships were in a very vulnerable position.

  The only aircraft the allies had not thrown into the battle were the British made Harrier jump jets; these vertical takeoff aircraft were perfectly suited to naval defensive duties. The Harrier’s jumped into the battle but they were outnumbered at least four to one.

  The air around the ships turned into chaos very quickly as flak and machine gun rounds from the ships themselves filed the air.

  Explosions rocked the area around the HMS Kent who was taking heavy strafing rounds. The rear missile launchers were put out of action quickly.

  A Harrier tumbled after a diving 262 who was firing on the aircraft carrier HMS Eagle the Harrier fired all of its missiles but did manage to damage the Aryan aircraft. The ME 262 tried to crash into the aircraft carrier but the controls were critically damaged and it splashed down into the Atlantic.

  The Antiaircraft guns were hopelessly ineffective against the caliber of fighters they were facing and the actually caused more damage to the slower Harriers; cases of friendly fire increased dramatically.

  Inoculation

  The five Phantoms were coming to end of their fuel supply as they approached the point of no return they jettisoned their external fuel tanks. Brooklyn radioed through with one last message.

  “WC114 preparing for inoculation.”

  As anticipated there was no response.

  Brooklyn Jnr’s aircraft was so close to the ground it spewed up plumes of dust. Moose in the radar operator’s seat just behind Brooklyn looked around in despair; he did not recognize the area. It was devoid of all greenery and deep scars seemed to have been cut into the bare earth.

  The Phantoms raced passed a long line of armored vehicles traveling Westward, they feared for a moment that they had been spotted but no attack was forthcoming. They were only thirty miles from their target now.

  Sweat formed along the top of Brooklyn’s forehead, he took in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly to calm his nerves; he had to do this for his dad. Brooklyn took one last look at the family pictures in front of him, brushed his fingertips over the picture of Pam and then pushed all feelings from his mind.

  The radar in the control tower beeped incessantly, and the technician had to give it a double take to confirm it was not a glitch in the system.

  "Commander, we have incoming, thirty miles to the Northwest heading at speed."

  Atlantis strode over to the console.

  "Three, no four contacts Sir, their profile suggests they are F4 Phantoms."

  Atlantis smiled,

  “Make that five contacts Sir; one appears to be flying at a lower altitude than the rest, just above the ground.”

  “In an attempt to fly in below the radar perhaps?” Atlantis laughed, “They must be more desperate than we thought, do they really think they can destroy this base with five pathetic fighters.”

  “Maybe they have nuclear weapons attached to them?”

  The smile faded from Atlantis’s face, the fire in his eyes burned brighter. “Find out if Phantoms can be equipped with nuclear capabilities and do it now!”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Get the Swallows into the air, I want them fighters dealt with immediately.”

  Ten ME 262 of the elite 10th division roared into the air and turned at speed towards the incoming threat.

  The USS Edson fired all it had at the incoming fighters but they were coming in at a steep angle and the rounds seemed to just disappear into thin air. The 262’s released their plasma bombs and crippled the aft section; the destroyer was dead in the water.

  An ME 262 rushed towards the USS America, Moorer stood in the control tower with his hands placed behind his back. He appeared to be the calmest man in the world. The 262 opened fire and streaks of plasma peppered the control tower.

  A large explosion blew the Aryan fighter clean out of the sky; it's wreckage cartwheeled through the waves and disintegrated in the choppy sea. Moorer saluted at the two Harriers that flew passed.

  “What is the situation?” Moorer asked.

  “Not good sir, all units on land are getting pushed back, they don’t think they are going to hold on for much longer than an hour but they can’t guarantee that.”

  “The air force has suffered heavy losses but is pressing home the attack and the fleet here is in a hazardous position. The Harriers are doing their best but…”

  The great aircraft carrier lurched to port as a blazing purple sun erupted on the runway, navy rescue helicopters disappeared. When the haze cleared a 15 foot gaping hole had been burnt into the hull.

  Further rounds hit struck the USS America as three Me 262’s strafed the starboard side. The rounds burnt through the hull armor and water started to flow through. A Harrier closed in through the hail of fire and scored a direct hit with a missile shot. The ME 262 spiraled into the side of the aircraft carrier and cut a deep gash; sea water poured in.

  The antiaircraft guns took out another Aryan fighter as it tried to crash into the aft deck. Moorer steadied himself on the center console as his ship lurched at an ever-increasing angle. He watched as a British destroyer took a direct hit in the aft cannons and went up in a plume of smoke.

  Purple plasma rounds streaked forwards, smashing the glass in the control room. The rounds struck three naval officers and killed them instantly. One of the crewmen raced towards Moorer and pushed him to the floor but bother were struck; the smell of burning bodies drifted through the air.

  The five Phantoms continued on mission, their radar screens filled with contacts. First it was four, five and then six; finally, ten contacts raced towards them.

  “Time to party!” Lieutenant Luke Connery drawled in his thick Glaswegian accent. He was the best pilot in the RAF and was thus seconded to this mission. He was forty-two with bright ginger hair and green eyes.

  “Roger that, looks like we are buying the first round.” Lieutenant Mason Reed said bitterly, the young pilot had graduated from pilot training top of his class and had three confirmed Mig kills from his time in Vietnam; more impressively he had one ME 262 kill as well.

  “Good luck all.” Lieutenant Don Ross said, Ross had been brought up on the base at Wright Patterson and had vowed to free it.

  The three Phantoms banked right and raced directly towards the incoming fighters. The cloud cover was patchy but the pilots tried to use this to their advantage. Connery’s radar operator had a lock on the lead ME 262.

  Connery squeezed the trigger and the Aim 7 Sparrow flew forward, it went through the cloud cover and raced out of the other side towards the ME 262’s who were only just in range. The Sparrow hunted down its target but at the last minute the 262’s broke formation, the lead pilot dove his aircraft and spun away from the incoming missile.

  The Aryan fighters split into two groups five targeted the three incoming Phantoms while the other five raced off to engage Brooklyn and his wingman Charles Powell.

  "You have incoming Jnr, five of the bastards. Sorry, we can't assist." Connery shouted. "We have our hands full."

  Brooklyn laughed, “I’ll make sure we get you back for this.”

  The radios went quiet again.

  The three Phantoms stayed with each other as they came face to face with the elite fighters. The ME 262's sped passed, two to the right and three down the left-hand side.

  “keep eyes on them!” Reed shouted.

  The agile fighters violet engines gl
owed as the jets turned in an impossibly tight area. They powered towards the three American fighters and plasma rounds started to spray in their direction.

  Reed rolled to avoid the fire and then dove to gain as much speed as he could before attempting a wide turn to face the incoming enemy. The other two swiftly followed suit but the Aryan fighters had split formation with two engaging head on and the other three splitting right or left.

  "Shit they know what they are doing," Ross said.

  “Ignore the ones flanking us; we need to concentrate on the ones directly in front of us. Fire sidewinders to get them to splint and then spray them with cannon fire when they are maneuvering.” Reed ordered.

  They did not have missile lock but the Phantoms fired anyway, two of the sidewinders flew forward but Connery’s missile was a dud.

  The ME 262's did not split like Reed expect but instead fired a hail of plasma at the sidewinders, blowing them out of the sky. They then fired three bright plasma missiles at the Phantoms.

  Reed asked if his radar operator could lock onto the plasma with the sparrow.

  The response was less than sure.

  “I…I can try.”

  "Break, break," Reed ordered.

  Two phantoms split but Reed continued on straight at the missiles.

  "Come on," Reed said to himself.

  “I’ve got it.” The radar operator shouted in relief.

  The Sparrows engines ignited and the missile flew forward, miraculously it stayed on course and struck the plasma missile head-on; both disappeared in a blinding flash.

  Connery threw his aircraft into a steep turn, the plasma missile appeared to gain speed as it raced after him but at the last instant Ross's Phantom crossed its path and the two plasma missiles collided with each other, the ensuing shockwave buffeted Ross's fighter.

  Reed smiled, "I have you now." He said as he squeezed the trigger. Powerful rounds from the nose-mounted Gatling cannon tore through the front of the lead Aryan fighter.

  The nose disintegrated and the rounds reached the pilot, the ME 262 fell from the sky with smoke and debris trailing; a few seconds later a purple fireball burst from the ground below.

  Lieutenant Commander Brooklyn Jnr listened to the desperate battle with bated breath.

  "Brooklyn, good luck son," Powell said as he swung his aircraft towards the five incoming bogies.

  Every instinct in Brooklyn’s body screamed at him to help his comrade but he knew he had to carry on. He pushed his plane to the limit as he tried to get as much speed out of it as possible.

  Charles Powell was slightly below the ME 262’s which gave them the speed advantage, plasma rounds sprayed all around his aircraft. The air crackled with the heat.

  To Powell's horror, two of the ME 262's ignored him and went straight after Brooklyn.

  “We have incoming, six o’clock high. Straight up our ass.” Moose warned Jnr.

  “Roger that mate. We have to keep going.”

  Powell rolled his aircraft to avoid a plasma missile that impacted on the ground below scorching the dust-strewn earth.

  Two 262’s streamed in after Powell and peppered his fighter with Plasma fire, his radar operator was hit as the canopy melted above their heads. Blood poured from the open wound.

  "Brooklyn I can't tie them up for much longer," Powell said.

  A Me 262 got too close and Charles saw his opportunity he pulled back as hard as he could on the control stick pointing the plane’s nose up to the heavens. It began to stall as rounds hit the fighter but even the agile Aryan jet could not avoid the Phantom at this range and plowed straight into it; both fighters were instantly turned to debris.

  The fighting was desperate between the three phantoms who had managed to even the numbers up but Ross was in a dangerous position and his left wing had been hit badly.

  Two of the ME 262’s went to assist their comrades while the other two closed in on Brooklyn.

  All or nothing

  Atlantis watched the events unfolding in front of him. He unfolded his arms, “Ok that is close enough.” He said.

  The technician nodded.

  Brooklyn could see the base now as he rushed forwards barely two hundred feet above the ground. ‘This is it.’ He thought.

  A great clap of thunder echoed out from the base causing Brooklyn’s blood to run cold, he knew what that sound meant.

  Another three thunderclaps boomed out followed by a bright blue fork of lightning that snaked out towards the lone Phantom. Brooklyn instinctively rolled the aircraft but it was a dangerous maneuver at this altitude.

  Another fork of lightning reached out towards him and this time he could not get out of the way, it clipped his right wing and small pieces of it were torn from the plane. The controls vibrated but Brooklyn got his bird under control.

  “You ok Brooklyn?” Reed asked.

  "Roger that, we have a small amount of ball lightning but we are still going."

  "Goodman." Reed paused. "We have lost Ross. We are being overwhelmed."

  Reed rolled his plane once more and dived for the ground, he had three 262’s on his tail and the plasma missiles raced after him. Reed leveled off just above the deck as the plasma narrowly missed him and detonated into the earth.

  Reed then broke hard right and tried to gain altitude but he was hit in the left engine, the plane trailed black smoke as it lost power. Reed turned engine two off but it was no good a large explosion hit his aircraft and he briefly felt an intense heat wash over him.

  Luke Connery saw Reed go down and knew he had no chance, he turned his aircraft and took heavy plasma fire across the left of his plane; it trailed a stream off fire as it plummeted towards the earth. Connery tried to reach the ejection handle but the g-force was too much and he could not get out before his plane crashed.

  The radio was silent. Brooklyn knew he was on his own.

  He raced towards the base and split a hard right as the first orb of superheated white light just missed him. The orb changed direction and followed the Phantom. Another orb was just in front but Brooklyn managed to avoid that as well but another lightning bolt struck his aircraft. The canopy disintegrated, showering the two-man crew with shards of glass.

  Moose stifled a moan, he grasped gingerly and the huge piece of glass that was sticking out from his leg; blood trickled from the wound.

  Purple rounds zipped passed the Phantom, two ME 262's were bearing down on them at terrifying speed but Brooklyn had come too far to fail now and as his aircraft entered the edge of the base it came under increasing plasma fire from ground forces.

  A plasma round hit the rear of the plane and damaged the rudder but Brooklyn continued on target. His eyes locked onto the control tower and he squeezed the trigger; the Gatling guns rounds smashed into the tower and obliterated the glass.

  Inside the tower, Atlantis threw himself to the floor as the rounds flew inches above his head. Smoke filled the room; the computers were all but destroyed. Atlantis looked across to see the bodies of his technicians; blood coated the floor.

  Brooklyn switched to missiles, he only had the one and he squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

  Brooklyn squeezed the trigger hard but again nothing happened.

  Moose spoke but he sounded weak, "The bottom of the plane was damaged when the lightning hit us mate."

  “Shit shit shit!” Brooklyn shouted as he narrowly avoided a plasma missile. “We are going to have to do it manually then. Get ready to eject on my mark Moose.”

  A large jolt hit the Phantom from behind which knocked out the engines but the plasma missile did not take out the aircraft completely. The giant orbs of plasma closed in but it was too late.

  Atlantis saw what was coming and at the last minute he jumped to his feet and ran to the glassless windows at the rear of the control tower.

  At the last second, the Phantom rolled slightly but Brooklyn shouted to eject and Moose pulled the handle. The two seats rocketed away from the jet but there was not enough alt
itude for the parachutes to open and the two men were still strapped to their chairs as they hit the ground.

  The Phantom plowed into the control tower and was simultaneously hit by two orbs of plasma, the explosion detonated the American fighters payload and the shockwave blew Atlantis clean out of the tower, he plunged the 25-foot drop and hit the floor, rolling several times.

  Aryan troops rushed to his aid and pulled him to his feet, he winced in pain as he tried to put weight on his right ankle. From the flames in the tower, a black mist leaked out and descended over the area.

  "Make sure those stubborn pilots are dead," Atlantis ordered.

  Brooklyn lay on the floor barely conscious, he tried to move but he could not feel anything below his waist; he realized he could only move his right arm.

  Brooklyn tried to call out to Moose but he could not speak, he looked over but could not see any movement from the other ejection chair.

  Brooklyn Jnr tried to fight the growing tiredness that washed over him but it was too intense and he blacked out.

  The black mist felt cold as it hit Atlantis’s face, he removed a glove and brushed it off; he inspected it in his fingers. It was thick like tar but was very cold.

  Atlantis got an old feeling as if he had seen this liquid before but he could not have. Atlantis sneezed and a thick black substance rushed from his nose.

  For the first time in a long time he felt fear rush over him, ‘they couldn’t have got hold of a… that EMP blast over London.’

  Atlantis knew he had to get out of there, he turned towards Die Glocke but he was finding it hard to walk, the black liquid oozed from his tear ducts and ran down his cheeks. The Aryan commander hobbled toward the glowing acorn-shaped device.

  It felt like he was walking through treacle though and as he looked down he could see his feet were dissolving into a dark puddle of thick liquid. Atlantis carried on but his steps were getting slower and slower. His senses were dulling at an alarming rate.