A cold sea wind blew over the deck of the most powerful ship in naval history. Walking across the half-mile long deck towards the fore guns, Falkirk wondered how Congress could possibly have approved the spending of such a large amount of money upon a single carrier.
“The Chinese War, I know,” Martinez said, walking next to him. They were both in dress uniforms, which the captain of the ship had insisted upon for the celebration of their arrival and the reception dinner that followed. Now that most of the festivities had ended, members of the crew had stumbled off to their quarters, many intoxicated by more than just the excitement of the evening.
Falkirk couldn’t blame them, though. They felt invincible. For the first time in the fight against the aliens, Falkirk finally felt like progress was being made. Everyone had decided to relax and let their hair down a bit, and it was just what Falkirk needed. Now, in the waning dusk, descending to darkness, Falkirk felt relaxed.
Originally, Falkirk had decided that he couldn’t sleep, and decided to take a mile walk around the deck to pass some time and burn up some energy. However, the walk quickly turned into a tour of the ship. Walking back towards the bow, Falkirk had found Martinez, face outlined by the light of the conning tower, and they had been walking the deck of the ship ever since.
“How did you know what I was thinking?” Falkirk asked.
“It’s pretty obvious. When people get on board, nobody thinks about the immensity of the ship, only the immensity of the cost.” Martinez replied.
“So how much did it cost?” Falkirk questioned.
“From what I understand, R&D was about two-hundred billion alone. The actual prototype of this new class of ship, which we’re standing on, with a full complement of one hundred and forty four fighters, was close to a trillion.” Martinez responded.
“Amazing,” Falkirk said, additionally impressed by the huge racks of laser-guided sea-to-land missiles that lined the missile launchers on the deck. This carrier was the ultimate in modern naval power projection.
Falkirk continued walking along the deck. It wasn’t completely dark yet, and a dark blue shade still remained in the sky. Less than one hundred miles off the coast of Brazil, the lights from the shore glinted, easily visible on this clear evening. Falkirk checked his watch. The patrol of six aircraft sent out were supposed to be returning in twenty minutes.
Calmness settled over Falkirk, one that he had not known in years. Not just a feeling of relaxation, but a feeling of contentment. He sat down on the edge of the bow of the deck, the water far below him. The carrier was not moving, and the waters flowed around the hull. There was still time, thought Falkirk, before reality was able to catch up to them.
Unfortunately, reality caught up with Falkirk sooner than he had expected. Looking out over the waters, towards the Antarctic, Falkirk saw not one, not two, but hundreds of the alien craft. Screaming towards the ship, the aliens seemed to have an intent to kill.
“We’ve got to go! Now!” Falkirk said, grabbing Martinez by the shoulder. They ran back towards the elevator to the lower decks, and saw the aliens coming steadily on. Falkirk knew that he had to do something.
“Get the others onboard the S-1, and have Captain Valmont prep it for launch. I have a very bad feeling about this.” Falkirk said, running towards the bridge of the ship.
Falkirk found the bridge door open, and he stormed in, seeing the skeleton crew that was manning the operations of the ship. A radar operator stood up to recognize Falkirk, but before he had a chance to speak, Falkirk ran over to his radar station and examined it. The AEGIS-II system was scanning at a range of one-hundred miles. Falkirk expanded it to two-hundred miles, and was appalled by the sight that met him. The entire bottom fifth of the screen looked like it had been painted red. Each individual red dot indicated an unknown or enemy signature. The aliens were coming on in one massive force. Falkirk didn’t expect the attack to come so soon.
He grabbed the P.A. radio, and clicked it on. Falkirk prayed that the upcoming casualties wouldn’t include his squad.
“All personnel, battle stations, battle stations. I repeat, we are under attack. This is not a drill!” Falkirk said, hearing the thudding of combat boots on metal only seconds later.
Falkirk ran out of the bridge. People trying to get to their stations flooded over the ship. Bulling his way through the crowd, he managed to get to the pilots elevator moments before the doors slid shut.
The elevator was filled to the brim with pilots, most still not in their flight suits, getting them on as they went. You have to respect them, Falkirk thought, they sure do know what they’re doing.
The elevator door slid open again as a massive blow resounded through the ship. At first, Falkirk was worried that the ship was being hit, but he then realized that it was the massive deck guns and missiles that were firing. Looking out into the mass of confusion that was the flight bay, Falkirk saw the sleek, dart shaped S-1 was next to taxi onto the elevator and up to the flight deck. There was no way that Falkirk would be able to make it to the S-1 before it rose to the flight deck. He would have to find another way off of the ship.
As he quickly evaluated his options, Falkirk looked up and out of the flight deck elevators and into the sky. The spearhead of the alien force had already hit the Midway, and only the patrol aircraft and alert aircraft had been launched. A blow suddenly slammed into the ship, throwing Falkirk to the ground. Metal melted away from the top of the flight deck, spraying across crew members and burning them horrifically. Falkirk realized that the aliens were using sonic pulses.
A pilot whose plane was next on the elevator screamed in agony as hot liquid steel burned through his flight suit and into his skin. Medics ran over to treat the pilot, but the plane was unmanned, and already on the elevator. Falkirk saw his opportunity. He sprinted for the aircraft, recognizing it as an old F-35 as he closed in. It seemed to have an odd missile payload, but Falkirk didn’t have time to question it. He leapt onto the rising elevator, and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. He sealed himself into the cockpit, just as the plane lined up with the hydraulic catapult. The afterburners screamed, and Falkirk shot off the deck of the Midway.
The fission-powered afterburners howled as the fighter shot into the night sky. With a quick rolling turn, Falkirk pointed the plane back towards the Midway, and the ongoing battle. The Midway came back into view, just as another sonic pulse resonated across its bow. Layers of metal sheared off, exposing the lower decks of the vessel, all the way down to the ship’s fusion-based reactor, its terawatt producing heart.
Falkirk looked over his radar in a frantic attempt to find the S-1, already far away from the pitched battle. He knew that he had the responsibility of making sure that the S-1 got safely away from the battle, as the plane itself had no armaments. An alien craft appeared to be closing to engage the S-1. Falkirk locked on and toggled a missile.
The large tube-shaped missile dropped from the wing of the plane. When it did not light, Falkirk feared that the missile was a dud, and quickly locked another one. However, a moment later, the tube broke apart, exposing four smaller missiles inside of its casing, all of which tore after the alien craft. They exploded on the fleshy surface of the alien craft, clearly doing damage, but not stopping the pursuit.
Falkirk armed the remaining five missiles on his aircraft and deployed them all, sending twenty of the smaller missiles into the alien craft, shattering it. The burnt out hulk fell into the deep blue ocean, sending up a jet of intermingled steam and water. Falkirk again got on the afterburners, attempting to catch up to the S-1.
Falkirk skimmed low along the water, a scant hundred feet above its surface. The waves broke apart from the cone of sonic energy that protruded from his aircraft. He closed rapidly on the squadron plane.
As he began to ascend from the water towards the plane, an alien craft shot in front of him. Falkirk quickly cut the engines, watching the plane nose down, nearly touching the water.
Falkirk slammed the engines back on, feeling gravity push down on him as he pulled back on his flight stick, nosing the plane back up. He checked over his selection of missiles, and noted that he was completely out of air-to-air missiles, and that the only armaments remaining on the plane were a pair of integrated rocket packs, normally used for ground targets. Although they were unguided, Falkirk armed them. The machine gun on the plane was his only other option, and it would do little good against the alien monstrosity facing him.
Falkirk lined up and fired, watching as rocket after rocket streaked forwards. Explosions rippled across the surface of the alien craft. Falkirk realized that he must have hit a critical spot, as the alien craft dropped like a stone, crashing into the ocean and not rising again. Falkirk flew on.
The battle did not appear to be going well for the Midway. The tactical layout of the battle scrolled across the upper corner of his heads-up-display, indicating that not only had all three launching catapults had in some way been crippled, but that the fighters defending the Honorable were being swatted down like flies. Falkirk could only hope that the missiles and guns of the ship itself could buy the crew time to evacuate.
Ascending to the level of the S-1, Falkirk could hear combat chatter coming in over the radio. Much of it was patchy, but Falkirk managed to get a clear signal. He immediately wished that he hadn’t.
“Mayday, Mayday, this is the U.S.S. Midway, requesting assistance from all able craft. I repeat, this is… oh God!” Falkirk heard the man scream. The image on his tactical display of the Honorable winked out in a flash, and a bright light, followed by a shockwave, buffeted Falkirk’s aircraft. Falkirk realized that the only possible thing that could have affected his craft at this distant range was the loss of containment of the ships fusion reactor. Falkirk lowered his head, as the realization that thousands of crew members had just been vaporized sunk in.
“Captain Valmont, we need to get back to D.C., and fast. Those aliens will probably be busy with South America for a while,” Falkirk said, realizing that he was condemning millions to death, “so we need to get something together.”
“Understood, Captain. I’m going to light the boosters, and see about getting us up into sub-orbital flight to shave some time off of our transit. We’ll see you when you get there.” Valmont said.
Falkirk veered off, watching as a brilliant white light gathered in the engines slung aerodynamically under the wings of the plane. The plane then shot ahead, leaving vapor trails behind as it rose up and away from Falkirk. Cruising at nearly three times the speed of sound, Falkirk watched the red blips vanish slowly off of his radar. He knew that he would see those red blips again.
* * *
Falkirk touched down on the “runway” on the roof of the Pentagon. The tiny bit of concrete was barely enough to land a fighter traveling at a hundred miles per hour, much less one traveling twice that speed. Before the pane stopped rolling, Falkirk popped the hatch and ran to the elevator, going through the ritual process of identification. After descending, he sprinted to the conference room where he had been briefed on the Egyptian crisis. Falkirk knew that Valmont would be there, along with the rest of the unit.
Bursting into the room, Falkirk found utter chaos taking place. White coated scientists ran back and forth, consulting each other on data regarding the path of the alien force, as well as ways to stop them. Falkirk vaulted over the gray padded seats, and saw President Donley, on stage, speaking to a number of scientists.
“President, have you been briefed on what’s happened?” Falkirk yelled over the pandemonium.
President Donley tapped the microphone in front of him, and began to speak. “People, we are trying to conduct a briefing here. Please take your seats.”
President Donley stated, firmly. The mass went silent, and quickly moved out of the aisles to take seats. As this was happening, Valmont caught up to Falkirk and pointed him toward a section of seats that the members of the unit were sitting in, battle armor and all.
“As to your question, Captain, yes, we were all briefed just a few minutes ago by Captain Valmont with regards to the Midway. Its loss has left us without the ability to marshal a major carrier group in the Atlantic to fight the aliens. We were originally hoping that, paired with the other two carrier groups in the Atlantic, the U.S.S. Independence and the U.S.S. Lexington, that the fleet would be able to stop the alien menace. Their destruction leaves us with only one option, which, unfortunately, we have no choice but to take.” Donley said, picking up a remote and pressing a button.
A wire-frame projection of the globe hung in front of the room, created by the multiple projectors located on the floor and ceiling. The image was sharply accurate, the focus nearly perfect.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the time for invasion is now. I am not referring to the alien invasion of our world, however.” Donley said, pointing to the globe as a swarm of red moved from the Antarctic towards South America.
“We have one option, however untenable. Thanks to Captain Falkirk’s excellent work in Egypt, and our science efforts here at the Pentagon, we have found that the red gateways that the aliens use to enter our world are actually holes in the fabric of space caused by gravitic manipulation. While we aren’t sure of all of the specifics, we now know that the metal that the aliens use in the construction of their craft actually radiates very slight amounts of anti-gravity. It seems to warp the fabric of space around it. We believe that the metal, layered onto a craft, would enable it to pass through one of the portals.” Donley said, pausing for effect.
“We don’t want to try this, but it’s too late. With the Midway destroyed, our strength in the Atlantic is effectively halved, and it’s clear that unless we attack the aliens on their own turf, that there is no way that the world will survive intact. Scientists have plotted the current movements of the alien invasion force, and we believe that they will be in striking distance of U.S. soil in one day. Right now, they’re tearing up Brazil.” Donley said, lowering his head. Falkirk understood; too many casualties.
“What I propose,” Donley said, “is that the S-1 be refitted for travel into the gate. It will need fighter escort, so Captain Falkirk and Captain Valmont will provide escort in a pair of fighters.”
“Sir, Captain Valmont and I are the only two pilots in the group.” Falkirk stated, confused.
“Not so, Captain. Lieutenant Martinez, along with all Navy SEALS, are trained in piloting. She can pilot the S-1, while you and Captain Valmont provide escort.” Donley said.
Falkirk was shades of surprise and shock. He never realized that Martinez was a pilot, as she had never shared that with him. Pilots that Falkirk had known always had a sort of camaraderie, who was flying, what their machines were, battle stories, those sort of things. Martinez had never shared anything like that with him, which made him realize that there were likely a great many things about her that Falkirk no longer knew.
Before Donley finished the word dismissed, Falkirk stood, with Valmont at his side, and began to walk towards the hangar. He shouted orders over his shoulder to be ready for takeoff in half an hour. Falkirk just hoped that the scientists knew what they were talking about. He began to understand that his fate was no longer entirely in his own hands.
The mob of scientists resumed their heated discussions, over an equation relating to the fabric of space, or the thickness of metal to be put on the aircraft. The utter chaos was silenced after Falkirk left the room with Valmont. The soundproof room cancelled out the noise, leaving the outer hallway eerily silent. The two strode hastily. Time was short, and there was none to waste.
The solid metal doors split open vertically as Falkirk entered the hangar in which he had first seen the S-1. Valmont followed after him, and, sitting on the launching area were a pair of the strangest craft that he had seen.
The sleek, swept back look of the fuselage reminded Falkirk of his old X-53 that he had been flying only a single week ago. The rest of the plane looked butchered and strange, with large covers protruding out of the wings. Falkirk saw no visible engines on the end of the plane, and the V-tail was arced at almost one hundred and fifty degrees by the look of it. Falkirk saw a technician leap out of the plane. The man, who looked fresh out of college, gestured enthusiastically for the two men to come over to him.
“Captain Falkirk, Captain Valmont, it’s a pleasure to meet both of you. However, what I have to show you is even more of a pleasure. Normally, these prototypes would never be released even for test piloting for at least another decade, but the situation allows us to finally see what these planes can do.” The technician said, gesturing to the two planes.
“Captains, this is the XS-100, the first experimental air and space fighter. We’ve got the best that you could possibly ask for on this plane. Four ramjet engines, all independently rotating, providing superior power even in airless environments. Twin micro fusion power plants, providing power to inertial dampening, weapons systems, and power to the engines. You name it, and this plane has it.” The technician said, smiling broadly.
“Weapons. What kind, and how much.” Falkirk and Valmont said, almost exactly in unison.
“That’s the great thing about this plane. The dedicated weapons reactor provides power to an energizing matrix that allows the aircraft to slow down tachyon particles, and then release them. Do you know what tachyon particles are?” Asked the technician. He continued without waiting for an answer.
“Faster than light particles. They go so fast that they are in and out of sync with reality. With enough power, it is possible to slow them down to near-light speed, superheating them, and then releasing them. The reaction is equivalent to that of a supernova on a small scale.” The man was practically jumping with excitement. Obviously, Falkirk thought, they don’t let him out enough.
“What about missiles?” Valmont inquired.
“There’s another kicker. Multiple-impact warheads. They launch and then deploy into a dozen other smaller missiles. We’ve been implementing the technology on a scale based upon the computational ability of the guidance systems of the planes in service. This plane has a far superior guidance computer to anything currently in service, giving it the ability to easily track and guide multiple warheads. There’s two dozen total, in four internal weapons bays. Get a load of what’s in the fifth bay, though.” The technician said, stooping under the plane and turning a handle. He then tapped a couple of buttons on a remote in his hand. The two long doors on the belly of the plane dropped open, and a large missile descended, at least twenty feet long. It took up the entire belly of the plane, and, from the radiation markings on the warhead, Falkirk instantly knew what it was.
“A nuclear missile?” Falkirk inquired in disbelief.
“Nobody really knows what you’re going to encounter in that other dimension, Captain. You know, the old Boy Scout motto, be prepared.” The technician gave Falkirk a wink as he said the last words.
“I guess you never know. Although I can’t say that I feel comfortable riding on top of an uncontrolled nuclear reaction, with the only protection between it and myself being a thinly padded seat. Something vaguely unsettling about that.” Falkirk said, laughing. He was, on the same note, giddy with the power that he was about to receive, and at the same time apprehensive about the power that he was going to be facing.
“Very clever, Captain. Anyway, the controls are pretty simple. Each engine rotates independently, so there are four independent throttle controls, but they’re fairly intuitive. The plane’s onboard computer system will help you, and attempt to read what you want the plane to do. Also, the tachyon energizing matrix can generate one particle per second, and can hold a charge for up to ten seconds before the charge is lost. Is there anything else?” The tech asked. Neither Falkirk or Valmont could think of anything. They were still in awe of the fighter craft.
The two climbed their launch ladders and settled into the spacious cockpit, which easily accommodated their bodies, even with their battle armor on. A small stowage compartment behind the seat gave Falkirk a place to put his TG-10, and, even with the sharp monomolecular sword slung on his back, Falkirk was comfortable. The canopy of the aircraft lowered around him, and then pressurized with a hiss, sealing shut the cockpit.
Falkirk felt a thump resound through the aircraft. Looking over his shoulder, he realized that the dual fusion reactors were coming online. Without another word, he taxied the plane slowly onto the launch ramp, leading up and out of the ocean tunnel. The catapult, however, did not come online.
“We’ve got a problem with the catapult, here.” Falkirk said into his radio. “Captain, you don’t need one with this plane. Just push the throttle up to one-half speed. No more, or you’ll melt the concrete.” Falkirk heard a man say over the radio. It was the technician that he had just been talking to.
Falkirk took action before he thought otherwise. Pushing the throttle up, he heard the engines roar like the sound of a hurricane. The plane screamed out of the tunnel with alarming alacrity, the air speed indicator increasing so quickly that it looked like a slot machine. As he leveled out, Falkirk saw not the normal con trail from his aircraft, but flames whipping over the wings, caused by the friction of the air. The throttle was still at one-half.
“Wo-hoeee!” Falkirk heard Valmont bellow, flying out of the launch tube, trailing flames and smoke behind him. The sight was magnificent, midnight light glinting off the wingtips of the two fighter craft. Valmont formed on Falkirk’s wing, and the two ascended to the upper atmosphere.
* * *
“Captain, this is Lieutenant Carlisle. According to satellite imagery, another much larger portal is opening in Antarctica. We have a strong suspicion that the aliens will be sending a more powerful second wave through. If you can get there, you should be able to use that portal to get through and strike at the aliens. Escort the S-1, get through the portal, and see what you can find. Good luck, Captain.” Carlisle said, clicking off of the radio channel.
Falkirk pulled up on the left side of the S-1, about a quarter of a mile away. Falkirk itched to try out the combat capabilities of his new plane, but there were no alien craft anywhere near them. Falkirk laid back and waited, setting the plane on autopilot and leaning back into the thinly bolstered seat.
* * *
Just as he was about to nod off, Falkirk saw a red blip appear on his radar. It was at extreme range, more than likely a single alien scout. Falkirk disengaged autopilot and shifted in his seat restlessly.
“Valmont, I’ve got contact on my radar, bearing one-nine-zero. Looks like an alien craft. I’m moving to intercept, continue to escort the S-1.” Falkirk said, dropping out of formation and descending to the lower atmosphere at a rapid pace. He gripped the metal throttles in his left and right hands, moving both of them forwards into the afterburner range. The plane picked up speed, gravity aiding in its acceleration downwards. The air speed indicator ticked past seven times the speed of sound, and continued to rise.
The radar marked off distance, just over two hundred miles. The fighter screamed forwards, traversing the distance hungrily. It took less than three minutes for Falkirk to get within range. He slowed, shutting down the afterburners and set to intercept the alien craft at a speed of Mach 2. The maneuverability of the independent engines allowed Falkirk an advantage at supersonic speeds.
As he went over the controls of the aircraft mentally, Falkirk felt an impact resound through the frame of the plane. It seemed that the alien craft had spotted him first, and directed a gravity pulse at him. The plane, however, weathered the blow easily, the four powerful engines compensating and keeping the plane flying true. Falkirk adjusted thrust to the right, moving out of the gravity pulse, and lining up for a shot at the now visible alien vessel. When the heads-up display indicated a clear shot by lining up a green diamond, red triangle, and blue crosshairs, Falkirk pulled the trigger.
A white light streaked forwards, turning red as it polarized in the air. The alien craft exploded in a display of fireworks, a shock wave tearing the beastly automaton apart from the inside. The few remaining chunks of flesh from the alien craft plunged into the ocean, instantly vaporized by the extreme residual radiation combining with large amounts of hydrogen.
Falkirk turned his plane and lit his afterburners, moving back to the higher atmosphere to escort the S-1. The new plane had proven its mettle against a single alien craft easily. Falkirk only prayed that it would be as powerful against thousands.