Falkirk kept up the speed, the force of acceleration pushing his ribcage into his internal organs. Falkirk continued on, realizing that his discomfort would be the least of his problems if the alien vessel caught up to him.
Falkirk glanced at his map of the area, knowing that they should have been nearing their base at this point. Another two minutes, he guessed, and they would have enough support to destroy this thing.
The base came into view, a shining metal outpost on the desert floor. Falkirk and Valmont cut back their engines, and closed into flight pattern with the planes that were there. It was, unfortunately, nowhere near the support that Falkirk had hoped for.
A dozen F-22’s and a dozen F-16’s were patrolling the airspace above the base. A contingent of twenty-four fighters was apparently supposed to be able to dispatch this incredible threat.
“Raptor Leader to Mustang Leader,” the radio crackled, the light, feminine voice of the obviously female squadron leader of the F-22’s speaking to him. “We’re ready to engage, here.”
“That’s affirm, Raptor Lead,” Falkirk responded. “All planes arm missiles, and try to target the metal plates.”
“Mustang Lead, this is Falcon Three, just what is this thing?”
“Falcon Three, Falcon Lead. Cut the chatter, we need a clear radio to base.” Then, all hell broke loose.
The alien ship shot past the planes, stopping nearly on a dime. The vortex of air left by the sudden drop in speed pulled all of the planes towards the craft, causing a loss of control at that critical moment. One of the F-16 pilots suddenly broke radio silence.
“Oh, God, I’m being torn apart!” The unknown pilot screamed.
One of the F-16’s winked into a ball of flame, the shock wave buffeting Falkirk’s fighter just a moment later.
The speed at which this first casualty came shocked and appalled Falkirk. He knew that it was going to be bad, but he had no idea that it would get to be that way so quickly. He looked at his tactical display, and realized that it was Falcon Ten that went down.
The F-22’s recovered quickly, shooting dozens of missiles into the alien craft. The response was the flinging of five of them towards the ground. Only a single one was able to recover. Raptors Four, Seven, Nine, and Eleven, Falkirk shuddered.
The F-16’s that had slipped through unnoticed in the frenzy of battle got a clear shot at the alien ship. Guns blazing, they descended, raining gunfire down upon the metal plates obtruding from the flesh of the vessel.
Most of the bullets simply bounced off, ineffective. The planes all turned away, but the alien ship flung one into the jet fuel tankers of the base. The heat from the massive explosion reached Falkirk, even though he was close to a half mile above the blast.
Falcon Two down, Falkirk thought dejectedly. He knew that something had to be done, and that he would have to do it.
“All planes, back off, I’m going in.” Falkirk spoke into the radio. “Mustang Two, you’re with me.”
The two planes streaked towards the alien ship, the occasional missiles blossoming into explosions on the flesh. Falkirk didn’t know if even a single missile had managed to hit the small exposed metal areas.
“Okay, here’s the plan. I’m going to rev up, make a distraction. You go in with missiles and take this thing down.” Falkirk yelled.
“Sounds good, let’s do it!” Valmont replied enthusiastically.
The two planes flew towards the alien craft, Falkirk accelerating faster and faster. The craft turned, attempting to target Falkirk’s plane. Valmont’s internal weapons bay dropped from his plane, missiles streaming out. They struck home, the alien ship dropping like a stone.
“Good shot, Mustang…” Falkirk was cut off.
Looking back, Falkirk saw the alien vessel rising again. Shakily, it continued the assault, smashing another F-22 into an F-16 that was next to it, the two planes bursting into flame.
“That… is… it!” Falcon Leader screamed over the radio. Falkirk looked in horror as he watched the F-16 smash into one of the metal plates on the alien ship, a brave final blow, after all of his weapons had been expended.
That was enough. The alien craft fell to the ground, smashing into the nearly- destroyed base, crushing several hangars. Falkirk looked down at the crumpled form of the alien ship, and cheered. A few others joined him on the radio, but far fewer than he had hoped. Looking at the casualties, Falkirk saw that besides his own plane and Valmont’s, only two other pilots had survived. Twenty two planes had been destroyed, twenty two lives lost, not even counting those down on the base. The only two pilots remaining were Raptor Lead and Falcon Five.
“Raptor Lead, Falcon Five, return to the base in Israel.” Falkirk commanded. “As for you and me, I think that we’ve got some schoolchildren to visit in
Germany.” Valmont said.
“Lohs gehts.” Falkirk said, practicing his German. They would need to use it soon.
* * *
“Requesting priority landing.” Falkirk said blearily into the radio.
“Request denied. You have three planes in front of you.” The radio operator retorted, in perfect English.
“Hey there, friend,” Falkirk began, “I’m asking you for this as a favor. Now I’m not asking for it because I’m going to report to the President of the United States in less than an hour about the greatest threat that man has ever known. I’m asking for it because
I’ve been cramped in this two by three seat for the past four hours, and if I don’t get out, I think I’m going to explode.”
Laughing, the radio operator agreed to let the two planes land ahead of schedule. Falkirk and Valmont descended on Hamburg Airport, slowing to a scant 200 miles per hour. Falkirk touched down first, executing a perfect three-point landing. Valmont followed suit, the two taxiing to a reserved hangar.
The runway lights on in the steadily darkening dusk, the two planes stopped and ran through shutdown procedures. Valmont and Falkirk, planes powered down, popped the hatches and jumped down, hitting the ground hard.
“Remember where you parked?” Falkirk asked jokingly.
The two laughed, and jogged to the corner of the massive hangar. Pulling away a cover revealed two shining motorcycles, kept in pristine condition, not used since they last came back to Germany on leave.
Falkirk mounted the sport bike, firing up the engine. The 600 cubic centimeters fell into a steady idle, purring to his satisfaction. Valmont, taking a more aggressive approach to warm his motor up, revved the bike to 10,000 RPM, the wailing echoing off the hangar walls.
The two removed their flight suits, stuffing them into the tiny storage compartments on their motorcycles. Pulling a piece of paper out as he removed his suit, Falkirk examined the hastily scribbled directions to the Fischerihafen restaurant, their rendezvous point with the President.
“Looks like one cramped space to another, Scott,” said Falkirk to Valmont. “Looks like we’ve got a 45 minute ride ahead of us.”
“Hey Allan, think I can do that in less than twenty?” Valmont said, an evil glint in his eye.
“Not before me, you can’t!” Falkirk said, hopping on the motorcycle and peeling out of the hangar.
The two raced out of the hangar, Falkirk in the lead. Noticing something attached to the left side mirror, Falkirk unzipped the black leather case. A pair of sunglasses fell into his hand. Slipping them on, Falkirk realized that the drive might not be so boring after all.
* * *
Soon after, the two motorcycles pulled into the parking lot of the Fischerihafen. The valets ran out to take the motorcycles, but Falkirk and Valmont continued past them, parking as closely to the restaurant as possible. The two stepped off of their motorcycles, adjusted their hair, and stepped through the door.
The sheer opulence and elegance of the place was overwhelming. This restaurant was more luxurious than any that Falkirk had ever been in. Falkirk approached the host. “Entschuldigung, ich komme fur der President.” Falkirk said, in perfect German.
“Ja, komme mit!” the host responded, striding quickly away from the counter and towards a secluded section of the restaurant.
The host led them to a small alcove that held the President and members of his staff. The first thing that Falkirk noticed was the floor-ceiling windows providing a fabulous view of the Elbe River. stated.
“Gentlemen, please take a seat. We have much to discuss.” President Donley
The host had already left the room, and the two took seats at the table. Falkirk recognized the men on the presidents left and right as the secretaries of state and defense, respectively. Falkirk was nervous, but it was important that he give these men as accurate a picture of the situation as possible.
“Captain Falkirk, Captain Valmont, I’d appreciate hearing your appraisal of the threat which is facing us right now.”
“Sir, we were attacked by an unknown, unidentified object at 1327 hours today. Speculation between myself and Captain Valmont indicates that it is not terrestrial. After attacking us, we managed to escape to the base near Cairo, where a strike force of two- dozen planes aided us in engaging the craft. The force engaged the craft and destroyed it, although twenty-two of the twenty-four planes in the strike force were destroyed, along with the airbase. I was contacted en route to this meeting at 1419 hours that the two planes had encountered another alien vessel and were proceeding to engage. That was the last transmission from them. Sir, we must assume that these aliens have hostile intentions. It is my recommendation that we increase to DEFCON 2, and deploy all conventional forces at our disposal against this threat.” Falkirk reported.
“Captains, I have received some new information that I believe that you should be privy to.” Donley said, pulling out a sophisticated looking computer.
He set the computer flat on the table, pressing a button. A three-dimensional image materialized. The earth, in its spherical splendor, appeared, dotted by red in dozens of places. Falkirk knew what these were before Donley explained.
“Over 700 UFO sightings have been reported in the last two hours. Using our spy satellites, we have been able to track their paths, and been able to extrapolate a general meeting point.” Donley pressed another button.
Grid lines were drawn across the earth, and red lines began to be drawn as well, representing the paths of the alien ships.
“We have found a consistency to where the alien ships have been appearing. Very desolate, difficult to inhabit places. The Golan Heights in Israel, Death Valley,
California, the Arctic, the Sahara, where you engaged the alien ship. These paths indicate that the alien craft appear to be trying to meet all in one place, and the paths point to the Antarctic. It is likely that they will try to move as a group, striking slowly, deliberately, but effectively.” Donley said.
“Captain Falkirk and Captain Valmont, your country needs you. I’m re-activating your military service, and appointing both of you in charge of designing a force to combat this threat. You will have access to all of our information from Roswell and Roswell 2 regarding our previous extraterrestrial encounters. Further, you are both to report to the Pentagon for orientation and combat training. Any questions?” Donley asked.
Valmont and Falkirk looked at each other quickly, eyes wide. It was too much information to take in so quickly.
“Wait, do you mean to say that both Roswells actually happened?” asked Valmont.
“Captain, please do not let that information get out of this room. To be totally honest, we are not even certain that the first Roswell was even the current species that we are dealing with. However, I have something else that I must show you.” Donley continued.
The map disappeared, and a picture of a fairly generic skyscraper appeared in its stead.
“We’ve derived a graphical model from some equations that we’ve put together.
This is a thirty-story office building, a generic building that you might find in any major metropolitan center. This model demonstrates the use of the weapons that we know that the aliens possess, a sonic pulse, and a sort of anti-gravity beam. The beam also appears to function as the form of propulsion for the ship. Now, if one of the alien ships were to use a sonic pulse on this building…” Donley trailed off, hitting a few more buttons.
The “building” seemed to fall apart, almost as if the glass and steel of the building had turned to water. The sonic pulse separated the molecular bonds between the materials of the building, totally destroying it.
“The gravity beam…” Donley said, pressing another button.
The building was uprooted from the ground, tipping over and falling, smashing into the ground in a massive explosion.
The three simply stared for a while, attempting to fully take in what they had just witnessed.
“We have never faced anything with this kind of power before, and I pray that we never have to face anything like it again. Get going, gentlemen. Report to the Pentagon.” Donley concluded.
“Sir, with your permission, I would like to contact some recruits for this mission. I can have them meet us at the Pentagon, and brief them there.” Falkirk asked.
“Captain, do whatever you feel is necessary. I will be in contact.” Donley replied, standing from the table and leaving the restaurant.
Falkirk pulled his computer from his flight bag. He rapidly sent e-mails, one to Melody Martinez, one to Nate Dunn, and another to Tom Simon. All were experts at something, and Falkirk needed all of the experts that he could get.
Valmont and Falkirk left the room together, discussing the information, and plans for their unit. The two hopped on their motorcycles and sped out of the parking lot, getting back to the hangar quickly and preparing their aircraft for the flight to the Pentagon. They changed back into pilot fatigues and jumped into the respective cockpits of their planes.
As they were taxiing out to the runway, Falkirk watched Air Force One blast off into the night sky. The new renovation was a Concorde Two, a supersonic passenger plane capable of transatlantic flight with 150 passengers on board at a speed of nearly Mach 2.
The pilots taxied onto separate runways, kicking on afterburners at almost the same time. Their engines lit bright white, the two planes shot into the sky, catching up to Air Force One and falling into an escort pattern, Falkirk on the left, Valmont on the right.
“Hey, Valmont, put it on auto-pilot and get some sleep. I don’t think we’re going to get too much of it in the next few days.” Falkirk chuckled.
Falkirk knew that he should try to take his own advice. Setting the autopilot, he attempted to find a comfortable position in the hard seat. Before he knew it, he was passed out, asleep almost instantly. The three planes sailed on through the night sky.