SECTOR 64: Ambush (19 page)

A few seconds later, they reached the computer designated release point. "Proceed to your individual initialization points. Once at the IP, engage your tactical autopilots. The computer will control your ingress. Just concentrate on getting your weapons on target. Good luck, gentlemen."

Glowing under the night's brilliant half-moon, the last of the snow-covered Sierra Nevada mountains glided serenely past Captain Fitzpatrick's right wing. With escalating impatience, Sandy watched the last peak's maddeningly slow passage. Having departed late due to engine difficulties, she pushed her fighter to its limit. Even on full afterburner, her progress felt glacial.

From the radio traffic, she knew squadrons from all over the West Coast were already harrying the massive alien ship that hovered over San Francisco. The combat communication net was on fire. She heard squadron commanders screaming reports and receiving orders.

In the two minutes since it parked over the city, the enemy ship had remained motionless and silent.

However, all hope for alien benevolence had evaporated when their meteoric atmospheric entry and its resultant shockwave had lain waste to a vast swath of the West Coast. Cities and countryside from Tijuana, Mexico, to just south of Monterey, California, were reportedly blasted and burned. As she departed Nellis, one of the air traffic controllers told her that large super-heated chunks of rock had spalled off of the asteroids that formed the massive ship. Extending the destruction beyond the area devastated by the giant ship's atmospheric shockwave, the trail of impact craters and fires left by the red-hot falling debris led all the way to its location over San Francisco.

The news hit Sandy especially hard. Her parents lived south of Monterey, near the boundary where the devastation of the atmospheric shockwave gave way to that of raining debris. The knowledge that they and millions of others might lie dead or dying in the hellish aftermath of the ship's passage crushed Sandy.

Struggling to focus on her duties, she studied her tactical display. The external viewpoint generated by its three-dimensional exocentric image combined lateral and vertical tactical information into a single presentation. The computer rendered Sandy's fighter near the bottom of the image as it would appear from the perspective of a camera looking down on her from behind and overhead. The display's over-the-shoulder point of view afforded F-22 pilots incredible situational awareness. The addition of pan and zoom functionality allowed her to see the position of every friendly asset within the theater of operations in realtime. Each represented aircraft had a unique symbol or code. Units like fighter squadrons or bomber groups had discrete colors.

Just east of the swarm of symbols over San Francisco, the seventeen green icons representing the rest of the Nellis F-22s neared the battle. On the right side of the formation, the five fighters of the Test Squadron, designated as Dragonfly Flight, were a brighter version of the same color.

Panning the display's point of view, she magnified the San Francisco area. Like angry bees swarming a hive-raiding bear, squadrons of fighters filled the skies around the enemy ship.

Air Force, Marine, and Navy fighter squadrons from all over the West Coast were attacking en masse. To the east of the large symbol designating the alien ship, she noticed a group of nearly stationary icons. "Those must be the army choppers." A squadron from the army's Texas-based Sixth Cavalry Brigade—in California on a training exercise—maneuvered to engage the alien threat. As she watched, several blinked out of existence. Then she heard it over the tactical command net. "They've fired on the helicopters."

She watched with mounting horror as symbols for the squadron's eighteen AH-64D Apache attack helicopters blinked out in rapid succession. Stunned, and knowing those fading photons represented the deaths of thirty-six fellow aviators, Sandy stared at the display. "Oh my god."

Another pilot screamed over the radio. "Holy shit, they vaporized the entire Sixth Cav!"

Then a fighter symbol followed by a second, and a third disappeared. Grunting under extreme G-loading, a panicked pilot transmitted over the tactical net. "They're firing on—" With an electronic sound like a lightning discharge, his voice cut out mid-sentence.

Devolving from organized mayhem to complete chaos, all semblance of tactical order disappeared. Before the enemy had fired, symbol colors showed a clear segregation of units along organizational lines. Grouped purple symbols in one sector and orange in another represented the coordinated attacks orchestrated by various squadrons. Now, the display was a confused mix of colors. Several additional targets vaporized. Ingressing or egressing made no difference. Attacking or fleeing, fighters blinked out of existence.

Sandy tried to push her fighter faster, but the firewalled throttles refused to budge. With them at their max setting, and with the massive amount of fuel her fighter was consuming on full afterburner, this was a one-way trip. Whatever the results of the battle, she would be landing somewhere near San Francisco.

Over her flight's assigned frequency, she heard Major Donaldson, her flight commander, shout orders. "Direct your fire at the top of that alien head. It looks like a bridge to me."

Knowing she should be next to him, Sandy's frustration rose another notch. As the flight's second-in-command, she should be flying next to Major Donaldson as his wingman.

Another familiar voice broke squelch. "Six, this is Four. I haven't seen any missiles get through. The damn thing has shielding of some sort. Nothing's hitting the sons-a-bitches!"

It was her and Jake's friend, Captain Chuck Stanhem. After his Afghan tour and with Richard still recovering, Jake had received orders to attend the F-22 qualification course. Fortuitously, Sandy had orders to attend the same class. During training, they'd befriended fellow classmate, then-Lieutenant Charles Stanhem. It was a time she remembered fondly. Reunited for the first time since flight school, and without Richard's distracting persona, it was when she and Jake had fallen in love.

Sandy keyed her radio and called Major Donaldson. "Dragonfly Six, this is Dragonfly Five, over." She checked her GPS, 150 miles to go. Having just passed the Sierra Nevada mountain range, she saw the city lights of Merced ahead. Entering California's Central Valley region at Mach two, she was still six minutes away from the Bay Area—an eternity in battle.

"Dragonfly Five, where the hell are you?" said Major Donaldson. Before Sandy could reply, he transmitted again. "Dragonfly Three and Four, attack from the south. Dragonfly One and Two, I want you to attack from the north. I'll come in from above. Maybe our combined force can punch through this shielding or whatever the hell it is." Apparently remembering Sandy, he called, "Five, what's your ETA?"

"I am at least five minutes out, sir."

"All hell has broken loose here. I know the delay wasn't your fault, but I can't wait any longer. Get here as quick as you can." Again, before she could reply, he continued. "Dragonfly Two and Four, the three of us are the only ones with bunker-busters. So, Dragonfly One and Three, I want you to lead with your Sidewinder and Maverick missiles. Two and Four, wait until your wingman's missiles impact before firing your bunker busters. Hopefully, it'll soften up their shields. With any luck, our busters will knock a chunk off these bastards."

"Six, this is Three. Sir, we don't stand a chance against that thing. It's … huge! I can't even see the top. If nukes didn't stop it, what chance do we—"

"Lieutenant, there are a few million people down there praying you'll do your best. We don't know that the nukes had no effect. For all we know, they could be ready to fall out of the sky if a fucking pigeon flies into 'em."

In the images taken just after the failed nuclear assault the ship had looked like hammered shit, but that might be its normal appearance. Its ability to hover that much mass above the city told her it would take a lot more than a flying rat to knock it down. However, she knew Major Donaldson was right. Considering the stakes, they had to exhaust all efforts.

A new voice entered. After a moment, Sandy realized it was coming from the command net. "I repeat, we've lost DC!"

Sandy's hastily eaten breakfast of greasy fast food threatened to come back up.

An authoritative voice came over the radio. "Last station calling, say again." It was General Pearson, the Nellis Air Force Base commander.

"Roger, Nellis Actual. We've lost all contact with Washington. Sat-Comm is reporting a brilliant energy discharge over the city, possibly nuclear in origin."

After a slight pause, General Pearson's now grim voice returned. "I want all units attacking that target right now. Hit it with everything we have."

Major Donaldson transmitted on the flight's frequency. "You have your orders."

Sandy listened as the fighter pilots acknowledged. In their oxygen-mask-muffled voices, she heard fear and nervousness.

He added, "We may only get one chance. Make it count."

Trying to will her fighter faster, Sandy pounded the engine levers. "Come on!" Looking up from the throttle quadrant, she froze, her breath catching in her throat as the alien ship finally came into view.

Having descended to 10,000 feet, her F-22 broke through a layer of haze and began skimming across the top of widely scattered billowy cumulus clouds. Finally visible, the alien ship dominated the distant horizon, extending above the Bay Area like a floating mountain. The lower half of the asteroidal vessel faded into atmospheric murk. Illuminated by thousands of streetlights, the visible portion of its bottom glowed orange. Extending well above the cloud tops, the moonlit upper half stood in stark clarity. Its jagged gray edges contrasted sharply against the backdrop of scintillating stars.

As evidenced in the photos she'd seen during the briefing, the ship was a collection of asteroids strung together with a patchwork of trusses and plating. However, the pictures hadn't conveyed the true scale of those structures. They were huge. Even from more than 100 miles, the crisscrossing beams that stitched sections together were visible while the buildings of San Francisco's downtown skyline were too small to see, even if the air had been crystal clear.

Sandy saw her flight's five bright-green symbols split into two pairs and one solo. As planned, Dragonfly One and Two diverted south, while Three and Four went north. Flying straight up, Major Donaldson maneuvered his ship to attack from above the target.

Reaching their initialization points with well-practiced synchronicity, the fighters turned inbound as one.

"Dragonfly One, fox one, fox two!" Lieutenant Palmer shouted as he fired Sidewinder and Maverick missiles at the enemy ship's apparent bridge.

Sandy saw missile icons streaking from his fighter's symbol.

"Dragonfly Three, fox one, fox—"

Targeting Dragonfly One and Three, two green lasers burned through the night air. An instant later, rapidly expanding vapor clouds were all that remained of Lieutenants Jackson and Peters and their fighter jets.

"Jesus!" Sandy's friend, Captain Stanhem, yelled.

"Chuck!" she cried, involuntarily squeezing the transmit button.

"See you on the other side Sandy," Chuck said. Then, he yelled, "Dragonfly Four, fox one!"

Simultaneously, the other two bunker buster armed fighters, Dragonfly Two and Six, also fired their missiles.

Three green lasers, one for each fighter, burned through the night sky.

Of the Twenty-Eighth Test Squadron's six F-22 symbols, only Sandy's remained. However, icons for three GBU-28 bunker busters stilled raced toward the alien ship.

Tears streamed under her clear visor. Refusing to turn back, Sandy armed her missiles.

Four tiny flashes signaled the arrival of the first wave of missiles. As they struck the target, a translucent blue sphere strobed into existence. It appeared to encase the entire enemy ship.

With no way to know if the barrage of Sidewinders and Mavericks had weakened those shields, she could only wait as the bigger missiles closed on the enemy ship.

She checked her GPS, 110 miles to go.

The bunker busters appeared to pass through the shield's barrier. An unrecognizable voice shouted over the tactical command frequency. "They're getting through!"

Then, all three GBU-28s slammed into the enemy ship. From more than a hundred miles away, Sandy saw the flashes of impacts. Seeing the ineffectual size of the detonations, her momentary elation evaporated. The alien ship's sheer magnitude made the powerful explosions look tiny.

The blasts were bigger than those created by the smaller missiles. Even considering that most of a bunker buster's destructive power manifested below the surface, the scale of the asteroid rendered the damage inconsequential.

Sandy shook her head.
We may as well be the tiny people of Lilliput shooting arrows at giant Gulliver.

Then the ship detonated, a bright sphere of light blossomed from its center. Watching the unexpected explosion radiate from the ship's heart, she wiped a tear and grinned. "You did it, guys!"

Studying the growing sphere she realized it contained no fire. Also, it was spreading too symmetrically. Expanding at a consistent pace, the energy wave
raced across the ground. Centered on the asteroidal ship, the blindingly bright bubble also grew vertically, reaching for space. Absent fire, the incredibly intense light wave grew in all directions. Rushing toward her, it soon filled her field of view.

As it approached, Sandy felt an internal fluttering. In two seconds, the flitting ramped up from an odd sensation to body racking torment. She clutched her stomach against the mounting pain. Sandy rocked forward as an abdominal spasm threw her against the ejection seat's shoulder harness. Pressing against the straps, she clenched her fists in agony. "Oh god!"

Through pain-squinted eyes, she saw the wave closing on her. Its silent advance unrelentingly enveloped hills, farmland, and then a city she belatedly realized was Merced.

Like a million cockroaches trying to dig their way out of her abdomen, the boiling sensation overwhelmed Sandy.