Copyrighted 2006 - All rights reserved.
A pair of P-38's sat on the grass strip, their engines idling lazily in the morning sun. Even now it was hard to talk over them.
"These are lieutenants Hitchcock and Benson," Pearson shouted over the engines. "Hitchicock will be your pilot. Benson is flying as your wingman."
"Glad to meet you, Lieutenant," Finch said, bag in hand. "Ready to go flying?"
"Always ready, ma'am," he replied with a toothy grin. "Let's get you secured in the cockpit."
They climbed up onto the wing and Hitchcock helped secure the general in the jumpseat behind his own. Once secured, Finch pulled out her camera equipment and a set of headphones. She plugged them into the correct slot, allowing her to talk with Hitchcock without shouting.
"Can you hear me, Lieutenant?"
"Loud and clear," he replied. "Anyplace in particular you want to see?"
"Actually, yeah," Finch replied, as she unfolded a map Pearson had given her. "I want to scout the Skinnies' encampment."
"We might get a hot reception," he warned. "I know I wouldn't want someone over flying my base."
"If it gets hot, we'll bug out," Finch replied easily.
"Works for me."
Hitchcock looked over at the other Lightning. Benson was siting there waiting. It was a perfect image. Finch took a photo just as Hitchcock gave the signal to take-off. Later she would see another young kid with a big smile who couldn't get into the sky fast enough.
It would have been fun if it wasn't so serious. They headed west, flying at two thousand feet. Finch had the pilot keep his speed down for the moment. It made no sense to show the Skinnies just how fast these twin-engine beauties could fly.
"We're going to do our first pass flying over the western edge of their camp," Hitchcock said, turning the plane. "Look out the right side."
There before them, sprawled across the ground, was the base. Finch snapped image after image, capturing the general plan. A little further away was a gathering of ships the bomber crews had been watching arrive. They were neatly parked near some sort of industrial plant.
"How low can you safely go?" she asked.
"Not much here," Hitchcock replied. "The Skinnies have some sort of protective shield over them."
"Alright. Let's do another run a mile further in."
"One more time," Hitchcock said.
It was clear to Finch that these ships were some sort of space vessels. She didn't know if they came from some sort of mother craft. Given what she had heard, Finch was thinking that they traveled on their own. Perhaps the plant they were all parked next to was some sort of refueling facility.
"Boss this is Shadow."
Finch reached into her jumpsuit and pulled out a radio.
"Go ahead, Shadow."
"Boss, we have a situation here," Johnson reported. "The Skinnies have a ship parked out in the grass and are waiting for us to come out of the woods."
"Where are you?"
Johnson gave his coordinates. Before she could say anything to Hitchcock, the pilot was already rolling onto course and heading for the deck.
"Tell your team that we're two minutes out."
"Did you get that, Shadow?"
"Copy that."
"We've got coyotes behind us," Williams said.
"So much for back tracking," Michaels said.
"We've got help coming in a couple of minutes," Johnson said. "Is there another way out of here?"
"No," Michaels answered. "We've got the river on two sides of us. If we go much further downstream, we're going to get into the water buffaloes' territory."
"Let's try going downstream a couple hundred yards," Johnson said. "We'll make a quick dash across the river and get into the grass."
Johnson waited for Briggs to turn around to signal him, but he never did.
"Williams, go up and get Briggs. We'll meet you downstream."
"Will do."
Williams crawled into the brush. Michaels and Johnson headed downstream as fast as they dared go. The two officers turned to see if Williams had made contact. To their dismay, they saw Briggs making a one-man charge at the Skinnies. Williams looked in the direction of the officers and waited for orders.
"Damn it to hell," Johnson cursed, motioning for Williams to join them. "That bastard is going to get us all killed. Come on!"
The three of them swung south of where the Skinnies were waiting and waded across the river. The Skinnies saw them and moved towards them. To Johnson's eye, they looked to be brandishing some sort of weapon.
"Aaaaaaahhhhh!"
Everyone turned and saw Briggs make an angry solo attack on the Skinnies. One of them shouldered a weapon and fired at Briggs. The man fell to the ground and started screaming about his leg being on fire.
Johnson raised his weapon and trained it on the one that had fired at Briggs. Before being recruited to fly, he had been a sniper. The M105 in his hands could drop an enemy soldier at over two kilometres before he ever heard the gunshot. At this range, the damage was catastrophic. Johnson slipped off the safety and pulled the trigger.
"What the hell?" Hitchcock said.
He could see gunfire being exchanged between Finch's reconnaissance team and the Skinnies up ahead of them. The Skinnies were slowly and steadily pushing towards men. The soldiers stood their ground and continued to return fire.
"Orders?"
"Focus on that ship," Finch ordered. "That should get their attention and draw them off our guys."
Hitchcock brought the plane just feet off the ground. Benson followed behind and to the right. He centered the gun sight on their ship and squeezed the trigger. Cannon fire erupted from the plane's nose and struck the ship. The craft's shield shimmered under the stress and, with a flash, collapsed. Bullet holes appeared in the craft. Smoke and flames quickly followed.
The Skinnies were almost on top of Johnson and his men. Without warning, he stood up and fired point blank at one of the Skinnies. The other two followed suit. Their personal shields collapsed and they were quickly dispatched.
"Go check on Briggs!" Johnson ordered. "Boss, Shadow. Great timing!"
"Glad to help," Finch replied. "What's your situation?"
"Wait one," he replied. "How's Briggs?"
"Briggs will be okay," Williams shouted. "It's a flesh wound. He'll be able to walk."
"Copy that," Johnson said. "Boss, we have one man injured, but not bad. I have the images we need. Recommend we go to condition blue. The Skinnies are going to retaliate quick. We need to stay ahead of them."
"Copy that," Finch replied soberly. "Recommend you head back on your own. We'll have a plane overhead flying combat air patrol to watch your six."
"Appreciate that," Johnson said. "Tell whoever is flying with you they did a helluva good job. I'm damned impressed with them."
"Will do," Finch said. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Great job."
"My pleasure, General," he said with gusto. "Most fun I've had since I've been here."
With that, Hitchcock made one last low pass over the group, doing a victory roll as he flew overhead. He signaled for Benson to remain on watch, then headed back to the field.
Pearson watched by the runway as the fighter turned onto final approach. Between having only one plane come back and the earlier sound of gunfire, he knew that something had happened. He was not happy.
The plane landed and came to a stop midfield. Hitchcock taxied the plane off to the side, turned it about and killed the engines. The noon sun was hot, but fresh. It felt wonderful to stretch the legs. They had been up for less than an hour.
"Where's Benson?" Pearson asked. His tone was no-nonsense and all business.
"Right now, he's flying combat air patrol over the reconnaissance team," Finch replied. "They were attacked by the Skinnies. Lieutenant Hitchcock bagged one of their ships."
"You fired on one of their ships?" Pearson asked incredulously. "Do you know what you've just done?"
"Yes, Colonel, I do," Finch replied. "I ordered an attack when our troops came under fire. And, if need be, I will do it again."
The sound of propellers filled the sky. Benson was returning. He landed and parked next to Hitchcock's plane. Sitting behind the pilot was Johnson. They both climbed down from the plane.
"Afternoon, General. Colonel," Johnson said, saluting. "Permission to report."
"First things first, Captain," Pearson said. "Where is the rest of your team?"
"Captured by the Skinnies," Benson answered. "One of the men was injured by the Skinnies. Johnson was double-timing it back here when another ship appeared. I landed and picked up the Captain before the Skinnies could get him."
"Why did you leave your team, Captain?" Pearson demanded.
"I ordered him to," Finch said. "The information he has is too important to wait."
"After what we saw, Colonel, the rest of the men agreed that I should go on," Johnson added, holding up his rucksack. "I really think you need to see this right away."
Pearson felt that he had been cornered, and he didn't like it. He saw Finch usurping his authority and it irritated him greatly. Nevertheless, he needed to know what Johnson and his team saw. So, he reluctantly agreed.
"Very well, Captain," Pearson sighed with irritation. "Let me know when you have the pictures developed."
With that, he turned and left. Johnson was about to say something, but Finch stopped him.
"Thank you for bringing back Johnson," Finch said to the lieutenant. "Go get some food and rest. Things could get busy later on."
"Yes, ma'am."
After he saluted and left, Johnson and Finch returned to the Independence. They spent the rest of the day going over images and making plans.
Twilight fell. Pearson didn't track down Finch. Neither did she seek him out. She was certain that the Skinnies would come calling. They couldn't afford the luxury of having the Skinnies know what she was planning.
Cabala came by and found Finch lying on the ground, staring up at the first stars. Johnson, also lying under the wing of the plane, was already asleep.
"Nice night," he said.
"It is indeed, Major," she replied. "Can I do something for you?"
"The preparations have been completed," he reported. "Given what we have, we are as ready as we will ever be."
"Thank you, Paul,' Finch said. "I know it wasn't easy doing this without Bob's knowledge. I just wish the Skinnies would get here so I can bring him up to speed."
"Speaking of which," Cabala said.
There, in the middle of the field, stood a dozen Skinnies. All of them were armed.
Several of the men huddled together to provide a shield for Finch and Johnson. They couldn't hear the conversation, but there was an angry tone to their voices. After several minutes, Pearson stepped back and saluted. The Skinnies turned and left.
"What's the word, Bob?" Cabala asked.
"We are to leave in the morning," he said. "The Skinnies feel that we are too violent a race to be allowed to stay, so they are sending us back."
"This is good!" Cabala said.
"No, its not," Finch added. "We need to talk."
"No, I have to get the planes ready for tomorrow" Pearson said.
"You have an Executive Officer," Finch said. "He will do it. We need to talk over tomorrow's mission."
The sun was starting to set. Cabala and Johnson watched the two commanders disappear into the darkness.
"What mission is she talking about?" Cabala asked.
"We're going to attack."
_
The eastern sky was starting to lighten. Finch and Pearson had spent the last few hours meeting with the senior officers and pilots. Most of them found their story hard to believe. The bomber crews could accept that Finch and Johnson were from their future because they had physical proof. Saying that all of them had been thrown over two hundred million years into the past was what bothered them.
"Do you have any proof?" Kowalski asked. "You gotta admit that this is pretty crazy."
"I have the proof right here," Pearson said, holding up an envelope. "These are our orders. Direct from the President to us. There is enough family information included that proves to me that her story is true."
"Our orders are simple," Finch said. "We are to attack and destroy these invaders at all costs. These storms that we see appear to be a portal of some sort. The portal opens and these ships appear. If these invaders set up a colony here, and it looks like that's what they are doing, then the history of our planet changes. Humanity may not even evolve."
"Wait a second, the Bible says"
Finch held up her hand. "I'm not going to argue scripture with you. What I will say is that, in my time, even the Vatican has accepted evolution. And you are talking about a pretty conservative group of guys!"
"Major-General Finch."
Everyone turned and saw a Skinny standing there. He was armed, but the weapon was shouldered. He was pale white and stood about five feet. The large almond-shaped eyes were as black as coal. Finch thought the alien looked like every picture she had ever seen.
"I am General Finch," she said stepping forward.
"General Finch, your presence was made known to us when we examined the memories of Colonel Pearson," the alien said. "You and Captain Johnson will accompany me back to our settlement. You will be interrogated. The rest of the men will be transported to a safe environment."
From out of the shadows came a flashing burst of light. The bullets struck the alien with such force he was knocked of his feet. His personal shield quickly failed and purplish blood splattered against the grass.
Frank Johnson walked out of the shadows and into the pale light of dawn. He changed magazines on his M-105 and walked up to the alien corpse.
"I ain't going anywhere with you!" he said. He turned back towards the group. "Come on, people. We've got a mission to fly."
Pearson looked over his command and said, "This is what we are going to do"
The crews settled into their normal briefing routine as the mission was outlined. The routine brought a level or normality to a crazy situation. They may not understand where they were, but the crews knew what was waiting for them if they left with the Skinnies. Johnson's pictures made that crystal clear.
"That's it, gentlemen," Pearson said. "Let's make these bastards sorry they ever came here! Engine start is in twenty minutes. Kowalski, your crew is closest to the Independence. Give the general a hand by clearing away the shrubs and netting. Let's go, people!"
The pilots headed off to their planes. Finch stayed back and handed Pearson an envelope.
"Colonel, I would be much obliged if you would hold on to this for me," she said. Keep it up front in the cockpit of the Lady."
He took the envelope and studied her carefully. "Are you sure about this?"
"Quite sure," Finch replied. "You know what to do after you knock out the power plant?"
"Land as close as possible to the hockey-puck building and get as many people inside as possible," Pearson answered. "Press the illuminated blue button." He turned and saluted smartly.
"General, it's been a pleasure."
"Colonel, the honor's been all mine." Finch returned the salute then they shook hands. "God speed, Bob."
"And you, Lisa."
Thirty minutes later, the heavy bombers were in the air and in formation. Before them lay the portal home. Around the planes were a handful of ships escorting them.
"This is Midnight Lady to all ships," Pearson radioed. "We're level at angels five. Estimate the portal in ten minutes. Look sharp everybody and tighten up the formation."
The planes all moved in a little closer to each other. The foo-fighters also moved in a little closer to the formation. Pearson smiled grimly as he watched the formation.
"Pilot to crew," Pearson said on the intercom. "I want all of you to slowly move to your guns. Sparks, count to thirty and then radio the word 'Now' to the formation. You've got that?"
"I'm on it, Colonel."
Pearson waited and nudged his plane a little closer to the invaders. He counted to thirty and heard Sparks send out the message.
"Okay, boys. Open fire!"
All around the formation, planes concentrated their firepower on the handful of ships guiding them. Shells were flying like angry hornets. A few ships tried to turn away but were pounced on by Hitchcock and Benson in their Lightnings. Within thirty seconds, all the alien ships were destroyed.
Pearson changed course and brought the formation onto a new heading. He got on the intercom again.
"Pilot to crew. We've got a war on our hands again, fellas. You know the routine. Call out the fighters and flak, just like before. Bombardier, you've got to drop our eggs right down the pickle barrel."
"Belly gunner. Fighters at twelve o'clock low! Coming at us fast!"
Guns opened fire across the formation. The 100th Bomb Group was once again fighting for its survival.
"Fighter coming up on our six o'clock low Two fighters at nine o'clock! Enemy ship exploded at our two o'clock"
The calls were continuous.
"Radio to Pilot, I've just received word from Independence. They are up and at cherubs two."
"B-17 on fire!"
"Where is it and who said that," Pearson demanded.
"Tail gunner. B-17 on fire astern. It looks like Fat Chance!"
"Left Waist. Gretchen just blew up!"
"Any chutes from those planes?" Pearson asked.
"Nothing, Colonel."
"Navigator to pilot. Flak up ahead. It looks like light beams or a heat ray or something."
"Roger that. How long until we reach the initial point?"
"We'll reach the IP in thirty seconds."
The course correction came on schedule. They turned directly towards the Skinnies' settlement. They couldn't jinx away from the rays of death coming from the surface.
"Sonofabitch!" the copilot shouted.
"What is it, Danny?"
"Those heat rays just burned two whole engines off of Chicago!" He turned towards Pearson. "It's burning pretty bad"
Pearson looked over at the flaming ship. There were seconds before it exploded. "Come on. Come on! Get out of there!"
The Spirit of Independence and four of the Lightnings flew down the river channel. Under the wings of the four fighters were four salvaged bombs from Kowalski's squadron. The bomber was mere feet above the ground. Ahead of them was the gorge that marked the edge of the Skinnies' encampment and shielding. They passed under the edge of their shields and climbed to two hundred feet.
The fighters pealed off and set their course for what appeared to be antennas. The ring of antennas was hopefully where the protective shield was being generated. Knocking a few of the towers out could open a hole in the shielding, allowing the rest of the formation to attack.
Finch steered the B-2 towards the first of two targets. The bomb bay doors opened and a cruise missile dropped from the hold. The booster fired and wing extended. Within seconds, the missile was on course for the portal.
"We're being painted," Johnson reported. "Activating countermeasures."
"Little Friends to Boss," crackled the radio. "Bombs gone. The shield is still up, but weakened."
"I hope it's enough," Johnson said.
Paul Cabala could feel the heat of his burning plane through the cockpit walls. His co-pilot was trying to shield himself from the flames outside, but it was no good.
"Sound the alarm bell!" Cabala ordered. "Pilot to crew. Get outta here before the whole plane explodes!"
"Radio to pilot. We've already talked it over and we're going to ride it in with you."
Cabala had to pause a second before he could speak. "Thanks, guys."
"He's diving, Colonel!"
Pearson knew he was watching his friend die. They had gone to flight school together. They had bailed each other out of some situations before. This time, there was nothing he could do.
Chicago exploded a thousand feet above the ground. The detonation of the aviation fuel and the full bomb load caused the shield to collapse in a great shower of sparks and flames scattering across the ground.
"Thank you, Paul," Pearson said quietly. "Pilot to bombardier, the plane is all yours."
There in the nose of the Midnight Lady the bombardier crouched over his bombsite. He made a few minor course corrections and opened the bomb bay doors.
"Bombs away!"
The plane leapt up into the sky with the release of the massive weight. Bomb after bomb fell on the power generator below. With a resounding explosion, the building erupted in a massive fireball. Force fields all across the complex collapsed.
"Sparks, radio the Independence and tell them to proceed, then tell the formation to land near that black building.
Out of the corner of her eye, Finch saw a bomber go down. There was a horrific explosion and flash all across the sky. The force field had been destroyed.
"Come left thirty degrees," Johnson said.
"Independence from Midnight Lady," came the radio call. "Mission accomplished. Proceed immediately to next target. Out"
Finch pushed the throttles to the firewall and dropped to one hundred feet.
"Three minutes from target," Johnson said. "Voodoo! Voodoo! Incoming missiles! Dropping chaff and adjusting countermeasures."
"Copy that," Finch said. "You know that we are hand-delivering this nuke, don't you?"
"Yeah, I know," Johnson replied soberly. "Two minutes to target. One minute before the cruise missile reaches the portal. It's been fun, Lisa."
"Likewise, Frank." Finch said.
Pearson landed and stopped next to the black building. The crew jumped out and leaned on the large doors, but they wouldn't move. Danny Hendricks saw a control panel on the side of the doorframe. He pressed an illuminated red button, and the doors began to open. When they were wide enough, Pearson released the brakes and taxied the Lady inside. He moved the bomber to the far side of the building and killed the engines.
Pearson was looking out the door when the sky became fiery white. Planes and crews outside the building were incinerated. Even the nose art on the Midnight Lady was singed.
As the intense glare of light started to dim, he climbed out of the plane. He ran over to the hangar door and looked outside. Pearson had never seen the skies look so terribly angry before. He pressed the blue button and the doors closed. Pearson walked back to the plane and had a seat next to the left landing gear. Somehow, Pearson knew it would be a very long wait.
Outside, a fireball enveloped the Earth.
_
The elevator door opened on the work level and three officers entered the artificial cavern. Before them was the Object. It was a thousand feet in diameter and one hundred-twenty feet tall. It was shaped like a giant hockey puck with two recessed doors on the side. Light shone from inside the entranceway of the smaller door.
"Just how far down are we, Lieutenant?" General Pearson asked.
"We are approximately a half mile below Area 51, General," the lieutenant replied.
They reached the doorway and stood in awe of the structure. It was hard to understand the enormity of the Object until you stood next to it. The lieutenant pointed to the wall panel next to the door. Indicator lights were still functional after all this time.
"Would you look at that!" the general said. "Still working after – what – two hundred million years?"
"Actually, sir, it's closer to two hundred fifty million years," the lieutenant said. "The doorways opens onto the Permian – Triassic boundary."
"The what?" the major asked.
"The Permian – Triassic boundary is where a mass extinction event occurred," the general said. "Over ninety percent of all living things were killed off. And this thing was there when it happened."
"How the devil can the power systems still be functioning after all this time?" the major asked. "This is incredible."
"If you will follow me, sirs," the lieutenant added. "I can show you something that will make this pale in comparison."
They walked through the doorway and into a short corridor. There were pictographs giving instructions about something on the wall. The corridor opened onto the main chamber. Only the lieutenant didn't gasp when they saw what was inside.
There, buried a quarter-billion years in the past, was a scorched, battle-worn bomber from World War II.
They walked up to the plane reverently. The general gently rubbed his hand against the fuselage, touching the craft as if to comfort it. The name Midnight Lady was still visible, as was the pin-up girl on the bombers' nose section.
"My God," Pearson whispered. "This is the name of my grandfather's plane!"
"We believe that this is his plane, sir. We found one body sitting underneath the left wing," the lieutenant said. "His dog tags match this plane. He was Colonel Robert Pearson, United States Army Air Corps. We're trying to confirm serial numbers on the plane from various manufacturers."
"This is absolutely incredible," the major whispered. "How is this possible?"
"We don't know, sir," the lieutenant replied.
The lieutenant guided the command staff to a table where a number of artifacts had been recovered. One of the items was a large manila envelope addressed to General Pearson. It had already been opened and examined by the research crew. Two sets of logbooks had been inside along with more dog tags.
Pearson picked up the logbook belonging to his grandfather. He skimmed the last few pages and closed his eyes for a second.
"Well done, Colonel," he whispered. "And welcome home."
Pearson picked up the other logbook and scanned its entries. He cocked an eyebrow at the lieutenant, then picked up the dog tags that were with the books. It only took a second to find the set he was looking for.
"Did you know about this, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir," she blushed. "I was informed a few hours ago."
"Informed of what?" the major asked. "What's on the dog tags?"
"The name reads Major-General Wendy Finch," Pearson said handing the identification to the young woman before him. "You're going to need these some day."
Very intriguing. I loved the clever twist at the end. This stands alone very well as a short story. Is it part of a novel you are working on?
Cindi
Actually no, its not part of a novel. At least not yet. Possibly part of another collection of short stories.
The story climax wrote itself while I was watching The Chronicles of Narnia. I do my best work when I have a movie theme running in the background - one that matches the character and intensity of the scene I am writing.
The Permean Extenction Event has tickled my imagination for a while. Although there are some reasonable hypotheses out there, no one knows why 90+% of all life on Earth was killed off. Massive volcanic eruptions creating the ingeous bedrock of Siberia? An asteroid impact in Antarctica? CO2 outgassing from the oceans? Or maybe Pangea was so large that there was no moisture in the interior - sort of like the Austrailian Outback on a massive scale. No one knows, so I created my own explaination! :D
And my students say that science is dull...! I think it feeds the imagination!
Chaunte