The Peacemaker Read online

  Contents

  PROLOGUE.

  CHAPTER ONE.

  CHAPTER TWO.

  CHAPTER THREE.

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  CHAPTER SIX.

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  CHAPTER NINE.

  CHAPTER TEN.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

  CHAPTER THIRTY.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN.

  The Peacemaker

  Schuyler Thorpe

  The Peacemaker

  Copyright © 2019 Schuyler Thorpe

  All rights reserved.

  Interior book design by The Dust Jacket Designs

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  PROLOGUE.

  December 18th, 2012

  Bowling Greens.

  Browns and Son Shipping, Ltd.

  Given how things were, I counted myself lucky to be getting this much.

  Times were pretty bad for everyone in the courier business.

  No exceptions. Even I wasn’t immune to the ongoing recession—despite my illustrious contacts with the Pentagon and the Defense Department.

  “$77,234...” Ted Collier said at first, but then his face softened into sadness as he handed me a money order with my name on it.

  “I’m sorry that it can’t be more, Kee. But we‘re all hurting just like everyone else these days.” He explained out of sympathy.

  What I got would only buy me a couple more months. At the least.

  Fuck. I thought to myself. Now what do I do?

  I accepted the valuable piece of paper anyways—tucking it inside my uniform’s hip pocket.

  “Tell me about it.” I said. “Business for me isn’t any better. I’ve had to cut down flights with the Peacemaker by half this year. Next year, I’m looking at maybe three or four.”

  “How is the Peacemaker holding up in the dead of winter, Kina?” Ted asked then—while getting up to join me for the walk out.

  I shrugged. “No problems that I am aware of. Takeoffs and touchdowns are a bit touchy—even with the modified landing sled on the nose and special tires at the fore and aft positions.”

  We began our journey then, each of us with our own thoughts and heavy fears of the ongoing recession.

  The Recovery of 2010 (as some of us called it) lasted only six months, before everything nose-dived back into a far worse recession than we thought.

  Both the Republican opposition and their conservative base kept trying to blame the reigning Democratic Congress of the problems and President Barrack Obama for it—while sticking to their mantras of wanting smaller government and preaching fiscal responsibility.

  But those promises were as empty as were the hopes of everyone whom had originally bet on a quick and lasting recovery.

  Some fucking bet.

  Jobs, businesses, and consumer spending quickly ground to a halt as the world’s global economy began to suffer even more of a severe contraction than some economists had predicted.

  Greece’s economy tanked as its debt soared—forcing the European Union to rescue to the floundering nation with a loan that only made the markets around the world do a nightmarish two-step that went back and forth throughout 2010 and 2011.

  Nobody gained much traction and everything started to hinge on another depression—as things continued to worsen with time.

  Currency values slid to their worst showing in 50 years—putting an above-average strain on the world powers whom were deep in debt with their creditor nations.

  Chiefly, the United States in particular.

  Japan and China wanted to partially call in their loans with our country—to help shore up their own flagging currency values—but after some intense negotiations with both the Chinese and Japanese governments—?

  The US managed to dodge a major bullet.

  But our own nation’s debt kept spiraling out of control—even though we had somehow managed to arrest further spending on a temporary level.

  But the overall problem lay in some secret spending initiatives passed into law by the previous administration—as a final jab to anyone whom assumed public office.

  Some voters thought it would’ve been John McCain whom would’ve taken the White House, but I watched as he screwed things up by not only jumping the gun prematurely on a number of issues—he also brought in a radical right-wing conservative female to serve as his VP pick.

  As a woman myself, I did not find the accolade to be anything but insulting to women everywhere.

  Not only did she turn me off completely to McCain’s camp, but it also reminded me just how low some men would go to placate the fairer sex—if only to show how empty their compassion for women was in this day and age.

  Of course, the Republican Party always had a long-standing history of racism, sexism, and pointed bigotry to everyone from minorities to women in general.

  “The White Man Only Party.” I once told Lisa Petard—after the 2012 elections concluded with an easy win for the reigning incumbent President.

  The GOP couldn’t decide on who would represent their best interests—since there had been a lot of bickering and political infighting amongst themselves.

  Not to mention sex scandals, ethics scandals, and the like.

  Top senators within the party wanted Sarah Palin to run for President this time—citing high approval ratings within the party itself. Fortunately, a lot of us women balked at the idea of having a blonde bimbo for CIC whom didn’t know shit about politics in general, treated global issues as some kind of running joke (I always did like “I can see Russia from my house!” —punch line the best. Thank you Tina Fey!), and her continued absent-mindedness and outward hostility towards the media for not cutting her any slack—compounded her underlying viability to be taken seriously as a world leader.

  The GOP managed to throw a businessman to the fore at the last minute—with the usual divisive/wedge-style politics, but he wasn’t any better than the rest of the proposed candidates—even some whom had decades of personal experience.

  Obama trumped the man at the polls, the town-hall meetings and even in the public forum—reminding American voters once again how a once powerful party became an instrument of deceit and poison for the rest of us.

  “We don’t need continued division at the polls! We need a unified country! A na
tion on the move, a nation willing to go forward and not look back in on itself!”

  I sighed quietly—thinking that despite his best efforts to turn this country around—there were some things which couldn’t be fixed by one man.

  Like this ongoing recession for example.

  Throwing money at it and hoping it goes away—was one of the dumbest ideas propositioned by Bush and his allies in the last ten years.

  It didn’t work as well as we’d all liked. My father even commented on it—shortly before he passed away seven years ago.

  Obama’s attempt also fell short—not because he didn’t try fixing the problems left behind by the last administration, but because it was simply really shitty timing.

  Many of us hardy business owners agreed that if he had directed the stimulus money after the first recession had run its course, we wouldn’t have been in a deepening second and now a third.

  I wouldn’t have had to lay off some of my own people like poor Ted here had as well.

  It was hard enough running my father’s air service (Harry’s Courier Air Service, Vergennes, Vermont) with a limited number of staff on hand—but we all did what we could.

  To top things off, I had to reduce my asking rates by a third.

  And if today’s check isn’t any indicator…? I reflected to myself—as both me and Ted stopped to enjoy the splendid winter weather—with the Ozark mountains off in the distant sheltering nothing but rolling hills and the farmlands branching off nearby from the 60-year-old supply company.

  I sucked in the cold air and shuddered a little bit—mostly because of nerves and nothing much else, but the gesture wasn’t missed by Ted himself; whom sympathized with me greatly.

  “Don’t worry, Kee,” he said—using the nickname my father gave me, “things will turn themselves around. You just gotta have faith and believe in yourself.”

  I tried not to show disrespect for one of my many closely traveled employers, but I couldn’t help the snort of disgust which escaped me untended.

  “Yea, but when, Ted? I thought the first recession following the 2008 elections was bad, but this one takes the booby-prize hands down. If things continue to south, I may have to not only sell the Peacemaker back to the Defense Department, but also my flagging air service.”

  Ted laughed a little at my suggestion and the gripped my right arm in the process.

  “And where would I be, eh, Kina? I’d be out of a job and a business which my father started sixty years ago.”

  I sighed miserably, looking out at the white and black camouflage scheme that the experimental jet wore during the winter months—thanks in part to the advanced nano-fiber technology embedded into the aircraft’s skin.

  Like a billboard running 24-7—flipping between two advertisements—the nano-fibers rippled and changed the plane’s outward appearance so that it could blend in with its immediate surroundings.

  During my first trial runs with my dad, I couldn’t count how many times I lost track where the Triton-12 had been parked during the winter.

  “That’s the last thing I want to see happen to this place,” I told him flat out—with a dismissive wave of a hand. “I grew up playing here from time to time.”

  Ted grinned at this point.

  “I still have the old playground out back—if you ever feel nostalgic.” He teased.

  I looked at him strangely for a second and then broke out laughing—smacking him on the shoulder lightly.

  “I’m too old for that, Ted!” I exclaimed.

  The 45-year-old man nodded. “I know. I just thought I’d ask—seeing how I remember catching you playing with my dad’s tools when you were…what? A precocious 5-year-old?”

  I looked at him, seeing how his normally jet black hair had started to seriously gray on its own accord.

  “You were just a teen back then, right?” I asked—feeling no better myself. I was going to be pushing thirty-six myself come January 8th.

  “Mmm-hmm. 15 or 16 as I remember it. Back in the early 1980s.”

  “I remember that there was another bad recession back then too. My mom and dad struggling to make ends meet with their 20-something air service. The one they inherited from my ailing grandfather. Back when we were only serving the Northeast and Canada.”

  Ted shuffled his feet in the snow thoughtfully—making a small snow drift with his right foot and then wiping it away gradually.

  “A shame about Oscar.” He said quietly. “My dad said he was a aerospace genius and one of the leading architects in his field. There were rumors that old Oscar had a hand in developing some of the most premiere fighting jets of the last half of the 20th century.”

  “A small hand.” I corrected him with a bit of glowing pride. “You make it sound he ran the whole R&D Office of Strategic Defense by himself, came up with all the leading air designs of the 50s, 60s, and early 70s all by himself, and even flown every make and model which came out of either Skunk Works or three of the nation’s pioneering aircraft manufactures: Boeing, Lockheed-Martin, and Northrop-Grumman—by himself!”

  Ted chuckled. “I would’ve liked to see that happen.” He baited effortlessly. “Come to think of it…didn’t he fly one of the first 737s for ten years, before going military again and then private?”

  “Yep. Oscar said that flying one of Boeing’s big jets was a thrill like none other.” I said.

  Ted then pointed to the Peacemaker. An experimental Triton-12 that had been mothballed due to budget constraints by then Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, and then resurrected a few years later and placed under the watchful eye of both the Defense Department and the Pentagon brass.

  After its tour de force stint at Skunk Works to determine its $2.225 billion dollar value to the US Air Force as a multi-role, quick-strike attack fighter—making it the most expensive military vehicle on paper to date.

  “What do you think if your late grandfather saw this in his hanger?”

  That was an easy question hands down.

  “He would’ve had a heart attack and died one happy man.” I said with utter fondness. “Grandpa did like all the new and latest aircraft designs after all. He even put a few of his own out for consideration by the government. None of which made it into production of course.”

  Ted chuckled a bit before he started walking out to the small runway tarmac—with me in close pursuit.

  “Oscar was a bit of a wild man.” He commented. “That’s what my dad liked about him the best.”

  “Mine too.” I put in respectively, before the memory of the following year—1984—came to surface and the same year when he passed away in his sleep at a nice old age.

  I was seven then and not having a full understanding of why Gramps had to leave us so soon.

  We got to the Peacemaker in not so record time—like I was really in a hurry to get out of here…period—and I climbed up the pilot’s ladder and raised the armored shelled canopy.

  The whole front nose and the ribbed back—which extended into the main body of the jet—reminded me too much of the old Nautilus from the classic 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, with its nose armor slanted on both sides to form two—small—nose wings.

  The armored section covered the canopy in such a way that only a 12-inch polarized window pane was visible in the front with a 7-inch version for the co-pilot in the back.

  And when there was a problem?

  The fighter’s defense systems would take over and the armored partition would slide into place—locking me or someone traveling with me in a protective cocoon.

  But so would the rest of the plane—as the nano-fibers would switch over to defense and a series of raised scales and sharp points morphed the jet into one prickly object which could shrug off any standard missile or other kinds of weapons’ fire at close range.

  Long-range fire had a different response for it.

  Or so I was told.

  Getting in, I squeezed Ted’s hand as he said his goodbyes to me and wished me a quiet flight back.r />
  Nodding, I closed the canopy hatch and started up the pre-flight systems. Diagrams, multilayered screens, and an advanced virtual display filled the forward section of the cockpit—allowing me a full 360 view of my immediate surroundings.

  The soft glare of the snow filled my vision as I watched Ted back off with the ladder in hand and waving at me.

  I accessed the engine protocols and punched in the first two engine boosters—firing things up as I went.

  The Peacemaker responded like a dream and waited as I got everything up and running before I turned the fighter’s nose over and lined it perfectly up with the snow-covered runway.

  Snow crunched softly from underneath the weight of my aircraft.

  “Peacemaker 1-0 ready for takeoff.” I spoke quietly into the mile pickup of my helmet.

  “Ground to Peacemaker 1-0. Skies are clear and you’re good to go. Have a safe trip home.”

  “Thank you, Ground. I shall certainly do that.”

  It didn’t take long for me to taxi down the snow-covered runway and then lift off into the cloudy skies beyond—trailing a blizzard of snow as I went.

  Then I banked left and headed home.

  CHAPTER ONE.

  April 22nd, 2013.

  Burlington, Vermont.

  Burlington International Airport.

  5:30 PM

  “This way, your Highness.” The limo driver indicated with a show of grace and tutored humility—pointing the way to the extended car.

  “Thank you Jerry.” The prince said politely and turned around to take in the busy airport, while a few jets flew overhead—adding to the terrific noise.

  “Have you seen Conrad anywhere?”

  The limo driver shrugged as he opened the door to let the prince in.

  “He said that he would join you shortly—as he had to make a quick phone call.”

  The 18-year-old teen accepted this as the truth and climbed inside.

  Once had himself properly situated, the prince turned on one of the flat-screens and watched some BBC News.

  Tensions were on the rise between the US and Russia over the fate of Afghanistan—after 12 years of straight war. While some of the militants and the Taliban had been driven out—time and again—most kept coming back; and creating more headaches for the coalition.