The Peacemaker Read online

  “Do you have to go?”

  Bart held up his hand a little, but he shook his head all the same.

  “No. I went this morning after I got woken up by some strange sounds coming from your bedroom though.”

  I flushed beet red from embarrassment.

  Dear god, no! He didn’t hear me—did he?!?

  I didn’t want to put him on the spot.

  “What sounds?” I asked hastily.

  Bart scratched his slightly bearded chin thoughtfully, thinking on that one for a second.

  “Nothing I could easily identify. But there was some banging going around for a few minutes and I thought for a second you were awake and doing something.”

  My mouth went dry then. And it took a great deal of spit to get my voice and Adam’s apple to work again.

  “I’m prone to nightmares.” I explained to him. “That must’ve been it.”

  “Some nightmare.”

  “You’d be surprised.” I answered with a little bit of truth to my fictitious story. It sucked to lie to a real cute guy—even if he was just out of diapers and nearing twenty—but I wasn’t going to tell him that it was a hot and erotic dream I had which sent every part of my unconscious mind, body, and soul into geosynchronous orbit.

  Anyways, I pushed the helmet into his arms and then picked up my own.

  “Ever ride shotgun before, Bart?” I asked.

  “I rode in an TAV-8B Harrier II once—a vintage jump jet that one of my cousins’ uncles owned as a rare prize.”

  I thought that one over—remember seeing a diagram and schematic of such a jet in the Peacemaker’s computer mainframe.

  “Good. So you’ll do well as my co-pilot.”

  “Co-pilot?” He asked and I gestured for him to follow me.

  ***

  With the armored canopy raised up for the co-pilot’s section, I showed him where he would be sitting. A platform of switches and button-pads were embedded right above his head, while there were a few small levers were found next to his immediate left.

  “Don’t worry about those,” I told him. “The array above you is usually just in case the pilot—me—is in serious trouble.”

  “A back-up system?” He ventured off hand.

  “Bingo.” I said with a smile. “You’re learning!”

  Bart smiled. “The Harrier I flew had similar control features, but nothing like this.”

  “That’s because this was supposed to be the next word in fighter design for a good 30 or more years.”

  “Was?”

  “The Peacemaker program was scrapped due to budget cuts from the last administration. Or so I was told.”

  “So this is the only jet plane on paper?”

  “Yep.”

  “I studied some of the histories of jets and airplanes that never made it into production design, and they never saw service like they were originally supposed to. So why—”

  “—this one?” I finished for him. “The Defense Department wanted to see what it could do—considering the current geopolitical climate. So…my dad, me, and some DOD people spent some time getting her ready.”

  “When I was…scoping out the jet yesterday, I didn’t see any armament of any kind. No hard points, no missiles…not even the barrel of a 30mm gun.” Bart told me.

  “That’s because everything is either concealed or internally—cloaked against the latest radar or detection system known to man.”

  “That certainly has some advantages.” The prince said, than sat down in the seat with my help.

  The display in front of him was lit, but a blinking red bar read OFF-LINE AND SECURE.

  “I guess I can’t play, can I?” He said with mock regret.

  I shook my head in amusement. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to install a PS3 game controller. You‘ll just have to do without.”

  “I can live with that.” The prince said with a winning smile. “I didn’t do much with the gaming consoles they had for the last 15 years. I was more of an outdoors kind of fellow.”

  “This is as outdoors as you’ll ever get.” I told him. “Vergennes is one of the flattest places around in terms of geography. Very few people live here, so if you want peace and quiet, you won’t have to go far to find it.” I handed him his helmet. “Put this on and stay put. I’m going to hook up ol’ Earle and taxi us out.”

  “How are you going to get up?”

  “There’s a pilot’s ladder and some hand holds which I can use. But when I fly, my suppliers give me a hand up sometimes.” I told him, then ducked out of sight and climbed down.

  Getting the hand truck was easy, getting the plane out…?

  That was going to be a tad tricky—even though the hanger ceiling was high enough.

  I still had to be careful.

  Once I got started, I wheeled around Earle and extended the rated 10,000psi roll bar and connected it to the ’cat’ lever that stood out like a sore thumb.

  Yes, this was also supposed to be a carrier variant at some point, but the Defense Department balked at the idea of having to carry far few aircraft than what was standard on most of the country’s super carrier fleet.

  Starting up the engine, I called up to the prince, “turn the stick right and then down, and then hold it.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes. The co-pilot can also operate the craft just like I would. Think of it this way: We’re just an extension of the other.”

  “Okay,” the teen called back. “I’m pushing the stick over—just like you wanted.”

  I watched as the front nose gear changed over—allowing me to turn the craft 45 to the right and straighten it out. Stopping, I said, “Now—let go of your stick and push it forward as far as it will go.”

  “Got it!” Bart exclaimed—doing as he was told.

  This allowed the jet to move forward on its own—after I had released the plane’s two parking brakes. (I still had to remove the blocks though from each set of tires however.)

  Driving up to the yellow line, I pointed the remote at the hanger door and pushed on the red button repeatedly for a few seconds and then held it—once the motor started up.

  It didn’t take long for the thing to raise on its own and then—once I was certain that I had enough clearance—I moved out slowly at a few miles per hour; taking great care not to jostle things too much.

  Runway One was down for repairs and Three was an emergency strip, so I I taxied my bird down to Number Two.

  “Left, Bart! Left!” I hollered over the noise of the engine.

  The teen responded and the jet turned as I wanted—so that we can line up at the white line.

  Once that was accomplished…?

  “Straight! Forward on the stick!”

  The wheel straightened and the lumbering jet was perfectly lined up with only a few inches to spare.

  Perfect! I thought with inward amazement. He’s a natural at this!

  Driving Earle back to the inside of the hanger, I closed the door from the outside afterwards and then locked it electronically.

  Then I donned my helmet and secured it.

  “Bart?” I asked through the tinny mike buried in the chin guard. “Can you read me?”

  “Loud and clear. Where are you?”

  “Heading back. Start up the external systems while you‘re at it.”

  “How?”

  “Touch the screen and it’ll ask you for a code. Punch in 2721-Baker. Then access the startup routine and when it asks you if you want to activate it, touch ‘yes’.”

  There was a few moments of silence as Bart did as he was told.

  I stopped to see if the jet would come alive under his touch as it always did with mine.

  External lights flickered on and gained strength as the plane awoke from its three-month sleep. Other smaller lights started to blink at random with fresh power being fed from the batteries.

  The Peacemaker was alive.

  Now all I needed to do was kick up the main engines and we would be of
f.

  CHAPTER TEN.

  Strapped into my seat, I turned on the internal communication system so that me and Bart could communicate freely during the flight.

  “You all set back there?” I asked him after engaging the third parking brake.

  “Five by five as they say in the Royal Air Force.” Bart replied jokingly.

  I grinned. “That’s what I like to hear from my new co-pilot. Stand by. I’m starting up main power.” This jet’s mode of operation was clearly differently than its previous predecessors and required a bit more time to get things going.

  Different status bars flashed before me as a result—after accessing the status menu routine.

  Auxiliary…READY

  Backup…OPERATIONAL

  Main…ON STANDBY

  ENGAGE?

  I tapped, ‘yes’.

  A powerful noise built up as a result and I could feel the Peacemaker shift and drift on its tires a little as the main systems came online.

  I checked the engine display.

  READY TO FIRE. The computer displayed. ENGAGE?

  I also tapped ‘yes’ on this one.

  “Hang on,” I told Bart. “This might come as a surprise to you.”

  The main engines came alive with a loud roar and a bit of a kick to both of us.

  The teen chuckled and whooped a little—sending my already elevated heart rate into overdrive.

  I adjusted the external flow dampers a little to focus the bulk of the engine thrust outwards—watching the engine diagram go from black to yellow, to white hot.

  The shutters flexed in and out like a camera lens for a second—then slid back a bit.

  “Forty seconds now, Bart. Stand by.”

  Flipping a switch, I released the air brake—the one holding us in place during startup—and felt us go forward all by ourselves.

  Grabbing the stick, I nudged us further and brought up main power even more—the plane surging now; eager for take off.

  We bounced along just a bit before the Peacemaker settled down and sped down the runway—gaining great amounts of speed.

  “Peacemaker 1-0 proceeding down Runway Two at 110mph. Take off in ten seconds.” I radioed the tower in the distance.

  “Have a great flight, Peacemaker. All traffic is cleared in your area. Proceed on current course as advised. Have a safe trip.”

  “Acknowledged, Tower Two-Six. Over and out.”

  Pushing the engine lever further up, our speed jumped another 20%, then 30% and finally—?

  The Peacemaker dipped once on the ground and then rose into the air all on its own.

  I fired the boosters for a five-second burst—giving our ride added thrust. We rocketed upwards at a nice incline—even as I put us into a barrel roll—trailing white vapor exhaust behind us as we went.

  Then I banked slightly to the right and leveled out.

  “Punching in at 730mph and on course, vector 225. Wing configuration to Flight Mode.”

  “W-what?” The prince echoed in surprise—before hearing a soft hissing sound and then a thunk! somewhere to both his right and left. The wings themselves stretched out like fingers and swept all the way back for increased performance and a perfect near-zero percent ratio on overall air drag.

  Then they curled under a bit—giving the aircraft the impression of a delta-shaped arrow in flight.

  The plane rocketed upwards then—climbing higher and higher like a ballistic missile as a result of the change.

  I checked life-support systems and found that everything was in the green. Oxygen flowed through two of the support hoses when needed, while the rest inflated the suit just a bit with each passing second—as gee-forces started to mount.

  In the back, Bart thought he was trapped inside a very high-tech marshmallow—with the way he was pinned back to his seat.

  “Is this…normal?” He asked.

  I nodded.

  “Just standard response to a 1.5 gee climb. You’re perfectly safe.” I told him.

  We broke through the thin bank of clouds in the next few seconds—the sun glaring through our polarized windows.

  Even with the added protection, the helmet’s visor shields still reacted to the added light and filtered everything out—giving both of us crystal clarity all around.

  “Sooo…cool!” He bit out in blind astonishment. “It’s like looking through space!”

  I smiled and looked down at one of the digital readouts which was measuring our velocity.

  They were zipping by at a pretty good clip: 300, 400...430...460...

  “Mach 1 in thirty seconds. Climbing towards Perigee One.” I told him. “Hold on.”

  The Triton-12 Peacemaker angled higher and higher—fed on both the fuel and the kinetic energy now being accumulated along the air frame.

  Seconds later, both occupants were hit with a slight boom! as the plane crossed past the sonic boom threshold.

  I turned the stick over slightly six degrees—the jet following suit.

  ***

  USS Goliath (NX-307)

  17th Attack Squadron—based out of Maui.

  Presently, 600 miles off the coast of Nova Scotia.

  “It’s difficult to pinpoint, Mr. Jones, sir. The Peacemaker has one of the most advanced stealth systems imaginable. It’s making our own job all that much harder.” The radar plot officer was saying to the reclining man sitting four feet away from him.

  “I was told this ship had a more advanced imaging and tracking system which could break through stealth and allow us to track anything.” The man said with clear disapproval in his voice. “And you’re sitting there and telling me that you can’t accomplish even that?”

  “I have the system on the highest track setting around. Including all the sensitivity instruments. We are getting something, but its so damned small, it’s barely registering.”

  “How small?”

  “About the size of a period at the end of a sentence.” The man said. “Without a thermal return, we wouldn’t have been able to track it. But the thermal variances are fluctuating like crazy. It’s like it is there, but it isn’t. I’m having to program the system to pick up any anomaly with that kind of unique signature and then track it that way.”

  Conrad settled down in his chosen seat a bit—after having been relocated to the experimental cruiser by a modified S-H 3 Navy helicopter out of Burlington, before being refueled in mid-air over Bangor, Maine for the 600-mile journey out to the Goliath.

  The cruiser in itself was modified and extended Oliver Perry Class-frigate with increased firepower and ASW capabilities. But its rear quarter had been modified as a recovery platform for its three Westland Lynx helicopters.

  What made the Goliath vastly different from the rest of the ships currently serving as escort for its super carrier counterpart, was its SQX-02 imaging and tracking systems designed solely to penetrate any vessel or aircraft using stealth as its sole operating parameter to evade or escape detection.

  Especially in developing countries whom “borrowed” or bought any black-market hardware and had it installed on their ships and aircraft as a counter insurgent to the US or other friendly nations.

  So far, the black list included China, Syria, and possibly Iran—though the latter was still in the experimental stage along with their ongoing nuclear power program. (That had been finally revealed and determined not to be a growing threat to the West or its immediate allies.)

  The US had been concerned since there were rumors that the Iranians were modifying their own F-15s and F-16s to run purely on stealth and/or equipping their defensive systems with stealth-like technologies.

  Some within the government even went as far as to accuse the Iranians to equipping their short-range Shaloub II and III missiles with stealth devices designed to “cloak” their weaponry while in transit to a possible target within Europe and possibly Israel.

  The modified ship had a top speed of 34 knots—despite its imposing size and dimensions; making it the fastest ship e
ver conceived and built.

  “Just keep at it.” Conrad told the enlisted tech. “And let me know if anything changes.”

  “Aye sir.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  8:35 AM.

  Everything above and below me was washed pure of any kind of cloud cover—giving way to a picture perfect snapshot of the world around me.

  “Cruising at 46,000 feet. Speed is 942.73mph. Or Mach 1.3.” I radioed back to Bart. I was far from the Mach 1.7 speed I initially had envisioned, but decided that since it was such a nice day—?

  We could take the time to enjoy the scenery around us.

  “Are we using afterburners to maintain this speed?” He asked—blast-visor turned up and his internal mike off.

  “No.” I told him. “This unrated design of aircraft allows for unlimited burn at higher speeds. No afterburners required.”

  “None at all?” He asked.

  “The Peacemaker is the first next-generation combat fighter to be fitted with two prototype Mark VI-turbo boosters. The Defense Department first conceived of such an idea awhile back—when the Peacemaker was being first developed. They wanted to forgo the traditional afterburners found on much older fighters and use a type of low-powered rocket booster which could kick the jet into higher speeds and at a much higher altitude.”

  “How high?”

  “Test flights put the operational ceiling of the Triton-12 Peacemaker at or above 350,000 feet.”

  “You mean…space?!?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Will we need to go that high?”

  “No.” I replied. “We won’t have to on this flight.”

  Another look down and I suddenly remembered something else I was supposed to do. Flipping a switch, I tied in the Peacemaker’s array of high-speed digital-cameras and began recording.

  The skies below me were clear and picture perfect. A model of supreme artistry which could only be imagined and conveyed onto a painter’s canvas.

  Either Thomas Kincaid or Tim Winston would be jealous of what I am seeing right now. I reflected wistfully, making sure that everything was being picked up to the smallest detail and shunted to the plane’s small mainframe computer.