The Peacemaker Page 8

  “Special weapons. We won’t need those against these fighters.”

  “There’s something here that says ‘Shadow Fire’ at the bottom. What’s that?”

  I smiled. “A real nasty surprise developed in secret by the US Army, but adapted for limited use by the Air Force.”

  “How many planes does this option have?”

  “None—as far as I know. I’m the first to have it integrated successfully into the Peacemaker. But I haven‘t tested it yet in the field.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Fuel limitations.” I bit out, but kept her eye on the outgoing group of fighters. “But I wouldn’t press it though.”

  “Okay.” Bart said, just the first two F-15C’s started to appear on the horizon in front of them.

  A shrill beeping noise grabbed both occupants at the same time.

  I glanced at the display graphic—watching as the computer zoomed in on the F-15 and then focused on the undercarriage wing-tipped missiles.

  A message then appeared in front of me: ‘’WEAPON LOCK-ON ENABLED”.

  This all took place in less than a few seconds.

  I didn’t have any time!

  “Stand by on the Starburst!” I bellowed. “The lead planes are finally locking on with their AMRAAM-missiles! They must see us as a threat now!!” I yanked hard over—dropping the plane in a sideways turn, while pushing the engine thrust lever to its limit.

  Like a sleeping lion coming to life, the Peacemaker screamed through the skies at Mach 1+ velocities—carving out a huge swath—and then pushing towards Mach 2 in the blink of an eye.

  The two fighters responded on instinct—letting loose with their ordinance and watching as the AMRAAM-missiles burned through the skies like Roman candles—eating up the terribly short distance between them and their intended target at a horrific rate of speed.

  It was an almost certainty that they would find their target and destroy it mercilessly.

  “Launch now!!! Punch it, Bart!!!” I screamed over the open circuit.

  The teen hit the button and a concentrated load of brightly colored yellow chaff spewed out from the jet’s aft section—dancing crazily about like bright fireflies before settling down into a linear pattern and then detonating behind the plane like a quickly erupting fire line.

  The first flock of missiles barreled right through the stuff like it was nothing more than stringy taffy—startling the adrenaline-charged prince in the process. It didn’t take him long to figure out the obvious.

  “It’s not working! It’s not working!” He yelled at the front-seat driver.

  I turned and looked for a split-second before juking hard—placing the fighter into a nose dive at the same time.

  The jet screamed through the skies as it flew vertical for the next fifteen seconds. But would it be enough time to get out of range?

  “Hang on!” I ordered. “The backwash is going to kick us right in the ass! And reactivate your visor shield you idiot! Unless you want to be blinded for the rest of your life!”

  A blistering explosion took out our rear quarter in less than five seconds—as the Starburst-covered missiles were erased from existence in a matter of moments.

  The first shockwave punished the Peacemaker—slewing it hard right—shaking and vibrating the large fighter like a floundering tanker caught in the middle of a full-blown hurricane.

  Sparks flew, control was lost, and the two of us were thrown about in our harnesses—even as the plane pitched over and over and over in a series of uncontrolled barrel rolls.

  Then some incredible force slammed into us again and we went into an uncontrolled spin for sure!.

  All kinds of alarms went off as the Peacemaker howled around us.

  Regaining momentum was going to be a bitch for sure.

  I leaned into the last part of another roll at some point, hoping to turn this thing around—but both gravity and inertia was against me all the way.

  There had to be some way to get back on the horse! I desperately thought—looking about me for that very answer.

  Altimeters flashed me by in a blue haze and at some point during the unguided fall to Earth—I thought I saw something light up which read, EMERGENCY THRUSTERS AND BRAKES?

  I thought that it was all part of the pain-induced euphoria I felt.

  What the hell…might as well…

  Even pinned against my seat, I still managed to reach out and hit the button not once, but twice.

  And settled back into my seat—waiting for the end.

  Then—when I didn’t think I could take any more waiting—I heard a completely different noise as the emergency systems took over.

  A shield emblazoned with the saint insignia locked into place over the canopy—while the Peacemaker stabilized itself in mere seconds by engaging a series of computer-controlled air brakes. Then panels located underneath the body’s main undercarriage slid open—revealing a pair of emergency thrusters.

  They fired together as one—pushing the ship upwards at incredible speeds—and flipped the jet around in the process. Main engines re-engaged at that point and pulled the craft up and around to the other side of the dying conflagration—away from the first two fighters whom launched their missiles at them.

  The canopy shield slid back and things started to calm down to a degree as the ship went back onto auto-pilot.

  Oxygen flooded my body as life support re-engaged for both of us—allowing my head to clear.

  “Fuck…me…” I heard myself drone on tiredly for a second—once I had sufficiently recovered—before flipping up my visor shield up, so that I could wipe off my sweat-covered face.

  “My uncle told me never to fire that shit off at close range. Now I know why.” A glance at one of the other display panels showed no real damage to the external air frame during our hairy ride, but inside…?

  Yellow areas popped up; the computer showing some shorts in a number of non-critical systems.

  “Nothing to worry about.” I reported—after closing my visor-shield. Nothing at all.

  “Huh? What was that?”

  “We scraped some paint chips off the skin of our fighter—as the saying goes—but otherwise…? We’ve made it!”

  Bart’s eyes were a little white as he digested what had happened on top of what Kina just told him.

  “You call that okay?” He rallied against me—which elicited only a short burst of laughter from me specifically.

  “Yes, your Highness. Nothing to worry about.” I reiterated dryly—keeping an eye on the action abeam of us.

  For some strange reason, the two fighters instead elected to rejoin their comrades, but not press on with the original attack.

  Why not? They had us dead to rights! A second missile attack would’ve finished us both!

  My plane flew on—unmolested—nonetheless, acting like nothing had happened. The alerts had died down by this time and everything went back to whatever passed on for normal.

  Good for us. I thought. I had enough excitement for one day.

  “Why aren’t we counterattacking?” The shaken prince wanted to know after a few minutes of absolute quiet. “Shouldn’t we be getting back into the thick of things back there?”

  I glanced up from the lit displays and out the forward canopy window and then flipped up my blast visor again.

  “I think our countermeasures had them rattled and hard.” I explained to him. A couple of soft beeps got my attention and I nodded.

  “Yep. Moving off at reduced speed. My visuals show that they didn’t suffer too much damage—which is good. I am reading some leaky hydraulics on one of them though—but it shouldn’t keep them all from returning to the Essex.”

  Bart leaned back in his seat—sweat-drenched and wired from all the past excitement.

  “Compared to a golf tourney, nothing will ever beat this. That much I do know.” He said smugly, staring up through the bubble canopy and seeing nothing but clear, blue skies.

  “Didn’t think yo
u were going to be doing this when you woke up this morning, huh?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  Turning around, I checked our heading against what was already in the computer.

  Our new course had taken us past the defensive nets of Washington DC and landed them squarely over Charlottesville, Virginia.

  “We’re still more or less on course for Bowling Greens. So how about we just coast right on in, nice and easy for the rest of the trip, your Highness? Say…Mach 1?”

  Bart didn’t have any problem with that whatsoever.

  “I need a bloody drink. Something stronger than just your run-of-the-mill Pepsi’s.”

  “There’s a bar at Bowling Greens called The Ransack. Headed by a close friend of my father’s, named Lisa Petard.”

  “She British?”

  “Half.” I acknowledged, after laying in a new approach vector and bumping up the speed to a nice and leisurely Mach 1.

  They didn’t even feel the sonic boom as they passed through this time.

  I also engaged the jet’s optical stealth system and watched as the front nose of my plane vanish out of sight, out of mind.

  Bart didn’t even notice the change. He was too busy talking.

  “Good.” He said. “I could use the company of a fellow Englishman.”

  “You might like her.” I half-teased him.

  “Pray tell that you‘re right—as long as we don’t have to go through that again.” Bart added with near perfect, American English tone of voice.

  “Scared?” I guessed off hand.

  The young man just shook his head. “No. Just unsettled.”

  That makes two of us. I thought to myself.

  But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  USS Goliath.

  “Report.” Conrad Jones ordered of the radar-tech—partially impressed with the combat visuals coming into the ship’s large CIC center.

  So far, things were going as planned. They now had the proof that an unknown craft was in violation of US airspace and the Brits just happened to help out.

  Perfect. So very perfect.

  Now…came the next phase of the man’s plan.

  “Fighter squadron has just rejoined the carrier with minimal damage to two planes. Nothing that can’t be fixed.” The man said. “Though the pilots have radioed ahead with their shock and surprise of engaging the unknown. They weren’t sure of what to do next—after seeing what they described as ‘one immense fireball’—end quote.”

  “They’ve never seen anything like it before—which is the point of this whole exercise: Sow the seeds of fear and doubt.” The man said with supreme confidence.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Conrad laid a hand on the man in general.

  “Have Dagger Teams One and Two deployed in the harbor close to the carrier. Attach the packages at key points along the ship’s hull and detonate on my orders.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “If anyone were to ask, have them tell the interested party—or parties—that they are simply an inspecting team…checking for cracks and all that loveliness.”

  “Y-yes…sir.” The man’s voice cracked with nervousness—then he cleared his throat. “I understand.”

  Conrad gripped the man’s shoulder gently—easing the tension out of him.

  “Easy, man. Easy. There’s no need to get knotted up on me now. Not when the game is so close being won.”

  “What now?” He said with level-headed certainty.

  “Now? We wait. And see how things play out.”

  “Play out?”

  “Yes. Everything has an end and a beginning. And in this scenario, the bad guy wins and the good guys take the fall.”

  The tech fell silent for a second.

  “I don’t mean any disrespect sir, but do you think anyone will be on to us before the day is out?”

  “Doubtful.” Conrad said. “One the carrier takes a hit, everyone will too consumed with blood lust and a call for vengeance against those whom perpetrated the heinous act.”

  “And that would be…this pilot sir? The one whom is flying this unusual jet-like craft?”

  Conrad laughed. “Now you’re getting it, my friend! She who continues to defy and surprise me—will always fall from grace when the time comes. And when that happens…?” He looked at one of the screens with dead eyes.

  “No one will believe her. No one will come and save the day.”

  ***

  Bowling Greens, Kentucky.

  Two hours later.

  With the tavern music blaring in the background, I had no trouble covering the secret nature of her call to her uncle in the Pentagon.

  “Major Richards office. How may I direct your call, miss?”

  “Colleen? Is Gary there by chance? I need to speak to him.”

  “Kinney? Is that you?” The woman asked—surprised.

  My face turned red at the mention of my real birth name. I was born “Kinney” Alicia Anderson, but I later shortened it to ‘Kina’.

  It sounded so much better when someone else said it.

  “Yes. Is he there?”

  “Hold on a sec.” The line went dead then—no chance in hell of getting some classic elevator music there—and then returned when a gruff-sounding voice answered the other end.

  “Gary here, Kina. What are calling for anyways? Don‘t you know I have a very busy schedule?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I plunged forth with what was first and foremost on my mind.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle, but I need to talk to you desperately.”

  “In trouble again?”

  “No. Not that kind of trouble, Uncle Gary. It has to do with me and a certain VIP I’m ferrying being accosted over Grid 1-7-1 by a fighter group hailing from the HMS Essex.”

  “The Essex? Why in God’s name would they be badgering you? Did you do anything to piss them off?”

  “Uncle…” I whined softly. “I was flying and minding my own business and keeping a relatively low profile. The Peacemaker wouldn’t have registered on anyone’s IFF screens unless I turned on my tracking beacon first.”

  “Which you didn’t.”

  “Not with the VIP I had with me.”

  “Who is it, Kina? I have to know.”

  I looked back at the other end of the bar and saw that both Bart and Lisa were hitting it off well. Before we entered the bar, I told him to keep what had happened strictly to himself and not volunteer any unnecessary information.

  Not unless we wanted some unexpected company to drop by our neck of the woods.

  Turning back to the phone booth, I said, “A prince from England. His name is Bartholomew Herrington III.”

  There was silence on the other end. I was certain my uncle was having a heart attack from what I told him so far. But my perception of the ongoing situation changed when his voice went surprisingly soft.

  “My god…” He whispered. “Do know the implications of what would happen if he were accidentally killed?”

  “Loud and clear, Uncle.”

  More silence followed.

  “What was the damage to the jet?”

  I glanced around—just to make sure that no one could happen to overhear my conversation. But being next to the only exit in a large room full of noisy people, a few drunks, and loud music…?

  I seriously doubt it.

  “Some damage to non-critical systems. I’m having Ted’s people fix what’s broken—since they got the lion’s share of the jet’s maintenance contract from the Pentagon and—”

  “Yes, I know their security clearance, Kee.” My uncle interrupted. “You should be up and running in a few hours time.”

  I glanced at my watch and sighed. “That’s cutting it close, Uncle. The tourney starts in an hour and a half following that.”

  There was some aborted laughter coming from my uncle’s end of the line.

  “Y-your taking a prince to a golf game?”

  “That’s what Conrad J
ones paid me $1.4 million for.” I told him. “A personal shuttle down to Augusta and back.”

  “Who’s this Conrad Jones?”

  “The prince’s personal attaché.”

  “What kind of person is he?”

  “Okay, I guess.” I said with some tired evasiveness. The adrenaline rush was finally wearing off and I was starting to feel the usual collection of aches and pains riding shotgun throughout my entire body.

  Turning to look at the bar, I started to wonder if Lisa kept some Advil stocked or some high-potency painkillers.

  Something in the equine department hopefully.

  I turned back again for the second time in a matter of minutes.

  “You don’t sound so sure, Kee.” My uncle said—using the nickname he gave me as a rambunctious little girl.

  “Gary. The guy is too perfect. He showed up asking for me particularly and then dumped a butt load of money on top of that. Then he engages in some small talk while he‘s at it and leaves.”

  “You didn’t share with him any of the plane’s capabilities or speed profiles—did you?”

  “A little, but I kept things to a minimum. But that was it. I swear.”

  There was another measure of silence as my uncle continued to digest what I fed him over the open line.

  “There is a reason why we decided to keep the rebuilt jet a secret—don’t you, Kee?”

  I nodded guiltily. “I know, I know: So that potential enemies wouldn’t learn of its existence. And because it hasn‘t been officially entered as a military combat fighter yet.”

  “Exactly.”

  I pressed on. “Uncle…I’m not the type of person to put myself in danger like that. The fact that we were fired upon by the Essex’s fighters points to the possibility that we were targeted for attack by unknown reasons.”

  “That’s a very serious charge, sweetie. Why would anyone want to kill their own prince? And how did the commander of the Essex know about the Prince’s arrival?”

  “I don’t know, Uncle.” I said with growing worry in the pit of my stomach. None of this whole affair ever made one lick of sense. I was just glad that I could get out of there in one piece.

  In the Prince’s case…?

  Two pieces.

  “Could you have done something prior to the Prince’s arrival which would’ve stoked some possible outside speculation on your part?”