Time: 0400HRS IOTT.
Location: New Generation Aircraft Carrier USN Sacagawea
Command pilot Jace Stentor was woken from his sleep by a wailing klaxon alarm. He jumped out of his bunk and began putting on his flight suit in readiness for dispatch just as an announcement came over the intercom. His gut clenched in anticipation as his ears caught the announcement in full.
“ All Personnel to Battle Stations! I repeat, man your battle stations, this is not a drill!” the announcement said, sending a cascade of shudders down his spine. He redoubled his effort and did an awkward hop as he pulled up his boot. It had finally gone to hell! Days of nail-biting were over ; this was not a routine dispatch.
Nothing had ever kicked the new generation aircraft carrier into such a frenzy. There was a different atmosphere, a different kind of tension that was distinct from flight drills. That the flight captain was manning the intercom did not go unnoticed, so it might have been something unusual to rouse him from sleep; but what did he know? Jace had his orders.
For the last several weeks or so, tensions over the Indian Ocean had been hiking as world powers engaged in a pissing contest of the Cold War. Flotillas of ships faced off against one another in the high seas, each tip-toeing on territorial boundaries. So far, they hadn’t come to blows…until now.
Meeting his wingmates, Kimihiko and Ava, the trio jogged towards the hangar with grim countenances. Decked in their flight gear and toting their visored helmets, the three were the first cohort among many pilots going to launch. The hangar inside the belly of the carrier was already busy with flight dispatch crew running last minute checks on the maintenance apron. A din of announcements and conversations and radio static echoed in the large space.
Jace and his wingmates bumped fists and then separated as they approached their aircraft. Glistening under amber caution lights were the sleek nose cones and aerodynamic unibodies of 5th generation X-35 Tempest ready to be conveyed to the top deck on hydraulic lifts. Unlike its predecessors, the USN Sacagawea fusion powered carrier had multiple lifts and a larger waist to accommodate multiple takeoffs and landing of both fighter planes…and combat drones.
Bundling into his bubble glass cockpit, he gave the maintenance crew a quick two fingered salute as the hydraulic lift buzzed and started ascending. He looked askance at the side and saw the squat aerodynamic hull of a DVL-R3Y combat drone. Reminiscent of an oceanic mobula ray, the drone was all wings and flat body. Where the mobula had a mouth, the DVL-R3Y had a scramjet for hypersonic insertion. Seeing it being launched finally made it sink in for him. It was real! They were going in the soup as it were.
A large circular aperture opened overhead, accompanied by the wailing of more sirens and pulsing amber lights. Gears ground beneath, as the lift orientated to marry the undercarriage to the steam catapult. By then Jace had already run his preflight checks and ascertained everything was green. As the lift lurched to a stop, their in-flight radio burst into life with the steely voice of their flight captain.
“ To all dispatches. At approximately 0400HRS Indian Ocean Ocean time, an unknown sea to air launch was detected off the Bay of Bengal. Tactical suspects an stealthed ICBM, unknown payload, unknown target. We are still trying to narrow down its origin but your job is not to worry about that. Your mission is to intercept , report and engage with discretion. Coordinates and further will be given enroute. Get those birds in the air, Godspeed!”
By the time their orders had been read out, Jace and his wingmates were tearing down the runway with afterburners at full thrust as they flew after the drone into the starless sky. Despite the fog of anxiety, the weather was calm, a slight mist hung at lower altitude but above visibility was more adequate .
Jace checked his instrument panel for airspeed and fuel level as was his wont, all semblance of sleep had fled from him as the ocean fell away. Clouds meandered above, unawares of the pandemonium that was going in below. The radar was going crazy with flickers of other scrambled fighters as Jace pulled the throttle to catch up with his cohorts at the tail end of their V formation, with the DVL-R3Y at the apex. Three fighters, one combat drone; that is how 5th generation air warfare had evolved.
“Hey Ace, this weather’s dreary huh?” came Kimihiko’s voice over the radio. “ Radar looks like someone kicked a hornet’s nest.”
“Aye Firefox. Stay sharp. Remember, it's not a routine interception mission though, bet the federation let a few birds loose,” replied Jace as he kept an eye on the altimeter.
“Huh? But when was the last time that happened?” Said Ava.
“Can’t say Valerian, but it shouldn’t be anything difficult. Though we should not assume just because the flight captain didn’t say. Might be a bug in the radar or might be nothing, I’m not getting anything on my instruments…” Jace replied. A burst of radio static heralded an incoming transmission.
“ Triple Threat, this is Flight Control. Please be aware that allies are sortieing and avoid friendly fire. Mission coordinates are as follows, 65.825 North by 144.0657 W. I repeat, Mission coordinates are 65.825 North by 144.0657 W. ICBM target confirmed. Weapon clearance for DVL-R3Y Anti-Missile payloads has been authorised. Target terminal phase in T-Minus 13 minutes. End transmission.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Behind his visor, Jace’s eyes became as wide as saucers he noncommittally asserted that orders had been received. Their target being an ICBM was one thing but its destination being in the general area of the Arctic Circle was another. For all he knew, Alaska was within reach. Why they had been deployed instead of, say, a squadron from Anchorage was attributed to the payload they his cohort was escorting, aside from being a top of the line 5th generation fighter.
“ Head up wing, coordinates just came in, prepare for G burns and climbing we’re about to have company.” Supplied Jace. He watched the variable thrust vectoring afterburners of the drone dilate like the maw of a dragon. Jace and his wingmates matched its action by flipping the throttle and felt the airframe shudder as acceleration picked up. The aircraft wailed like a vengeful banshee as he was suddenly pushed back into his seat by the mounting Gs. Then they burst into the boundless veil of the night sky leaving contrails and thunder in their wake.
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Some 18,000 kilometres Northwest of Jace’s deployment, the purported highest office in the land was on high alert. And wading in the midst of all the flurry, in kitten heels was Meredith Winters, first woman president of the largest democratic power in the world. Standing just over five foot eleven, she was the very picture of grace and gravitas as her presidential escort flanked her alongside the Executive Assistant, Secretary of Defence as well as Presidential Secretary.
“ Defcon 3? Who upset the chicken coop this time Branson?” she asked.
“ Unknown Madam president, we’re still receiving word from the field,” the Secretary of Defence answered. The baritone of the man pushing six foot three easily carried even in the din that was the shuffling of foot traffic, creaking of doors and voices in the hallways. “ However, we had a timely response from USN Sacagawea in the vicinity. Drones and fighters have been deployed.
“ Have any of our allies reached out with concerns?” the president asked. People stood to the sides as her group and escort blitzed towards the Situation Room.
“ None so far. However, the Federation’s allies are still holding position with their navies. Their response was staggered to say the least,” Branson answered.
“ Which means they are in the dark as we are,” President Meredith said. “ Mason? Anything notable from Intelligence
“ Yes Ma’am. There was a brief that just came in from Central Intelligence, “the Executive Assistant said. He was short in comparison, easily dwarfed even by the Presidential Secretary, a sunny woman who was almost the same height as the president.
“ Thank you Mason, I’ll look it over,” Meredith replied. “ Hailey?”
“ We’re getting movements from the Press. The Birdhouse is already rife with speculations,” the Presidential Secretary said as she browsed her smart tablet.
“ That is concerning,” Meredith observed.
“ And suspicious Ma’am,” the Secretary of Defense said.
“ The Joint Chiefs of Staff?” she asked.
“ Enroute as we speak,” supplied Branson. The group turned a corner and then the Presidential Agents were opening the door to the situation room.
As they arrived, they could see that the room was in a frenzy, people were busy doing whichever thing, making calls, scrawling on notepads or shouting at their colleagues. When the door creaked shut behind them, the din died down, but the echoes of the activities could still be felt like a distant whine in the air.
Branson stepped forward to talk to the person in charge as the agents made Meredith comfortable. They got her a chair and a cup of coffee, which she eyed as she braced herself for whatever was coming. The National security advisor, a stalwart man with grizzled sideburns and a sharp scowl on his face stepped up on the dais where the President was ruminating as Branson followed behind him.
Looking up from her cup, Meredith queried,” Hoffman, what do you have for me?” She looked at the situation screen and saw an image frozen in play from the Intellisat Network.
“ ICBM deployment from the Indian Ocean. As you can see, that frame is what was last seen of it,”
“Origin?” Meredith asked.
“ We suspect one of the rogue Siberian oligarchs is involved. Submersible water to air missile. We scrambled fighters and drones as soon as possible. ETA to intercept the last known location in 5 minutes”.
“Where is that?”
“ Above the Barents Sea,” the four-star general said. “ We’ll have live feed from the pilots in a moment.”
“And the Prime Minister?”
“He’s already been informed Ma’am, he’s also mobilising his Airforce.” it was Branson who answered.
“ Ensign Jessie, telemetry on screen please, “ Hoffman prompted. A Desk jobber in military uniform responded with an aye sir before the view screen, as large as some movie theatres’ changed. The view was from the bubble canopy of the X35 Tempest side by side with that of a DVL-R3Y which were zooming through the predawn sky which was still shrouded in darkness. Rather than a live video, it was an accelerated frame by frame capture as the aircraft were moving too fast for the receiving end to process.
“ETA to intercept, 3 minutes” said the Pilot in a voice that was both deep and breathy.
The room quietened down in anticipation, even the President, with her schooled expressions could be seen clenching her fists.
“We have visuals…I repeat we have visuals…”
And the tension broke…