Aura of the Avatar
Chapter 1
As told by the U2 pilot, Lieutenant Sickle Wiley
"Yea, roger that base. Commencing spy mission. Transmissions will be delayed for 2 hours. Repeat, do not send any transmissions for two hours, base. Wiley out," I reported to the airfield in Nome.
"See you back home, Lieutenant," the voice of Major Aaron Peterson crackled through the radio. I carefully switched it off, careful enough to not let the Russians hear any of the feedback. That was why I didn't want any transmissions. Even if they were encrypted. They could intercept them, and capture me. It wouldn't be the first time a U2 pilot was downed and captured in the Cold War.
You see, however, it wasn't the Cold War. It was about 15 years after it ended, and yet the government still ordered hundreds of U2 spy missions to check on Russian nuclear arms depots in Siberia and Kamchackta. I was unlucky enough to be one of the ones chosen for the post-war missions, and this was my first of the supposed 5 I was going to complete.
My run called for an extremely high-altitude check on Siberan missile silos and arms depots scattered across the land. High-altitude runs were a norm for the newbies like myself, and I felt safer that the radar would have a harder time picking me up. That is, ground radar. If any of their few sattilites picked me up, I was toast. And that wasn't good news.
I took a glance and my altimeter. 30,000 feet and slowly rising. For the mission to be a success, they called for 50,000, so I didn't intened to stop my ascent.
Soon, the enveloping clouds lifted and I was cruising about mach when an alarm started blaring in my cockpit. I frantically looked around at the sensors to see if the Russian SAM sites had picked me up, but none were within 100 miles, according to the latest U2 trip. But the alarms still blared, loud as ever. Could it have been a system glitch? No, the craft had been through maintenance 2 days before. This left me perplexed and angry.
I increased the throttle to maximum, so just in case my radar was going haywire, the SAM's would have a thougher time hitting their target. I glanced again at my altimeter. 45,000. Enough to go through a run safely. Not pleasantly, however, with the blaring constantly ringing in my ears. Nothing was happening, after all, so I told myself to stop worrying and go through the mission as planned. Well, mostly anyway.
I started taking pictures of the Siberian country side, while letting the U2 cruise on automatic for a while. There was nothing new according to the old maps, except for some tiny new outposts that posed little or no threat. Still, I was told to report everthing that I found out that was new to base, so I snapped and saved the pictures for later investigation.
And the blaring continued. As annoyingly effective as ever. I frustratingly glanced at my radar again, but this time, it showed an enourmous blip straight below me. Oh god, could it be a new, huge thermonuclear silo? I snapped a few pictures of it, and they all came out showing an odd form of base almost carved from the rock and ice to form several oddly constructed towers.
Definitly not Russian-like.
Without warning, the blip suddenly expanded to include 2, smaller objects hurtling towards me at mach 3. Missiles! The oddly-constructed base was firing at me! God, this wasn't good...
My only hope was to release some emergency flares and tilt violently to the right, hoping that the speed wouldn't kill me. I pressed hard on the flare release.
Fsszzsss! Fsszzsss! Two flares soared out from behind the U2. I immediatly banked at hard as I could to the right, pulling a whopping 7 g's on myself. 7.5, 8, 8.5! Even with the g-suit on, the pressure was unrelentinly strong, and the farther I banked, the harder it came.
"Argggghhhh!!!" I moaned as the U2 started to rattle with the g's. Unlike the fighter craft like the F/a 18 hornet or the F-22 lightning, the U2 wasn't made for g-forces like the ones I was experiencing making the hard turn, so screws slowly started to loosen around the notoriously expenisive U2 spy craft. Reaching the limits of the U2, I veered back to leveling, while the 2 enourmous missiles shot straight past me.
Whoa, hello. Those were NOT Russian projectiles, and that was a fact. Really, they looked more like alien-built missiles than earth, because of the incredibly thin diameter of their body and the odd way they flew. Their masses exploded about 5,000 feet above me, and I wasn't about to wait around for more. Kicking in my engines to afterburner, or close enough to it, I sped off at nearly one and a half mach to an altitude of an amazing 53,000. And for those who don't know, that's REALLY, really high.
"Nome, come in, repeat, Nome, do you copy?" I frantically yelled, waiting again for the killer missiles. Fourtunatly, they didn't come again.
"We copy. I thought we were on zero spot, Wiley," Major Peterson replied.
"You thought wrong. Nome, I have just gotten some pics of a new silo," I reported.
"That's it? You broke zero spot to tell me you found a new silo? Hah!"
"No! You don't understand, sir. The silo fired at me, and I barely got away. The missiles they fired did not look anything like Russian-built SAM's. I have pictures of both the missiles, and the base."
"So, what do you supposed they were, lieutenant?"
"I don't know! They could be alien missiles, for all I know. All I do know is that the Russians have a huge new complex in the middle of Siberia. I don't care what you say, I'm going back. Mission aborted."
"Well, it wasn't a complete failure, was it? What else did you accomplish?"
"Not a lot, sir. Except for locating several more military outposts, but nothing else major."
"Mission abortion authorized. Head back afterburner, lieutenant. Our guys back here can't wait to get their hands on those photos."
"One step a head of you, Peterson. This is Wiley, out," I ended the conversation. Hoping that my damaged U2 would get back in one piece, I started heading back to the good old United States. For now.
Chapter 2
As told by the Animorph Marco [ERROR: Last name not found. Please try again later]
Hi, my name is Marco. You probably already know the drill, so I won't bore you with the endless drone of things you already know or don't really want to know. For Pete's sake, I've been trying to avoid EVERYTHING that is even remotely related to my Algebra teacher. I swear, one day in her class half of the kids clonked down their heads and slept through the entire period. Me included, of course.
But that was a while ago. Right now, I just lived with the cyber-pups in Chee-ville. Really, it wasn't all that bad. They had good cable service, all-you-can-eat junk munchies and their dogs were fun to just hang out with.
It was a nice, sunny Saterday morning, and there were no missions planned. There were none any time , because of the decreased yeerk activity. Since the andalite fleet had arrived, a good deal of them left to fight them off, and the two powers have been fighting somewhere in the solar system for about 3 months now, neither side making any progress. Which was good for us, so we could have a bit of time to stretch out and relax.
I was over in the woods behind Cassie's barn, chilling with Ax and Tobias, idleing chatting about stuff, stuff, stuff and for a change of pace, we talked a bit about stuff.
"Hey, got a joke for you two. So, there was this drunkard who once went home late and had to face his mad wife. The wife say, 'Where have you been?' The guy replies, 'I've been at a golden saloon where everything is golden. The walls are golden, the floor is golden, the ceiling in golden, the bar is golden, hell, even the bathrooms are golden!' The wife scolds him some more, and then looks up in the phone book if there is such a place. Sure enough, the golden saloon is listed, and she dials them up. 'Hello, this is the golden saloon, right? Is it true that your walls, floor, and ceiling are golden?' 'Yes mam, they are.' 'And is it tru that your bar is golden?' 'Yes mam, it is.' 'And is it true that you have golden toilets?' The manager turns from the phone and yells behind him, 'Harry! I think we've got a lead on who pissed in your tuba last night!"
HAH! Good one, Marco, finally, some actually half-decent humor, Tobias chuckled.
"Yea, don't get used to it."
I don't understand this. What is a tuba?
"My points exactly, Ax-man."
Hey, you guys! Several Chee are coming. can't believe I didn't see them until now.
"How far?"
Oh, about 5 seconds. 5, 4, 3, 2...
"Hello Marco, nice to see you," Erek said to me. "Did you know that I share a name with one of the explorers I once worked with? Erik the Red, almost insanley brave Norseman that colonized Greenland. I was on his ship during his exile from Iceland. Anyway, I'm here to you bringing some news straight from the yeerks."
"Whoa, Erek? Don't talk history, it's reminding me too much of school. And what's up?" I replied.
"Well, we have been getting rumors about a U2 spycraft that snapped pictures of one of the only exposed yeerk missile silos, in fact, probably the only. The yeerks didn't expect spy planes flying over Russia, so supposadly, they fired frantically two missiles that missed, and the U2 escaped with the photos."
"Oh, man, I smell a mission coming on here."
Are these U2 spycraft fast? Ax asked.
One of the fastest jets in the world. Even if we are primitive humans, we can go places fast. The U2 has probably already delivered the pictures to the high-commanders, and the pilots in debreifing, Tobias commented.
Impressive, for a human-built craft. And it's ability to fly at the heights needed to attain for the ability to out-maneuver the missiles.
"So, what do we do? Not much we can do, at the momment, but something tells me that going public is in the near future.
Well, first we should tell the others. Then we decide. Thanks, Erek, Tobias said.
"Let's go," I almost sighed as we headed out of the woods, or at least I headed out of the woods to get Cassie at her house. Tobias and Ax would get Jake and Rachel and the meeting would begin.
Joys.
Chapter 3
As told by the U2 pilot, Lieutenant Sickle Wiley
"These pictures, Major, is it possible that the lieutenant tampered with the negative or any other personell in the Nome base?" The Colonel asked Major Peterson.
"No sir, it is not possible. Even if lieutenant Wiley was capable of doing so, he wouldn't have had the time. And the pictures were kept under constant watch under lock and key. No way possible, Colonel."
The Colonel brushed his hands through his hair and sighed. "So let me get this straight. The Russians have an entirely new missile complex that is the second largest in the world and this rookie here is the first to find it. We've sent 4 missions through there in previous occasions, and no one has spotted it. Even if the run that Wiley did two days ago was a month from the previous one, there is no way they could have constructed the entire building within that time."
"Excuse me, sir, but you havn't seen the really startling pictures. I snapped these two of the oddly-shaped missiles that nearly destroyed my aircraft," I interupted, handing the Colonel the other pictures I had taken. He reviewed them carefully, thumbing through the 5 I had took and just shook his head in amazment.
"I don't need any of this Roswell crap, lieutenant. This is now becoming an alien incident, or some other bizzare case which I simply don't want to deal with. If these pictures aren't fake, then we've got something huge on our hands. I'll send the command over to General Harley for the re-evaluation of the pictures and the possible sending of them to the Pentagon. You are dismissed to your quarters, Major and Lieutenant," The colonel concluded. I got up from the chair I was sitting in and started out the door, carrying the folder in which the contreversial pictures were inside. I knew this was going to be a long, hard time in finding out what exactly was the location I got pictures of.
"Lieutenant, before you retire for the day, I need to talk to you," Major Peterson said as we were nearing the barracks in the complex in Northern Oregon.
"Yes, Major?"
"What do you think this is?"
"I don't know sir, but for all I care, it could be some forward base for an alien frontal assault. I have no clue."
"Good. You learn quickly, lieutenant. Bon nuit," the Major said. A chill shot straight up my spine as he said those words. Alien frontal assault true? Oh my god, this wasn't right. The Major wasn't the lying type, or the type that messed with your head. Could he be part of this alien frontal assault? I could never be absolutley sure, so I decided to play it safe from now on.
I casually replied, "Good night, Major," and then went off to my bunk. It took only a few minutes, but eventually my eyelids dropped down to the bottom of my eyes and I drifted away to sleep.
Chapter 4
As told by the Animorph Jake [ERROR: Last name not found]
"So what do you propose to do about this?" I asked after recieving the news about the U2 flight. I was completely useless as a source for ideas. Come on, I hadn't gotten any sleep last night because of studying for the damn exams. Cut me some slack.
"Well, I think that the yeerks would have already captured whoever was piloting the craft by now, unless the high command had somehow got him out of the pickle. Which I doubt would ever happen," Cassie said.
"No duh. So the pictures will never reach the Pentagon. We've lost yet another chance to go public. Great," Marco complained.
"Well, we could go capture the pictures and bring them to capital hill for them to go through. Always a possibility," I suggested.
"Good plan, cuz. Needed some action 'round here anyway," Rachel agreed.
One problem. We have no clue as to where they are, Tobias pointed out angrily in a way.
Erek said that the U2 jets flew over the territory called 'Siberia.' How far away is Siberia from the United States? Ax asked.
"Far. Really, really far. Nearly half-way around the world, and with minus 50 degrees below, it's not your holiday vaction spot," Marco replied.
50 degrees below? Earth is a place where many temperature zones exist and I'm seeing as to why you humans wear artificial skin. Anyway, where is the closest spot in the US to Siberia?
"Well, that would be Alaska, but few bases large enough to launch a U2 mission exist there, plus it's WAY to big, so that winds down to California, Washington State and Oregon. California is actually too far away for the mission to be cost effective, and Washington doesn't have many operational, so Oregon is the place. There are about 4 coastline bases to check," I reported.
"Jake, man, how the heck do you know this stuff?" Marco inquired.
"Don't ask. Anyone up for it? Wait, make that anyone NOT up for it?" Nobody spoke, except that Marco was a bit edgy. It didn't matter at all.
Did anybody wonder how exactly are we supposed to get to Oregon? Tobias asked.
"The Animorph way. We sneak onboard a jetliner bound for Oregon and we ride first class all the way. We've done it before in the past, and no big problems have arised, well, mostly, anyway," Rachel said.
"Well, okay, we're trusting you on that one, Rachel," Cassie said.
"Then let's do it!"
Okay. Let's do it. Oregon, here we come!
Chapter 5
As told by the Air Force Colonel Gerald Quince
"Keep an eye on that Wiley kid. I want 2 cameras on him all the time. I got a bad feeling about his future, officer," I ordered as soon as Wiley left the questioning facility.
"Yessir. So far we've got a total of 5 on him and 7 in the surounding rooms."
"Good job. And make sure there are 2 guards nearby at all times yet again."
"Isn't that being a bit, cautious, Colonel?"
"Yes, it is. But still do it."
"Yessir. I've sent orders to two of our agents to be near him at all times. Responsive command agents, that is."
"Good. I'll leave you in charge before I get back. Report to me EVERYTHING that seems remotley suspicious."
"Okay, sir, here is something remotley suspicious to report. The major has just turned to the lieutenant and said something to him with a steel cold face. The lieutenant is turning now, and then walking back to his quarters. In the direction, anyway."
"Interesting. Add another guard onto the patrol and alert me on every single occasion in which it seems remotley suspicious."
"Yessir."
With that, I turned around and started to head directly back to my quarters to finish up some last-minute paper work that I had laid off because of the crisis in Jordan with the new rebellion. I was tired, and I really didn't want to do it, but I had a reputation of being late, and I was trying to repair it. No matter how hard it took. Even if it meant no sleep for several days. Ugh.
I sat down on my desk and reeched for the top paper in the stack of hundreds and began scribbling down information on the paper's surface. No longer than 10 minutes later and on about the 4th paper, the base security senior officiar called for me.
"Sir, you had better come down quickly."
I then spoke into the radio. "Coming."
I slammed down my pen and paper, leaving several blots of stray ink across the surface of the paper. I rushed to the security office where the officer was sitting down, looking frantically at the screens.
"What is it?"
"Sir, as you can see, Major Petersson is approaching the barracks of the lieutenant!"
I carefully observed the fuzzy displays that were in front of me. Something caught my eyes in the belt of the Major's. "Can you get the camera to zoom in on the firearm he is carrying in his belt?"
"Yessir." The camera slowly zoomed in and focused on the supposed firearm in the Major's belt. And I immediatly could tell it was not an Earth-made one. It's sleek, grey handle and oddly-shaped barrel didn't resemble at all anything built by toy manufacturers. Besides, why would the Major carry a child's toy?
"Do you happen to know what type of firearm that is, officer?"
He looked in the same, mouth-gaping way I looked at the screens. "No, sir, I don't have the slightest. It seems, almost, alien."
I sighed. I knew this was coming. I wasn't that into Roswell, and all the other alien nonesense, but what had come to me in the past hour proved everything I hated.
"I can't argue with you. Send the guards in and protect the lieutenant. I'm coming with them," I said cocking my pistol. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go through with this, but something deep down in my gut told me it needed to be done.
I strood out of the room and prepared for the shootout at the rendezvous point with the guards. I knew that there was going to be bloodflow.
Heavy bloodflow.
A/N: Weird story. Better ones coming up, so stay tuned. Pretty please? Oh, and don't you dare forget to review. Thanks!
:-)
-HaVIC
Chapter 1
As told by the U2 pilot, Lieutenant Sickle Wiley
"Yea, roger that base. Commencing spy mission. Transmissions will be delayed for 2 hours. Repeat, do not send any transmissions for two hours, base. Wiley out," I reported to the airfield in Nome.
"See you back home, Lieutenant," the voice of Major Aaron Peterson crackled through the radio. I carefully switched it off, careful enough to not let the Russians hear any of the feedback. That was why I didn't want any transmissions. Even if they were encrypted. They could intercept them, and capture me. It wouldn't be the first time a U2 pilot was downed and captured in the Cold War.
You see, however, it wasn't the Cold War. It was about 15 years after it ended, and yet the government still ordered hundreds of U2 spy missions to check on Russian nuclear arms depots in Siberia and Kamchackta. I was unlucky enough to be one of the ones chosen for the post-war missions, and this was my first of the supposed 5 I was going to complete.
My run called for an extremely high-altitude check on Siberan missile silos and arms depots scattered across the land. High-altitude runs were a norm for the newbies like myself, and I felt safer that the radar would have a harder time picking me up. That is, ground radar. If any of their few sattilites picked me up, I was toast. And that wasn't good news.
I took a glance and my altimeter. 30,000 feet and slowly rising. For the mission to be a success, they called for 50,000, so I didn't intened to stop my ascent.
Soon, the enveloping clouds lifted and I was cruising about mach when an alarm started blaring in my cockpit. I frantically looked around at the sensors to see if the Russian SAM sites had picked me up, but none were within 100 miles, according to the latest U2 trip. But the alarms still blared, loud as ever. Could it have been a system glitch? No, the craft had been through maintenance 2 days before. This left me perplexed and angry.
I increased the throttle to maximum, so just in case my radar was going haywire, the SAM's would have a thougher time hitting their target. I glanced again at my altimeter. 45,000. Enough to go through a run safely. Not pleasantly, however, with the blaring constantly ringing in my ears. Nothing was happening, after all, so I told myself to stop worrying and go through the mission as planned. Well, mostly anyway.
I started taking pictures of the Siberian country side, while letting the U2 cruise on automatic for a while. There was nothing new according to the old maps, except for some tiny new outposts that posed little or no threat. Still, I was told to report everthing that I found out that was new to base, so I snapped and saved the pictures for later investigation.
And the blaring continued. As annoyingly effective as ever. I frustratingly glanced at my radar again, but this time, it showed an enourmous blip straight below me. Oh god, could it be a new, huge thermonuclear silo? I snapped a few pictures of it, and they all came out showing an odd form of base almost carved from the rock and ice to form several oddly constructed towers.
Definitly not Russian-like.
Without warning, the blip suddenly expanded to include 2, smaller objects hurtling towards me at mach 3. Missiles! The oddly-constructed base was firing at me! God, this wasn't good...
My only hope was to release some emergency flares and tilt violently to the right, hoping that the speed wouldn't kill me. I pressed hard on the flare release.
Fsszzsss! Fsszzsss! Two flares soared out from behind the U2. I immediatly banked at hard as I could to the right, pulling a whopping 7 g's on myself. 7.5, 8, 8.5! Even with the g-suit on, the pressure was unrelentinly strong, and the farther I banked, the harder it came.
"Argggghhhh!!!" I moaned as the U2 started to rattle with the g's. Unlike the fighter craft like the F/a 18 hornet or the F-22 lightning, the U2 wasn't made for g-forces like the ones I was experiencing making the hard turn, so screws slowly started to loosen around the notoriously expenisive U2 spy craft. Reaching the limits of the U2, I veered back to leveling, while the 2 enourmous missiles shot straight past me.
Whoa, hello. Those were NOT Russian projectiles, and that was a fact. Really, they looked more like alien-built missiles than earth, because of the incredibly thin diameter of their body and the odd way they flew. Their masses exploded about 5,000 feet above me, and I wasn't about to wait around for more. Kicking in my engines to afterburner, or close enough to it, I sped off at nearly one and a half mach to an altitude of an amazing 53,000. And for those who don't know, that's REALLY, really high.
"Nome, come in, repeat, Nome, do you copy?" I frantically yelled, waiting again for the killer missiles. Fourtunatly, they didn't come again.
"We copy. I thought we were on zero spot, Wiley," Major Peterson replied.
"You thought wrong. Nome, I have just gotten some pics of a new silo," I reported.
"That's it? You broke zero spot to tell me you found a new silo? Hah!"
"No! You don't understand, sir. The silo fired at me, and I barely got away. The missiles they fired did not look anything like Russian-built SAM's. I have pictures of both the missiles, and the base."
"So, what do you supposed they were, lieutenant?"
"I don't know! They could be alien missiles, for all I know. All I do know is that the Russians have a huge new complex in the middle of Siberia. I don't care what you say, I'm going back. Mission aborted."
"Well, it wasn't a complete failure, was it? What else did you accomplish?"
"Not a lot, sir. Except for locating several more military outposts, but nothing else major."
"Mission abortion authorized. Head back afterburner, lieutenant. Our guys back here can't wait to get their hands on those photos."
"One step a head of you, Peterson. This is Wiley, out," I ended the conversation. Hoping that my damaged U2 would get back in one piece, I started heading back to the good old United States. For now.
Chapter 2
As told by the Animorph Marco [ERROR: Last name not found. Please try again later]
Hi, my name is Marco. You probably already know the drill, so I won't bore you with the endless drone of things you already know or don't really want to know. For Pete's sake, I've been trying to avoid EVERYTHING that is even remotely related to my Algebra teacher. I swear, one day in her class half of the kids clonked down their heads and slept through the entire period. Me included, of course.
But that was a while ago. Right now, I just lived with the cyber-pups in Chee-ville. Really, it wasn't all that bad. They had good cable service, all-you-can-eat junk munchies and their dogs were fun to just hang out with.
It was a nice, sunny Saterday morning, and there were no missions planned. There were none any time , because of the decreased yeerk activity. Since the andalite fleet had arrived, a good deal of them left to fight them off, and the two powers have been fighting somewhere in the solar system for about 3 months now, neither side making any progress. Which was good for us, so we could have a bit of time to stretch out and relax.
I was over in the woods behind Cassie's barn, chilling with Ax and Tobias, idleing chatting about stuff, stuff, stuff and for a change of pace, we talked a bit about stuff.
"Hey, got a joke for you two. So, there was this drunkard who once went home late and had to face his mad wife. The wife say, 'Where have you been?' The guy replies, 'I've been at a golden saloon where everything is golden. The walls are golden, the floor is golden, the ceiling in golden, the bar is golden, hell, even the bathrooms are golden!' The wife scolds him some more, and then looks up in the phone book if there is such a place. Sure enough, the golden saloon is listed, and she dials them up. 'Hello, this is the golden saloon, right? Is it true that your walls, floor, and ceiling are golden?' 'Yes mam, they are.' 'And is it tru that your bar is golden?' 'Yes mam, it is.' 'And is it true that you have golden toilets?' The manager turns from the phone and yells behind him, 'Harry! I think we've got a lead on who pissed in your tuba last night!"
HAH! Good one, Marco, finally, some actually half-decent humor, Tobias chuckled.
"Yea, don't get used to it."
I don't understand this. What is a tuba?
"My points exactly, Ax-man."
Hey, you guys! Several Chee are coming. can't believe I didn't see them until now.
"How far?"
Oh, about 5 seconds. 5, 4, 3, 2...
"Hello Marco, nice to see you," Erek said to me. "Did you know that I share a name with one of the explorers I once worked with? Erik the Red, almost insanley brave Norseman that colonized Greenland. I was on his ship during his exile from Iceland. Anyway, I'm here to you bringing some news straight from the yeerks."
"Whoa, Erek? Don't talk history, it's reminding me too much of school. And what's up?" I replied.
"Well, we have been getting rumors about a U2 spycraft that snapped pictures of one of the only exposed yeerk missile silos, in fact, probably the only. The yeerks didn't expect spy planes flying over Russia, so supposadly, they fired frantically two missiles that missed, and the U2 escaped with the photos."
"Oh, man, I smell a mission coming on here."
Are these U2 spycraft fast? Ax asked.
One of the fastest jets in the world. Even if we are primitive humans, we can go places fast. The U2 has probably already delivered the pictures to the high-commanders, and the pilots in debreifing, Tobias commented.
Impressive, for a human-built craft. And it's ability to fly at the heights needed to attain for the ability to out-maneuver the missiles.
"So, what do we do? Not much we can do, at the momment, but something tells me that going public is in the near future.
Well, first we should tell the others. Then we decide. Thanks, Erek, Tobias said.
"Let's go," I almost sighed as we headed out of the woods, or at least I headed out of the woods to get Cassie at her house. Tobias and Ax would get Jake and Rachel and the meeting would begin.
Joys.
Chapter 3
As told by the U2 pilot, Lieutenant Sickle Wiley
"These pictures, Major, is it possible that the lieutenant tampered with the negative or any other personell in the Nome base?" The Colonel asked Major Peterson.
"No sir, it is not possible. Even if lieutenant Wiley was capable of doing so, he wouldn't have had the time. And the pictures were kept under constant watch under lock and key. No way possible, Colonel."
The Colonel brushed his hands through his hair and sighed. "So let me get this straight. The Russians have an entirely new missile complex that is the second largest in the world and this rookie here is the first to find it. We've sent 4 missions through there in previous occasions, and no one has spotted it. Even if the run that Wiley did two days ago was a month from the previous one, there is no way they could have constructed the entire building within that time."
"Excuse me, sir, but you havn't seen the really startling pictures. I snapped these two of the oddly-shaped missiles that nearly destroyed my aircraft," I interupted, handing the Colonel the other pictures I had taken. He reviewed them carefully, thumbing through the 5 I had took and just shook his head in amazment.
"I don't need any of this Roswell crap, lieutenant. This is now becoming an alien incident, or some other bizzare case which I simply don't want to deal with. If these pictures aren't fake, then we've got something huge on our hands. I'll send the command over to General Harley for the re-evaluation of the pictures and the possible sending of them to the Pentagon. You are dismissed to your quarters, Major and Lieutenant," The colonel concluded. I got up from the chair I was sitting in and started out the door, carrying the folder in which the contreversial pictures were inside. I knew this was going to be a long, hard time in finding out what exactly was the location I got pictures of.
"Lieutenant, before you retire for the day, I need to talk to you," Major Peterson said as we were nearing the barracks in the complex in Northern Oregon.
"Yes, Major?"
"What do you think this is?"
"I don't know sir, but for all I care, it could be some forward base for an alien frontal assault. I have no clue."
"Good. You learn quickly, lieutenant. Bon nuit," the Major said. A chill shot straight up my spine as he said those words. Alien frontal assault true? Oh my god, this wasn't right. The Major wasn't the lying type, or the type that messed with your head. Could he be part of this alien frontal assault? I could never be absolutley sure, so I decided to play it safe from now on.
I casually replied, "Good night, Major," and then went off to my bunk. It took only a few minutes, but eventually my eyelids dropped down to the bottom of my eyes and I drifted away to sleep.
Chapter 4
As told by the Animorph Jake [ERROR: Last name not found]
"So what do you propose to do about this?" I asked after recieving the news about the U2 flight. I was completely useless as a source for ideas. Come on, I hadn't gotten any sleep last night because of studying for the damn exams. Cut me some slack.
"Well, I think that the yeerks would have already captured whoever was piloting the craft by now, unless the high command had somehow got him out of the pickle. Which I doubt would ever happen," Cassie said.
"No duh. So the pictures will never reach the Pentagon. We've lost yet another chance to go public. Great," Marco complained.
"Well, we could go capture the pictures and bring them to capital hill for them to go through. Always a possibility," I suggested.
"Good plan, cuz. Needed some action 'round here anyway," Rachel agreed.
One problem. We have no clue as to where they are, Tobias pointed out angrily in a way.
Erek said that the U2 jets flew over the territory called 'Siberia.' How far away is Siberia from the United States? Ax asked.
"Far. Really, really far. Nearly half-way around the world, and with minus 50 degrees below, it's not your holiday vaction spot," Marco replied.
50 degrees below? Earth is a place where many temperature zones exist and I'm seeing as to why you humans wear artificial skin. Anyway, where is the closest spot in the US to Siberia?
"Well, that would be Alaska, but few bases large enough to launch a U2 mission exist there, plus it's WAY to big, so that winds down to California, Washington State and Oregon. California is actually too far away for the mission to be cost effective, and Washington doesn't have many operational, so Oregon is the place. There are about 4 coastline bases to check," I reported.
"Jake, man, how the heck do you know this stuff?" Marco inquired.
"Don't ask. Anyone up for it? Wait, make that anyone NOT up for it?" Nobody spoke, except that Marco was a bit edgy. It didn't matter at all.
Did anybody wonder how exactly are we supposed to get to Oregon? Tobias asked.
"The Animorph way. We sneak onboard a jetliner bound for Oregon and we ride first class all the way. We've done it before in the past, and no big problems have arised, well, mostly, anyway," Rachel said.
"Well, okay, we're trusting you on that one, Rachel," Cassie said.
"Then let's do it!"
Okay. Let's do it. Oregon, here we come!
Chapter 5
As told by the Air Force Colonel Gerald Quince
"Keep an eye on that Wiley kid. I want 2 cameras on him all the time. I got a bad feeling about his future, officer," I ordered as soon as Wiley left the questioning facility.
"Yessir. So far we've got a total of 5 on him and 7 in the surounding rooms."
"Good job. And make sure there are 2 guards nearby at all times yet again."
"Isn't that being a bit, cautious, Colonel?"
"Yes, it is. But still do it."
"Yessir. I've sent orders to two of our agents to be near him at all times. Responsive command agents, that is."
"Good. I'll leave you in charge before I get back. Report to me EVERYTHING that seems remotley suspicious."
"Okay, sir, here is something remotley suspicious to report. The major has just turned to the lieutenant and said something to him with a steel cold face. The lieutenant is turning now, and then walking back to his quarters. In the direction, anyway."
"Interesting. Add another guard onto the patrol and alert me on every single occasion in which it seems remotley suspicious."
"Yessir."
With that, I turned around and started to head directly back to my quarters to finish up some last-minute paper work that I had laid off because of the crisis in Jordan with the new rebellion. I was tired, and I really didn't want to do it, but I had a reputation of being late, and I was trying to repair it. No matter how hard it took. Even if it meant no sleep for several days. Ugh.
I sat down on my desk and reeched for the top paper in the stack of hundreds and began scribbling down information on the paper's surface. No longer than 10 minutes later and on about the 4th paper, the base security senior officiar called for me.
"Sir, you had better come down quickly."
I then spoke into the radio. "Coming."
I slammed down my pen and paper, leaving several blots of stray ink across the surface of the paper. I rushed to the security office where the officer was sitting down, looking frantically at the screens.
"What is it?"
"Sir, as you can see, Major Petersson is approaching the barracks of the lieutenant!"
I carefully observed the fuzzy displays that were in front of me. Something caught my eyes in the belt of the Major's. "Can you get the camera to zoom in on the firearm he is carrying in his belt?"
"Yessir." The camera slowly zoomed in and focused on the supposed firearm in the Major's belt. And I immediatly could tell it was not an Earth-made one. It's sleek, grey handle and oddly-shaped barrel didn't resemble at all anything built by toy manufacturers. Besides, why would the Major carry a child's toy?
"Do you happen to know what type of firearm that is, officer?"
He looked in the same, mouth-gaping way I looked at the screens. "No, sir, I don't have the slightest. It seems, almost, alien."
I sighed. I knew this was coming. I wasn't that into Roswell, and all the other alien nonesense, but what had come to me in the past hour proved everything I hated.
"I can't argue with you. Send the guards in and protect the lieutenant. I'm coming with them," I said cocking my pistol. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go through with this, but something deep down in my gut told me it needed to be done.
I strood out of the room and prepared for the shootout at the rendezvous point with the guards. I knew that there was going to be bloodflow.
Heavy bloodflow.
A/N: Weird story. Better ones coming up, so stay tuned. Pretty please? Oh, and don't you dare forget to review. Thanks!
:-)
-HaVIC