Smash 11, you have traffic 12 o'clock, less than five miles. Looks like a Rusky bomber formation descending to one four thousand.
.
.
Smash 11: Copy. Smash is radar contact tally-ho.
Giant Killer : Smash 11, Roger.
Smash 11: Copy, stay up there, that bomber looks like it's carrying a nuclear payload.
Smash 12: Let's drop this motherfucker
Smash 11: I'm showing him, descending now.
Smash 12: And he's bulls-eye one-one-six, seventy-six now, twenty thousand, I'm a mile and a half in trail.
Smash 11: Get my tally for the day.
Smash 11: Mile in trail closing, tally-ho Mig.
Smash 11: Twenty five hundred feet back in the clouds still- Whoa! I got missile lock on me!
Smash 12: Break left, break left!
Smash 11: I'm trying damnit!
Smash 11, or Amelia Walker, as would be the name of the pilot with the designated call sign Smash 11, cusses out a storm of profanity as she violently swings her F-15 into sharp dive, cursing the idiots who started WWIII, and by extent the whole world over.
The shitshow that was the war had started about two years ago, on August 16, 2035, the day that officially ruined her somewhat epic life. Amelia had been off base grabbing a cup of joe when Los Angeles went up in smoke. Big, radioactive smoke. North Korea, after decades of blustering, has finally done the unimaginable. Threatened by a coalition of South Korea, Japan, Indonesia, India, and many other smaller Asian countries, who have been increasingly hemming in Chinese and North Korean interests, and by a crumbling economy, has lashed out in a massive lightning strike. Within hours, South Korea's capital was reduced to rubble, and along the DMZ, millions of soldiers poured into the nation. Missiles smashed into Japanese soil, and infiltrators within the U.S set off the aforementioned dirty bomb within the heart of Los Angeles City.
It snowballed from there, China backing North Korea with arms supplies, then soldiers. After decades of uneasy peace, Chinese, Korean, and American blood once again soaked the soils of Asia. Russia, seeing an opportunity, created an unholy alliance with the Chinese, right after the Chinese had crippled the eastern part of Europe with cyberwarfare, shutting down power grids and communications en masse. The same was attempted on America, but government had prepared for such an attack and had bolstered their electronic defenses. But it wasn't enough. Thousands died as automatic trains, reprogrammed by viruses, smashed into each other, and power fluctuated as EdCon workers struggled to contain the sabotage. Nuclear reactors went critical nationwide. But America gave as good as it got.
In order to prevent a nuclear apocalypse from breaking out within the first few hours, the U.S activated a top secret virus that had been dormant within Chinese and Russian missile silos, cripping the majority of their nuclear ICBMs. But the virus did it's job too well, and soon it spread all over the world, knocking out America's own capabilities to use rockets to deliver its nuclear warheads.
It took less than a month for the whole world to go to war again, and due to the virus no one country was able to obliterate each other in the opening shots. But then they got around that problem by simply using conventional warplanes to deliver its nuclear payload instead. That meant costly bombing missions, the likes that haven't been seen since the closing days of WWII. But instead of rickety prop driven bombers dropping what amounted to TNT stuffed in a metal shell casing, high tech bombers escorted by hundreds of fighter jets would soar through the skies to drop a much deadlier payload.
And it was Amelia's job to shoot every single one of these fuckers down. She pulls up, narrowly dodging the sidewinder fired at her, before violently bleeding off speed to get behind the offending Mig. Seconds later, the world was minus one Russian jet. No chute had deployed.
Smash 12: Yeehaw! Nice shot Smash 11!
Amelia jerks to the left again, determined to down the enemy bomber before it turned another city into a radioactive crater. But her efforts were thwarted again and again by more enemy interceptors.
Smash 12: Amelia, that bomber is getting too close to the city!
Amelia: I know, I know! Why aren't you trying to shoot the damn thing down!
Smash 12: Cause I'm covering your fat ass! Go for it!
Motherfrickinbeinallthingsthatareholypleaselockthisshot. Amelia thinks in her head as she lines up on the bomber. Her crosshairs settle onto the engine and turn red with a monotone eeeeeeeeeeeeee.
"Yes! Smash 11! Fox 2!" she crows out. As the sidewinder speeds off to intercept the bomber, she notices dozens of other missiles joining her's as well. Soon she loses track of her own, and the bomber explodes as multiple hits knock it out of the sky. The enemy fighters are routed, and Amelia turns her jet back to base, the mission accomplished.
Smash 12: Nice job Smash 11, that's like what, you're twenty second kill? Another city saved, thanks to you!
Yeah, but for how long? She thinks. How many are gone already? Too damn many, she morosely thinks to herself. Her own home city, Boston, had been reduced to glass. Manhattan and Seattle were the last bastions of the American people, the latter she just saved from annihilation. Well, unless you count the smaller cities as well, but most of the major ones were wiped off the map in the first year of the war. And a nuclear winter has settled all over the globe, killing off most of the plant life, and plunging the world into a mini ice age. She snorts in derision as she lands her F-15 onto the runway. Twenty one years of age, and her life was was going to be cut short by a nuke, if a particularly lucky missile doesn't get to her first.
The rest of the day passes by in a blur. Most of her family or former friends had died earlier in combat or got turned into fine ash, so she lounges around the base's cafeteria or wasted time getting, well, wasted, in her room.
Okay, maybe not that wasted, but damnit it's the apocalypse, and nobody was gonna keep her away from a good bottle of Jack, especially when those were short supply nowadays. Any acquaintances she might have had in her brief time on base were off pulling double duty, or helping out the local military in keeping civil order. Seattle was overcrowded with refugees, and supplies were bound to run low soon. Riots were guaranteed. As she caresses the bottle of liquor like it's the only thing keeping her alive, she wonders how long it was going to take for this base to get hit. Not much longer, she muses depressingly. As the numbing effect of her drink and her exhaustion set in, she allows herself to wonder about the future of the human race, none of them in a good light. The bottle slips from her hand as she passes out on the table top.
.
.
.
Sounds. The first thing to register in her sleepy mind.
"-ing report to room B1 in ten minutes. Staff Sergeant Amelia Walker, please report to room B1 in ten minutes." the intercom blares into her room.
"Urgh" is all she manages as she picks herself off the floor and heads to the bathroom to clean herself up. Hair, check. Alcohol breath, cleaned out with toothpaste, uniform straightened. Nothing could be done about the bags hanging under her eyes though, but they'll understand. It's been more then trying times for all of them nowadays. As she heads down the complex to the meeting room, she notices a few of her fellow pilots heading in the same direction, their uniforms also cleaned out. One of them notices Amelia and heads over to her. Amelia sighs inwardly.
"So you got the message as well?" he asks.
"Yeah Brian, I got it as well." she replies. Brian was practically a kid, somebody they probably just picked up out of a flight academy to fill in the depleted ranks of the air force. And she thinks that he has some sort of infatuation with her. Then again, being one of the few female pilots on base AND a confirmed ace, most men would try and get into her pants. And she just might as well, with the world ending and all. Brian walks nervously in a slightly oversized uniform, brown hair cut to regulation and standing at barely over five and a half feet, he looked more like he belonged back in some high school then in what's left of America's air force. Can't be choosy though, not these days anyways.
"I didn't get the message." he says. Amelia looks at him questioningly.
"Really?"
"Yeah, only a few got the call apparently. Rumor has it it's for a new top secret program to beat the Russians and Chinese. Win this war. Then we can fix what's left of our planet before we blow each other up to extinction." he looks at her. "They called you down probably cuz you got so many kills, your one of the best we've got."
"I don't think I'm that good." she replies. Brian just shakes his head.
"If that were true, they wouldn't be calling you down with all the other high profile aces as well. Just whatever it is, I do hope it helps our side. It's only a matter of time before we let one slip through our defences, and then, well…" his eyes take a dejected look. America's youth, reduced to thinking that their future is over, that they are all going to die. It's a sad, depressing thought.
"Hey, I'm sure it's something that will help us win this war, so chin up, we'll get through this, I promise." Brian looks up to her, a little life creeping back into his eyes.
"Thanks, and good luck." he says as he peels off into a different hallway. As she watches the teen disappear into the crowd, a very familiar voice suddenly catches her attention.
"You make a pretty good motivator when you're not drinking yourself into oblivion."
Amelia turns her head to see a tall blonde male in a jumpsuit walking just behind her.
"David?"
The man holds open his arms in reply, a lopsided grin on his face.
"Ohmygodisactuallyyou!" Amelia runs over to him. "I thought you were busy pulling guard duty!" It was such a relief to see a friend in times like these. A really, intimate friend. Doesn't mean anything, we're just good friends, annnd we're hugging. Amelia thinks as she clings tightly to David.
"I got recalled back to base for this thing. Must be pretty important."
"Yeah no kidding." Amelia says, eyeing the other high profile base personnel heading to the room. "It's something big."
"That's what she said."
"Shut up."
David just laughs good naturedly as they enter the conference room. The laughter ends abruptly. Amelia turns her gaze to see why. And then her face became one of seriousness as well.
In front of them, standing in the back of the room was the base commander, and all the higher ranking officers that were on site. But that wasn't even the shocker. Seated at the head of the table was a man who had the look of the world resting on his entire shoulders, and knowing that he was failing. Built well, with graying short hair, and a face that had a strong jaw with tired, blue eyes, was the President of the United States, and leader of what was left of the free world. Around him were leaders from other nations, and several representatives from the remaining NATO allies.
The President motions to the empty chairs.
"Please, take a seat."
As they settle in he continues, "I'm sure you're wondering as to why I've brought you here."
Nods all around. He sighs. "What is said in this room is highly confidential. You will not leak what is said here. Or there will be, consequences."
Consequences. In this world, that means execution without trial. Well, there is a trial, but its usually just for show, and for the public to keep their faith in a "fair" government, no matter the situation at hand. In reality the government doesn't have such luxuries, and even the trials themselves are speedy and done as quickly as possible in order to spend more time on more urgent matters. The President motions to one of his generals. Amelia reads the name off of the tag on the man's uniform. General Metcalf, supreme commander of the allied forces. The smartboard in the back is turned on, a slide show started. And on the screen the words, "Ark of Humanity Initiative," and "Project Halo."
"Gentlemen, and women," Metcalf nods to Amelia, "we lost Manhattan." If the pilots had been normal people, gasps and shocked looks would have been in order. But still, their professional faces remain, although Amelia reels inwardly from the news.
We're the last? We're the last, and soon the Russians and Chinese will overrun this city too. The General brought up live footage from Manhattan covered in a massive mushroom cloud. "We've done everything we've can, for two long bloody years we've been at it, and Russia and China are still on top, even when we've nuked all their cities to hell and back. As soon as our own virus turned on us, this war turned into one of attrition, and we're losing. That doesn't mean they will come out of this unscathed, oh no, we've given as good as we've got and for every city nuked, we threw one right back at em. But we're running low on resources, manpower, and nuclear options. We've lost our ability to re-build our air force, while they still have a few plants up and running, deep in the heart of their country. Without our air force we will have no ability to launch nuclear counter strikes at them. But we will NOT lose this war." he growls out. He switches to another slide with a picture of schematic of a, massive bomb? Amelia suddenly has a bad feeling about the direction this briefing was taking.
"Welcome to the Ark of Humanity and Halo initiative. The world as we know it has already been irreparably damaged beyond belief, and yet more bombs fall every day. At this continued rate, we will lose America, and our land forces will be utterly helpless to stop the horde that will invade our country." An occupation by a desperate, starving army? Everybody heard about the brutality that was going down in what's left of Europe. Death was a better fate than what an "Occupation" would entail.
"But that's not even the biggest worry for us." He said ominously. Another slide is shown, satellite images of Russian military bases.
"The Russians have been re-building and rearming ICBMs. At this rate they will have enough hit every single remaining holdout here in America, and then some. This continent will soon become the land of glass in approximately a week."
It's over then. We've lost.
"But not if we hit them first." Metcalf says. Another slide is shown, the image of the big, conventional looking bomb is shown. Before the pilots had a chance to wonder what it was, Metcalf answered their questions before they even voiced them.
"This weapon is the culmination of our biological and nuclear research from Project Halo. The mother of all nuclear weaponry. We've nicknamed it the Mushroom Bomb."
Amelia leans forward a bit, was this the top secret weapon rumored to win the war?
"If we do nothing, on our current trajectory we will lose within the next week, wiped out in nuclear fire, and humanity will perish in the smothering nuclear winter. But if we can pull a final push together, and deliver the bomb over their ICBM facility" he says as he points to the target on a map, "Then we will prevent our own continent from being annihilated, while decimating theirs and their ability to ever hurt us again."
The pilots were ecstatic. So it's actually true, we've got a weapon that will actually win us the war.
"Ahem." the General said to silence the astonished mutterings. "This weapon has one major downside to it however." Silence. Nervously, he tapped his fingers against his sides.
"Due to the unknown potential yield of this weapon, without taking precautions, humanity may not survive the dropping of this bomb. Those down in the Alamo research center have estimated the power to be staggering." He leans forward onto the desk. "We're talking doomsday yield here gentlemen. Not dozens of megatons. Not even hundreds. The number is somewhere in the thousands."
Now the gasps and shocked looks came. One pilot cried out in protest.
"You can't deploy this! It's an atrocity!"
"And what, America will still end up getting wiped off the face of the Earth anyways! None of conventional nukes are powerful enough to deliver the knockout punch to the Russians and Chinese!" Metcalf takes in a deep breath. "The world is already doomed people. This planet's ability to sustain life has been nuked to hell and back, so much so that life may not return for the next few hundred years. By destroying them first, we will have ensured the survival of our own continent, and the chance to restart our society in the future."
Restart society? What? Amelia was confused and torn, her mind reeling from conflicting emotions, her sworn duty to the nation against her moral compass. If they were to drop the bomb, they win the war, but doom most of humanity. If they don't, the Russians will nuke all of America, and still doom humanity, albeit to a slower and more painful death.
"But we have taken precautions. We prepared for this eventual outcome, and now I present to you our ultimate goal." A hologram activates, depicting the same survival bunker from before. Amelia studies the depiction, noting that it was huge, enough for a few hundred people or so, decked out with even an underground hangar and airfield. And not even that, enough food and water to last several decades, every imaginable facility you can think of to survive the apocalypse, but what really captured their attention were the long hallways filled with human sized pods. The words Cryogenics floated above the depiction, an enrapturing display of the promise of an actual future.
"Welcome to the Ark of Humanity Initiative. And you all have been chosen for the program."