1: Dawn of Thunder
by chaos_eternus

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Chapter 1
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Glancing idly across the tower, Thompson shared a nod of anticipation and not a little glee with the twins opposite. It had been a hard road to here, first to confirm the story Chocky had told, an act which had taken every marker he had within the intelligence community but with confirmation his markers had been returned and with interest.

With confirmation, then came doubt. They had the knowledge, but little idea of what to do with it. Britain was a powerful nation but the days of being one of the most powerful nations in the world had ended on the battlefields of Europe .

The Second World War had been won, but it was the Americans, slow to enter the war but resolute when they did that had come off the strongest for it. If the Americans were having real difficulties keeping Earth safe with their far greater resources then what could they do?

Many argued that they should simply speak to the Americans quietly, offer their support, their troops, even some funding in exchange for access. After all, didn't they have the closest relationship of any two countries in the world? Didn't their militaries inter-train and indeed, trust each other more then any other?

It was a good plan, it was a safe plan. It had many supporters, but Thompson was not one of them. Britain was not the powerhouse it once was, he conceded, and any effort here would cost them far greater then it would the Americans, the budget would certainly be far harder to hide.

But success would mean not joining Stargate Command as a supporting partner but potentially as an equal. It would mean greater ability to not just request but to dictate terms when America learned of British involvement, and learn they would one way or another.

It was true Britain didn't have the resources America had but that was the rub. The Americans were concentrating on building warships using Earth-bound resources, whilst it appeared they had off world mines for two specific minerals they hadn't explored the resources of their own solar system.

Let America build warships for now, they didn't have the resources to have a major impact on that kind of construction directly. Instead, they should concentrate on resources, start mining the asteroid belt for what they would need.

Building a mining and processing plant in space would be massively expensive, the debt would likely be horrendous but the any excess could be sold and profit made there, particularly from some of the more exotic materials they were likely to find. Let American build warships, they would have to as well in time but for now, begin the process of expansion into the solar system, find and use the resources available. For now, begin the fortification of Earth's space and maybe, just maybe incorporate a shipyard into those fortifications.

The implications for security of having an off-world shipyard were astounding, not to mention, that whilst they had spaces they could hide construction of smaller craft in, finding a location on Earth where they could build space going warships and support them without being seriously noticed…

Well, Thompson noted, good luck finding a spot suitable for that.

There were still those who doubted, those who pushed to simply go to Americans and take whatever table scraps they would offer. But to right ears, Thompson's idea appealed on several levels.

They would take to the stars, and the Navy would lead the way.

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RAF ST Athan, South Wales .

A muted purr echoed across the base as a large night-black craft slipped slowly out of an old, slightly decrepit looking World War II hanger. Wings bending and warping under the heavy weight of the wing tip mounted engines, the vehicle slowly moved forwards, its thin, blocky body overshadowed by a massive under slung, the metallic shape of the load glittering and shimmering in the dawn sunlight as the tall, spindly undercarriage cleared the boundary of the runway.

Grimacing slightly, the Pilot, a dark haired officer with a distinctive scar running from his left eye to his ear glanced at the camera image of the runway displayed on his heads-up display. Nudging the control stick, he carefully and slowly lined the craft up with the runway, cursing the oversized undercarriage and the component below for blocking any direct view of the runway beneath.

He had driven Galaxy's before whilst on exchange with the USAF and quite frankly, he wasn't sure which was worse as far as not being able to see the runway was concerned.

Of course, the Galaxy carried its loads internally. It didn't take a genius to figure out that flying in the atmosphere with an underslung load was going to be a total bitch. They had simulated this, but in truth, simulations never truly prepared you for the reality.

Oh, for the ability to hide the construction of something the size of a Galaxy, or maybe even a Super guppy, it would have made things so much easier. Alas, even given the relatively small size of the craft they had created, security had very nearly failed.

Of course, the highly visible location they had chosen for the work with the civilians all around hadn't helped but it had been the least bad of several bad locations available.

Still, this was going to be dangerous. Dangerous enough that each flight actually carried a full combat bonus and didn't the fact that the brass had agreed to that just tell you everything you really needed to know?

Still, their secret was going to be out within minutes, if it wasn't already. Hopefully, he would be around to see the aftermath.

Finally satisfied, he tapped his radio "Airhead 1-4-niner requesting permission to launch."

The reply was clear and untainted by static or interference, just screaming of the money that was put into every aspect of the construction, of the highly expensive digital transceivers and high speed encryption/decryption chips, "Permission granted Airhead 1-4-9, be advised heavy traffic at Rhoose, vector immediately 150 degrees port to avoid traffic and join escort."

Pilot Officer Reynolds smiled slightly as the unknown voice at St Athan's control tower broke comm. Discipline, passing on an unofficial but heartfelt message, "Good luck with the beast, and may fair winds follow you on all your journeys"

"Copy That Control, rolling."

The purring rose to a powerful, muted roar as the large craft surged forward; its six engines pushing it rapidly down the runway. Accelerating in a manner that would make a bat out of hell proud, the dark vehicle lifted well clear of the end of the runway, and headed up, turning swiftly out of sight of Rhoose Airports busy international traffic lanes and towards the waiting escort of Tornado and Eurofighter Typhoon Jet Fighters.

"Shit! Damn and blast" Reynolds cursed as the craft bobbled, wrestling with the controls he quickly dragged it back under his control again, cursing this craft with every breath he took. Maybe it was a technical fault, maybe a design flaw, maybe a result of the load slung underneath, whatever it was he didn't know, but this craft didn't want to stay under his control. It fought him, making him use every trick he had learned in his ten years as a pilot to keep it under his control. He would really have to pass a sarcastic word or too along once he got that thrice-damned piece in place.

"Err… Airhead 1-4-niner" a voice drawled over his radio, "be advised we are hearing every curse you… sorry word you say."

Reynolds looked around puzzled, then flushed, embarrassed as he noticed the radio was still active, still transmitting every word, every noise he made.

"Sorry" he muttered, flicking the radio back to ready, grimacing as the crafts control stick shuddered in his hand once more.

"Hey Reynolds" the voice made the pilot officer grimace with distaste, its every nuance screaming, I'm young, I'm a pilot and I am cocky, "you think we should pass your assessment on to engineering?"

"Smart-ass fighter pilots." Reynolds muttered as he fought with the controls once more. First climbing slowly as he headed north-west, crossing over Northern Island until well out into the ocean. At which point, he fought the craft into a long spiral, each turn bringing him closer to the edge of the atmosphere.

The jet stream brought another fight to the controls but above it, the thinner atmosphere meant an easier time of it as less air wrestled with the load, less energy to distort his control, his flight.

His escort had already dropped off by now, heading backwards towards the isles, first to top up, then to escort the next Airhead into position. He didn't envy his Flight-Leader that task; he had the job of lifting the first of the Shunters into orbit.

An unfamiliar craft, an underslung load that maxed out the lifting ability of the Airheads and having to use an entire rack of Jato rockets in order to be able to clear the runway, oh yeah, he didn't envy him at all.

Then again, he had two more component flights then he was scheduled for a Shunter wasn't he?

Bugger.

Could be worse though, he could be on the list for one of the habitat modules for the construction crew but, strangely enough, those had been left off the list until the aircrews had some experience and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. Honest injun and all that.

But, as far as the Shunters were concerned, well, if he survived, he could always speak to the other pilot and get some tips from him. But that was later; right now he had work to do.

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StarGate Command (SGC), Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado Springs

O'Neill grimaced as Sergeant Harriman's voice filled the room in that far too familiar tone which had him rising from his desk and the hated reports before his mind even caught up with what his body was doing.

He placed a mental bet and was gratified at the figurative win as his team rapidly fell into place around him as he strode towards the control room. Of course, he was still beaten by the General, but hey, that was okay. He didn't have so far to walk did he… his office was right above the control room.

"Sir, NORAD just reported an unidentified contact leaving atmosphere"

"Goa'ulds?" he asked, just beating Hammond to it.

"NORAD doesn't think so, they say the flight profile suggests an Earth Construction, they're still trying to track an exact origin now but certainly within England ."

"What makes you say that, son" Hammond 's voice was calm as always but tinged with worry.

"Sir, every time we've seen an alien spacecraft they have tended to leave atmosphere vertical or very near vertical, this contact acted like an atmospheric craft on an altitude test," he shrugged, "we've been aware for some time the English have been cooking up a few new aircraft designs and from what I can tell, it was initially thought to be more evidence of this. By the time anyone realized it wasn't going to stop going up the craft had already left the atmosphere."

He considered this a moment, then considered it again. Whilst he had worked with the Brits and knew they could be downright sneaky sometimes, this was a bit of a stretch.

Still, it did lead to some interesting conclusions, starting with exactly whose intelligence agency had fucked up and missed this coming. Not to mention the distinct possible that at least one intelligence agency hadn't fucked up.

"We may have a breech,"

He got a surprised, questioning glance from Hammond and he shrugged, "no effective space agency despite their business's getting shitloads of space contracts and suddenly they have craft leaving atmosphere without us or NASA catching word of it?"

Well, that neatly summed up his feelings on the matter and by the look on Hammonds face it wasn't something he hadn't thought of yet.

Strangely enough, he felt a trip abroad in his future.