A TWIST OF FATE
Chapter 2
The Sentinel, the US Navy's new strike vessel, was the fastest and most heavily armed warship ever built. Mark stood on the main deck and marvelled at her speed. He'd never served on a ship like this before and still found it hard to believe he'd been given the chance now. He certainly hadn't expected to be chosen, not when the Navy's Top Brass had hand-picked the crew themselves. It was not bad going for the son of a mechanic and teacher from a one-horse town in the American mid-west. His parents had never been more proud of him, even graduating top of his class at the Naval Academy paled into insignificance compared to this honour.
Mark would never admit it, but he was proud of himself. Warfare specialist and primary gunner on missile control. It was one thing to pepper the air with 50,000 rounds per minute, but it was more difficult to fire a single missile from a moving base, to hit a moving target miles away. He'd even surprised himself when he'd begun his training at how quickly he'd taken to it. It was uncanny; the way he instinctively knew what diversionary tactics the target aircraft would attempt. His strike record was exceptional and this was the reason he was on the Sentinel. This afternoon they would begin the final testing of the ship's readiness for active duty. As soon as these sea trials were successfully completed, the Sentinel would be deployed into the war zone where the Middle East and China were having another spat; their third such altercation in as many years. That aside, the Sentinel was far advanced to anything in any other country's armament and that made her a target herself. The crew was always on the alert for sabotage.
A sudden increase in activity had Mark heading for the nearest bulkhead hatchway. If he was to make the start of his watch on time, he needed to stop soaking up the fresh air and get himself down to the bunker. Down where the rolling of the ship was least felt, where the hull was double layer reinforced steel/titanium alloy.
Pushing through the heavy steel door, he entered the Combat Information Centre and beyond that, the radar and tracking centre. The room was constantly in semi-darkness, the only light emanating from the radars and computer monitors at each workstation. He nodded at the officer in charge who acknowledged his presence before returning his focus to his work.
Mark approached Petty Officer Second Class Tony Corday, the secondary missile gunner whose shift was ending. Tony looked up at Mark's tap on his shoulder and gave him a thumbs-up.
"Good watch?" Mark asked and Tony grimaced.
"Boring, if you really want to know. The whole area is a no-fly zone and there's nothing showing on the radar at all. It's weird. I kept running the diagnostic test to make sure the damn thing was still working. I'll be glad when they start releasing the decoys. At least then, we'll have something to shoot at." With that, he quickly logged off, removed his headphones and stood, stretching his arms above his head.
A brief look at the radar was enough to give Mark a momentary start. It was eerie to see nothing on screen; no blips signalling aircraft flying passengers along designated flight paths or smaller craft ferrying the super rich. There wasn't even a military plane buzzing around. Once the manoeuvres began in earnest though, it would be a different story. Mark took his place in the seat and logged into the computer.
"You logged on?" Tony asked. "Cool, if you're happy, then I'm off. I'm gonna try my luck with that third class from stores. You know the one, the blonde with the big..." he waved his hands in front of his chest. "Man she's hot."
"Good luck!" Mark called after him. He turned back to his monitor and smirked. Tony would need more than luck with that particular female. She'd been dating his sister for six months.
There may not have been anything to track at the moment, but Mark still checked the data readouts of Sentinel's speed and direction, the amount of ocean swell, current direction, wind speed, air temperature and weather conditions. Anything that would come into play if, or when, the missiles were fired, needed to be checked and verified. It was Mark's responsibility to know all of those variables at any given time. He wouldn't have that responsibility if he cut corners, so he began logging all the data on a chart in front of him. Whilst it was all uploaded onto computer, the Navy had gone back to using a paper backup after 2020 when a hacker got through all the security, wiped the data, and somehow got control of the missile systems.
The top brass in Washington had shit themselves for months after that particular fiasco and it was also the reason why most captains now preferred to have a crew member actually deploy their defensive missiles, rather than leave them susceptible to computer hackers.
Two hours later and Mark was counting down. He was due for a quick break in half an hour, and just another hour after that, the decoys would be released. He was looking forward to seeing something on his radar screen. The green arm swept around searching for the any aircraft in the vicinity, but the radar remained obstinately blank.
He looked over at Vince Frankton manning the console next to him. Vince, apart from sharing the same berthings room, was also Mark's closest buddy on the Sentinel. A bit of a joker off duty, 'Beans' was an anti-sub specialist. He was slumped in his seat, body language registering boredom, but his eyes were alert and focused on his own scope and data readouts. They flicked from one screen to the next in a relentless circuit, missing nothing.
A junior officer, Blithe by name if not by nature, approached and stood between the two men, drawing their attention.
"Frankton."
"Yes, sir?"
"You're on break now. Oliver. You're next."
Mark acknowledged the information as Vince handed over the relevant details to the officer. Beans stood and flashed a quick grin at Mark before heading out of the room. Mark ran his eyes back over his data systems and on satisfying himself there were no changes, sighed. Tony had been right when he'd said the shift was boring. Still, there wasn't long to go now before they would actually have something to do.
He watched the arm sweep several rotations around the screen, the radar reflecting that the no-go zone was being adhered to and the Sentinel had clear air space around her. Another circuit of the radar and an unidentified blip suddenly showed on the monitor. He screen captured the data with one hand while alerting his superior with the other. The radar swept around again and Mark was momentarily stunned at the speed at which the aircraft was flying. He'd never known a plane to travel that quickly. Not even the new Air Force strike planes with their impressive speed was a match for this thing.
Lieutenant Watson, the watch supervisor, came at a run and looked over Mark's shoulder to see the monitor.
"What have you got?"
"A bogey, sir," Mark replied without taking his eyes off the data in front of him. "Unidentified craft. Height two thousand feet. Speed five thousand miles per hour. Heading zero nine six degrees, magnetic. Coming straight for us."
"Five thousand miles per hour? What the hell is that?" Watson barked. "It's too fast for a plane and too slow for a missile." He opened the command intercom circuit which would allow both Mark and himself to communicate with the Captain, the radio room and the men on the foc'sle where the missiles were stored.
More officers arrived and crowded around the console, watching the data reflect the trajectory of the craft invading their airspace. Through his headphones, Mark heard the tone for 'General Quarters', calling all crew to their assigned battle stations. It was immediately followed by a message from central control.
"No military aircraft in the vicinity."
"Prepare interceptor missiles." The Captain's voice demanded an immediate response.
Mark checked the data was entered into his surface to air missile computer and watched as more information was uploaded from the rogue craft. It had to be some top secret aircraft from one of those Middle Eastern countries. Maybe they wanted the Sentinel? Well, they weren't going to get it, not if Mark had anything to say about it.
Yet something niggled in the recesses of his brain. No military aircraft. Was it a civilian jet? But its speed belayed the thought. It couldn't possibly be a civilian jet.
His hand hovered near the firing control. His eyes never left the radar screen. He was completely focused on the blip. The radar arm swept over the aircraft's electronic echo, flaring it into momentary brilliance. He knew what they were going to do. They were going to change course. He felt it and the next sweep of the radar confirmed his suspicions.
The Captain's voice was loud in his ears.
"Scanners, what's the new heading?"
"Zero seven five degrees magnetic, sir," he replied. That put it on a course for New York and Mark's resolve firmed. It had to be terrorists then. Despite the notorious attack on New York being a long time past, the military were still on high alert to the possibility of another. Was this it?
A slight static crackle in his headset preceded the voice from Central Control.
"No aircraft scheduled in your area. Treat unidentified craft as hostile."
"Sound battle stations," the Captain ordered. "All missile launches are to be at go."
Mark heard the 'Condition Zebra' alarm echo through the ship. The Sentinel was now in combat mode. He confirmed the change in course had been uploaded into the computer and quickly keyed in the firing sequence code. He flicked up the safety shield over the firing button and his thumb hovered over it.
He was ready.
The call came.
"Attack stations. Trigger interceptor missiles, standby."
Seven...
Six...
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
Zero."
"Fire!"
Mark's thumb pushed the red button at the sound of the order. He watched the radar screen as it showed the rogue aircraft and his own missiles heading toward interception. Despite the two being on a collision course, he knew the missiles were going to miss and the next data upload confirmed it. The aircraft, whatever it was, had switched on its jammers and had suddenly increased its height. The missiles exploded but the aircraft continued on its course.
Mark tamped down a curse. The computers weren't always successful in anticipating a pilot's evasionary tactics. His gut burned. He hated missing. His country was depending on him to keep it safe.
"Over-ride the computers, Oliver," Watson demanded. "Use your intuition!"
Mark nodded an acknowledgement as he worked the computer. What would the aircraft do next? It would probably use the jammers again, so he set the next set of missiles on a variable frequency. The aircraft had gained height too early before; so he knew that the pilot would try a rapid ascent slightly later this time. He added this possibility into the data and let the computer work out the heading, velocity and altitude he'd need.
He heard Watson's voice through his headset as he notified the bridge of their readiness.
"Target acquisition complete."
"Trigger interceptor missiles for second attack. Five seconds," came over Mark's headset and his thumb again hovered over the button. He knew this time he wouldn't miss.
"Changing frequency to combat jammers," confirmed his changes had been noted by the officers upstairs.
The countdown commenced.
"Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
Zero."
"Fire!"
Again, his thumb sent two precision cruise missiles hurtling toward the target.
He watched the data. The aircraft had tried the jammers again but he'd been ready for that. The missiles continued unchecked, the radar reflecting how close they were to impact.
Suddenly the aircraft gained height, but not enough.
This was going to be a direct hit.
But at the last possible moment, the aircraft made another unexpected altitude change, shooting almost vertically into the sky. Mark's heart sank. Dammit! Another miss.
He continued to watch the radar as the missiles disappeared from the screen. But the aircraft, instead of registering as a myriad of small echoes expanding in a destruction bloom, remained resolutely intact. He couldn't stop another curse hissing from between his lips.
He knew he was better than this, but it was hard not to have a grudging respect for the unknown pilot.
Mark watched the data uplink and knew he had caused some damage. The aircraft was rapidly losing height, faster than a deliberate evasion manoeuvre. He'd injured it.
"It's on fire," Watson confirmed and Mark glanced briefly at the long-range video footage. A plume of black smoke billowed from somewhere over the horizon.
Time for the killshot.
Again he readied his missiles, heard the countdown and the command to fire. His thumb depressed the button as he watched the trajectory data. This time he was taking no prisoners. Mark had never needed more than two missile strikes to down an enemy before.
Whoever this guy was, he was a damn good pilot.
The emergency tone from the radio room sounded in his headset as he watched the missiles chase down their target.
"Message to Sentinel Commander. Stop attack immediately. Unidentified aircraft is a Thunderbird machine of the International Rescue organisation."
Mark's hand flew to the abort button, detonating the two missiles as the Captain ordered their destruction.
Then the second half of the message registered.
Thunderbird machine.
International Rescue.
He stared in horror at the scope. The craft was still losing height rapidly and was now veering off course. By the time the radar completed its next sweep, the aircraft would be out of range and off the scope. A second blip then showed briefly, trailing the stricken craft and Mark automatically registered its speed as much faster than the first.
Then both aircraft were gone from the radar.
Mark started when he felt someone remove his headset. It was only then that he realised he was on his feet. Watson's hand clamped around his bicep; pulled him away from the console. Mark saw his lips moving, yet no sound was audible as his mind relentlessly replayed the contents of the message.
Without knowing how he got there or how long he'd been there, he found himself sitting in the breakout room. Vince was with him, quietly watching. Mark mashed his palms against his eyes as the consequences of his actions finally hit.
They'd shot down International Rescue.
And he had played the pivotal role.
The knowledge that he had been following orders, had believed the aircraft to be a genuine threat did nothing to alleviate his guilt. He had been the one who had anticipated the pilot's evasive manoeuvres and sent the missiles on their deadly path. He was the one responsible for downing one of International Rescue's craft. And what about the pilot? Had Mark killed an unarmed peace worker? The Navy would be lynched.
"Come on, man. " Vince grabbed Marks arm and shook it slightly. "Pull yourself together."
"I just shot down International Rescue." Mark raised his head, his eyes revealing his shock.
"You were under orders. You had no choice."
"That doesn't make any difference, Beans. What if I've killed the pilot?"
"Get a grip. You've shot down enemy planes before now."
"The enemy, Beans. Not an unarmed craft belonging to the most famous organisation in the world."
"Twister," Vince captured Mark's attention by the use of his nickname and the concern in his voice. "Listen to me, the Lieutenant will be back soon and the Chaplain's on his way down with the XO. If you can't convince them you're okay, you'll get booted ashore next time we're in port. Do you want that?"
Hell no. That was the last thing Mark wanted. He'd worked too hard getting the post on this ship to lose it now. He straightened his shoulders and clamped his teeth.
"I'll be okay."
"Good. Make sure you are. Whatever doubts you've got in your head, need to stay in there. Don't let the powers-that-be see them or it could be the end of your Navy career."
Mark looked up as the door opened, admitting Lieutenant Watson, Anders, the ship's chaplain and Commander Tanner, the ships executive officer and second in command. He snapped to attention, executed an impeccable salute and steeled himself.
Let the fun begin.