Different City / Same Old Crap
By Carycomic
Chapter 37.
LONDON HOUSE,
1 NOVEMBER, 1938
Dr. Jonathan Silence, Precept of the Legacy's Ruling House, was positively aghast at what he had just been told by Jethro Dumont ("the Green Lama" of the Akashic Brotherhood) concerning the nation-wide panic caused by the Mercury Theater adaptation of H.G. Wells THE WAR OF THE WORLDS.
"How on Earth could such a thing happen?"
The Green Lama shrugged his astral shoulders.
"For lack of a better term? A gestalt effect. The intense concentration by so many people, tuning in late, triggered a collective subconscious recollection of the 1898 invasion. Leading to spontaneous generation of tulpas of the Martian tripods."
Dr. Silence sat back in his swivel chair.
"Good Lord!"
"It gets worse," continued the Green Lama: "A segment of the vampiric population took advantage of the chaos by attacking stragglers among the fleeing refugees. Resulting in counter-attacks by various local Garou septs. Unfortunately, the usual 'frenzy effect' hasn't taken hold. More people are remembering than not! Which means. . ."
"Don't say it!" snapped the Ruling Precept (to no avail).
". . .we may have to repeat what we did, forty years ago."
Dr. Silence sprang to his feet.
"Out of the question! It took a whole year to carefully orchestrate that one. And, another year for all the participants to regain their previous power levels!"
The Green Lama nodded: "I'm well aware of that. But, the bad news; we've no other choice in the matter. Not without violating our end of the Van Helsing Initiative. The good news is; we're not talking about a second case of global amnesia. Just a smaller version, confined strictly to America's borders. So, all that would require is an enjoining of the American Legacy Houses. With your permission, of course!"
There were some very tense moments while Dr. Silence pondered this weighty decision. Supporting himself by bracing both arms atop his desk. Finally, he sighed and nodded.
"Permission- - reluctantly- -granted."
HAWAIIAN ISLANDS,
LATE SPRING (1999)
"Romeo Foxtrot Leader to Base. Do you copy? Over?"
"Base to Romeo Foxtrot Leader. We copy you; over."
"Base? Romeo Foxtrot Bravo and I are approaching last confirmed co-ordinates. But, so far, we have no visual sighting of the bogie. Is it still on your radar? Over."
"Negative, Romeo Foxtrot Leader. The bogie went to sea level, just before you contacted us, and our screens haven't been able to pick it up since. Over."
"Roger that, Base. What do you advise we do? Over?"
There was a pause of a minute or two before the control tower at NAS Pearl Harbor responded.
"Base to Romeo Foxtrot Leader. Yourself and Bravo are advised to sweep the area for five minutes more. If you do not sight the bogie in that time frame, the two of you can return to base. Do you copy? Over."
"Copy that, Base. This is Romeo Foxtrot Leader; over and out."
The two reconnaissance fighter jets followed the "advice" they had been given. And, when the five minutes had elapsed, with still no sign of the bogie, they turned their planes around and headed home. They had only been on the return leg of the trip for ten minutes, however, when the pilot of the second Tomcat suddenly radioed the first.
"Bravo to Leader! Bravo to Leader! Take a gander at your one o' clock; PDQ!"
The pilot of the first Tomcat took that look. And, his reaction was both immediate and unequivocal.
"Holy Shit Molasses!"
To his right, and approximately four hundred feet below, was what looked like a dragon, straight out of a child's book of fairy tales. A winged, bluish-green dragon. . .that looked like it was being ridden!
"Leader to Bravo! Leader to Bravo! Follow me down, and look after our six while we start rolling. Over."
"Roger that."
Whereupon, the two jet aircraft began their descent. The photographer's mate in the backseat of Romeo Foxtrot Leader activating the digital video camera in the nose of their plane. With his counterpart in the second plane doing likewise . And, all this, while the pilots of both planes activated their weapons systems. The live video footage that was wirelessy transmitted back to NAS Pearl Harbor went uninterrupted for about seven minutes.
After which, even the self-involved "Glordelia" could not fail to notice she had unwanted company.
"Come on, Ropen. Let's show these jokers the price for stalking me."
Whereupon, the dragon did a one hundred-eighty degree turn that, by all rights, should have dislodged the young woman via the inherent G-forces of it. But, Glordelia not only remained seated on the Ropen's neck. She also whooped in shameless, child-like joy over it!
"Whee-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-! Ride 'em, cowgirl!"
The two Tomcat pilots did not remain dumbfounded for long.
"Bravo to Leader! She's coming right for us!"
"Roger that, Bravo. Open fire!"
The built-in machine guns, port and starboard of their nose cameras, instantly began chattering away. But, the phosphorescent "tracer" bullets seemed to have no effect on either dragon or rider. Other than making the latter lose what little temper she had left!
"Give 'em better than they give, Ropen!"
Whereupon, a large ribbon of flame streamed forth from the dragon's mouth. Inexorably making its way toward Romeo Foxtrot Leader.
"Bravo to Leader. Pull up! Pull up! PULL UP!"
Yet, the pilot of the first Tomcat either could not- -or would not- -comply. As a result, his plane was hit, head on, by the stream of flame. Which, in turn, heated the jet's fuel to the point of combustibility, almost instantly.
Neither the pilot nor the photographer's mate got to eject in time. And, the pilot of Romeo Foxtrot Bravo could only stare in open-mouthed shock, at the thunderous fireball that ensued, for the first five seconds. But, then, he regained his senses. Following which, he began evasive action. Twisting and turning his jet aircraft until he finally managed to wind up directly behind the Ropen!
"EAT HEAT-SEEKER, YOU BITCH!"
He fired the aforementioned missiles, one from each wing, with one click of a red button. And, it was now the turn of the duo they were speeding toward to try and evade. Something Glordelia and the Ropen managed to do for about two or three minutes. Ultimately, however, the Ropen simply did another one-eighty. . .and breathed a second stream of flame.
This one passed directly between the two missiles. And, being heat-seekers, they each slightly changed course. Consequently colliding with each other, and exploding in mid-air! And, the pilot of Romeo Foxtrot Bravo would have cursed even more colorfully, at that moment, than his late squadron leader would have, if not for one thing.
The cockpit canopy of his Tomcat was suddenly ripped off its hinges by Glordelia!
"This was fun, boys. But, play time's over. Give my regards to the sharks!"
Both the second pilot and the remaining photographer's mate screamed as she lifted them out of the cockpit (by the collars of their flightsuits), . . .and then dropped them over the side. Following which, the Ropen did one final one-eighty. So that he was close enough, to the ever-descending Tomcat, for Glory to use her short-range teleportation to reboard him.
"Now, where were we before that rude interruption? Oh, yeah. CALIFORNIA, HERE I COME!"
Twenty minutes afterward, a DVD of the strange-yet-tragic dogfight was brought to the commanding admiral of NAS Pearl Harbor. He watched the whole thing in grim silence. And, when the disc was removed from his digital video player, he muttered only four words.
"Get me the Initiative."
tbc
MINI-APPENDIX
Dr. John Silence: occult detective created by Algernon Blackwood, for a collection of short stories, circa 1908.
The Green Lama: American master of Tibetan Buddhist mysticism, who fought crime on both radio and in pulp magazines (before transferring to comic books) in the 1940's.