Thanks to Ridersofrowan, theDeathlyRider2287, and OechsnerC for their reviews and input.
=O=
Chapter 35: Found
"That must have been… pretty rough." Hiccup nodded slightly as Astrid finished her story.
Astrid nodded. "I had it better than half the country, I guess. But…" She closed her eyes, and Hiccup looked uncomfortably away.
The hardened shelter had gone quiet with the dusk, as men and women exhausted from nearly a whole day frantically cleaning up the aftermath of the Indian nuclear attack slackened their pace. Hiccup and Astrid had spent all day decontaminating cockpits and checking Delta Darts for damage, even as other squadron-mates hurriedly took to the air, on the lookout for follow-on attacks, and as Berk emptied, working Delta Darts sent elsewhere.
No birds were yet available for them, and the squadron CO had wanted Astrid properly rested after the accidental shooting.
Astrid's aim had been off – the carbine had been pretty rusty, and, after inspecting the weapon in daylight, Astrid was surprised she had managed to hit anything at all. It had still been enough to nearly kill the poor maintainer from Shanghai, who, by all reports, had nearly bled to death from a bullet wound to her thigh – just one of the dozen friendly fire incidents compounding the thousands of casualties from the Indian nuclear strike.
The board of inquiry would have to wait. The war continued, even as the press breathlessly reported the progress of frantic negotiations between Portland, Moscow, and New Delhi. Hiccup hoped that the negotiations would amount to something, but he trusted the scuttlebutt more than the radio, and the scuttlebutt wasn't good. It wasn't good at all.
"It was hard, Astrid. It would have been hard on anyone." Hiccup patted her gently on her shoulders even as she lay against the wall, her hair slightly wet from the last decontamination shower.
Astrid sighed. "I thought… I thought that I learned something from all the sacrifice. I thought that… at least… it made me a stronger person. A better person. That I, by being the best me that I could be, could make Kirk's death… worth something."
Hiccup inhaled sharply. "Well… at least you saved Kara and… uhh…"
"Eric." Astrid bit her lip. "But it didn't work, didn't it? I just went straight through to the other side and got myself wound-up and kill-happy."
Hiccup knew the stories. Sometimes, veteran fighter pilots, overeager for another red star on their jets, put themselves and their wingmen at undue risk trying to score more kills – often getting people killed in the process. Heck, he'd thought Snotlout would've gone kill-hungry long before Astrid, but Astrid, apparently, thought different.
"And I practically stole a rifle from a guardpost and shot a random girl with it, because I thought I was in a fight!" Astrid fumed at her idiocy.
"Well, it was a confusing situation. It's not like we've ever been nuked before. And she isn't dead. They'll probably let you off easy." Hiccup stood up, and rifled through a drawer for a candy bar. He frowned. "Why didn't you stay put and wait for instructions like we're told to?"
Astrid racked her memory of the mess. "I… was trying to get to you. I… needed to know you were safe, and I wanted to keep you safe. And… I wanted to tell you that…" She trailed off.
Hiccup passed her a candy bar, even as his heart raced. "I'm… flattered." He paused. "So… I guess that's how you learned to shoot too, huh."
Astrid smiled. "You don't need to change the subject, Hiccup. Tunnel vision is what got me into this mess." She leaned closer to Hiccup, and rested her head on his shoulders.
Hiccup leaned back on hers, enjoying the sensation of wet hair on his skin and the smell of the decontamination foam.
They watched the sun set through the open shelter door, and basked in the soft sunlight of dusk.
No words needed to be said. Hiccup's mind wandered even as he tried his best to savor the moment, to live every second as if it were his last, to ignore the little part of him listening intently for the blare of the klaxon, for the call to arms, for orders to charge once more unto the breach, for the .
One day. One day to talk, to laugh, to love. One day of clipped conversations and brief hugs, seconds and minutes stolen from the immense Pacifican nuclear war machine, in high gear, working them to the bone as it sought to get Berk's surviving squadrons back on the line before the last bit of radioactive rubble was swept from the last operational runway. One day, when he wanted a lifetime.
They'd all taken pretty heavy radiation doses – they'd probably feel under the weather in half a month or so, as their bone marrow failed temporarily to keep up blood cell production - but nothing life-threatening. As long as they didn't pick up more rads, they'd probably be more-or-less fine, at most with a few percentage-points higher risk of cancer.
Given that even without radiation exposure, between a quarter and a third of the population was expected to develop cancer anyway – if they lived long enough - Hiccup didn't think too much of it. That, he opined, was a problem for the public health people.
If they had swallowed radioactive dust, of course, they could die from a local cancer in somewhat less time. But that was what the masks had been for. (Inhaled radioactive dust, apparently, often gets trapped in mucous membranes and coughed or sneezed out… or swallowed)
His eyes flicked to the Geiger counter – one more sweep just to be sure? – and back to the girl on his shoulder.
In his mind's eye, a badly burned radiation casualty, moaning on a contaminated floor, lost control of his bowels once more.
So much of this could have been avoided with better precision-guided weapons. If only…
"Hiccup… what are you thinking about?" Astrid whispered.
Hiccup scratched his chin. "Astrid… I have a confession to make. You know… full disclosure before you… commit to your decision."
Astrid rolled her eyes. "Out with it. Drama queen." She muttered under her breath.
"I… didn't leave the Development and Test Center because I wanted a change of scenery." He inhaled sharply. "I was fired. Well, technically, I resigned, but it was under circumstances of professional and personal failure."
Astrid didn't say anything, and Hiccup's breathing grew rapid.
"So… I'm not a crackerjack engineer looking for a little more excitement in his life. I'm a failed weaponeer who decided to try his hand at another job."
He turned shamefully towards Astrid. Astrid was… smiling?
"Yeah, I kinda gathered that much from your service record, Hiccup. I can read between the lines, you know."
Hiccup sighed. "It's just that… I sometimes wonder. If I'd managed to stay on at the test center… whether I might have made a difference. Whether we might've had the weapons ready in time for this war."
Astrid laughed. "Hiccup, wondering what might have been… isn't going to change anything." She thought of Kara, and of Kirk's lifeless body lying in a tarmacadamized street. "Learn from what could have been. But focus on what can be. What you can do. What you want to do. What you're doing now."
"It's just… I wanted to make a difference, you know?" Hiccup said. "Now… I'm just another cog in the body of a massive machine, instead of a cog in the head."
Astrid pulled him close. "Hey. You've saved lives. You've flown missions. You've made your difference. Systems win wars."
She kissed him on the lips. "And you're my little cog. You make a difference for me."
Hiccup turned beet red. "Thanks, Astrid."
"Eh, one extra engineer in a team of eggheads wouldn't have pulled the schedule forward three months anyway. Better you're stuck here with me." Astrid nudged him playfully on the shoulder.
"Well, now I guess we're even…" Hiccup stopped midsentence, and his eyes went wide. He rose to his feet.
"Hiccup?" Astrid followed his gaze to the shelter doorway, where a bearded Air Force general was talking to a gaggle of officers.
=O=
Stoick Haddock emerged from the boxy cargo bay of the C-142 Vertitruck, a scowl planted firmly on his face – not that anyone could see it behind the mask of his NBC suit.
The smoldering, radioactive remains of dozens of bombers littered the apron. Radioactive wreckage – far too 'hot' to remove economically – clogged up taxiways between blackened revetments. One taxiway had been completely obliterated by a huge crater where it had been struck by a five-kiloton bomb.
Another huge crater, nearly a hundred meters across, lay astride the South Runway, its radioactive lip just touching the cracked, flaked superhardened concrete.
He frowned. A smarter weaponeer would have dropped an airburst over the apron to maximize blast damage to aircraft, and saved the groundbursts for the runways. Had the Indians wished to maximize radiological contamination? Had their fuses been jammed? Or had the flight planner just wanted to maximize flexibility in the strike force? Fusing options could not always be changed in-flight.
Flying low amongst the Himalayas to avoid radar, five Indian twin-engine bombers had penetrated five hundred kilometers into heavily-defended Joint Government airspace, completely undetected and unopposed until minutes before weapons release. Two had been shot down by nuclear-tipped air-to-air missiles before they could drop their bombs, and one jet had missed the airfield by a mile - not unheard of when flying low, at night, across unforgiving terrain, while being shot at – but the outcome had still been an utter disaster for Aerospace Defense Command.
Stoick had counted on ADC's Delta Dart force to defend his airbases from the Indian Air Force, leaving his forces to frolic freely in enemy airspace without worrying about their bases. So far, this assumption had been sound. But under nuclear conditions, where a single penetrating bomber could wreak immense destruction on an airbase – well, it was clear that ADC just could not provide airtight protection, even against obsolescent aircraft.
A gaggle of officers awaited him on the tarmac. Stoick glared at each one of them, but saved his worst for the local Air Defense Command general. Heads would roll for this.
He shuddered as he passed rows and rows of wounded in the treatment center, resisting the urge to vomit into his suit. Piles of medical equipment – cleaning brushes, bandages, tourniquets - lay discarded in special metal bins, all contaminated with radioactive dust, all slightly hot.
His own headquarters was completely reliant on ADC interceptor coverage for its air defense. After this debacle, he was seriously considering diverting short-range SAM batteries from forward troops to provide an additional defense against low-altitude aircraft.
"General… I want a full report on the circumstances of the Indian attack, and a thorough review of this debacle." Stoick growled.
"Intercepting low-flying enemy aircraft in the Himalayas… is challenging in the best of times." The ADC commander stuttered. "Without Blackbirds, and with inadequate AWACS coverage…"
"This was a known contingency!" Stoick roared. "You knew the Indians had light bombers, you knew Berk was in range, and you knew intercepting them would be essential once we started dropping nukes! From initial reports, it seems clear to me that you did not properly prepare for this. You did not make a clear case for requesting additional forces, nor did you redeploy aircraft for a deeper or closer defense."
The Army Air Defense man swallowed as Stoick turned his gaze to him.
As a critical strategic target, Berk had been slavishly defended by overlapping batteries of Nike-Zeus nuclear SAMs. A generation ahead of the cheaper Nike-Hercules missiles that covered Stoick's forward troops, the Nike-Zeus was far more effective against ballistic missiles and maneuverable supersonic aircraft than the older missiles, which only had only a limited capability against such threats.
Berk had certainly been a far harder target than his own headquarters. Out of range of Scud tactical ballistic missiles and irrelevant in a strategic nuclear war where longer-ranged strategic weapons would come into play, he had not allocated his headquarters even a single Nike-Hercules battery.
The Army had nonetheless failed to shoot down even a single bomber.
Stoick had every intention of giving the man a piece of his mind. Stoick had received barely enough Nike-Hercules missiles to cover his forward troops, and the man had failed at his job even when he had two Nike-Zeus batteries at his disposal…
Stoick sighed. It wasn't his fault. The Indian Canberra bombers, Pacifican-made lend-lease leftovers from WWII, had mostly flown beneath long-range SAM coverage – and most probably medium-range SAM coverage too, had it been present.
Stoick sighed, and turned to the TAC representative. She duly reported their losses, and finished by stating what aircraft she had left.
Stoick boarded a pickup truck with the other officers, examining once more the revetments, the hardened shelters, defense outposts, and munitions stockpiles of the sprawling airbase.
Thanks to ADC's failure, over a hundred large aircraft – tankers, bombers, and two irreplaceable RC-135 reconnaissance aircraft – had been put out of action. The troops on the ground would feel those losses, with less air support, more, better-supplied enemy troops arriving at the battlefield, and higher casualties.
He completed his inspection of the base, and stopped in front of a hardened shelter, its massive sloping concrete door open. A nozzle showered him with foam as Heather walked up to him. "Hey, boss!"
"Heather? How are things holding up here?" Stoick doffed his hood and mask.
"Pretty well, actually. Everyone's doing a pretty good job on the post-strike cleanup – certainly better than we expected. But then again, this was a pretty weak retaliation. Face-saving, even."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The latest news from Portland is that negotiations seem to be going ahead."
Stoick nodded. "That's excellent news, Heather."
Heather shook her head. "No. The latest assessments indicate that the Indians have gained control over virtually all nuclear weapons in India – we're reassessing how much control Moscow has over its puppet as we speak. And the picture in New Delhi hasn't improved – if anything, the national mood appears to be that the Soviet retaliation was inadequate. We're expecting the war to escalate."
Stoick nodded. "Damnit. And things seemed to be going so well, too."
"General Bludvist, on his own initiative, is readying his forces for what he believes will be orders for follow-on nuclear airstrikes." Heather added. "I suggest you posture your tactical air forces for extended nuclear operations."
Stoick nodded. "Better safe than sorry."
His suit doffed, Stoick gave the decontamination station a once-over, nodded at the foam team, and turned back to the gathered officers.
"I'm sure you're all eager to return to your units. There's always too much to do and not enough time. And I'm sure you're all wondering whether you will be ready for what's coming – doubly so given the attack last night." He paused, eyeing the smoking wreckage in the corner. "We're facing a very different kind of war – a kind of war never before waged in history. We cannot know whether we are ready or not."
"So we do our best, and based on precedent, plan to be ready enough. You may not have enough time left to correct all the problems that have emerged since the last attack." He glanced at the Air Defense commanders, Army and Air Force.
"But we will do our best. And between preparations past and present, I am certain we are ready enough."
"Are there any questions?"
For a moment, Stoick turned away from the base commanders and towards the hangar door.
=O=
"Dad?"
Heather hadn't recognized him.
The Hiccup H. Haddock III in the file had been a slim, clean-shaven fishbone of a man who looked like he had been stuffed into an oversized Air-Force-blue suit – even when the suit had actually fit perfectly.
The pilot walking towards the General had grown a tiny bit of stubble, and seemed to fill out his fresh baggy olive-green NBC suit perfectly. He looked confused – but the confusion seemed not to mar his stride, as if he was walking towards a problem he knew how to solve.
Shit.
Heather strode towards Hiccup Haddock – yes, that was definitely him – and stepped purposefully before him. "Sir, I'm going to have to see some identification."
Hiccup scratched his head. "Well, I'm Captain Hiccup Haddock, pilot, JGAF. Uh… my card's in my wallet, which I don't have on me right now, but…"
A tall woman, her blonde hair woven tightly into a tight braid, stepped forward. "He's with me. Why are you asking for identification? Big Pete's crew is over there, and they sure as heck don't have their cards on them."
Heather sighed. "Look, I work for your father, okay." Hiccup's eyes went wide, and Astrid's went wider. "As you should know, General Haddock is very busy right now. He doesn't need any distractions."
Hiccup's jaw dropped. "Dad was in Heilongjiang just last year! What the heck is he doing here?"
Heather cocked her head. "Your father's been in charge of South Asian Command for months. He's running this whole show. Are you two serious?"
The woman took a glance at Heather's insignia-less uniform, and poked a finger in her chest. "We're Air Defense Command. Other than exercises, we've been part of SASCOM all of three weeks, and we've been pulling overtime throughout. But you knew that, didn't you?"
Heather blanched. "Heck no! I wouldn't have let Stoick anywhere near this hangar if I… oh, crap." Heather facepalmed as she realized the import of her words.
Hiccup's face fell. "Astrid, I think… if Dad's been running this war just fine without me… it might be better if we just stay out of the way until this blows over."
Astrid stared Heather down, and folded her arms. "Hiccup, he's your father. Talk to him."
Hiccup seemed to waver.
"You may not get another chance. Trust me." Astrid said.
Hiccup walked towards his father.
Heather sighed. "You know, if this blows up in all our faces, this is all on you."
Astrid's face remained impassive, but Heather watched the woman's eyes flicker as she ran through the scenarios, considered the stakes, pondered the outcomes… and evaluated the costs of a distraught commander and a distracted backseater, both to herself and the nation as a whole.
Astrid nodded. "I believe in him. And I believe in family."
Heather grimaced. "Hope is not a plan."
"I know." Astrid chipped. "That's why I have a plan."
=O=
Hiccup pushed through the small knoll of technicians just as his father finished speaking.
His father turned around, and for the first time in nearly a decade, Hiccup met his gaze.
The last time he had seen his father had been in college. Stoick had finally caught up to him, and a remark about how he had found a college too far away from home had degenerated into a shouting match over how Stoick had never shown mom the respect she craved, how Hiccup had never truly appreciated the sacrifices the entire family had made for the sake of the nation while packed away in his cozy boarding school, how Stoick had left him to fend for himself and never appreciated anyone else, and how Hiccup had been spoilt rotten…
Stoick's expression was unreadable, and he gently looked away.
Hiccup's first instinct was to run to him. To give him a hug, and then yell at him for… for… driving mom away? Destroying their family? What, this time?
But Dad was in the middle of something. He took a deep breath, and stood back to collect his thoughts as Dad answered anxious questions from Hiccup's superiors. Questions about targets. Questions about nuclear weapons release against ground targets. Questions about the soundness of the Administration's strategy, its plan for when things invariably went off-script.
A supersonic bomber roared off the runway, bristling with bomb racks clustered around a comically oversized centerline fuel tank.
His father had a lot on his mind. Hiccup had to get this right.
The questions ceased, and Stoick, leaving the officers behind, walked past the big, sloping concrete door – but in a direction away from Hiccup.
Hiccup walked up to his father, anxious to see his face. "Dad?"
"Son." His father shifted uncomfortably, apparently as lost as he was. "I uhh… thought you were at Nellis."
Hiccup nodded. "They accelerated the program. I got through."
Stoick nodded stiffly, and swallowed. "So… you'll be flying into India, then."
Hiccup frowned. Did he really think his own son couldn't do what everyone else could? "It's all I've been doing for the last two weeks, Dad."
"Son, I was a rookie once, too. Please, just stick to the book, remember your training, and don't do anything stupid."
"Dad, I can do my job." Hiccup tensed.
"Don't argue with me, son. Rookies rushed through training just like you had the highest sortie loss rates back during…"
His father's aide grimaced at the exchange.
Astrid stepped forward, and interspersed herself between the squabbling Haddocks. "Hiccup, you two… are family. Your dad loves you very much, and wants to see you come home in one piece."
She turned to the General. "Sir. Captain Astrid Hofferson, 74th FS." Astrid extended her hand. "Flew MiGCAP in Impending Doom II, Siberia."
Stoick snorted. "I cannot say that ADC's squadrons gave a particularly good account of themselves in that war, Captain. Nor has ADC's performance here impressed me thus far."
Keeping her face impassive, Astrid continued. "Understood, sir." She paused. "I'm your son's frontseater. While we can both agree that he can be… difficult… at times, he has proven extremely proficient in his duties, and he… has my complete confidence. You have every right to be proud of him."
Astrid was staring at him. Hiccup gave a weak smile.
"While there are no guarantees in our line of work, especially with the current… situation… your son… is in good hands." Astrid turned back to Stoick.
Stoick nodded. Hiccup nodded back.
Astrid gave the Haddocks a pat on their shoulders. "You're family. Enjoy the time you have together. You might not get another chance." She guided Hiccup forward, and the Haddocks wrapped each other in a bear hug.
"Son… it's been too long…"
"I know, Dad. I know. I'll be fine. If we both do our jobs, we'll pull through."
Stoick squeezed him tighter, and whispered into his ear. "They're escalating, son. They're escalating."
Hiccup nodded gently.
Heather sighed with relief as Astrid approached her. "See? Plan."
After what seemed like forever, Hiccup broke the hug. "I… have some more birds to check."
Stoick straightened out his tie. "And… I have to get back to headquarters."
"I'll ride herd on him, sir, don't you worry." Astrid pipped.
Stoick nodded as Heather ushered him away. "Aye."
Hiccup waved. "Bye, dad!"
Stoick waved back, and disappeared behind a crowd of maintainers.
"See? What did I say? Talking is the way to go!" Gobber chuckled as he emerged from the shadows. "Now back to work. That's a break for the ages, if I do say so myself…"
=O=
The radio in the ready room blared as the late-night newsman at the microphone continued to service millions of sleepless listeners, glued to their sets for news about the war.
The TV beeped a banal tone, a checkerboard pattern gracing its curved screen. Unlike the radio, very few TV stations had programming on at this late – well, early - hour.
"We have just received word that a Soviet diplomatic car has been seen leaving the building where frantic negotiations have been ongoing since last night. This may herald a change in the crisis. I repeat, we have just received word that…" The newsman paused. "Unofficial reports from the scene suggest that talks have broken down. I repeat, after sixteen hours, negotiations to end the nuclear war have broken down."
The radio blared to an empty room. Half-finished games of cards, checkers, and chess, half-finished meals and drinks, and half-finished final letters to home littered the tables.
The roar of a turbojet echoed across the room.
The men and women who had inhabited the room were long gone.
=O=
Author's note: As promised, a lighter, bittersweet chapter. Off to nuclear war we go...