Usual disclaimers apply. Many thanks to Ceres Wunderkid, Ben Roshi, KaiserMonkey and everybody else for their praise and encouragement. All my love to Amber39, with apologies for abusing her characters slightly in this story- she'll know what I mean.
We completed the transition to this world, one we hadn't visited before, and I discovered that we were over Berlin, pretty much where we'd been before. But something was terribly, appallingly wrong.
I could see a huge copy of the Arc d'Triumphe, as big as a dozen buildings, straddling the city. There was a great dome, twice the size of any football stadium in the world, directly ahead of me. I glanced down at the novel on the copilot's seat, Fatherland by Robert Harris. I realised I was seeing the Berlin that it described; a Berlin that -in my world, at least- existed only in the mind and plans of Albert Speer, Hitler's pet architect.
"Holy mother of God," Mary breathed. She tried the radios, seeking commercial frequencies. As she worked, Will tugged at my sleeve. "Look," he told me. I saw that there was a parade, and somebody was burning a Star of David. I felt sick to the very pit of my stomach.
"The radio says something about... Final Solution Day," Mary half-whispered, her voice close to cracking with... what? Horror, fear, anger? Maybe all of them. Certainly all of those were filling my mind.
I closed my eyes, trying to make it all go away, and failed. Through the clouds of thought came a memory, pin-sharp and poignant. My grandfather, the number tattooed on his wrist and a terrible sadness in his eyes, telling me about what he'd seen. What had been done to him.
I felt millions of men, women and children speak to me through the ages, imploring me to seek justice.
And by God, seek it I would. I switched to full combat mode, yelled at the others to man battle stations... and woke up.
"Christ, what a nightmare," I said under my breath. Elaine mumbled something and went back to sleep. Where had my subconscious come up with all that lot? It had been years since I read anything by Robert Harris, and I haven't GOT a Jewish grandfather. Very, very odd.
Oh well, there was nothing to be gained by agonising over it. I carefully got out of bed, and went into the galley area for a coffee. I downed it quickly, and stood in the open doorway for a cigarette. I closed my eyes for a second... and another vision hit me.
I saw an aircraft carrier, with a couple of escort ships nearby. Suddenly a missile streaked in and blew a hole through one ship's hull. I faintly heard the scream of klaxons as the fleet sounded action stations.
"Red Leader, Blue Leader and Blue Two, immediate launch!" Two F22s lifted from the deck of the carrier. How was I hearing their radio chatter? A single Sea Typhoon followed, firing out of the catapault. I looked closely, and saw deck crew frantically trying to ready another Typhoon for launch. Six other Typhoons appeared over the horizon, and began... attacking the carrier!
//What the hell is happening?//
The Sea Typhoon opened fire first. "Red Leader fox two, fox two!" Lyra's voice, I realised with mild surprise. Then she was among them, opening fire with her cannons. The F22s weren't too far behind.
I can't really describe the next few minutes. It was a vicious close range dogfight, and Lyra truly outdid herself. Will -Blue Leader, I thought- was never far away. They were a fearsome fighting entity, acting and thinking as one. Nothing could come near either of them; if it tried, a missile or volley of gunfire forced it away. It was fascinating to watch, but I knew it couldn't last for too much longer.
When it came, it wasn't as nasty as it might have been. A lucky burst of fire from an enemy plane ripped through the Sea Typhoon's left engine, setting it on fire. The fighter was thrown into a flat spin, and half a second later the ejector seat fired.
"Base, this is Blue Leader. Red Leader is down, requesting recovery helo, over!"
"Negative, Red Leader. Too many bandits in the air at Red Leader's position. We'll try and get a boat in. Continue orbiting her position and provide air cover until it arrives, over."
"Roger. Wilco, over and out."
I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again I was still standing at the doorway. My cigarette was unchanged; I could only have been out for a fraction of a second. This was just TOO weird. Something was wrong, very wrong, and Will and Lyra were right in the thick of it. I went to the cockpit and switched on the radio. Instantly, the cockpit speakers came alive with loud, 'patriotic' music. //What in...?// The music gave way to a voice. "People of Great Britain! Your nation will soon become truly great once more! As I speak, sections of the military are wresting control of the country from those who seek to drag her down with immigrants, niggers and faggots! Britain for the British!" The voice mercifully shut up, and was replaced by the national anthem. I switched to the international distress frequency, and it got worse.
"Mayday, mayday! Can anybody hear me?" An Indian-accented voice. "There are soldiers outside my house, they're killing everybody in the street who isn't white, women and children and everybody! They're coming through the door... No, please, NO!" The voice ended in a scream, almost drowned out by shots.
"Oh, Jesus, this just can't be happening. It's just too insane to be true..."
Mary and Elaine were up, standing behind me. Mary crossed herself, for the first time in fifteen years. As rapidly as I could, I calmed myself. //You're a fighter pilot, Savage! Think like one. ACT like one! Get into the air, assess the situation, and then start blowing the shit out of the enemy!//
"Get suited up. Top and rear turrets only, we'll stay low and keep the belly guns out of the fight. I'm going to get a position fix on Will and Lyra's squadron; they'll be in the thick of all this. We've toppled a government before, and we can stop another one from being toppled. Let's do this!"
A few moments later, we were screaming out of the valley down the centre of a remote island off the Scottich coast. With several caves easily adaptable for storage of munitions, fuel and supplies, it had been a perfect replacement for the old windmill in Norfolk as a supply cache and home base. I kept us low, at a mere one hundred feet, and activated the forward and rear infared cameras. My radar was useless, with mush from seaspray and the surface of the water blinding it- hopefully everybody else's as well. The wide-angle lens gave me a reasonable picture of the sky around me, though Elaine would have to scan the sky with night-vision gear as well.
"Hello any callsign, hello any callsign. This is Alpha Bravo three zero one. Could anybody not currently supporting the fascist takeover come in, please?"
A familiar voice replied over the distress frequency. "This is Flight Lieutenant Elisabeth Silverton of 55 Squadron, Royal Navy. I'm down about three miles away in your one o'clock, and I have you in visual and can also see you, over." Despite myself, I laughed at this one. Lyra was still Lyra. She knew we had to act as if we didn't know each other, but still she used a joke I'd once made.
"Roger that. I think I can see you. Can you tell that fighter orbiting you not to shoot at me? I'm going to set down and pick you up. You'll have to give me a strobe, over."
"Strobing now!" The infared strobe, invisible without night vision goggles, pinpointed her position. I carefully set us down nearby, retracting the rear turret but warning Elaine to keep an eye out for incoming hostiles. Leaving both engines idling, I hastily got the door open.
"Over here!" Lyra frantically paddled the life raft towards the plane, as an aircraft screamed overhead. I heard the roar of its cannons, answered by Elaine in the turret.
"Come on! We're wide open!" I grabbed her by the collar and hauled her aboard unceremoniously. I didn't think of Pan until somewhat later, but he was inside her survival suit much as he usually did when flying with Aurora. "You okay?"
"Fine, just bruised. That's the first time I've ever ejected," she remarked. "What's happened to the rest of the squadron?"
"Ask me again when we're in the air. You up to manning the lower turret?"
HMS Cunningham was a wreck. The main hangar had taken a direct hit, and the whole ship was nearly ready to break apart. Flight Lieutenant 'Mark Ransom' winced as he overflew her. Jack McAllister, his wingman, sighed.
"What do we do now, skipper? Head for dry land?"
"Which part? We don't have a clue who's on our side or which airfields are safe, and we don't have enough fuel to make any European countries. Wait, wait..." He saw nothing else for it but to take an insane risk. "Can you see that aircraft that contacted us around here anywhere?"
"Yeah, it's in our four o'clock at about five miles and angels one thousand. You haven't really explained that yet, by the way."
"I was telling the truth, mostly. That website WAS created in response to all those daft stories about what Dr Malone and the rest of us allegedly got up to in an alternate dimension. My stepfather WAS taking the piss a bit. The only thing I didn't tell you was that every single word is absolutely true."
"well, it makes about s much sense as all the other crap that's happened to us in the last hour. Do we follow that aircraft?"
"Affirmative. Take up standard escort formation, and switch over to GUARD frequency." The two fighters moved alongside the bigger aircraft. Will's navigator, a relatively taciturn guy called Mitch, took a thoughtful swig from his water bottle.
"Is it just me, or are things getting very wierd?" he remarked.
"I can't realy answer that. I think my definition of wierd is a different than yours. I'll explain some time, but I really don't feel up to going into it right now."
"That's fine by me, Mark," said Mitch wearily, "absolutely fine."
"Do you two think you can land those things on top of our base island?" I asked them.
"I can probably manage it, but I don't know if the plane can," Will replied. I shook my head; the Harrier had been designed and operated with a view towards being used on improvised runways, but I'd be surprised if Lockheed Martin had bothered to even look into it. //Bloody Yanks!//
Well, we'd have to worry about that when we were on terra firma.
We completed the transition to this world, one we hadn't visited before, and I discovered that we were over Berlin, pretty much where we'd been before. But something was terribly, appallingly wrong.
I could see a huge copy of the Arc d'Triumphe, as big as a dozen buildings, straddling the city. There was a great dome, twice the size of any football stadium in the world, directly ahead of me. I glanced down at the novel on the copilot's seat, Fatherland by Robert Harris. I realised I was seeing the Berlin that it described; a Berlin that -in my world, at least- existed only in the mind and plans of Albert Speer, Hitler's pet architect.
"Holy mother of God," Mary breathed. She tried the radios, seeking commercial frequencies. As she worked, Will tugged at my sleeve. "Look," he told me. I saw that there was a parade, and somebody was burning a Star of David. I felt sick to the very pit of my stomach.
"The radio says something about... Final Solution Day," Mary half-whispered, her voice close to cracking with... what? Horror, fear, anger? Maybe all of them. Certainly all of those were filling my mind.
I closed my eyes, trying to make it all go away, and failed. Through the clouds of thought came a memory, pin-sharp and poignant. My grandfather, the number tattooed on his wrist and a terrible sadness in his eyes, telling me about what he'd seen. What had been done to him.
I felt millions of men, women and children speak to me through the ages, imploring me to seek justice.
And by God, seek it I would. I switched to full combat mode, yelled at the others to man battle stations... and woke up.
"Christ, what a nightmare," I said under my breath. Elaine mumbled something and went back to sleep. Where had my subconscious come up with all that lot? It had been years since I read anything by Robert Harris, and I haven't GOT a Jewish grandfather. Very, very odd.
Oh well, there was nothing to be gained by agonising over it. I carefully got out of bed, and went into the galley area for a coffee. I downed it quickly, and stood in the open doorway for a cigarette. I closed my eyes for a second... and another vision hit me.
I saw an aircraft carrier, with a couple of escort ships nearby. Suddenly a missile streaked in and blew a hole through one ship's hull. I faintly heard the scream of klaxons as the fleet sounded action stations.
"Red Leader, Blue Leader and Blue Two, immediate launch!" Two F22s lifted from the deck of the carrier. How was I hearing their radio chatter? A single Sea Typhoon followed, firing out of the catapault. I looked closely, and saw deck crew frantically trying to ready another Typhoon for launch. Six other Typhoons appeared over the horizon, and began... attacking the carrier!
//What the hell is happening?//
The Sea Typhoon opened fire first. "Red Leader fox two, fox two!" Lyra's voice, I realised with mild surprise. Then she was among them, opening fire with her cannons. The F22s weren't too far behind.
I can't really describe the next few minutes. It was a vicious close range dogfight, and Lyra truly outdid herself. Will -Blue Leader, I thought- was never far away. They were a fearsome fighting entity, acting and thinking as one. Nothing could come near either of them; if it tried, a missile or volley of gunfire forced it away. It was fascinating to watch, but I knew it couldn't last for too much longer.
When it came, it wasn't as nasty as it might have been. A lucky burst of fire from an enemy plane ripped through the Sea Typhoon's left engine, setting it on fire. The fighter was thrown into a flat spin, and half a second later the ejector seat fired.
"Base, this is Blue Leader. Red Leader is down, requesting recovery helo, over!"
"Negative, Red Leader. Too many bandits in the air at Red Leader's position. We'll try and get a boat in. Continue orbiting her position and provide air cover until it arrives, over."
"Roger. Wilco, over and out."
I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again I was still standing at the doorway. My cigarette was unchanged; I could only have been out for a fraction of a second. This was just TOO weird. Something was wrong, very wrong, and Will and Lyra were right in the thick of it. I went to the cockpit and switched on the radio. Instantly, the cockpit speakers came alive with loud, 'patriotic' music. //What in...?// The music gave way to a voice. "People of Great Britain! Your nation will soon become truly great once more! As I speak, sections of the military are wresting control of the country from those who seek to drag her down with immigrants, niggers and faggots! Britain for the British!" The voice mercifully shut up, and was replaced by the national anthem. I switched to the international distress frequency, and it got worse.
"Mayday, mayday! Can anybody hear me?" An Indian-accented voice. "There are soldiers outside my house, they're killing everybody in the street who isn't white, women and children and everybody! They're coming through the door... No, please, NO!" The voice ended in a scream, almost drowned out by shots.
"Oh, Jesus, this just can't be happening. It's just too insane to be true..."
Mary and Elaine were up, standing behind me. Mary crossed herself, for the first time in fifteen years. As rapidly as I could, I calmed myself. //You're a fighter pilot, Savage! Think like one. ACT like one! Get into the air, assess the situation, and then start blowing the shit out of the enemy!//
"Get suited up. Top and rear turrets only, we'll stay low and keep the belly guns out of the fight. I'm going to get a position fix on Will and Lyra's squadron; they'll be in the thick of all this. We've toppled a government before, and we can stop another one from being toppled. Let's do this!"
A few moments later, we were screaming out of the valley down the centre of a remote island off the Scottich coast. With several caves easily adaptable for storage of munitions, fuel and supplies, it had been a perfect replacement for the old windmill in Norfolk as a supply cache and home base. I kept us low, at a mere one hundred feet, and activated the forward and rear infared cameras. My radar was useless, with mush from seaspray and the surface of the water blinding it- hopefully everybody else's as well. The wide-angle lens gave me a reasonable picture of the sky around me, though Elaine would have to scan the sky with night-vision gear as well.
"Hello any callsign, hello any callsign. This is Alpha Bravo three zero one. Could anybody not currently supporting the fascist takeover come in, please?"
A familiar voice replied over the distress frequency. "This is Flight Lieutenant Elisabeth Silverton of 55 Squadron, Royal Navy. I'm down about three miles away in your one o'clock, and I have you in visual and can also see you, over." Despite myself, I laughed at this one. Lyra was still Lyra. She knew we had to act as if we didn't know each other, but still she used a joke I'd once made.
"Roger that. I think I can see you. Can you tell that fighter orbiting you not to shoot at me? I'm going to set down and pick you up. You'll have to give me a strobe, over."
"Strobing now!" The infared strobe, invisible without night vision goggles, pinpointed her position. I carefully set us down nearby, retracting the rear turret but warning Elaine to keep an eye out for incoming hostiles. Leaving both engines idling, I hastily got the door open.
"Over here!" Lyra frantically paddled the life raft towards the plane, as an aircraft screamed overhead. I heard the roar of its cannons, answered by Elaine in the turret.
"Come on! We're wide open!" I grabbed her by the collar and hauled her aboard unceremoniously. I didn't think of Pan until somewhat later, but he was inside her survival suit much as he usually did when flying with Aurora. "You okay?"
"Fine, just bruised. That's the first time I've ever ejected," she remarked. "What's happened to the rest of the squadron?"
"Ask me again when we're in the air. You up to manning the lower turret?"
HMS Cunningham was a wreck. The main hangar had taken a direct hit, and the whole ship was nearly ready to break apart. Flight Lieutenant 'Mark Ransom' winced as he overflew her. Jack McAllister, his wingman, sighed.
"What do we do now, skipper? Head for dry land?"
"Which part? We don't have a clue who's on our side or which airfields are safe, and we don't have enough fuel to make any European countries. Wait, wait..." He saw nothing else for it but to take an insane risk. "Can you see that aircraft that contacted us around here anywhere?"
"Yeah, it's in our four o'clock at about five miles and angels one thousand. You haven't really explained that yet, by the way."
"I was telling the truth, mostly. That website WAS created in response to all those daft stories about what Dr Malone and the rest of us allegedly got up to in an alternate dimension. My stepfather WAS taking the piss a bit. The only thing I didn't tell you was that every single word is absolutely true."
"well, it makes about s much sense as all the other crap that's happened to us in the last hour. Do we follow that aircraft?"
"Affirmative. Take up standard escort formation, and switch over to GUARD frequency." The two fighters moved alongside the bigger aircraft. Will's navigator, a relatively taciturn guy called Mitch, took a thoughtful swig from his water bottle.
"Is it just me, or are things getting very wierd?" he remarked.
"I can't realy answer that. I think my definition of wierd is a different than yours. I'll explain some time, but I really don't feel up to going into it right now."
"That's fine by me, Mark," said Mitch wearily, "absolutely fine."
"Do you two think you can land those things on top of our base island?" I asked them.
"I can probably manage it, but I don't know if the plane can," Will replied. I shook my head; the Harrier had been designed and operated with a view towards being used on improvised runways, but I'd be surprised if Lockheed Martin had bothered to even look into it. //Bloody Yanks!//
Well, we'd have to worry about that when we were on terra firma.