JULY 3
Air Force One, 30,000 feet above Southern Illinois
"Where's the President?" asked Shepard as he peeked his head into the President's office, though saw only Constance.
"He's overseeing the counterattack," said Constance.
Shepard sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head, "He's still thinking like a fighter pilot."
"What do you mean?"
Shepard came in and took a seat opposite Constance, "Connie, how big are the City Destroyers?"
"Fifteen miles … twenty-four kilometers … across. A kilometer tall at the edge, and four in the center," said Constance, remembering from her briefing earlier.
"So, larger than any target we've ever sent fighters against before, right? I mean, you don't send fighters to take out an aircraft carrier, you use cruisers and submarines, right? You don't send fighters to attack a city, you use bombers and cruise missiles. What good is a missile designed to destroy airplanes against something two orders of magnitude larger? It'll be like shooting an aircraft carrier with a hunting rifle. Sure, you'll hit it, but what good is it going to do?"
"Oh my god," said Constance softly.
"And I ask you, what sort of defense do we use on our own ships?" asked Shepard.
"Guns and missiles."
"And fighters," added Shepard. "I can't guarantee that the aliens will have fighters, guns, or missiles, but it stands to reason that a City Destroyer would have more than just their main weapon. Even the Death Star had TIE fighters and Turbolaser batteries. What happens if they decide that whatever fighters the President is sending are a nuisance, despite how little damage they'll cause?"
Constance stood, and then rushed to the front of Air Force One, to get to the upper level where the President and General Grey were overseeing the counter-attack.
A few minutes later Constance led both men back to Shepard.
"What's this you're saying about the counter attack being a bad idea?" asked General Grey.
"General, would you use a fighter to attack an aircraft carrier or battleship?" asked Shepard.
"No, we'd use Cruisers and Submarines to destroy it from range, either with missiles or torpedoes," said Grey.
"And would you use fighters to attack a city?" asked Shepard.
"No, we'd use bombers or cruise missiles," said Grey.
Whitmore practically fell into the seat, head in his hands, "I've been thinking like a fighter pilot."
Shepard nodded, "I'm sorry to say, but you have." He turned back to General Grey, "General, I know you're a Marine, but does the Navy have any ships in range, either surface or subsurface, that can lob a few cruise missiles at the City Destroyers? Nothing nuclear, obviously, since they're still over US soil, but something."
Just then Secretary Nimzicki showed up, "And who are you, exactly, to be giving this advice? I've had the NSA look you up, and before nineteen eighty three you didn't exist."
"What do you mean by that?" asked General Grey, turning on the Secretary of Defense.
"Just that, prior to May of Eighty-Three there were no records of him existing, and even that is a circumstantial reference to a 'Tiberius' from the grandfather of the woman who claims to be his sister, though at least with her the records are more substantial earlier. The first concrete references to a 'James Tiberius Shepard' didn't pop up until Eighty-Seven, and that was when first bastard was born. Officially he's the son of John Shepard and Jane Shepard née Skrobanek, born February Fifteenth, Fifty-Two in Riverside, Iowa, though, again, neither John or Jane existed in any records until the mid-eighties. All of our records show that he's real, but if you go back to the original records, the microfiche at the Washington County Courthouse in Iowa, they don't exist. He's fictional, made up," said Nimzicki. He then placed both hands on the table and stared at Shepard, "Who are you, and why shouldn't I have the Secret Service arrest you right here?"
This was a complication Shepard hadn't expected, but then, he'd done what he could to establish himself in Britain, not America. Plus, he had hoped more of the National Intelligence apparatus would have been destroyed in Washington.
"You also don't have any records with the Department of Magic," added Nimzicki. "According to them you're not a wizard, which is how you get that wand of yours into the White House."
A pair of secret service agents stepped into the office. One of them spoke up, "Mr. Shepard, if you'll calmly stand, I need to confiscate any weapons, wands, or other dangerous items on your person."
Shepard sighed and then stood, "You know, there's a perfectly rational explanation for all this." He put his hands up, palms forward and fingers splayed, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. He knew they couldn't hurt him, but he needed to be trusted by the President, something that was quickly becoming impossible without intervention.
As the two Secret Service agents began to search Shepard, Nimzicki, a note of pride in his voice, asked, "And what, pray tell, is your so-called 'perfectly rational explanation'?"
"I'm a time traveller," said Shepard with a straight face.
"So, you're crazy too?" asked Nimzicki.
"Magic and aliens are real, but you question the existence of time travel?" asked Shepard.
"Let him speak," said Whitmore. "Though, General Grey, postpone the counter-attack until I return."
General Grey saluted, "Sir." He then left, leaving Constance, Whitmore, Nimzicki, Shepard, and the two Secret Service Agents in the office.
"So, time travel? I suppose you knew about all this then?" asked Whitmore.
"Sort of," said Shepard. "You see, it wasn't just time travel. I'm from a parallel dimension, different from this one in several key ways, one of which is this alien invasion."
"But you seemed rather prepared," said Nimzicki. "I'd almost believe you were an advance agent of the aliens."
"No, I have no love for the aliens," said Shepard, as the Secret Service agent pulled off his jacket to more closely examine the expanded pockets. They'd already created a small pile of wands, guns, plastic potion vials, and shrunken vehicles. "I do, though, have some shorter duration time travel devices. I'd tell you more, but it's a secret."
"Now is not the time for keeping secrets, Mr. Shepard," said the President.
"No, it's a secret, a magical secret," said Shepard.
"A Fidelious?" asked the Secret Service agent, who had decided to cut his losses and just took the jacket from Shepard, and was now thinking of doing the same with the pants.
"A wizard Secret Service agent, smart move Nimzicki. I don't care what all the talking heads say about you, you're a pretty smart man," said Shepard.
"What's a 'fidelious'?" asked the President.
"A magically protected secret, sir. Once cast it prevents anyone but the Keeper of the secret from telling anyone about the secret Kept. It is commonly used to protect locations and people, though more specific secrets, like the nature of Mr. Shepard's time travel device, can also be Kept," explained the agent.
"That's a good summary, though I usually keep my secrets at least two layers deep, with identity of the Keeper Kept by myself. Makes it so even my secret Keeper doesn't know they have the secret," said Shepard. "Should have used it on my history, now that I think about it. But then, nobody's perfect, though I do try."
"So, you're a time traveller from a different, parallel, timeline. That's why you don't exist prior to your efforts in the mid-eighties," said the President.
"Or so he claims," said Nimzicki.
"Mr. Secretary, I have no reason to lie to you about this. Here I'll tell you even more. I was born in Eighty-Four, not Fifty-Two, and I was twenty-nine when I arrived in this timeline, hence the year slip," said Shepard.
"Twenty Thirteen?" asked Constance, speaking up for the first time since the revelations began.
"Yes," said Shepard, who was stepping out of his pants as instructed by the Secret Service wizard. "Sorry about this, unfortunately, my other clothes are in my jacket, and that's been confiscated," said Shepard, as she stood in the President's office on Air Force One in just his undershirt, boxers, and socks.
"I'm sure we can arrange something," said Whitmore.
"You trust him?" asked Nimzicki.
"He's been trustworthy so far, and his insights will likely save the lives of hundreds of good pilots," said Whitmore, who stood. "Mr. Nimzicki, examine Mr. Shepard's clothes, and return anything not dangerous to him as soon as possible. He's my guest for duration of the emergency. Then, he's all yours. Until then, I've got to switch our counter-attack plans."
"Cruise missiles, Mr. President. If they weren't four kilometers tall, I'd say drop some Arc Light on them," said Shepard. "Whatever you do, don't attack them with fighters. They'll be like gnats, annoying but ultimately insignificant."
"Thank you for your advice, Mr. Shepard," said Whitmore, before leaving the office and heading back to the command center and General Gray.
"I don't trust you Shepard," said Nimzicki.
"I lied to you, that's understandable," said Shepard, still confidently standing in his underwear. "I would rather live on a planet ruled by humans than aliens, though, you can trust in that. Until we know how dangerous these aliens are, though, I urge caution."
"I don't need advice from the likes of you," spat Nimzicki.
"Mr. Secretary, if it hadn't have been for me, you'd likely have died in the attack on Washington. I saved you life," said Shepard. "I saved the lives of everyone on this plane, and this is the thanks I get?" he asked, gesturing at his barely clad body.
"You lied to me, to the Government of the United States, and to the President. Just because you told some story now doesn't mean that's the truth."
"It doesn't have to be the truth," said Shepard. "It's a good enough explanation until this is all over. If we win, you get to figure me out, if we lose, the aliens will likely have killed both of us."