"What's that?" Reaper nine said. Bronco became aware of a bright flash off to his right, and he looked.
"oh shit!" was all Bronco could say, he could see one missile already two high for him to hit, he was out of missiles. But he was a pilot and he was trained to take action when danger was near. He wasn't the type to sit out armaggedon anyway.
He had a hundred rounds in his cannon left, enough for maybe a two second burst. Would a 20mm Vulcan even penetrate the outer plating of the missile? He'd find out soon enough.
"I'm on the second missile!" he said and hauled the stick right to bring the target pip onto the rising cylinder and cone. He was out of range, he kicked in his afterburners and hauled the stick upward climbing above the clouds and punching through mach one. At two klicks, he was in gun range. His HUD screeched a good lock and his finger tightened the trigger.
"Guns guns guns!"
Red staccato tracers lanced out toward the target, some fell short and suddenly, Bronco was guns dry. The tracer's struck the target trailing down across the edge. Something punched through the fuel cells, the bottom exploded and gave way, fragmenting into a fiery flower that flailed all the way down to the ground.
"Good shot lead!" Reaper nine said. "I'm on the third! Guns guns guns!"
The gout of flame from that explosion evaporated the clouds almost immediately underneath Bronco and the massive rising heat wave kicked the tail of his fighter and forced it into a flat spin.
"Reaper one, going down…" he said surprisingly calm. He struggled with the stick and rudders, they were electronically controlled now so they didn't force themselves to the right as they would in the old days but the fighter's safety measures refused to turn it for fear of breaking the fighter apart. Shit, he could feel the G's and he was wearing a G diffuser suit the fighter nosed downward but continued its spin, Bronco could feel the blood rushing into his head. "Reaper one going down…"
"Punch out lead! Punch out!
Bronco was trying but something wouldn't let him reach for that lever at his crotch. Instead his hands remained tight on the throttle and stick. He was a pilot to the bone and like a navy captain of old, he was going down with his bird.
"Reaper one going down…"
The ground was sandy beige, coming up quickly as it mixed with sky in a whirl of contrasting colors…His fighter alarm beat insesintly as the programming tried to alert Bronco that his multimillion dollar craft was about to die with him. For some reason, that snapped him. He hauled the stick left one last time and punched up the afterburners and stomped left.
The fighter finally responded.
It was almost as if Bronco became one with the F-35 lightning at that point, there was a great shriek of steel as he felt something on the fighter give way, Bronco felt it as though something were ripping out his left arm. But the fighter suddenly righted itself and Bronco had control. He cut afterburners and hauled on the stick as the altimeter scrolled dangerously fast towards zero….
Six meters from the ground half of Bronco's fighter made it off the ground, his plane kicked up the radioactive dust around it as the F-35 lightning boosted towards the sky to claim dominance in its home once again.
"Holy Shit lead!" someone said.
"They can't pay me enough for this." Bronco said suddenly aware that he was out of breath. The salty sweat stung his eyes and he lifted his HUD visor to wipe it. The fighter was listing to the left slightly, Bronco had to get that gimble checked when he got back to base. His fuel was leaking as well, an extra tank up before he got back then.
"No shit man, I hope that damage is coming out of your check."
"what happened?" Bronco asked, finally placing the pilots voice as reaper two, and his wingmate.
"Take a look at your nine o'clock lead."
The wing should have been there but it was gone, completely. The G forces had been so great that they had torn off the wing when Bronco tried to reorient. Maybe it was something in the radioactive air that made the structure decay like that, Bronco had no clue how he was still even airborne let alone alive. He coughed and he felt something wet in his mask.
"Jesus living fuck!" he gasped and ripped the mask off to glance at the blood he'd coughed up. He felt very weak.
"You said it. You all good Bronco?"
"Reaper lead, this is Oracle, how you holding up there?"
"I'm fine Oracle." Bronco panted into the mask radio. "it took a lot out of me."
"You sure about that? Looks like ya got clipped pretty good."
"I'm sure. Oracle I'm leaking fuel here-"
"Jordanian tanker is already enroute. They'll be at your position in two mikes."
It was a good thing that the radical turn hadn't torn off his right side, Bronco thought quietely. That was the side the refueling stud was on.
Bronco took a look backwards at the contrail of the missile that had gotten away. There wouldn't be anything to stop it, not even Bronco in his one winged fighter.
He'd be landing at a destroyed base in a couple hours.
"Begin the drill." CINC NORAD said and hit the timer on his laptop. Sending the command to both the computers here in Cheyenne mountain and in Norfolk, the Satcrew was being tested as well.
"Detecting thermal blooms on Map grid five five seven zero." The tracking officer called.
"Multiple blooms at five five seven zero confirmed." The commanding officer of the Norfolk Uplink site said over the SATCOM.
"Orienting John Adams overhead now." CINC NORAD had put in the idea for naming all the kinetic weapons platforms after the nation's founding fathers. It had gone over well with Becerra and his conservative government. Becerra was a man of action. And…
"Hold it, blooms are gone…" the tracking officer said. CINC NORAD looked up at the OPS center screen which should have been displaying the drill in full color but where the thermal blooms had been detected was now a barren sea of cold cold nothing.
"Rescan on all frequencies." CINC NORAD ordered as he looked down at his laptop and did the same as well. Damn all this modern technology and its sensitive wiring, nothing ever seemed to work right now and you couldn't give it a good slap to get it working again…
"There, map grid seven zero niner two." The tracking officer called again. CINC NORAD typed in the coordinates on his laptop and saw the multiple heat signatures there in Iran? That wasn't part of the scenario, the KinWeps platform was over the southeastern Atlantic and could certainly reach a target in Iran though, but why did the computer glitch like that?"
"Tracking party confirm thermal blooms at designated coordinates." He called.
"Right there sir. Definitely detecting heat sigs."
"Here too NORAD." Norfolk Uplink called.
"Strange." CINC NORAD muttered under his breath. He brought up the command prompt and ran through a virus scan. Nothing, he'd just cleaned it an hour ago too. So why did it glitch so suddenly like this? He checked the drill timer…
It was gone, replaced by the red mission timer.
He wondered what in the world was going on with his computer.
"That's a detatchment there…yes that's detatchment. NORAD we have a confirmed launch at the designated launch site."
"Right there…tracking…" the crew at Norfolk said and the Ops center screen zoomed on the red line that was inching its way upward from what used to be Iran.
"Sir." The XO walked over and showed his laptop. He checked NORAD's. "Yours too?"
"Yeah, what does it mean?"
"Means it ain't no fuckin drill sir." The XO said and set the laptop down calmly. Oh fuck! CINC NORAD managed to prevent himself from saying it out loud. "How are we getting the picture is beyond me though."
"The Stealth sat." CINC NORAD breathed. "Fuckin A we got lucky…"
"Sir we have a confirmed ballistic inbound at this time." The Tracking officer said.
"Should be entering low orbit in thirty minutes." The Weapons officer said.
"Sounds about right." TACCO agreed.
"Sir." XO walked calmly over to the weapon release boxes and punched in the safety release code. NORAD did the same but not so calmly. The safety box opened to reveal a pair of key holes which, if turned, would activate all the kinetic weapons satellites above the USA. He and the XO slotted their keys in.
"Three, two one turn." CINC NORAD said and with a simple click, the weapons were armed and the electronic signal would immediately be sent to all Uplink sites across the US and automatically set them to DEFCON 1.
The alarm rang here in Cheyenne mountain as well.
"What's that?" the TACCO said and looked up to CINC NORAD and his XO with very childish eyes.
"This isn't a drill anymore folks." He said into the intercom. He saw all the men inside the Ops center gulp simultaneously and turn back to their work stations.
"Tracking party calculate time to impact?"
"Six hours sir, if it's a Al Jafi class ICBM." The TACCO said.
The weapon party in Norfolk were already working, maneuvering officers were already reorienting the John Adams to point and fire its Tungsten 20 meter long rods at the far off missile. The Satellite was really moved that far, and the missile was at the edge of its range.
"Shouldn't the Europeans be shooting it down now?" the XO said.
"They ain't fucking doing it." CINC NORAD growled and clenched his fists.
"Sir… Ballistic trajectory isn't angled toward the US, it doesn't have enough speed and fuel." The CO at Norfolk noted.
CINCNORAD breathed.
"If I had to take a stab at anything it'd probably be hitting Israel." CINCNORAD thought about that. Israel was still officially a US ally, and it was NORAD's official duty to protect not only America from nuclear attack, but her interests as well. Wasn't helping out a friend an interest? He'd need authority from the American Eagle himself it he wanted to do this though.
"Time to impact?"
"Two hours." TACCO said from his station. Becerra would be fucking asleep right now. He telephoned him anyway.
"I'm, sorry sir, but the president is unable to be reached at the moment…"
"Well fucking get him on the line and tell him I'm in the middle of a shooting war here."
"He is currently meeting with his staff…" CINCNORAD slapped the cell phone shut. Fuck it.
"Weapons are free on my authority." CINC NORAD ordered over the crosscom to the team at Norfolk.
"Yes sir."
"sir?" the XO whispered.
"I'll take full responsibility for what happens here." CINC NORAD said with a grim smile. "And look at the bright side, if American Eagle decides to fire me you'll get my job."
"I sort of don't want it." XO chuckled darkly.
"Can you take the shot commander?" he said into the radio.
"Working on the solution now." The CO at Norfolk.
"right there…tracking…"
"Speed three thousand…time on target, thirty minutes…."
"Give it a full spread WEPO" CO Norfolk ordered over the intercom. CINCNORAD had the entire radio feed broadcasted over the Ops Center speakers.
"Firing solution." The Norfolk WEPO breathed. "Best window of opportunity in the next fifteen seconds."
"Give me specifics." CO Norfolk said.
"Best chance of a hit is at the highest azimuth with a six rod spread. If we take the shot in the next…twelve sir, we'll have weapon impact in the next four minutes."
"Take the shot." CINC NORAD ordered and prayed it would work. The John Adams KinWep platform had six rods, they would have to be reloaded some time in the future but JFK space center was offline. John Adams would be shooting blanks for the near future...
"Spooling up Rods from God now."
"Tracking party…"
"On target…tracking."
"Fire sequence one through six set."
"Fire."
John Adams, ABM – 02, pumped a little hydrogen gas out to turn its cone tipped tungsten fin equipped depleted uranium rods toward its miniscule target. The Magnetic Accelerator unit began to power up all six of its throwers and fired them all in a ten second sequence. All six rods were thrown at a speed of Mach 2, much slower than usual because of the target it was supposed to it.
The Kinetic weapons platforms of the United States of America were designed with the primary intention of destroying ICBMs in midflight, but had a secondary mission role. In a desperate time, the Rods could target the ground and hit with such a force that they would cause an explosion on the scale of a tactical nuclear warhead without the radiological mess.
It was fulfilling its first mission role now, but its standard firing speed of Mach 3 was too fast. The six rods fired began its orbital trajectories toward the rising Iranian missile, burning their fuel (usually used to slow down the rods) in rapid attempts to turn and hit the target. The "Rods from God" were never a very accurate weapon, they didn't have to be with a destruction on the scale of a nuke, but here they needed pinpoint accuracy.
The Iranian Al Jafi 2 stage rocket began to level out just as the first and second rods missed cleanly.
"rod Three miss…rod four…miss."
"Shit." CO Norfolk said. "It was a spread but we're cutting this close."
"You said it." CINC NORAD mumbled to himself. If he let this one hit, he'd have failed his duty as defender against nuclear attack. He'd be condemning thousands of innocents to death. He watched the tracking screen with interest.
"Missile is arming its warheads…" the TACCO in Cheyenne mountain said. The Al Jafi missile had ten independent nuclear warheads on the scale of ten megatons.
"Rod five… fuck that's a miss…Rod si-hit! That's a hit! That's a Goddamn fucking hit!" the screen flashed as the sixth and final rod slammed into the missile, striking it dead center and knocking it off its trajectory and carrying it spaceward. The teams in Cheyenne mountain and in Norfolk rose to cheer.
"Confirm that!" CINCNORAD snapped into the radio.
"That's confirmed we have debris in Low Orbit sir! Splash one fucking nuke!"
"Holy shit!" the XO was actually crying. Tears of relief streamed out of his eyes, he wiped them.
"That was fucking close!"
"XO." CINC NORAD held out his hand to shake, and the XO took it and pulled CINCNORAD in for a relieved hug which CINCNORAD allowed.
"How does it feel to save a nation sir?"