Black Admiral wrote:Goodie. That'd mean the Rapier's there then, as an escort for the Valk (oh the snakes are gonna hate those planes).
Oh yes, the Rapier will be in service.
BTW, with the Valkyrie going uncancelled, that mean the GAM-87 Skybolt was brought into service as well
Maybe. Although I'm trying to restrain the urge to drag out every neat weapons system that was ever cancelled in OTL and give it to the US military here. The US may be stronger here (in absolute terms, although it's weaker in relative terms) but that doesn't mean it's coupon day for the military. They have to answer to budget concerns and the like, just like in RL.
Besides, we don't want the Draka's suffering to be over too quickly.
I always thought the old addage was never pit all of your eggs in one basket. With the B-70 you have a high speed penetrator that fklies at high altitude.
B-1 allows you to penetrate at low levels and it can carry a nivce load of conventional weapons.......
Brotherhood of the Bear Monkey Clonemaster , Anti Care Bears League,
Bureaucrat and BOFH of the HAB,
Skunk Works director of the Mecha Maniacs,
Black Mage,
Typhonis 1 wrote: B-1 allows you to penetrate at low levels and it can carry a nivce load of conventional weapons.......
You are aware that the B-1A was largely to do the same role as the B-70? Also, would the USAF want to go low-level? If air-defense technology is also ten years ahead or so, then it'll be suicidally dangerous to stay down that low.
Sorry my Bad I didn`t know that the B1-a was supposed to do the same job.
Brotherhood of the Bear Monkey Clonemaster , Anti Care Bears League,
Bureaucrat and BOFH of the HAB,
Skunk Works director of the Mecha Maniacs,
Black Mage,
September 11 2003 began as a clear Friday morning in Berkeley, California. Somes Jung Hallinan walked quickly down the last block to Berkeley High. He was a little out of breath from having run a couple of blocks and his shirt felt hot under his heavy backpack. It was sticking to his back. He was running a little late to his first period class, as usual. He thought to himself that he should try to get up five or ten minutes earlier, it wouldn’t do to be late as often as he was. He took too long shaving, maybe he could cut that down. He had sensitive skin on his chin anyway and he got pretty bad razor burn. It probably didn’t exactly make him look good and it itched when he ran and the sweat got on it. The day was fairly nice and warm. The sun had gone up not too long ago and the light on the leaves and rooftops was still orange. The moon was still visible, looking surprisingly clear in the thin morning air. He could just make out two dim twinkling lights on its face: the US and Draka moonbases. The Soviet moonbase was too dim to see; a tiny outpost of three people, and the other two superpowers had made it clear that any expansion would be unwelcome. That was probably the reason they’d invested heavily in establishing the first (and so far only) Mars base back in the late nineties. Somes took it as a bad sign that the commies had jumped ahead of the US in the space race and America had made no real effort to catch up. It had only served to firm up his strong anti-Clinton, pro-Republican political stance; a rather unusual thing here in what amounted to the most leftist spot on the Left Coast. Bush had made some recent steps to getting NASA off its ass. He might not be the most eloquent speaker but he wasn’t taking any bullshit from the Draks or the Commies. Just look at the way he’d acted when the Draka invaded Britain. If Clinton or Gore had been in charge he’d probably just have sent a couple of Tomahawks in the general direction of a Nubian aspirin plant or something. Bush stood right up to those nymphomaniac slaver scumbags, and as far as Somes was concerned it confirmed everything he’d hoped for when the Supreme Court had finally settled that Florida mess.
The school yard of BHS was pretty damn empty, only one stray student slowly walking toward the C Building. He checked his watch. It was already 8: 31 in the morning. The second bell would already have rung a moment ago. Damn! He noticed the sound of a helicopter engine, sounding much louder than usual. He was surprised to look up and see three Blackhawks passing low overhead. That was odd. Well, no time to think about such irrelevancies now. They were probably just performing war games over at the Navy base in Alameda. He was already two minutes late to class. He ran quickly to the C Building and scrambled up the stairs to the second floor. Well, this day was starting well. Late again and he had a quiz in math that he hadn’t studied for and would undoubtedly bomb. At least it was Friday, that was always good.
He walked quickly into his World Media class, hoping if he could get in a desk quickly he wouldn’t bring undue attention to himself. They had the TV going, probably analyzing a film or something. He was going to take out his notebook and start taking notes when he noticed it was a live CNN report… showing a dark cloud of smoke rising above Manhattan Island.
“What the heck is this?” he asked incredulously, for which he was irritably shushed into silence. “Don’t tell me that Castro tried to blow up the World Trade Center again!” That Cuban commie terrorist was going to get a rude awakening that Clinton wasn’t President anymore.
“No” one of his fellow students said laconically.
“Then who is it? Those Venezuelans?” as if to answer his own question he saw a streak of fire fall into the center of Queens like a meteor. He watched with shock as a mushroom cloud rose from the point of impact. The camera angle shifted crazily as the cameraman either lost his balance or decided it would be better to be elsewhere.
“Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” he asked, exasperated and confused.
“Just listen” said Ms Theodore, his World Media teacher, pointing at the big-screen TV.
Tension and confusion was palpably thick in the room, and beneath it Somes could sense anger just beginning to come to a simmer. He thought it would be prudent to do just that. He turned his attention back to the TV just in time to watch a third mushroom cloud sprout in the Bronx as the camera wavered unsteadily in a trembling arm. The footage blacked out to be replaced by a dour CNN announcer. He began to read off a paper and Somes’ jaw dropped. The scene he had just witnessed had been repeated in cities all along the Eastern Seaboard and California and Baja. Draka invasion fleets were headed toward the East Coast and Southern California. The latter chilled him. That was much too close to where he was for comfort. He had a disturbing premonition of the Bay Area becoming a war zone. He began to think he should suggest to his mother that they get the hell out of California. He had some family in Wisconsin, that place should be fairly safe. The reporter announced that the President would address the nation now.
The screen cleared again, this time to be replaced by a shot of President Bush walking up to a podium with several microphones mounted on it. The President stared into the camera, his mouth drawn into a hard firm line.
“My fellow Americans” he began. “Our nation has been subject to a vicious, brutal, and indiscriminate attack by the armed forces of the Domination of Draka. Entire cities have been destroyed by this brutal and cowardly attack, and millions of innocent Americans killed. Nor no doubt have we seen the worst of it. Even as I talk to you hundreds of thousands of the Draka’s slave conscripts are headed for our shores. Their mission: to take our freedom away. Because my fellow Americans this cowardly assault is motivated by one motivation and one motivation early: they hate our freedom. Its very existence is a threat to their despotic culture of enslavement and oppression. As long as America exists she is and remains a shining beacon of hope to the billions oppressed in the night of the Domination. And so they are coming to extinguish all light; to plunge the world forever into an eternal night of slavery and oppression. Today, my fellow Americans, the time of our tribulations has come. The time has come when we must hold the line against the night.” The President paused to take a sip of water.
“We are attempting to affect relief to the cities destroyed by Draka bombing as quickly as possible. This vicious attack has caused untold human suffering already. As of 0748 this morning I have authorized the use of strategic and tactical nucular weapons against the Domination. Today America strikes back.
“The military is assuming a state of full readiness. Our air, sea, and land assets are being brought to readiness. All civilian aircraft are grounded until further notice. The Western Pacific and Northern Atlantic Fleets are being marshaled to oppose the Draka and all available air reserves are being scrambled. Those living in the Los Angelos basin and the Eastern Seaboard will be evacuated wherever feasible, above all I urge you to remain calm. Remember, you are not alone, the brave men and women of the United States Army stand between you and the Draka and their conscript hordes. If they want to hurt you they’re going to have to go through them first. All ready reserve units are activated as of 0800, all reservists are ordered to report for duty.
“We will not lie to you; we do not anticipate that the forces we can muster in the next few hours will be sufficient to turn the Draka invasion. They will land on our shores. Fellow Americans, this will be our most trying time. For the first time in hundreds of years a foreign enemy is invading our soil. But we will hold firm and stand together. It will take great strength to endure, strength such as only God can give. It will require our sacrifice, our perseverance, our determination, our blood, indeed our very lives. But we will endure. To quote a great man-Prime Minister Winston Churchill, we will fight on the landing fronts and in the streets and in the villages, but we will never surrender. Today we face an evil so great even the Nazis feared and loathed it. No, I can’t insult the Nazis by comparing them to the Draka. They are like the Mongol hordes that swept across Europe and Asia in the Middle Ages, slaughtering everyone, destroying everything. Today the likes of Genghis Khan walk the earth again. But this time, God willing, we will kick their butts.”
The President will now be taken by Airforce One, under heavy fighter escort, to an undisclosed location along with the Vice President. President Chavez of Grand Columbia and Prime Minister Borges of Argentina have issued public statements condemning the Draka attack. Premiere Vladimir Putin of the Soviet Union has expressed his condolences to those who have lost loved ones in the destruction. Our hearts and our prayers are with the brave men and women of our armed forces as they go forth to meet the Draka horde…”[/i]
“Too bad they didn’t kill Bush” the girl sitting next to Somes observed. “At least then they could have done something good.”
“No, then they’d give it to Cheney…” somebody else protested.
“Not that that would make much of a difference…” a third student interjected.
Somes rolled his eyes. Typical Berkeley-ites. In about five months, maybe six tops, he thought to himself darkly, Michael Moore is going to come out with a film blaming the Republicans for all this. How he’s going to do it is beyond me, but he’ll find a way.
* * *
The airspace about Albion National Airport was controlled chaos. It was a pattern being repeated all over the eastern portion of the middle forty-eight as all civilian air traffic was grounded indefinitely. In other portions of the country it wasn’t so much of a problem but here there was the annoying detail that most of the large airports had been obliterated by Draka ICBMs, along with the cities they serviced. Stuart Slade’s flight had originally been bound for Baltimore but Baltimore International was now in the middle of a major disaster area. Local airports like Albion National were now being forced to handle much larger volumes of traffic than they had ever been intended to deal with. It was a good thing that, with the world dominated by three mutually hostile superpowers, international travel had never really taken off, because most of these little neck-of-the-woods airports didn’t have the capacity to handle big transoceanic carriers.
After more than half an hour of circling above Albion Slade’s plane finally managed to get a shot at an empty runway. The tires had scarcely bit the concrete when it was already being hauled out of the way of the next plane. A boarding ramp was rolled up and the passengers began to be disembarked. Slade walked rapidly down the ramp, being pushed and jostled by the men behind him. It was nine in the morning and the sky was draped with high clouds. They looked unusually dark. Probably, Slade thought darkly, from the smoke and ash beginning to waft east from the burning ruins of New York. He thought he could faintly smell it in the wind. That couldn’t be good. If smoke was getting blown in this direction then so was radioactive fallout. Between that and the impending Draka invasion the East Coast was not a good place to be. FEMA and the Army was evacuating as many people as possible, but with the whole region already a disaster area and about to become a war zone there were pretty hard limits on what could be done. He was a Pentagon analyst specializing in what were commonly known as doomsday scenarios-invasions or large-scale nuclear attacks on the US mainland. Unfortunately, that skill was much in demand in the present situation. He supposed he could get a certain grim satisfaction from knowing the Draka attack had gone exactly as he’d have predicted. It was a typical stratagem for them: attack suddenly and overwhelmingly and go for the enemy’s communications and chain of command. Essentially, blind and cripple your prey with a few rapid precision strikes, then butcher at leisure. The Pentagon has said they’d have a party waiting to meet him out here, although he couldn’t see anybody but a swarm of nervous grounded airline passengers and the security guards hustling them toward waiting planes and busses to take them to relatively safe places in the Canadian states and the interior.
He was looking over the place when he noted something incongruous. The western end of the tarmac was crowded with strange aircraft with disproportionately huge delta wings; B-70 Valkyrie bombers being moved out to their dispersal positions in anticipation of the Draka attack. This sight, more than anything, brought home to him that the US was actually being invaded; all this was really happening. He’d know it was a near certainty ever since a huge Draka fleet had been spotted massing in the North Atlantic, and he’d been aware of the reality intellectually since he’d gotten that call on his cell phone, but this was the first time he’d realized it deep down. He felt like somebody had let a handful of cold water run down his face.
“Mr. Slade!” a voice called out as he walked across the platform. Slade turned around to see a group of men walking towards him including, to his surprise, CIA Director Fredrick Lafarge and Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld.
“Director, Mr. Secretary” Slade said, nervously shaking hands with the two men. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“We’ve read your report” Director Lafarge said. “It pretty much perfectly predicted the current scenario.”
“What report?” Slade asked. “Oh, the one I wrote back in ’97 for the Clinton administration? The Midnight report?”
“Midnight” Lafarge said, drawing out the title of the report as if he found it particularly appropriate. “We’d like your analyses of the current situation. Also, we’re moving every remotely important government and military official over to Toronto to set up our new C&C there. Obviously Washington’s a smoking field of rubble right now. So are the obvious second choices-New York and Philadelphia-and they’re much too close to the Draka invasion route anyway. Toronto should be fairly safe. Unless the Draka manage to penetrate all the way to the Great Lakes.”
“That’s not going to happen” Rumsfeld assured. “We’re pretty sure they don’t have the strength to push the US Army back that far.”
“Let’s hope so” Lafarge affirmed. “Still, the East Coast is one of the most heavily populated parts of the country. And to leave a single town full of Americans citizens to the Draka…” he trailed off. There was no need to elaborate; everyone knew what the Draka would do to people in any areas they captured.
“We’re going to be facing some oil shortages” one of Rumsfeld’s aides pointed out. “Before the war we were still importing an embarrassing amount of our crude oil from Drakian Mesopotamia.”
“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem” Slade pointed out. “We still have our oil fields in the Arctic and the Great Plains.” Each of the three superpowers was big enough that it could find virtually any conceivable vital resource within its own borders if it really needed to.
“Just how big of a long term problem are we looking at?” Slade asked.
“Pretty bad” the aide said. “Most of the major cities on the East Coast are gone. A lot of our military bases have been taken out with ICBMs. They put four H-bombs in New York, it’ll probably be too radioactive to be inhabitable for generations. A lot of the eastern part of the US is going to take fallout. We’re definitely looking at increased long-term cancer rates and the like, especially if we choose to repopulate the cities.”
“Meanwhile we have an invasion to repel and a war to fight” Rumsfeld pointed out.
“Jesus” Slade said.
“The first Valkyries and Seawolfs are leaving now” Rumsfeld said. “They’re not going to get to our coast without taking one hell of a beating. Meantime we’ll try to organize a nuclear response.”
* * *
Aristotle completed his checks on the radar screens of the Dominate Sundown class destroyer Thor’s Hammer. “Nothing to report Master” he called back to the Draka Commander minding the watch. The Sundown class destroyer featured an extensive and highly sensitive radar apparatus, and its role was to sweep ahead of the main body of the fleet and look out for any incoming aircraft, ships, or submarines. As a frontline picket ship it was also very well armed, with a large compliment of missiles and antiaircraft guns as well as intimidating ranks of cannons.
“Good” the Commander said. “Continue scanning and report back at ten minute intervals or if you see anything.”
“Yes Master” Aristotle said obediently. He checked his displays. The Thor’s Hammer was only a few hundred kilometers from the East Coast of the United States. So far aside from some successful overflights by American spotter planes and a few harassing missions the Yanks had mounted everything was going pretty well.
“Sir, I think I might be picking up something” the Janissary at sonar reported.
“What?” Aristotle asked urgently.
“I don’t know, I can’t tell” the Janissary said. “But it’s loud.”
“Sir!” another Janissary shouted. “I’m picking up several subsurface vessels moving toward our position! They appear to be American Seawolfs sir!”
“Chief Sergeant!” a third Janissary said, even louder than the last one. “My screens are filling up with aircraft! Hundreds of them! And they’re headed straight for us!”
Aristotle ran over and took a look at his screen. It was filled with oncoming blips. “Good God!” he swore, running over to the Commander. “Master! Master! There are hundreds of American bombers and Seawolfs closing in on the fleet!”
“What?” the Draka spluttered, his gold earrings glinting as his head shook. “That’s impossible, we destroyed all their bases. They can’t possibly have that many left.”
“Master, come take a look at the radar screen!”
The Draka followed Aristotle to the Hammer’s bank of radar stations and bent over the instruments. “Fuck!” he roared. “Fuck me dead! Hail the Dominance and tell them we’ve got company coming! Arm the weapons! Hurry up you worthless scum!”
“Yes Master!” the Janissaries chorused.
* * *
JM Jodie May looked suspiciously at the metal thimble of scotch in her hand. She was holding it steadily but the rolling of the deck made the dark amber liquid swish around. Sir Francis Drake class aircraft carriers were known for their poor hydrodynamics, and even in today’s calm sea the Night’s Dawn rocked like it was in a storm. She reluctantly took a sip. A sudden lurch by the Night’s Dawn sent half of it spilling down her chin and onto her open flight jacket.
“I really shouldn’t drink this” she said. “I always act out when I get drunk.”
“What’s wrong with that?” her friend, Lynne Adney, asked. She was a slim, muscular young woman, her face rounder than Jodie’s and she had black hair and brown eyes. With her light blue eyes, blonde hair, and Nordic cheekbones Jodie almost met the physical stereotype of a Citizen woman. Her body ruined the impression though. She was tall and had prominent muscles, but she was also skinny and flat-chested. It was, she supposed, the best she could have hoped for. The stereotypical female Draka physique was something that simply did not exist outside propaganda posters, except among those Draka rich enough to afford a little discreet plastic surgery (supposedly such things were only for decadent inferior races, but it was common knowledge that some Citizens did it).
Jodie shrugged. She took the bottle that Lynne had hidden under her crude, makeshift cot and poured herself another shot. The room was cold. It wasn’t really a room at all but a small hollow space in the bulkheads, normally used for storing provisions. The invasion of America was supposedly going to require so many planes that carrier Captains had been ordered to pack their ships beyond their normal holding capacities. Extra planes were squeezed in by skillful rearrangement of the carrier decks. Extra pilots were crammed in any conceivable space they would fit. This hole in the wall was just barely big enough to fit three men. It had no real windows, only a ventilation grille to let light and air in. Beds were made from piling up a few boxes of preserves and throwing a thin mattress on top of it.
“You feeling more relaxed?” Lynne asked after Jodie had downed second shot.
“I think I’m feeling borderline tipsy” Jodie said. “Hey, are you sure this is a good time, I mean when we’re this close to the American coast? They’re bound to attack the fleet sooner or later.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve come prepared” Lynne pulled another object out from under her mattress. Jodie examined it.
“An oxygen canister?”
“A trick we picked up from the Russians” Lynne explained. “You know they love their vodka. This is what their soldiers use if they need to clear their heads in a hurry.”
“Mmm, I don’t know…” Jodie said dubiously.
“Besides, Strategos Venders says most of the Yankee’s air force should have been taken out on the ground with the ICBM strikes” Lynne pointed out. “And their government and main airbases have been taken out… we’ll be facing a few remnants under individual base commanders, coming in piecemeal. And they won’t have our discipline, they won’t be able to coordinate at all… Should be random and light.”
“Well, I guess if the Strategos feels safe it must be OK” Jodie reasoned. “Still, I don’t think I want to get too drunk.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know, it’s pretty cold in here.”
“Yeah” Jodie agreed. Climate control on most Draka vessels other than icebreakers was considered a needless luxury, and the damp chill of the northern Atlantic permeated the ship.
“Here, let me try to get us warm” Lynne said. She leaned closer to Jodie on the bunk they were sharing, putting an arm around her. Her hand disappeared into the shirt. Jodie felt a blush forming on her cheeks. She had a strong suspicion Lynne was making a pass at her. First she’d waited for Sam; the third person who was bunked in this tiny cubbyhole, to be elsewhere. Then she tried to get Jodie plastered, or at least tipsy. She thought her touch was a little too intimate to be explained by just being cold, but then that was just a feeling. It became something more definite when she felt the button on her pants being opened. She grabbed Lynne’s wrist, stopping her from going any further. She hadn’t said anything yet because Lynne was a friend and she didn’t want to have a confrontation, but it looked like that couldn’t be helped.
“I think I’ve got an idea of what you want me to do, and I don’t think I can do it.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to die a virgin” Lynne whispered into her ear.
Jodie blushed. “I did say that, but… here? Now? There’s no privacy here! Somebody could walk through that door any minute!”
“Nobody’s going to come in here” Lynne explained. “Sam works at the radar station, she’s three hours into an eight hour shift. Inspection isn’t for another seven hours. If there’s a general alert or a drill we’ll hear it over the intercom. And the whole thing only takes maybe fifteen minutes at the very most. Besides, I pushed my footlocker against the door; we’d have to move it out of the way for anybody to be able to open it from the outside.”
“What if someone hears us?”
“I’ll cover your mouth with my hand. If you feel like screaming bite down on my palm.”
Jodie shook her head. “I’m-I’m still just not comfortable with it.”
Lynne said nothing, she simply pecked Jodie on the neck. Jodie felt a slight, lingering wetness there from her spit. Her other hand moved around Jodie’s waist. She wanted to stop her. Lynne was an OK friend, but she certainly didn’t love her. But then, this wasn’t really love. It was more of an experiment. Lots of girls did it. And usually they stayed just friends afterward. It wasn’t like with a guy, where things were more serious (and there was the risk of getting pregnant).
“Lynne, we can still just be friends again, after this, right?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Jodie was a little afraid, but it was true she didn’t want to die without knowing something about… this. She let go of Lynne’s arm. She allowed herself to be pulled down onto the mattress. Lynne’s body was warm behind her, and she could feel all its contours. She still felt like jumping away when she felt Lynne kiss her on the back of the jaw but she tried to get her body to relax.
The General Alarm screamed. She was so tense the sound sent her virtually jumping off the mattress. Lynne yelled in pain as she took an elbow to the jaw in the process.
“Man, they do know when to put those drills in just the wrong times” Lynne complained as she rubbed her sore jaw.
As if to reprove her a voice came on over the intercom. This is the Captain! This is not a drill! We are under attack! This is the real thing! All hands to battle stations! All pilots to the flight deck, stand by to repel enemy bombers!
“Oh shit!” Jodie cursed.
“Don’t worry, you can’t be drunk from that little bit” Lynne reassured her. She handed her the oxygen canister. “Here, take a couple of deep breaths, just to be sure.”
Jodie pulled the pure oxygen into her lungs. Her heart fluttered as it hit her blood. She hastily zipped up her flight jacket, grabbed her helmet, and followed Lynne out the door.
“May! Abney! What’s taking you so long?” Tetrarch Arberg shouted. “Let’s go people! Let’s go! This is for real! You are about to be facing real, live USAF fighters!”
Feeling embarrassed, a little frightened, and ashamed of possibly having put her unit into jeopardy Jodie ran up the stairs to the windy top flight deck of the Night’s Dawn. The Night’s Dawn actually had four flight decks of roughly equal size, but this came at the cost of the ship being so unstable in the sea its class was sometimes referred to as the floating casket. The flight deck was a madhouse of pilots and serf technicians running around everywhere. There was a certain chaos in the launches, because extra planes had been jammed in at the expense of take-off efficiency. Very often when one took off other planes or equipment had to be moved out of the way first. Jodie watched a quartet of serf grunts desperately push a heavy crane out of the way of a Phoenix class air superiority fighter. Despite their being no time to loose she was momentarily enraptured by the launch of the Phoenix. It was unlike any other plane in the DAF; a slim black flying triangle that reminded her of the paper airplanes troublemakers in boarding school used to make out of their assignment papers, shooting into the sky on a flaming torch of superheated air and fuel. Created in response to the American Aurora spyplane it had been the world’s first hypersonic fighter, and the only until the Yankees had introduced their own version about a year later. She’d always wanted to fly one, but only the most elite pilots could even handle the craft.
A gloved hand slapped at her shoulder. “Hey Jodie!” Lynne said, grinning. “Let’s go. Time to bury some Yankees.”
“Right” she said, hastily tying her hair back and putting on her helmet. She jumped into the cockpit of her Harridan carrier-launched jet fighter with a seamless grace and ease that only fifteen years of hard physical training could have given someone. A serf technician fixed her breathing mask to her face, made some last minute checks to the equipment, and closed the canopy over her.
“Come on May! Let’s go!” Tetrarch Arberg’s voice shouted into her earpiece. “You’re the last one out!”
A team of serf grunts physically dragged and pushed her Harridan into position. “Catapult secure” the flight technician said. A French accent, probably a serf. “You’re good to go.”
She turned the Harridan’s engine on, letting it warm up for a few seconds and then throwing forward the fuel lever, giving it the warm nourishing jet fuel it craved. The Harridan shot off the carrier deck, momentarily dipping towards the cold blue Atlantic and then rising back into the sky.
“The Yankees are coming in on your two-thirty” Arberg said. “Form up and intercept. And may the gods and goddesses be with you.”
Airman Eddings flew his F-19 straight and level over the featureless flatness of the Atlantic, keeping pace with the rest of his squadron. The loud roar of the F-19’s jet engine was almost hypnotic, but at the same time it always gave him a certain feeling of strength. It was a powerful sound. He couldn’t see anything and neither could his radar, but he knew that somewhere up ahead there were ships full of Draka headed straight for the East Coast. His family lived in a small fishing town near Cape Cod and he knew that he and his fellow pilots were the only thing standing between them and the Draks. That thought alone was enough to give him resolve the likes of which he’d never thought he’d had. The F-19s job was to clear the air over the Draka fleet so the Valkyries and their Rapier escorts could do their work. It was almost certain that he wouldn’t be coming back alive. A week ago he’d have had doubts about whether he could actually carry out such a mission. But imagining what would happen to his wife and children and friends if those filthy twisted perverted sadists got their hands on them was enough to make him embrace a suicide mission. He vowed that as long as he had breath in his body the fuckers wouldn’t touch so much as a hair on the head of any of his loved ones.
“I’ve got a contact” one of the pilots reported.
Eddings looked down at his radar screen and saw its edge filling with oncoming dots. Draka fighters. He realized he could already see them coming towards him. They were just little specks against the clouds on the horizon, but they were there. And below them he saw tiny long things that were almost certainly ships.
“Alright, we’re-uh going in” Lieutenant Brody said. He was commonly known among the men as “Reverend” for his thick Bible Belt accent and the way he tended to quote Scripture or offer a prayer on every significant occasion. “Most of us aint going out. But we’re a’ takin’ these-uh heathen scum here with us boys! And so, before we enter combat with the children a’ Gog and Magog, uh think it would be appropriate to say a few words to the good Lord. Say ‘em with me boys.”
Brody began and the rest of the squadron picked it up and said it together as their planes closed with those of the Draka. “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
And the American and Draka squadrons met above the blue Atlantic, beneath a bright morning sky, and battle was joined
Last edited by Junghalli on 2005-10-20 11:42pm, edited 1 time in total.
The USAF wouldn't be fielding XB-70s, they'd be having B-70s. Also, four hits on NYC is insufficient to cause that much harm, unless they're packing something ludicrous like 25MT devices on them and even then it'll be inhabitable in some months.
phongn wrote:The USAF wouldn't be fielding XB-70s, they'd be having B-70s.
Doh! X is for experimental, of course! Fixed.
Also, four hits on NYC is insufficient to cause that much harm, unless they're packing something ludicrous like 25MT devices on them and even then it'll be inhabitable in some months.
I wouldn't at all put it past them to use something extra-dirty, like cobalt bombs, on cities like New York and Washington. Remember, these are more than just cities, they're historically significant locations and symbols of what makes America great and powerful. And the Draka are really into psychological warfare, crushing the hopes of their opponents and pissing on everything they hold dear. Look what they did to Mecca when they conquered it. They'll want to make an example of these places, just like the 9/11 terrorists did but in a bigger way.
Junghalli wrote:A cookie for whoever can spot my mirror universe counterpart.
hurrr.... uh.... the first guy mentioned in chapter 5?
I doubt you would have IMMEDIATELY had kids saying "too bad they didn't kill Bush". If this is "9-11" then they havn't had a chance to hate him yet.
P.S. If you need someone in southern California, a hairy geologist named Peter who got called up and sent to the LA front would be fine with me. Someone to do all sorts of geo-nasty things like triggering landslides and rupturing pipelines.
Stuart: The only problem is, I'm losing track of which universe I'm in.
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
If Religion and Politics were characters on a soap opera, Religion would be the one that goes insane with jealousy over Politics' intimate relationship with Reality, and secretly murder Politics in the night, skin the corpse, and run around its apartment wearing the skin like a cape shouting "My votes now! All votes for me! Wheeee!" -- Lagmonster
Airman Eddings flew toward the enemy formation. Adrenalin ran through his veins, making his heart beat faster and his hands clench tightly on the joystick. He was already picturing himself in a battle of wits and skills with a Draka pilot. His senses were heightened in a strange way. His mind was alert to every impression and flash of color and movement, everything felt more vivid and harshly defined. It was a state he’d read about and heard about from veterans but hadn’t had a chance to experience for himself yet.
There. A Harridan closing in on him from three o’clock. He pulled his F-19 into a hard turn and engaged it. The enemy tried to get away from him and swing back so he could take him from the side, but Eddings was too smart for that. As the Draka was swinging around he was shocked to see Eddings come to face him. He desperately tried to evade but Eddings shot a missile at him. It flew straight and true, locked on to the warmth of his engine, and reduced his fighter to flaming confetti. Eddings smiled grimly as he watched the wreckage spiral down into the water. Three Draka came for him, but he was prepared. He flew above them and got the drop on them, sending a second Draka to meet his evil maker.
“Guys, help me out here” he said into the radio. “I can’t handle both of these by myself.”
“I hear you” Brody said. ‘I’m sending you an assist.” Eddings fought desperately to stay behind the Drak fighters and out of reach of their weapons. The Harridan was a small, light plane. Fast but not very sturdy and with unimpressive armament. As long as he could stay out of their front he should be fine. Three F-19s swooped down on the Draka and obliterated them.
“Thanks.” No sooner had Eddings said it when four more Harridans came at him. His wingman was killed by a missile from one of them. One of the other planes in the ad hoc formation extracted revenge, destroying the offending fighter. The Draka came round for another pass but were caught flat-footed when the F-19s turned and blew two of them out of the sky. The pilots were probably inexperienced and overconfident, overestimating their mobility advantage over the American planes.
“Eddings, Frankie, split up and engage those two” Brody ordered. “I’ve got my own little problems. Mendez, help me out.” Eddings checked and saw he was engaged in a furious dogfight with another Harridan.
Eddings and Frankie calved paths, splitting up the Draka formation. Eddings tried to get a lock on his opponent, but it was difficult. The other pilot was good and it took all Eddings’ skill not to let him get in behind him.
JM Jodie May flew her Harridan in a looping upward path above the battlefield. Around her Draka and American air wings clawed at each other while antiaircraft fire reached up from the ships below, seeking to destroy any Yankee planes that got too close to the surface ships.
“This isn’t random or light” Lynne said over the radio. “Somebody made a mistake. Somebody made a big goddamn mistake!”
“Copy you there” she said dryly.
“Did you see those fighters we just took down?” Lynne continued. “I’ve never seen flying like that. It’s almost like he was possessed or something.”
“Hey, cut the chatter” Arberg snapped. “We’re in the middle of a battle if you two clowns haven’t noticed.”
“Copy that sir” Jodie said. She admitted to herself that she had been disturbed by what she’d seen. Her squadron had intercepted and taken down five Yankee F-19s, but before going down the F-19s had brought down twelve Draka. It wasn’t just that their aircraft were better, they’d fought with an almost suicidal lack of consideration for their own lives, taking insane risks to bring down another one or two of their adversaries. Jodie had always heard that the Draka were destined to triumph over the Americans because they were weak and they lacked discipline and will. But those men… she dimly recognized their ferocity from accounts she’d heard of rebellions in the Middle East. They fought like the Islamist rebel fanatics, only much better because they had skill as well as absolute determination. Normally Jodie had trouble imagining what it would be like to be a serf, it was like trying to imagine what it would be like to be an animal, but for a second in the air above the Atlantic she had a perfect window into what drove them. Their country was going to be divided into Dominate provinces, their homes looted and burned, their families broken up and sold into serfdom… she realized how scary this would be. And how one would want to keep this from happening at all costs, even if it meant loosing ones life. Because once the Draka were victorious, she realized, there would be nothing for these men to live for anyway.
“May, help me out!” Lynne shouted at her through the radio. Jodie checked her radar and saw she was being pursued by an F-19. “He is right on my tail! I can’t shake him!”
“I’m coming” she promised. “Shit! A second jet’s joining the first one! You’re being gang-banged.”
“I’ve got you covered” the voice of JM Evans came in over the radio. Jodie turned to see him coming in on her nine. The Yankee obviously saw he was in the middle of a pincer and started evasive maneuvers. He fell back toward Jodie’s plane.
“I’ll get him off” Evans said. “Hey, look. I’m just going to give him a little kiss but watch how mad he gets.”
Jodie snickered at the expense of the Yankees and their Puritanism. Evans flashed right in front of the American fighter, shooting at him with his cannons. The Yankee broke off to chase him.
“OK Abney, I’m coming to get you” she promised.
“Copy that” Lynne said. “Hurry up; I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. This guy’s good and he’s bloody persistent.” Jodie winced as something else cut into the transmission: a scream of pain. She realized it was Evans. He’d just been shot out of the sky. A string of leather seemed to twist and tighten around her heart; she’d known him. But she couldn’t let that get in the way now. “I’m on him” she reported.
She was close enough to spot the American plane. Lynne was frantically maneuvering to stay out of the way of its shots, only the superior speed of her fighter saving her. Jodie locked a missile on it and let loose. The missile shattered an engine and it began a final, fatal dive toward the sea.
“Jesus Christ! Reverend!” Eddings heard someone shout as Brody’s plane was shot down.
“This is Keith” a new voice came in over the link. “I’m taking command of the squadron. Regroup and attack those bogeys at six-niner.”
“Roger that” Eddings said as the squadron began to pull itself back into formation in preparation for another attack. It was sobering to see how much of it was missing. But the Draka were suffering even worse attrition. It was a brutal and bloody battle, fought between combatants motivated on one side by unflinching ideological fanaticism and other by desperation and hatred. To the Draka this was the dawn of a new age when they would take their rightful place as masters of the entire human race. To the Americans too it was the dawn of a new age, an age of darkness and terror when devils in human form would among the peoples of the world as rulers and masters, and they were determined to stop it. Under such circumstances neither side asked for nor received quarter, and neither side would stop fighting as long as there was life in their bodies and fuel in their jets. And so Eddings’ squadron formed up to throw itself yet again at the oncoming darkness.
Uh, I’m reading a massive force moving in from the west” Airman Kipps reported.
“Copy that” Eddings could hear the jubilation in Keith’s voice. “It’s the Valks. The cavalry’s arrived!”
“Strategos Venders, our radar reads a huge force of Valkyrie bombers approaching, accompanied by Rapiers.”
Strategos Myfwany Venders scowled at Captain Robert Scott Anderson. “Naturally. The first wave was merely to clear our air cover. Now the real attack comes. Have you launched all the fighters?”
“Yes Strategos” Captain Anderson said.
“Master, shall I signal a squadron to circle the Dominance" the communications Sergeant asked.
“No” Venders said.
Captain Robert Scott Anderson took off his cap and massaged his shiny bald head for a minute. “Strategos is that wise? The American air force is powerful, and the flagship is a prominent target.”
Venders shook her head. “They came in greater strength than we had prepared for, that’s why they inflicted the casualties they did. Just good luck on their part. It won’t hold up.”
Captain Anderson blinked. “Yes Strategos.”
“Tell the fighters to concentrate their fire on the bombers” Venders commanded. “Ignore the fighters except to fight them off, they’re not the real threat. Pull the Dominance to the center of the fleet, under the main fighter screen. We’ll be safe enough there.”
Myfwany Venders watched as serf technicians moved the pieces representing ships and aircraft around on the chart table, changing the tactical display minute by minute to show the actual battle situation. Green pieces representing Draka Harridans and Phoenixes converged on the orderly lines of American Valkyries and Rapiers and began tearing into them.
Airman Mike Kozlowski flinched as a flak burst detonated dangerously close to his B-70 Valkyrie. “We’re taking heavy fire here Sarge!” pilot Gomez reported. “The Snakes are ignoring the fighters and going straight for us.”
As if to confirm his words a Phoenix swooped down out of the sky and blew apart a bomber not far away. An Eagle immediately gave chase and the two hypersonic aircraft engaged in a dogfight. The Eagle won quickly; while the Phoenix was faster and more maneuverable it was much less heavily armed and had originally been designed to fight unarmed Aurora spyplanes, not fighters. The sky was full of fighters maneuvering and blowing each other up. Below the first bombing runs had already begun and many Draka troop transports and warships were already floundering or in flames. But the Draka fighters were taking a horrific toll on the bombers. Their fanaticism was not to be underestimated; many of them took horrific risks plowing right through Rapier formations to blow up the Valkyries.
“Sir” Airman Young said from his post by the radio. “I just got a radio from the Major. He says we’re getting chewed up here to bad; we won’t be able to put a serious dent in the invasion before getting wiped out. He says fall back and regroup.”
“Fall back and regroup” the Sarge affirmed.
“Yes sir” Gomez said.
“Strategos Venders, the Yankees are falling back!” Captain Robert Scott Anderson explained, jubilant.
“We beat them!” one of the Draka officers exclaimed.
Venders smiled smugly. “You see, they aren’t so tough. They’re a weak-willed, weak-minded race. They can’t stand up to our discipline and determination. They may have some neat toys, but it won’t save them. They are technicians, not warriors.”
“If all their units collapse this easily the war should be over by New Years” Captain Anderson observed. Venders grinned to herself at that thought. A rich, continent-spanning empire would soon come under the yoke. The Dominate would gain four hundred million new serfs, a new continent’s worth of resources, valuable advancements in technology. And, as one of the leaders of the conquering army, she would be entitled to a handsome cut of the wealth. She’d be within her rights to claim governorship of one of the new provinces. To say nothing of a huge estate in one of the more rural states, Mississippi, Louisiana, or Virginia perhaps. She was rather fond of the irony.
“Tell the fighters to regroup and pursue” she ordered.
Jodie May tried desperately to keep out of the cone of fire of the American F-19 fighter jet behind her. She tried to use her fighter’s better maneuverability to slip in behind him but he was too fast for her. The enemy fighter fired cannons in her direction, narrowly missing her wing. They’d chased off the squadron of American bombers and fighters that had tried to attack one of the aircraft carriers, sending three bombers into the drink. But she’d gotten separated in the melee along with this one fighter.
“Mayday, Tetrarch he’s my heels. I can’t get rid of him.”
“Arberg just got blown out of the sky” Lynne said. “I guess it’s my turn.”
Jodie couldn’t distract herself to thank her. She simply observed as Lynne came in behind the American fighter and raked it with cannon fire, destroying part of a wing and damaging the engines. Jodie banked hard away as the fighter leveled out and began slowly loosing altitude.
Eddings wrestled with the joystick of his damaged fighter. He’d been chasing a Draka jet across the skies when another one had come up behind him and crippled his fighter. He checked his instruments.
Loosing altitude, gyroscopes gone, power plant failing, engines leaking fuel, half a wing shot off. He was doomed. He looked down and saw several huge aircraft carriers.
“If I’m going out I’m taking you bastards with me!” he snarled. He aimed his fighter at the biggest one he could see. It was huge and getting bigger and bigger as his fighter flew towards it. Gee forces pushed on his chest. Now it filled his field of vision. He was so close he could pick out individual fighter berths on the deck, see people scurrying across it. What was that saying from that fantasy novel he’d read once?
Seek one last heart of evil. Still one last life of pain. Cut well old friend, and then farewell.
He stroked the instrument panel of his jet and smiled as its nose met the flight deck of the Dominance.
“Sir, one of our fighters just crashed onto the deck of the Draka flagship!”
Major Gangadharan looked up at the radio operators standing in the doorway of the large cabin that had once been the aircraft’s bomb bay. Most of it was taken up by a chart table and there were banks of radio consoles to either side. The Valkyrie had been modified to serve as a mobile command center. Extensive new communications systems had been installed and the bomb bay had been replaced with an officer’s workroom.
“So? We’ve lost more than two thirds of our fighters.”
“Sir, the Draka flagship has been effectively put out of action!” the Airman explained. “Their C&C should be in shambles.”
Gangadharan thought for a moment. “Turn the bombers around and tell them it to go for another run. Have them finish off the flagship and make every big aircraft carrier a priority target, troop carriers are second priority. Everything else is icing. Let’s take a page from their playbook and keep their C&C unbalanced while we do as much damage as we can, then bug out.”
“Yes sir!” the Airman saluted and headed back to the cockpit.
Gangadharan thought of his parents and brother, who hadn’t made it out of India back in ’72. They were almost certainly now serfs, or perhaps dead. He’d joined the air force as soon as he’d become an American citizen. He’d spent the better part of his life waiting for today. Today he would avenge them.
“What the bloody fik just happened?” Yolande Ingollfson demanded as she saw plumes of dark smoke rise from the deck of the Dominance. Explosions splintered the big carrier’s flight deck as weapons and fuel ignited. The ship had begun to list. “Why didn’t Krypteria tell us they had missiles like that?”
“That was no missile” Strategos Setzer said. “One of their fighters deliberately crashed into the ship.”
Ingollfson felt much the same sensation that Jodie May had when she learned of Evans’ death; the feeling of a leather cord wrapping itself around her heart and throat and being pulled tight with a slow, supple motion. Her throat tightened and pulsed, two words which she refused to permit freedom. Myfwany. No….
“Have a wing of fighters form up to protect the flagship!” she yelled. She had meant to convey command was shocked at the shrill weakness in her voice.
“Cancel that order!” Strategos Setzer snapped. Ingollfson turned towards him sharply. In that instant she wanted to murder him. She wanted to jump on him and tear his scrawny throat open with her bare nails. “Naval operations are not your concern Strategos Ingollfson. Command of the naval and air forces lies with Strategos Venders. If she is killed then it passes to Chiliarch Harriman. She or he will decide what is and is not an appropriate allocation of fighters.”
Every instinct and emotion in Ingollfson screamed at her that Myfwany was dying now and damn the chain of command, demanding her to leap upon this insufferable man with the body of an underfed Indochinese serf who dared to speak to her of proper procedures now and flay his face with her bare hands. But that would have been more than just unprofessional. It would have put the fleet in danger. As much as it burned her heart to admit it he was right; she had only rudimentary knowledge of naval tactics and the success of the operation was more important than any one individual, even… even… she couldn’t complete the sentence inside her mind. Saying the name, and tacking it on to that horrible pronouncement, simply hurt too much. Just thinking of it was like a long knife twisting in her chest.
“Master, the Americans are rallying!” a Janissary warned. “Their formations and regrouping, they’re turning back towards us!”
“Master, I am unable to contact the Dominance the Janissary at the radio station said in a subdued tone, no doubt fearful of calling Ingollfson’s wrath down upon himself. “Master, Chiliarch Harriman recommends diverting fighters from the Dominance to protect our troop transports and our remaining aircraft carriers.”
The knife twisted deeper, harder. Ingollfson did know enough about naval warfare to know that the flagship, defenseless and crippled, would be an irresistible target for the American bombers. They would set upon it like vultures upon a dying antelope, tearing it to pieces. That order would be Myfwany’s death sentence.
She nodded jerkily. “Do as he suggests.” She ripped the words from her throat as one might rip off a bandage stuck to the body by a huge mass of dried blood, hair, and loose flesh. Each syllable drove the knife deeper into her until it embedded itself within her, becoming a permanent part of her heart. She felt her eyes burn with unreleased tears. She was Draka and she would not cry. She refused to cry, or to show any sign of the mucousy sweet pain that went up her throat and into her face, filling her sinuses and eyes with liquid.
“Master, we’ve lost the Alexander! And the Erinnyes” a Janissary shouted. “Athena’s gone. And Goliath…” the litany of destroyed ships went on, but Ingollfson couldn’t listen. Nothing short of being hit in the face with a flamethrower would have made her pay attention to the outside world for that moment. The knowledge of Myfwany’s death was melting in her like a poisonous icicle stuck through her heart, its pain dissolving but not going away. It would never go away. It would sink into her until her blood would become poison and it would course through her. It would burn her for the rest of her life but she didn’t have the luxury of allowing it to kill her. That was something the quasi-religion of the Draka, the worship of strength and domination, would never permit her to do. For this monstrous divinity was, in many ways, even harsher to his own chosen ones than to the wretched slaves who scratched out miserable lives beneath their boots.
“These cowards will not get away with this” she swore softly.
Strategos Setzer laughed bitterly. “Cowards, Strategos? The pilots of those fighters and bombers are dying to sink our ships. The man who crashed his plane into the Dominance gave his life to destroy it. And this wasn’t the only one. The Morrigan was rammed twice. The first pilot flew his plane into the carrier deck, crippling the ship, and the second rammed it amidships and broke it in two. These are not the lazy rich moneylenders and couch potatoes you told your men they would be fighting; these are men to be respected.”
Ingollfson turned toward Setzer and he shrank back from her gaze like a bird from a hissing cobra. She knew that if her eyes let through even a tiny fraction of the rage and pain she was filled with looking into them would almost be like looking into the Hell of the superstitions of the serfs. Hers was a stare even Lamley would have been afraid of. She didn’t bother saying anything, the look in her eyes said more than words could have.
Myfwany. She turned to face the burning hulk of the Draka flagship. Myfwany I think you are probably still alive. You know you are going to die, probably. Maybe you are afraid inside. But you won’t let your fear show, just I won’t cry for you. We will remain, even now, good Citizens.
I will mourn you Myfwany. And I will make these scum pay for what they have done. It will not be justice my dear Myfwany, for their lives of all the Yankees in the world will not balance your death. But they will come to know pain. I will build a monument to you of their broken bodies. Their burned cities will be your memorial. Their pain will be my tribute to you, their wailings of agony and despair your funeral dirge, their mass graves your headstone, the fires of war your funeral pyre. Where I walk on this continent death will walk beside me. And, when we are done with them my dear Myfwany, they will say our names with terror for the next thousand years. This is my solemn promise my precious one, that I make upon your grave.
“Strategos Venders, our radar reads a huge raid approaching from the American coast; due to ECM we are unable to get a precise count, but the speed and altitude indicates it's their Strategic Air Command aircraft, the Valkryies and Rapiers."
[B-70D Valkryie Special K, 70,000 feet above the Atlantic, 200 miles from the Draka fleet]
Lieutenant Mike Kozlowski watched as the Drakian fleet appeared before him on his AN/ASQ-28 repeater scope from his position as the offensive systems operator of Special K, hundreds of ships spread out all over thousands of square miles of ocean. At the center of the armada, he could make out several large returns; those were likely to be the Drakian flagships and carriers.
"This is Kozlowski. I have them on my scope."
"Take them," came the reply from up front.
"Roger."
Moving the target pipper cursor on his radar scope over the Drakian fleet, Kozlowski placed the initation points for his missiles.
"Firing."
Aft of Kozlowski, the sliding doors of the B-70D's twin weapons bays snapped forward, opening the rear weapons bay to the slipstream.
The first of the AGM-110 SRAM III's fell into the slipstream, it's solid rocket motor igniting seconds later, propelling the weapon towards the Drakian fleet on a plume of fire, before burning out and acting as the casing for the ramjet which pushed it past Mach 4. Moments later, the aft rotary launcher moved the next SRAM III into position and released it; until three seconds later, all three SRAM IIIs carried in the aft bay had been launched. The door then slammed aft, opening the forward bay to the slipstream, upon which three more missiles dropped forth.
"This is Special K, am Winchester, repeat, am Winchester. Returning to base to rearm." announced Captain Schmidt as he put the Valkryie into a shallow turn back towards the dispersal fields, where more weapons were waiting for them.
"Strategos Venders, I'm picking up hundreds of missile launches from the Valkryies!" shouted Commander Robert Scott Anderson as his radarscope filled up with hundreds of intermittently appearing returns, all moving in excess of Mach 4.
"Go to auto! AUTO AUTO!" roared Venders as he realized the implications. The American attack with the F-19s and other fighters had stripped away the first layer of air defense around the fleet; the air to air missiles on the fighters; almost all of them had been expended in the vicious fighting with the Americans, with little to none left for shooting down the incoming missiles.
Almost immediately as the Janissaries and Citizens switched their anti-air systems to automatic, the first Hercules IVB surface to air missiles began roaring away from the vertical launchers on the destroyers and cruisers of the Drakian fleet; they had to launch immediately to have a chance of stopping the Yankees, because with their ramjet-powered cruising speed of 3,000 MPH, the SRAM IIIs were closing at a speed of fifty miles a minute on the Drakian fleet.
The Hercules IVB was the latest in a long line of air defense missiles fielded by the Drakian Navy, and it was designed for precisely this mission, fleet defense against incoming high altitude missiles. In order to catch the incoming missiles, the Hercules IVB was pretty much a giant booster with a guidance system strapped on; top speed of Mach 7 at altitude, some 4,600 MPH or a bit above seventy five miles a minute.
The oncoming wave of American missiles and defending Drakian missiles screamed towards each other at the blinding speed of two miles a second, faster than any human could react. The first SRAMs fell victim to the Drakian defenses, while the Drakian ships far off on the horizon were wreathed in man-made fog from firing off their missiles as fast as they could.
More missiles distengrated across the sky in flaming trails of destruction as the wave of American missiles swept closer and closer to the Drakian fleet; close enough for the shorter range Achilles medium and short range defense missiles to be brought into action. Out of more than three hundred SRAMs launched, only twenty reached their target points, a loss rate of ninety-four per cent. But that really didn't matter, as the Draka found out as the warheads of the remaining SRAMs, dialed up to their maximum yields of 200 kilotons, initated.
Last edited by Junghalli on 2005-10-23 07:32pm, edited 1 time in total.
Wouldn't the Valkyries be using standoff nuclear antiships missiles to kill the enemy fleet? Getting in close seems a bit silly. For that matter, in a fight between hypersonic aircraft they'd probably not try to get into turning fights - but rather stay with missile duels and whatnot.
CaptainChewbacca wrote:hurrr.... uh.... the first guy mentioned in chapter 5?
Yes!
CaptainChewbacca wrote:I doubt you would have IMMEDIATELY had kids saying "too bad they didn't kill Bush". If this is "9-11" then they havn't had a chance to hate him yet.
Believe it or not I actually heard that in RL, on the very day of 9/11. If you lived in Berkeley you wouldn't be suprised: they hated Bush from the day he declared his intention to run for the Presidency.
P.S. If you need someone in southern California, a hairy geologist named Peter who got called up and sent to the LA front would be fine with me. Someone to do all sorts of geo-nasty things like triggering landslides and rupturing pipelines.
I'm sure it can be arranged. Somebody on another board commented that Americans would probably make such horrendously poor slaves (since we're basically indoctrinated to be individualists, and rather patriotic as a nation to boot) that an enemy like the Draka might very well have to pull the Bactrian Solution and basically execute most of the adult population if they really wanted it pacified. I'm sure there's going to be a ton of Partisan activity going on.
I pity the Draka if they ever get to the South or Southwest. Can you imagine what it'd be like trying to pacify all the backwoods NRA rednecks and survivalists and the like?
CaptainChewbacca wrote:Are we going to see any wanked-out Homo Drakensis?
No. I did play with the idea of a genetically engineered slave-warrior that might show up towards the end of the war. Basically a Drakensis-lite, w/out the dominance pheremones and indoctrinated to fanatically revere and worship their Draka masters, but I don't think it'll pan out.
LordShaithis wrote:What did the Draka do to Mecca?
They raised the shrine of the Kabba and built a pagan temple on top of the ruins.
phongn wrote:Wouldn't the Valkyries be using standoff nuclear antiships missiles to kill the enemy fleet? Getting in close seems a bit silly.
I guess the idea of tac nukes as an antiship weapon just never occured to me.
For that matter, in a fight between hypersonic aircraft they'd probably not try to get into turning fights - but rather stay with missile duels and whatnot.
IIRC the Valkyrie and Rapier were not hypersonic (the Valkyrie's maximum speed, as I remember, was a little less than Mach 2). Hypersonic fighters like the Eagle and Phoenix are still fairly new and rare in this universe.
phongn wrote:Wouldn't the Valkyries be using standoff nuclear antiships missiles to kill the enemy fleet? Getting in close seems a bit silly.
I guess the idea of tac nukes as an antiship weapon just never occured to me.
For that matter, in a fight between hypersonic aircraft they'd probably not try to get into turning fights - but rather stay with missile duels and whatnot.
IIRC the Valkyrie and Rapier were not hypersonic (the Valkyrie's maximum speed, as I remember, was a little less than Mach 2). Hypersonic fighters like the Eagle and Phoenix are still fairly new and rare in this universe.
Npsrry, the valk was designed to get up to mach 3, and the second XB-70 model managed to sustain this speed for 33 minutes at a stretch. The first model was limited to Mach 2.5 because of problems with the honeycomb, but that's still faster than 2. And then there're probably upgrades. I believe the Raiper was designed to reach a similar speed as well.
Junghalli wrote:I guess the idea of tac nukes as an antiship weapon just never occured to me.
The Soviet Union had them a'plenty. You also had torpedo bombing, which fell out of style decades ago -- you have to get far too close to fire them.
IIRC the Valkyrie and Rapier were not hypersonic (the Valkyrie's maximum speed, as I remember, was a little less than Mach 2). Hypersonic fighters like the Eagle and Phoenix are still fairly new and rare in this universe.
Both aircraft were intended to sustain high-mach flight. Boom and zoom beats turn and burn
I'm enjoying the story, don't get me wrong, just providing constructive (I hope!) criticism when available.
phongn wrote:I'm enjoying the story, don't get me wrong, just providing constructive (I hope!) criticism when available.
No problem. I think the main problem is I'm used to writing for my universe, which has interstellar empires and plays by somewhat different rules than a planetbound civilization obviously (for instance there are no sea navies, which is why this is where my knowledge of military matters is the weakest). So a lot of this I'm basically learning by Google.
Maybe I'll stick to ground battles more, I think I make less mistakes there.
Both aircraft were intended to sustain high-mach flight. Boom and zoom beats turn and burn
That's mostly inexperienced and overconfident Draka pilots there. They overestimated their manueverability advantage over American aircraft. They thought they could get away with turning manuevers because USAF planes would basically roll like beached whales on valium compared to theirs, they paid for it fairly severely (you notice in the chapter this tactics usually leads to the Drak being shot out of the sky).
Far as torpedo bombing goes... The best I can offer in-universe is they developed a very long range heat-seeking torpedo (something more like an underwater missile basically, designed to hit ships below the water line).
Tom Clancy's books can get some what techno-wankish, but you might try Red Storm Rising for some ideas concerning modern navel warfare. Most of what you have written could have come right out of a WWII movie, however, since the start of the missile age (late 50s-early 60s), anti-carrier doctrine has been built around massive cruise missile bombardment from 2 to 4 hundred miles out. It's the reason why the Phoenix air-to-air missile was designed with a 130 mile range. So you can go out and start whacking Backfires before they can get into range to start slinging 200 kT Kingfishes at you.
Other than that, though, its a good story.
"The real trouble with this world of ours is not that it is an unreasonable world, nor even that it is a reasonable one.
The commonest kind of trouble is that it is nearly reasonable, but not quite.
Life is not an illogicality, yet it is a trap for logicians.
It looks just a little more mathematical and regular than it is; its' exactitude is obvious; but its' inexactitude is hidden; its' wildness lies in wait."
-G. K. Chesterton
Junghalli wrote:No problem. I think the main problem is I'm used to writing for my universe, which has interstellar empires and plays by somewhat different rules than a planetbound civilization obviously (for instance there are no sea navies, which is why this is where my knowledge of military matters is the weakest). So a lot of this I'm basically learning by Google.
That's why I suggested that you try and find out what each military aimed to do (the ends) and then determine how they do it (the means).
Maybe I'll stick to ground battles more, I think I make less mistakes there.
Just plan ahead first and you'll do fine.
Far as torpedo bombing goes... The best I can offer in-universe is they developed a very long range heat-seeking torpedo (something more like an underwater missile basically, designed to hit ships below the water line).
Water is too good of a heatsink to do that, you'll never acquire a lock-on. Also, at the speeds that the B-70 was intended to fight at the torpedo would shatter on impact with the water.
The thing is, there is (or was) nuclear everything. Nuclear anti-ship missiles. Nuclear air-to-air missiles. Nuclear torpedoes. Nuclear mines. Nuclear everything.
If Religion and Politics were characters on a soap opera, Religion would be the one that goes insane with jealousy over Politics' intimate relationship with Reality, and secretly murder Politics in the night, skin the corpse, and run around its apartment wearing the skin like a cape shouting "My votes now! All votes for me! Wheeee!" -- Lagmonster
Brilliant again. You'd think the Draka would come to expect this kind of fanatacism from their enemies, but apparently it just keeps catching them off guard.
I get the feeling that any cities with the misfortune to be in Ingolffson's way are in for a bad time. That whole piece of description was excellent, by the way, she's not one of your sympathetic snakes (like Setzer), but you still manage to show her as a human being, though that doesn't stop her from being a monster.
One last thing. Do you seriously think that if the U.S were fighting the most evil regime in the history of the world, and it had just nuked the entire east coast, Berkleyites would still focus their hostility on Bush?
Post Number 1066 achieved Sun Feb 22, 2009 3:19 pm(board time, 8:19GMT)
Batman: What do these guys want anyway?
Superman: Take over the world... Or rob banks, I'm not sure.
