Asterion (29 page)

The commander from Progress stutters a bit and responds, “Sir, we have equipment problems. The shortage of parts has limited the amount of assets we can send to the front. I have ordered the pirating of some of the choppers to repair the better units available.”

The commander of Forward clears her throat and adds to the other’s report, “We have had similar issues and we are doing our best to get more in the air.”

“What about fixed wing fighters and bombers?”

Forward’s commander responds, “Sir, they have sophisticated drones that may cause us to accumulate higher than acceptable losses.”

Burnsom, angry and animated leans in closer to the screen, “You get everything up there. Do you hear me? We will be defeated and I won’t have an army of beasts to fight our war. If that happens, I will have to put human soldiers at the front of this battle. When the people hear this, who do you think I will place the blame on?”

The commanders fidget nervously in their seats. They know it will be them that will hang for this folly. Progress’ commander responds first, “Sir, every air asset that can get into the air will engage the enemy. We have a few wings heading there as we speak.” The commander hears the planes taking off as he speaks.

Forward’s commander responds likewise and looks at her assistant, signaling him to get on the line leaders to get their troops in gear. Burnsom leans forward, switches off the communication device, leans back in his chair, and moans frustratingly.

Tom stands behind Burnsom and places his hand on top of the back of the chair. “Ira, be careful pushing the troops around. You don’t want them to turn against you.”

“If they lose this battle we will still be in the same shape as if they did. Asterion has to trust in us. We need him to fight this battle.” Burnsom gets Trent on the monitor. “We are meeting stiff resistance. Is there anything we can give Asterion to help him?”

“We have developed a fibrous goo that is not only sticky, but the fibers bind together to hold even the strongest mechanisms if enough gets on them. I can have it airlifted in hours to them.”

“Do it now. I’ll be in touch.” Burnsom ends the call and turns to Tom. “I want an inventory of the projects they are working on right away. He seems to keep me in the dark about what he is up to.”

“You got it Ira. I’ll let our inside contact know.”

“Good.” Burnsom turns back, watches the tactical screens, and get assessments from the command team.

Asterion grows impatient. He looks overhead and sees the airliners ferrying refugees to safety. He announces to the provincial troops that if they don’t back off, he is going to start attacking civilians. His message ignored, he looks around to see what he has available nearby. He turns to a nearby centurion, “Attack those.”

The centurion looks overhead and gets his squad to aim their missiles at the airliners. They launch and the missile quickly streaks upward towards the airliner. Detonating near the right side of the craft the shrapnel rips through the engine. It begins to smoke, causing the pilots to shut it down. Thinking they have the situation under control, they discover that they can’t get full power out of the left engine. They nose down to maintain flying speed and scan the ground looking for a place to crash land the plane.

“Maintain one thousand feet per minute descent.”

“Yes, sir, maintaining one thousand feet per minute descent rate.”

“I don’t see anything flat enough for a safe landing. Do you?”

The first officer peers out of his window scanning the landscape. “No, I’m not seeing any good terrain.”

“Well, we have to pick the best spot.”

“Agreed, but it does not look good.”

Grabbing the mike the Captain radios, “Mayday, mayday, Flight 472 declaring an emergency. One engine out, other compromised, can’t make it to a suitable runway.”

“Flight 472, maintain best speed and current heading. Help is on the way.”

The Captain looks at the First Officer, “Help is on the way. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

They turn their focus to keeping the disabled craft in the air.

One of the flying wings leaves the hanger and taxis onto the runway. Getting clearance, it streaks skyward to rendezvous with the crippled airliner. Approaching from the rear the rescue wing eases under the dead engine. Straps that function like a snake’s muscles clamp around the engine. The flying wing analyzes engine type, airliner model and determines where it can tap into the fuel system. Another tentacle snakes out and attaches to the wing with a vacuum system that depressurizes between the two walls of the tubing and the wing surface. A drill pierces the aluminum wing without a spark and draws fuel from the airliner’s supply.

The wing communicates with the flight crew over the radio. “I am a rescue system. I have analyzed and matched my performance to your engines and you can control me as you controlled the original engine through the fly-by-wire system.”

Dumbfounded, the Captain and First Office look at each other not knowing what to make of this development. He eases the throttle forward and they feel the power, they level the airliner out, and proceed toward the nearest airport. The Captain looks out the window past the first officer and sees a few Hawks flying formation to protect the craft. Looking at their shape he asks, “Is that a bird?”

The First Officer looks out and replies, “No sir, I think it’s a plane.”

Just then, one of the Hawks peels off and attacks a ground to air missile that is streaking up to the airliner. Firing an air-to-air missile, it peels off sending chaff countermeasures as it turns. The missile finds its mark and the missile is destroyed. It rejoins the formation.

Asterion is angered at their failure to bring an airliner down. “There, that one, shoot two missiles at that one.”

The centurion gets the team to aim and launch two at the other airliner. The missiles streak upward and explode on each side of the craft instantly taking out both engines. Shrapnel rips through the fuselage wounding several including the flight crew and compromising critical control systems. Wounded, the Captain does her best to try to restart the engines, but she is unsuccessful. The First Officer is incapacitated. Straining with her feet against control panel, she pulls with all her might to pull the nose of the craft up. The hydraulic system shot, she has no assist against the control surfaces. Bleeding from several wounds, she finally succumbs to the loss of blood and passes out. The airliner begins a death spiral toward the ground with smoke trailing. The passengers cry and scream in terror as the airliner picks up speed. Some pray, some cry and some hold their loved ones tight for the last time. The holes ripped through the skin of the craft make a demonic roar as papers and other objects swirl around the cabin. The cold, stinging wind is like the icy breath of death upon the souls trapped in a nightmare. A rip begins to lengthen down the belly of the doomed craft as the shrieking noise increases in pitch and volume.

Two flying wings are already approaching the airliner, scanning and assessing the situation. They took to the air the moment the missiles launched. Lifting off and flying in formation at seventy-degree angles, two Strike Eagles join up from each side. A larger Hawk with delta wings bristling with air-to-air and air-to-ground missiles it is the latest development of the province and short in numbers. A couple of Hawks join up on the wing of the larger drones. They streak up and as the crippled aircraft spirals down, the formation rolls on its back and angles down to follow the airliner. In coordination, the wings match the spiral rate of the craft. They try to communicate with the control systems, but there is no response. They position the edges of their wing by the tail of the aircraft. Small pods extend from the wings and attach themselves to the rudder and elevators so that the wings can control the craft. A burst of jet power and they position themselves under the engines. They grip the engines and tap the fuel supply. They stop the spiral and apply as much force as they can on the damaged airframe to level the plane out. Scanning the airframe, they detect the overall integrity of the airframe and steer slightly toward the center of the fuselage and the tear closes up. The wounded airframe creaks and groans as the wings attempt to level the plane before they hit the ground. The surprised passengers can’t believe their eyes. They thought they were going to die and now they are in stable flight. The airliner streaks closer to the ground and banks at an angle to match the incline of the hill they are skimming by at low altitude. Trees loom ahead. Some are much too tall for the weakened airframe to clear. The Strike Eagles streak ahead and missiles streak one-by-one targeting the taller trees. Running out of missiles the hawks take the lead firing their gatling gun severing the tops of the taller trees in the path of the airliner. The hawks run out of ammo and each strikes a tree, topping it. The Strike Eagles fire their guns to clear the path and running out of ammo the first one hits a large tree. Damaged, the tree still stands. The second strikes it and it finally severs and falls to the ground. The passengers can hear the chalkboard scratching of limbs on the fuselage as the wings slice branches from the treetops. They are just a few hundred feet above the ground, but they are flying again. The wings fight for altitude as Hawks streak in to provide cover.

At the first firing of the missiles from the Strike Eagles, two more taxi out and leap into the sky to support the rescue. They go afterburner and quickly flank the crippled airlines.

Asterion knows that Taylor and Christine are behind these innovations and his anger towards them grows with every failure. “They will feel pain and I will feel the pleasure of giving it.”

He orders antiaircraft batteries to open fire on the craft. Once again, the passengers are in fear for their lives as the nearby blasts shake and rattle the airliner. The two Strike Eagles go combat power again and split as one goes above and one below the airline and the liner shutters from the turbulence. The Eagles yaw back and forth from its wake. They track the rounds streaking upward and use shrapnel shells to destroy them from their Gatling guns. They fly down the path of the antiaircraft rounds firing missiles at the batteries. In a flash, the whole area, engulfed in the explosion of missiles, goes silent and the bodies of scattered beasts are everywhere.

Asterion stands up, shocked at the devastation wrought by the Strike Eagles. Infuriated he scans around for his next target. Refugees in ground transports attempt to race past them in the distance, hoping to pass by unnoticed in the melee. He snarls, frustrated at his lack of success. “Take several squads and attack those civilian transports. Bring me some survivors. I need some collateral.”

The centurions and their troopers mount up in their transports and light armored vehicles to intercept the fleeing convoy. Barry Thomason, his family and a group of refugees they picked up along the way are speeding through the open fields hoping to go unnoticed.

Chance is scanning the horizon with binoculars when he spots the pursuing beasts rapidly catching up to them. He taps his father on the shoulder, “We got those animals coming at us.”

“How far?”

“Couple of miles.”

He turns to the refugees, “We need everyone that can handle a weapon to stand on the line. Let’s take shelter by those rocky outcrops for shelter.” The convoy follows the lead vehicle towards the rocks.

Racing away from the approaching beasts, Barry looks back at those who came with them. In one of the vehicles, a little girl catches his attention. Sitting with knees under her chin and her arms wrapped around her shins, she’s frozen, staring in the distance with a blank expression on her face. The only movement is her curly blonde locks sweeping back and forth on her forehead from the wind. Barry thinks, “No child should go through this.”

Turning to the others on the line, Barry shouts, “When they hit one thousand yards, fire about a foot above them to compensate for distance or adjust your scope if you have one. Drop your elevation as they close.”

Chance looks at his dad, “We can get them, can we?”

Barry, stone faced, answers his son, “Take out as many as you can son.”

He did not lie to him and Chase realized in that moment that’s what being an adult is, taking the truth straight up and doing what you can for those who need help. He turns back and aims at the approaching beasts. They wait for the thousand-yard call.

Artillery shells start exploding a short distance away spewing dirt and debris into the air. It throws debris on the refugees and the children begin to cry while their protectors shield them with their bodies. Barry calls for the convoy to weave in and out to confuse their targeting. The bursts keep getting closer and closer until it takes out some of the vehicles. Not willing to leave them behind, the group hunkers down and prepares for battle. They don’t have much, but they are willing to give it their all to protect the people in the disabled vehicles. Forming a line with the vehicles, they hunker down behind them. The beasts are closing ranks with the refugees. They can hear the hoof beats and rally cries as they approach.

A blast comes from the trees on the fence line a short distance behind the refugees. Barry turns to see trees still tumbling in the air. He peers out into the distance and asks Chance, “What is that?”

Chance turns with his binoculars and says, “I don’t know. I never saw anything like that. It’s coming fast though.” He sees sunlight glint off whatever is coming with a trail of dust behind it.