David Golemon - Legend

He used his thumb to select his weapon, two South African-made MAA-1 Piranhas, a short-range air-to-air missile relying on infrared passive guidance, which seeks the target's heat emissions coming primarily from the engines. He immediately received guidance lock from the seeker heads of the two missiles themselves, which were poised on the launch rails beneath both wings just waiting for the electrical signal that would send them on their deadly way.

"Goddammit, they have missile lock on us, Ryan!" the pilot called over the radio.

"I don't give a damn, we have our orders! Now get us back into position and fire the damned weapon before we lose those people down there!"

The Brazilian fighter pilots were relieved to see the giant aircraft start a slow turn back to the east. Then they watched and followed the 747, hoping they were about to leave the area from the direction they had come. They didn't know it was only starting to make a long and slow circle as their targets were reacquired. When the lead pilot saw they were commencing another attack run, he became angered at the perceived deception and quickly spurred the French-built fighter back into its optimum firing position. He knew the 747 was ten minutes away from a sure death as it slowly turned.

Ambrose nodded to the Secret Service agent outside the Oval Office and then walked in. The president was standing at his desk with his hands placed firmly on its top.

"What's happening?"

The president didn't answer. He was looking down in thought as the muscles in his jaw were clenching and unclenching. Then the phone buzzed.

"The president of Brazil is returning your call," his secretary said from the outer office.

"Mr. President, what are you doing?" Ambrose asked nervously.

"Something I should have done from the beginning," he said as he picked up the phone.

Ambrose froze. The man was calling the president of Brazil personally, circumventing the secretary of state.

"Mr. President, thank you for taking my call. I need to ask you to stand down your forces. The aircraft in question is on a mission to support a rescue operation only. There is no hostile intent on their part."

Ambrose slowly tossed a file folder on the coffee table in the front of one of the couches and sat. He closed his eyes as he felt his career, even his freedom, slipping out of his grasp.

"Yes, Secretary Nussbaum has undoubtedly explained to you the circumstances surrounding the—"

The president fell silent as the conversation became one-sided. He listened intently for three minutes and then angrily pounded his fist on his desk. He thanked the president of Brazil and hung up. He then pressed the button on his intercom. "Get me Admiral Handley at COMSURPAC headquarters in Pearl Harbor, now!"

The tone emanating from the seeker heads of the Piranhas once again told the pilot his missiles had locked onto the 747 heat signature. He was moments away from triggering the weapon when his wingman called out frantically.

"We have two inbound targets closing in from the west! They are at mach two point two and coming on fast from low altitude; they must have been orbiting in our airspace somewhere!"

The flight lead removed his finger from the trigger and started looking to the west. It took him a moment to find the afterburner glare of the two hostile aircraft, but when he saw them he knew they had covered their approach by flying at tree canopy level. As he thought this he heard the telltale warning that his fighter was being painted by the enemy weapons radar. Then a split second later, the tone became louder and steady, and that was when he knew his Mirage had been locked onto by an enemy missile.

"Brazilian fighter planes, this is United States Navy fighter aircraft to your west. We ask that you alter your approach to United States experimental aircraft that is currently off course. Their overflight is an accident, repeat, it is accidental. We have orders to protect United States property at all costs. Do you read, Brazilian flight leader?"

A cheer rose inside the spacious area inside Proteus as the announcement was made that the Brazilian fighters had turned away. Ryan listened as the communications operator informed them that the attacking fighters had been called off by the Brazilian chief of staff, calling out of Brasilia.

"Goddamn!" one of the Delta men said, shaking his head. "Someone told someone else we're the good guys!"

"Colonel, how long until you have a firing solution?" Ryan asked.

"We have one now, but it looks like our targets are awful close to your nofire area; they are almost clear of the heat signature pattern."

"Fire, goddammit, FIRE!"

The 747 started to shake and vibrate. They heard the main generator kick over to full power. And that was when Ryan just knew the whole platform was going to explode.

Mendenhall heard the click as his weapons firing pin hit an empty chamber. He had just hoped he had poked a few holes in a few Zodiacs below. With that thought of devious hope came twenty heavy-caliber rounds. Their tracers phosphorous red and horrible to behold, they slammed into his position.

He lay back and fumbled for another magazine when the sky lit up with a green blaze that shocked him into stillness. As he watched upward in amazement, fifty-two fluorescent laser beams coursed through the clear night air with deadly silence. It looked as if they formed the spokes of a wheel as they struck and then moved like giant stirrers mixing a drink.

The lead Zodiacs exploded as the COIL made adjustments in her targeting. Men were sliced in two by the green mirror-enhanced lasers as they struck them and punctured easily though their clothes and flesh. They didn't even have time to react as the airborne laser killed half of the assault element in a matter of 1.327 seconds.

The sky had formed into a giant pinwheel of green light, taking out the first twenty-five-plus men before they knew they had even been attacked. Will Mendenhall was in shock as the attack ended even before he had finished flinching. He rubbed his eyes from the sudden flash, then looked out over the water. He saw nothing but floating rubber and dead men. However, the last five Zodiacs had turned and tried desperately to make for the far end of the lagoon. After seeing the deaths of their comrades at the hands of something they would never understand, they thought a more stealthy attack might be in order.

Mendenhall turned away and sat down hard on the small outcropping of rock. He watched as the last remains of the lead boats of the assault element sank beneath the calm waters of the lagoon, never suspecting that there were survivors.

The system had performed nearly flawlessly. With the exception of the short firing cycle, which allowed the rear attack boats to escape, the laser performed as intended for the first time after over three hundred laboratory and field tests. The technicians knew they would pay for it later because the generator had shorted out (causing another fire) and the thirty-five-inch mirrored barrel had melted under the intense heat. But right now, the largest assemblage of American nerds in the air ever were jumping for joy and giving high fives until the lieutenant colonel burst out of the targeting room and yelled for them to knock it off.

"In case you just forgot, you just killed one hell of a lot of men with this fucking thing; now let's see if maybe we can still help them by getting this damned system back online to get the rest of the bad guys!"

The technicians immediately silenced as he angrily stepped back inside.