David Golemon - Event

Derry knew their strategy was flawed. He didn't know how far a weapon from this thing could reach, as its range and capabilities were a mystery. The assumption of a line three hundred miles out from the carrier was just a guess, as a line had been drawn in the sky instead of the sand. Had this been a normal aircraft, a hundred miles was the limit of any antiship missile outside the U.S. inventory. The French-made Exocet antiship missile made infamous in the Falklands war by its sinking of the HMS Sheffield was now the weapon of choice for most of the outlaw nations that threatened ships at sea. But this thing was not a normal air-breathing vehicle.

Derry cleared his throat. "Unidentified aircraft, we are United States Navy fighter planes to your rear. You are approaching a quarantine zone and you are hereby ordered to identify yourself and turn your aircraft immediately to a westerly heading, over."

Ryan heard the call repeated twice more by Derry and shook his head. He assumed this object wouldn't feel threatened by their two small aircraft. As he approached, a large and jagged hole was increasing in size at the rear of the saucer.

"Derringer, looks like this thing has had a hole punched in it."

"Vampire, stay in place with your finger on the trigger, we may have a... a... Well, something's in distress here. That's damage of some kind. I'm going to get a closer look."

Ryan watched as Derringer's F-14 started its advance toward the giant saucer. He nudged his throttles forward just a little; he knew his wingman would never notice. He watched his flight leader's Tomcat as it approached from the rear. The huge jet wobbled from wingtip to wingtip as it was caught in the saucer's vortex.

"Vampire, there's a situation on board that craft. It looks like they're venting something, you seeing it?"

Ryan saw what looked like some form of liquid as it streamed from several smaller holes in the craft's aft compartments.

"I'm seeing, just not believing," Ryan answered.

Men were speaking in quiet tones as they watched their screens. It seemed the temperature had risen ten degrees in the last few minutes as they waited for incoming information. Most of them had never felt this helpless.

"What have we got here, Derringer?" Hams asked. Static was the only answer he received.

Suddenly an enlisted man said loudly, "Captain on deck!"

Harris turned to see the captain of the Vinson leaving his marine escort outside as he entered the darkened Combat Direction Center. His stern expression told Harris that the captain was deeply concerned for the safety of his ship.

"At ease, continue with your work. What's Range Rider saying, Commander?"

"No answer yet, it may be interference or some sort of jamming, we're still evaluating. The Alert One aircraft should be in place in three minutes, Captain."

"I see. Keep trying to raise them," the captain ordered as he sat down in the chair normally reserved for Harris. The officer who drove one of the most powerful warships ever built watched his men performing their duties. He made no comment. The only indication of concern was the way he closed his eyes and listened to the calls to Range Rider that were going unanswered.

"Sir, Range Rider's radar signature has just gone intermittent. When the bogey goes, they go. Whatever electronic field that craft is emitting is now screening our own fighters." As Harris leaned over the man's shoulder again, he saw nothing on the green sweep of the radar. Then two small blips and one that measured at least four hundred feet or more in diameter appeared and then vanished on the next sweep.

"Two-eighty and closing," radar called out.

"Give me the status of the battle group," the captain asked, as he stood and started for the bridge, meaning he wanted the report now and while he was on the move. Overhead could be heard the roar of the steam catapult and thump of tires as another flight of F-14 fighters lifted skyward.

"All ships report in at battle ready, Captain. Air defenses are up and close-in weapons support is warmed and armed," Harris responded. He was referring to the Phalanx twenty-millimeter automatic cannons and Sea Sparrow missiles that were a major part of the carrier's close-in point protection. But their real defense was the Aegis cruiser Shiloh with her advanced missile defense system.

The captain heard the report as he paused at the hatch and then started for the bridge. Harris watched him go and rubbed his temple as he eased back into his chair. This close to home waters and the current threat board was clear. Of course, ships not much different from this one were sailing into home waters once when someone hit Pearl Harbor.

"Still no communication with Range Rider?" Harris asked.

"COM is clear."

"Sir, we have a second bogey inbound to Range Rider at four hundred miles behind the first bogey and closing at a high rate of speed. This contact is strong!"

Harris jumped from his seat and watched as the second contact closed on the first object and the trailing F-14s.

"Second contact closing at over Mach two point five," said a second, louder voice.

"What in the hell is happening here?" Harris said as he removed the bridge phone from its cradle.

Dropout, Ryan's RIO, caught another blip on his screen. "We have an inbound, mark it possible hostile, coming up our six and closing fast."

"Talk to me."

"Can't calculate distance and speed, it's moving too fast," Chavez said, close to panic.

"Damn, did you copy that, Derringer?" Ryan asked.

"Copy, Vampire, where in the hell are the alert aircraft?" Derry said, scanning the sky quickly for the two Tomcats that should be there any second.

Ryan didn't answer; at that moment his F-14 lurched in the sky, throwing him against his harness. His Tomcat quickly lost a hundred feet of altitude as something shot overhead in a blur of silver. The wings of his fighter wobbled uncontrollably for a moment and the nose dipped in a downward spasm. They were caught in the wake of a second saucer as it streaked toward the first. Several warning lights flashed on the Tomcat's control board. Ryan fought the stick, advancing his throttles to try to gain his original altitude. At that moment, a sick greenish light washed over their clear cockpit canopy, casting an eerie glow on themselves and the interior of the jet. The Tomcat's engines lost their whine and the engine-failure light came on. First engine one, then two, flashed their red warnings. A silence now filled the cockpit with the exception of a computerized voice warning of engine stall, and the eerie quiet outside was almost as loud as the engines it had replaced. He didn't panic as training kicked in and he went into automatic. He fought the stick, bringing it forward, then to the left; all the while a soft hum now filled his ears, seemingly coming from outside the aircraft.

"Flameout! Flameout! Range Rider Two is going tits up; repeat, we're a dead stick," Ryan called. "Mayday, Mayday! "

"Aw fuck!" Henry said almost too calmly from the backseat as he clenched his teeth together.

Ryan brought the stick all the way forward, at the same time lifting both feet from the pedals that controlled the Tomcat's rudder, allowing the ship to automatically control the spin they were in. This brought the Tomcat to a nose-down attitude, a straight position to gain speed, and now the huge aircraft hurtled toward the sea below like an arrow.

"Trying engine restart," Ryan said, keeping his voice under control.

The Tomcat was equipped with an air-powered generator used for emergencies like this. Rushing air caught vanes, and those turned a generator, and that in turn supplied the aircraft with enough power to restart her engines without the help of ground facilities. At least that was the way the engineers had designed her. This was one scenario you trained for but never actually did outside of a simulator. The high-pitched whine of the rushing stream of air outside the cockpit was close to unbearable.