

### A Crowded Glass Container

**A Science Fiction Novel**

By

Thomas E. Hebert

Copyright 2013 Thomas E. Hebert

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Author's Note

I have always loved science fiction because of its requirement that author has to invent a universe, complete with civilizations and physical laws. I did that with my first book, which was supposed to be a standalone novel. However, I hated to give up on the universe, so this novel is a sequel to "A Small Glass Container." To figure out just what is going on in this novel, you need to read the first novel first. Sorry about that, but it is only 99 cents on Amazon's Kindle Store. The link is  here.

Thomas E. Hebert

# Chapter One

# A Nice Day, Except for That Bitch

October of Year 31

It was an exceptionally nice day in Sand Mountain, clear, cool, with a slight breeze out of the north and unlimited visibility. It was fall and the leaves were turning various hues of orange, red and yellow. It was a day meant for flying and Bob Smith was doing just that, flying an overpowered ultra-light airplane with an open cockpit. An open cockpit was an understatement as the cockpit was little more that a seat with flight controls and completely exposed to the wind. The airspeed indicator hovered around 45 knots as Bob pulled up to clear the trees at the end of the meadow and reluctantly turned towards his company's airfield. Bob determinedly keep flying the little airplane just above the treetops as he tried to spit out the remains of a Dragonfly that had just committed suicide by smashing him across the nose and mouth.

"Perfect," thought Bob. "Flying ultra-lights is meant to be a bugs-in-the-teeth experience. This is just the note to end a perfect afternoon of flying." Bob gained another fifty feet in altitude and fumbled with his water bottle intending to wash off the rest of the bug goop. After wetting his handkerchief, dropping his water bottle overboard and getting some yellow bug guts off his face and onto the cloth, Bob ignored the taste in his mouth and the real and imaged decorations on his face and settled into a boring, straight and level flight back to the airfield. This allowed his mind to wander and he considered the conference call scheduled in an hour.

Joshua Baker had just finished his first year in office as the President of the Eastern Confederation and had requested the conference call but had not stated the reasons. Bob could guess however, and was certain that he was about to get sucked back into full-time designing military aircraft. The fact that General Bill Brennan, the newly appointed EC military Chief of Staff was included on the conference call only made this scenario more probable in Bob's estimation. That probability was not all bad and in a way Bob was ready for the challenge. Being 36, rich and getting richer was decent enough circumstance but Bob was beginning to miss the sense of challenge and purpose that the Viking and Furry Wars had rammed down his throat and was tentatively ready for some more. On the other hand, the pressure of designing and building warplanes in which his friends and countrymen would have to fight and perhaps die was something that his mind refused to accept gracefully. The image of the charred remains of Sally Saunders kept popping up when he did do some work for the defense departments of the EC or the NAR. It was hard to really get into your work when ghosts rambled around in the back reaches of your mind and used sundry sharp tools on some emotional scars.

Flying at a safe altitude above the treetops was almost automatic for Bob and his mind kept nibbling on the issue of working for the EC Defense Department again, interrupted only by having to dodge a flock of Passenger Pigeons. Flying and thinking seemed to help resolve problems for Bob and kept the ghosts at bay, or at least removed the sharp instruments from their grasp. Almost without realizing it, Bob was making up his mind before President Baker and General Brennan asked for his help. Given his state of mind, landing was almost a commitment to go to war again and the subsequent landing was flawless.

Somewhat determined to do his duty for his countries (both of them) and this isolated segment of the human race, Bob marched from his hanger to his office, seated himself at his desk and called up his latest set of plans. He was still reviewing his preliminary design when the conference call announced itself and two six by six inch images were superimposed on his diagrams. They were the images of Baker and Brennan.

Before Bob could even say hello, President Baker exclaimed, "Bob, just what the hell is that on your face?" Bob had focused on the issue of returning to military design to the exclusion of personal hygiene. In other words, Bob had bug guts dangling from his nose.

"Ops, I just came in from flying and forgot to clean up. I had a mid-air with a dragonfly. Give me a minute will you Mr. President. Hi General Brennan. I will be right back." Bob dashed for his washroom and hurriedly removed the insect remains from his face and returned to the computer. "Sorry about that gentlemen, guess I was preoccupied with my work and forgot my manners."

"Bob, you have got to stop flying those ultra light machines, they scare the hell out of me. You're my biggest contributor and the EC's best aircraft designer. We may need you some day and besides, I hate attending funerals. Have Ben fly you if you get the urge." Baker was serious but Bob laughed it off. He wasn't about to give up flying his ultra light and the other, larger airplanes didn't deliver the same sense of flying. Bob changed the subject.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Bob asked. "Or are bug guts and my flying the sole issues under consideration?"

"That woman is driving me crazy." Baker didn't even have to name that woman; Bob knew that he was referring to Barbara English, the current President of the NAR. English was a closet liberal and now that she had entered her second and final term as the New American Republic President, the liberalism that had been seeping out under the closet door was now a full-fledged flood. With no worries about re-election she was pushing a wide range of issues that would have killed her earlier election chances in the NAR and was gaining her a reputation as a genuine whacko in the EC.

"Yeah, I sympathize. Jake and I hardly do any business anymore with the NAR. She insists on pollution controls on our jeeps and airplanes and won't allow any imports from companies that don't pay a 'Living Wage' or offer a full range of benefits to their employees. And if you aren't unionized, she finds a reason to bar import of your products. She is a real piece of work. Fortunately the NAR is such a small market that we can ignore her. What's she doing to you?

"We got just about the same treatment. She isn't buying our raw materials because we won't certify that we meet her environmental standards in mining and production. We also get that same 'Living Wage' and union crap. When we buy something from the NAR, she insists that we file for a 'Use Permit' that limits how we use the goods. For example, if we want to buy anything for the military we have to specify that it will be used only in defensive weapons or systems; nothing offensive. Defense is moral and offense is immoral according to her. Since we aren't buying NAR stuff in any quantity the prices for critical technology items is going through the roof. She is also flooding us with lawsuits trying to get payment for past technology transfers and to limit our use of that technology. She claims we are using stolen technology and that's why we aren't buying NAR products. God, she isn't satisfied to run the NAR, she wants to tell us how to run the EC as well. How do you folks stand her?"

"I don't. Haven't been back to the NAR in five years and Jake and I insist on EC suppliers for almost everything. The NAR has always been socialistic with government ownership of most of the important production assets and businesses. English is capitalizing on that by imposing more and more controls through government owed industries. She doesn't even need legislation for a lot of the stuff she's doing, its just modified business practices. My advice is to just find a way to work around her and wait and hope for a more reasonable President next time. Hell of a way to run a civilization but what else can a guy do?"

"Well, that's just what I want to talk about. General Brennan," the President turned the conversation over to his Chief of Staff. Suddenly, the President was all business now that his mini-rant was out of the way.

"Go secure Bob," ordered General Brennan.

Bob called up a program and carefully entered the 15-digit password. The images on the computer screen wavered for a brief fraction of a second and then firmed up again. The word "Secure Communications" appeared in the lower right corner of the screen.

"Confirm secure," Bob announced.

"That woman is more than driving me crazy, she is compromising the security of the both our nations." General Brennan didn't need a therapeutic rant to get serious. "She has raised the prices on jet and turboprop engines to the point where we can't afford them even if we could get the use permits. She tells us that jet warplanes are overkill and that there is no creditable threat at the present time. She also promises to embargo further technology transfers if we don't limit our defense budget to 6% of GDP and start funding social programs. And forget about cruse missiles, she wants to limit our production of smart glide bombs. The worst of all is her cancellation of all long-range reconnaissance projects. She says that it is provocative and dangerous."

That was new to Bob, the rest he had heard over and over again but this was a potentially catastrophic development. The human race on this planet would continue to be blind without some long-range reconnaissance assets and wouldn't even know if another invasion was forming up just over the horizon.

"Did she cancel all of them, the aircraft, submarines, and surface ship projects?" Bob was astounded.

"All of them. They are provocative and expensive and not justified by the current threats that either the Vikings or Furries present according to her. Best we can do is to run Mosquitoes to the limit of their range and that just gets us an ocean buffer from surprise attack. We still don't even know how many continents this planet has or where the Vikings and Furries come from. We can tell from the ocean life that there are six different types of life on this planet and that includes DNA. For all we know, there could be five more continents with five intelligent and potentially hostile species. The Vikings and Furries may not be the worst this planet has to offer. We need strategic reconnaissance assets, the sooner the better."

"I might be able to help with a long range aircraft design, is that what you're looking for?

"Party, we need a long range aircraft that we can build in secret without NAR components. Or at least only NAR components that we can get using faked use permits. Can it be done?" General Brennan was not only asking for an airplane but would also involve Bob in a criminal conspiracy and perhaps treason. Bob didn't hesitate.

"Yes, I can have a prototype flying in two years that will have a range of six thousand miles without refueling."

Baker did not look surprised but the General did. Both were pleased and neither asked for details.

Brennan nodded and after a short pause started talking again.

"Bob, you know about our Mosquito reconnaissance program? Bob nodded and the General continued.

"We send two Mosquitoes out to the limit of their range on a routine basis. One plane is in the lead and the other trailing. Last week a pair from one of the southern bases spotted a large convoy. We make these sighting every once in a while but none seemed to be coming our way. In this case, the leading Mosquito got painted by air search radar, then fire control radar and then was shot down by a missile. The trailing bird turned to run and the pilots swear that another aircraft chased them. They put the nose down and used full power in a shallow dive and they claim that they were being rapidly overtaken. They flew into a cloud and popped some chaff and lost contact. They didn't get any pictures since they were running but I believe them. Somebody out there has aircraft and probably jets. That means that our plans to defend the continent may be obsolete and ineffective. We need a standoff weapon that will allow our aircraft to attack from long range. It needs to be cheap, deliverable from a Mosquito, effective from long range. Got any ideas?

"Actually I do. Want me to start work on them? Need a briefing first?

"Start working immediately and let me know what you need. I can hide some money in the overall budget to pay you cost plus 10% for the design stage and maybe some prototypes. Beyond that we will have to get Congress to appropriate the money and then secrets will be hard to keep. When the word gets out you will a prime target of President English's wrath. General, give Bob a week and then fly out for get together over these plans. Keep everything a closely held secret for as long as possible. We need the NAR and their goodwill."

After the close of the conference call, Bob sat and stared at the computer screen. The conference call had gone on for 15 minutes but the first two minutes had contained the critical decisions. What followed was12 more minutes of enthusiastic English bashing, which was becoming a recognized sport in the EC. But Bob's mind was on other things. Finally, he clicked upon an icon and a familiar face appeared upon the screen.

"Ben, come on over as soon as possible, we got a lot to talk about."

# Chapter Two

# Meanwhile, Back in the NAR

October of Year 31

It was a miserable day. Oh, the weather was beautiful with a light breeze and wisps of clouds. The problem was that NAR Scout Major Sam George was on a fishing boat instead of a horse and was still seasick. Two days of misery that, thankfully, was coming to an end. The fishing boat was returning to the mouth of the Columbia with a decent catch. Now if only that idiot Captain would just shut up so Sam could suffer in peace.

"There, about 235 relative, maybe 500 yards. See it? Don't point or be obvious in looking, we don't want to spook them." The idiot was urging Sam to do something more productive than retch and feel sorry for his self. The smell of the boat's catch didn't help either. Never the less, Sam did look in the indicated direction and caught a glimpse of water, waves, and foam that all moved in sickening ways.

"Seth?" was all Sam could manage.

"I'm recording Sir," was the reply from Sergeant Seth Williams. "You can puke in peace knowing that I am doing all the important stuff."

Somewhere, in the inner reaches of his mind, beyond the immediate intolerable motion sickness, Sam was entering a note that he owed Seth something. Right now he wasn't sure if it was gratitude for the professionalism that Seth carried out his duties or bit of revenge for his smart mouth. When he reached dry land, which he would never, ever leave again; it would be time to decide between gratitude and revenge. Now it was just too much effort to decide.

An hour later, in the smoother waters of the river, Sam was up to looking at the video that Seth had recorded. Motivation and interest in his surroundings had returned and Sam was actually interested in the video. It was just like the fisherman had been saying for the last several months. It was a periscope. The computer continued to enhance the image but the high-resolution video camera caught the periscope for up to 40 seconds at a time on several occasions during the last two days. There was a submarine operating in NAR coastal waters and there were no human submarines on the planet.

"Good work Scout," Sam told Seth. Gratitude was edging out revenge for the time being. "Now we got another item for Scouts to watch out for, submarines. Maybe this is how the Furries got all those small parties ashore during the war without being seen by our coastal watchers."

"It looks like they wanted to be seen. They were pretty close and they kept coming back for more looks. Not a hell of a lot to see on a fishing boat. Why keep coming back it they didn't want to be seen and recorded? It was the idiot speaking.

Sam looked the idiot over thoughtfully and mentally upgraded him to near human status as he considered his remarks. "Good question. Let's get this stuff to the big brains while the sub is still close. Maybe an air search can locate him and get some more information about whom or what is so curious about fishing boats. Seth, go ahead and transmit the video on the secure channel. Give them the background and the Captain's comments as well. I am going to clean up then try to eat something."

Normally, the C.O. was the one to call in reports but Seth was a fellow Gloria Scout, a good friend, a good intelligence specialist, and had been able to keep his mind on business instead of his stomach during the short voyage. Sam trusted Seth to cover every important detail. Besides Sam just wanted to forget the last two days. Sam was not going out again. If they ordered more Scouts to gather intelligence at sea, well Sam was armed and dangerous and had faced long odds before. Whoever gave such an order better leave Sam out of it or else. Let Seth take the credit and get the next fun filled ocean cruise.

It took the next four hours to reach the fishing port where the DNA fish, mostly tuna, were unloaded. Next, the non-DNA types were unloaded and examined by specialists. The common, known types were simply loaded into the thermal depolymerization tanks to be converted into light, sweet crude oil and natural gas. The non-DNA types worked just as well as the DNA fish in the conversion process and the government subsidized the price per pound. The University scientists collected the new or rare types for research. Fishing was turning out to be one of the most fruitful forms of intelligence on the rest of the planet. But for Sam, it just meant that he could get off the boat, get rid of the last of motion sickness and be rid of the smell of alien dead fish.

Gratitude having been expressed to Seth, the revenge motive popped up and Sam grabbed it like bass after a minnow. "Seth take the equipment and recordings to the debrief meeting, I need a nap."

Seth would have none of it. "No dice Major, the C.O. attends all debriefs and you get to carry the computer." Revenge would have to wait.

An hour later Sam and Seth entered the military headquarters in River City and headed for the debriefing room. Alarm bells were ringing and the brass were scurrying around inside and more were arriving every minute. These were unusual bells in that neither Sam nor Seth seemed to be able to hear them. However, with an occasional island of tranquility, everyone seemed to be urgently trying to respond to the alarm bells, mostly by scheduling meetings with other brass. As the two Scouts entered the debriefing room they were surprised to see a small crowd. A projected image of President English was on the big screen and the image appeared to be chewing out several of the brass. The reactions of the collected officers ranged from cowed submission to nearly outright contempt. One of the cowed officers, a Colonel, turned towards the entering Scouts and in a fierce whisper said, "Get out, you're not cleared for this material."

"To late Colonel," said one of the more contemptuous officers, "they were the first to know. Come on in Sam, we need some serious doses of reality." The speaker was the Chief of Scouts, a Colonel William Morris. "This is your debrief after all."

"It looks like the news is already out Colonel. We don't have much to add to the video. Except maybe that the boat's Captain's observation that the sub was trying a little too hard to be observed. Something out there is sending us a message that there are subs off our coast." The last was in a whisper to Morris as Sam and Seth took seats in the back of the room. Sam could see the camera was focused upon General Taylor in the front of the room and it was Taylor that was getting the full focus of President English's wrath.

"I want nothing provocative or offensive General. I won't have a new war started on my watch. Stop all the over-flights and surveillance efforts. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Yes ma'am. You are clear." General Taylor was the senior military officer of the NAR armed forces and had ambitions for higher office. He was also an English appointee selected over more senior and more competent officers.

The screen went blank.

General Taylor turned to the rest of the officers and noticed Sam and Seth. "Major George, turn in your computer and all recordings. The sightings are classified top-secret and are not to be discussed with anyone outside this room. The meeting is adjourned. Generals, meet in my office in 5 minutes." Taylor was addressing two other Generals and clearly left out Sam, Seth, and the Chief of Scouts.

Morris got up and motioned for Sam and Seth to follow him as he left the room. The rest of the officers started to go their own way as the meeting broke up.

"Should I shoot the boat crew Colonel? I don't think they are cleared for top-secret. Maybe the rest of the waterfront since the crew was spreading the word in at least two water-front bars last I saw." Sam was not a fan of either English or Taylor.

"Cool it Major. They will probably blame you for not enforcing your security orders and the fact that the word was already out before you were given those orders doesn't mean a thing to those people. That medal and the fact that you are both Gloria Scouts is the going to save your hides one more time. Don't push it. Now shut up till we get to my office."

As the trio entered the Chief of Scouts Office, all three noticed that the Colonel's administrative assistant was viewing a cut away diagram of a diesel electric submarine on her desktop computer.

"Watch it Mary, that all is top secret and it's probably subversive to know how to spell the word submarine," said Morris in a disgusted voice. "Probably have to turn you in myself, just to save my job."

"It's OK Colonel; the sub sighting is all over the news. The skipper from that fishing boat has been interviewed twice and a bunch of sailors have collaborated his story. Since everyone knows who Sam is, the word that the Scouts found a sub has been on the news site for almost an hour." Morris just chuckled and took Sam and Seth into his inner office.

# Chapter Three

# Jake at Joe's

Late October of Year 31

It wasn't the grand opening of the Sand Mountain Joe's. The grand opening had occurred two years earlier but Jake finally conceded that the exterior had faded enough and accumulated enough grime that the establishment deserved to be considered a genuine Joe's. Despite being the continent's richest man, a good burger and fries was Jakes favorite meal and Joe's had the best burgers and fries. So it was with considerable anticipation that Jake and Bob got themselves a booth at Joes.

"Looks the same, smells the same but they need a Stella," complained Jake.

"Hell, it's the same menu, even down to the all-you-can-eat Spam and Eggs special. Besides, Stella retired a couple of years ago. There isn't any Stella anymore." Bob had been eating at the new Joe's ever since it opened and finally convinced Jake that it would not defile the memory of the real Joe's to try the lunch.

Bob's creditability was forever shattered when Stella walked up and asked, "Whatta ya want?"

"Burger and fries and a beer," answered Jake. "How come you ain't dead? Bob said you were retired and vanished." Bob just stared.

"I did retire. This is where I retired to; I own this joint. Joe let me set up two franchises but I sold the one in Sunder and I now live here full time. Don't usually wait tables anymore but since I heard you were coming I made an exception. And Bob here ain't too reliable I reckon."

"I heard that a woman named Hawkins owned this place. Is that you Stella? Bob asked.

"Yeah, that was my maiden name. I changed it back when I got rid of husband number three. Do you want a burger, fries and a beer also Bob?"

Bob nodded and Stella left on an artery-clogging mission.

"Well, can we make them in the EC?" And can we make them in secret without getting into a legal pissing match with the NAR?

Jake answered with a certain tone of voice, "Making them is easy, we can even improve on the design a little. They will be cheap and reliable. There will be hardly any moving parts at all. Making them is simple. Even in secret. I can gin one up in the shop in a couple of weeks. All I need is your wind tunnel to test it. But nothing will avoid a pissing match with the NAR. Nothing!"

"Hell, I didn't want to go back any time soon anyway."

"Me neither."

"Next, can you do the big diesel engines?"

"Yes, but they won't be as good as the gas turbines engines. Any chance to get the turbines"

"Not likely, but I can try."

"Just like old times Bob. All we need is Eastwood back in office and we could save the continent once a year."

"One more time is what I am aiming for and I sure miss Eastwood. It's a waste of his time to run the University. Guess there aren't too many suitable jobs for ex-presidents."

And that's how top-secret, criminal, and possibly treasonous negotiations became a staple at the Sand Mountain Joe's.

# Chapter Four

# One More Time into the Retch

November of Year 31

It wasn't so bad this time. Sam was hardly seasick and the ocean had gentle swells without any whitecaps at all. For the third time on this trip, Seth flashed a directional signal light at the periscope off the starboard bow. When they got a flash in return, Sam just about fell overboard. The fishing vessel Stoney Lonesome was slowly moving northwest at three knots. The periscope had been up for over 60 seconds and Seth started sending one flash, wait for a response and then two flashes. The periscope repeated back the flashes. After another 30 seconds the periscope disappeared.

"Damn, just what does that mean Major?"

"I don't have a clue but we are going over and see if they want to talk."

"That going over to see if aliens want to blast your head off is a once in a lifetime trick Major. Don't push your luck again. Let me go."

"Don't think, it doesn't help, just get the boat ready. We are both going."

Sam and Seth got into the inflatable rubber boat that was being towed behind the Stoney Lonesome and started the outboard. Seth steered for a point 500 yards off the starboard bow. Once in position Seth turned and throttled back to maintain a station 500 yards off the starboard bow of the fishing vessel. Then they waited. And waited some more.

After two hours, Seth commented, "Looks like they don't want to capture, torture, and kill us just yet. Not to mention the extremely unlikely event that they might just want to talk. We got enough gas to last 4 or 5 more hours. Are we going to try to wait them out?"

"Yeah, they may be waiting for sunset, they seem to be shy. We wait for dark."

"Right Major, we wait. But just between you and me, no news is good news."

The sun had set and the sky was darkening when the periscope appeared about 20 yards to starboard of the rubber boat. It did a 360 sweep and then looked over the rubber boat, then the Stoney Lonesome, then another 360 sweep and then disappeared.

Neither Scout said anything for about a minute or so until the sub began to surface. "Shit, this is the part I hate," said Seth.

"Me too," was Sam's reply.

The sub was rounded and sleek like the pictures of U.S. Naval nuclear submarines. Sam had thought that it would resemble a WWII fleet boat with deck guns. The thought that it might be nuclear powered ended as the sounds and smoke of diesel engines starting. It did have a short, flat deck fore and aft of the conning tower. It wasn't that much different from the pictures of submarines that Sam had studied for the last month. Lookouts appeared on the top of the conning tower and started scanning the horizon. Another figure appeared at the base of the conning tower and motioned to them to approach the boat. The figure was a huge biped form.

"Four out of four races are bipeds. Must be union rules that intelligent races have to be similar. Either that or the universe is prejudiced toward two arms, two legs and one head. Hope they aren't as mean and treacherous as the other three races." Seth was disobeying Sam's orders and was thinking, out loud to boot. But he steered towards the sub.

When they got close Sam tossed a rope to the being by the conning tower. He, she, or it grabbed the rope and pulled the boat closer and tied the rope off. A ladder was placed over the side and inserted into slots in the hull. Then the being held out a hand. It was a two-fingered, two-thumb hand that was a lot larger than Sam's. Sam climbed up the ladder and took the hand and was pulled onto the hull. Seth followed.

The scouts stood on the deck just aft of the conning tower and three huge bear-like beings emerged from the sub and looked them over. One pointed at Sam's side arm. English had specifically forbidden any firearms at all but she wasn't here and neither were any recording devices. "Oh shit," Sam thought, "I should have listened to her."

Sam carefully and slowly drew his pistol and held it out butt first to the nearest creature. The chosen creature looked it over but didn't take it. Then he grunted and motioned towards the conning tower. Still another creature emerged and tossed a piece of wood overboard. Then they all turned a stared at Sam. Sam started to sweat and considered tossing the pistol over the side after the wood. After a few seconds, the wood-tossing creature pointed a finger at the wood and made an unmistakable shooting gesture. Then they all returned to staring at Sam. Sam stared back.

"Jesus Christ Major, shoot the wood," Seth said exasperatedly.

Sam took the advice and slowly aimed and fired three shots, hitting the wood on the last shot. Some snorts from the creature sounded a lot like rude comments on his marksmanship.

"That's embarrassing Major," Seth remarked as he quickly drew his pistol and scored two out of two hits.

A few seconds later, a loud boom and the piece of wood splintered into pieces and the wood-tossing creature was putting away his own, much larger pistol.

"Guess they know about guns, are good shots, and aren't afraid of us even if we are armed. They said a lot real fast. Don't mince words. Maybe this will turn out alright after all," Sam said breaking his own rule about thinking.

This observation seemed to be overly optimistic and premature as two creatures rapidly pulled the rubber boat up on deck and started removing the contents, including taking off the outboard motor. The motor and other items disappeared inside the conning tower and the rubber boat was lashed to the deck. The lead creature motioned to enter the conning tower hatch.

"Guess we are going to get a ride Major."

Sam didn't reply and walked towards the conning tower and entered. Inside was a hatch in the deck with a ladder that descended into the dimly lighted interior. Sam climbed down the ladder followed by Seth and then the rest of the bridge crew. The last creature down barked something and then closed and sealed the hatch. The boat smelled terrible. The deck tilted forward and one creature peered into what appeared to be a periscope. Orders were given, sounds were heard, and the deck leveled off. The creature at the periscope motioned Sam over and let him look through the device. Sam could see the Stoney Lonesome still about 500 yards away. The sub was still near the surface and the diesels were still running.

"Seth looks like we are going to recharge batteries near the surface and are staying close to the Stoney. Fix the smell and we could be OK for a while." Sam was getting seasick again.

A half hour later, the two Scouts were sitting on stools in what appeared to be a crew's mess. Five creatures were staring at them. They had been staring for the entire time. They were all over 6 and half feet tall and weighted around 300 pounds. They had short brown fur and wore coveralls with lots of pockets. There was something about them that reminded Sam of bears.

"In for a penny, in for a pound, Major."

Sam sighed and took out a chart and unfolded it. It showed the mouth of the Columbia River. Sam took a small picture of the Stoney Lonesome and another of a submarine and laid both on the chart. Then he moved the picture of the fishing vessel up to the river and further upriver. He also moved the picture of the submarine to follow the fishing boat. When both pictures were about 10 miles upriver he parked them next to the shore. Sam produced another picture of a covered pier and moved the vessel pictures toward the pier. Next he produced pictures of various food items and fuel oil drums. He also produced several vials that contained lubricating oil, gasoline, diesel fuel, and fresh water. Then he stopped. The bears (which were how Sam mentally named the creatures) continued to stare. Then some grunts, snorts and sounds that could be words as the bears communicated among themselves. Agreement was reached. The deck tilted upward and the bears got up and walked back towards the compartment under the conning tower. Sam and Seth left the pictures and vials and followed.

Without ceremony and with just a few barked orders, the hatch was opened and several bears swarmed up the ladder. Sam and Seth followed. The bears unlashed the rubber boat and restored its contents including the outboard motor and threw it overboard. The Stoney Lonesome was in its same position. The ladder was placed over the side and the stares started again. Sam and Seth climbed down the ladder and got in the boat. Seth started the motor and a bear tossed the mooring line to Sam. Seth steered for the Stoney.

"Last time Major, I ain't doing that again. Never."

"Amen to that Seth."

Back on the Stoney, Jessie Smith was full of questions as he steering the vessel back toward the Columbia at about 10 knots. He left the running lights on bright and kept watching his wake. About every 15 minutes or so a periscope would appear for 30 seconds or so and then disappear. Sam was beginning to think that alien contact and negotiations were a snap and the sheer terror of entering that sub faded a bit.

"Jessie, don't say a word about us carrying guns or the shots, OK?"

"Not a word Major," Captain Smith lied with a straight face.

# Chapter Five

# Cheap, Effective, Reliable

December of Year 31

Bob Smith, Ben Grant, Jake Harris, and General Brennan watched the big screen as the recording of the wind tunnel test of the engine was played back. A black pipe was centered on the screen and didn't appear to be doing anything at all. Then a loud buzz started and bursts of flame began to shoot out the one end of the pipe.

"It's a pulse jet, General. A shutter at the front opens and lets in a stream of air. Fuel is sprayed in at the intake. A sparkplug ignites the mixture. The pressure of the combustion forces the front shutters closed and the explosion is exhausted out the back, creating thrust. It is cheap, reliable and effective. Creates a bit of vibrations but it will reliably hold together for the 20 minutes that it is required. We think it possible to get an air-launched missile to reach a speed of 450 miles per hour for a range of 150 miles. The missile will have a 1,000 lb warhead and a total weight of 3,500 lbs. It has to be air launched for the engine to work. If you want a ground based launch we will have to include a rocket assist for takeoff. The missile itself will be wood, mostly spruce. We got a lot of workers that know how to use wood in aircraft and plenty of raw materials. The hard part is the electronics and programming."

"We know that you have some electronic production lines producing chips under license agreement with the NAR. We already have most of the stuff we need from the smart glide bomb electronics. We will need better programming and improved electronics but we are assuming we can illegally run the production lines on a night shift and fool English and the NAR for a while. Certainly long enough to get the prototype working. Then we can say to hell with English if necessary. You OK with that General?" Bob was almost certain of the answer the General would give him. He was not disappointed.

"It's a matter of racial survival. We have no choice but to go ahead. How do you plan to employ them?"

Ben answered, "We plan big strikes that will swamp the defenses. For a four-squadron strike of approximately 96 aircraft, we would have three squadrons carrying missiles with a mix of ship killers, home on radar emissions missiles, and jammers. That is a total of 72 missiles. That is one missile per Mosquito. The last squadron would carry smaller versions of the missile with no warhead and a radar reflector. These would be strictly decoys, although they could cause damage if they got to ram their targets. We could get about four decoys per Mosquito. The exact mix will depend upon the threat but we have to make some assumptions and then hope we have time to learn from experience. A lot will depend upon how good the electronics and programming function. Hopefully, we can mass produce the basic missile and upgrade by changing the sensors and logic." If the defenses are too tough we have to get bigger strikes to ensure overloading the defenses for a few minutes. It will be tough to defend against this type of attack. If the opposition has jets and aircraft carriers we can avoid them by launching from long range. The tough part will be getting a good fix on their location, course and speed. A few high-flying, stealthy, unmanned drones would be just the things to guide a strike. The NAR could produce that if they were willing."

"Yeah, and if they were strictly unarmed reconnaissance versions they might fit President English's definition of defensive only, non provocative systems." It would even be acceptable even if they were relatively short ranged since a Mosquito would set the range limit. She might go for something like that. We can ask. But for here an now, proceed ahead with the missile and plan for production. We may never need it but if we do, we have to be ready."

"What kind of volume are we talking about General?"

"We have seen convoys of over a hundred ships to the east. To the west we know that the Furries can probably do better than that. What kind of numbers do we need to defeat an invasion force of 100 to 200 ships?"

"Some missiles will malfunction, some will get shot down, some will miss, and some will hit. Some will be at the wrong place when we need them and some will be the wrong type for the threat. It may take multiple hits for some ships and at least one hit per ship. Some of the delivery aircraft may get shot down before they get a chance to launch. If we wait until the invasion fleet is actually offshore we can probably avoid shooting an empty ocean. I think we have to plan on thousands in a stockpile and an active production line. What can we afford?"

"Not that much but I agree with you about the numbers. We are really going to have to cut costs anywhere we can."

"The trade-off will be missiles for ships. These missiles are going to be the cheapest way to fight any invasion. If any enemy gets a foothold on our continent the costs will skyrocket, in money and blood." Jake was serious and impatient to get started. "I can mass produce the pulse jets faster that the airframes can be produced. Just give me the word and it will be the reverse of the Mosquito production where we had to wait for the engines."

"I can tell you to go ahead but the numbers will depend upon the cost and how much money we can bury in the budget. It would be a lot simpler if we could be above board about this but English is dead set against any offensive weapons. I can't see how this can be construed as an offensive weapon but she will not consider any type of cruse missile. Thank god that we continued to produce Mosquitoes and have a huge number of active and reserve squadrons. We can deliver the missiles if we can just build them in the first place."

Later the conversation turned to the submarine still tied up in the Columbia River.

"What's the latest on that sub General," Bob asked.

"They are making some progress in learning their language but the negotiations are going nowhere. The Bears want to establish a base and English is dead set against that. Its provocative, might involve us in their war, they could turn on us, they could learn our secrets, no creditable threat, etc, etc. That woman is so risk adverse that nothing will be done until some alien race is at the River City walls. Meanwhile, we are supplying the Bears with diesel fuel, their fish that we catch and some other food items that they seem to like. English wants information for free and the Bears are laughing at them. Eastwood has the university big brains swarming all over the pier trying to squeeze more information out of watching the Bears swim and barbeque fish. The only ones allowed on board the sub are Sam and Seth. The Bears won't deal with anyone else. You probably get more than I do from Sam."

"I haven't spoken to Sam about it. It would just cause him trouble when the existence of our missile program gets out. I wouldn't put it past English to charge me with some sort of criminal offense for designing these missiles. I have been limiting all contact with the NAR since we started, just to protect them if they are investigated. Hell of note but I don't put any kind of stupidity past that woman."

Jake now jumped into the conversation, "How about making a deal between the Bears and the EC? Trade bases for information and maybe Mosquitoes for submarines? Hell, maybe they need jeeps."

"The President and I have had some discussions about a separate deal with the Bears but English has a total monopoly on them so far. We are annexing some west coast land that we are responsible for defending. The treaty of 25 gives us the right to claim some of the west coast outright without a separate treaty negotiations. There is a good port on the southern west coast that we would be willing to allow the Bears to use. We even have a decent route for a railroad from the Big Muddy. A long supply line for us but it could work. However, until English lets us in on the negotiations, it is all academic."

"Well, it is probably best to wait for the language problems to be worked out first anyway. My advice is to wait and press for a place at any negotiations. We need to do something to keep English from making all the decisions." Unusual for Jake to urge moderation but being old and rich does that to some people.

# Chapter Six

# Why Didn't We Think of This Before

January of Year 32

It was a maneuver that had been practiced and accomplished before but this was one of the first operational missions where aerial refueling was attempted. Lt. Steve Sanders, call sign Wolf, and his Systems Operator Lt. John Donner, call sign Teacher, had their eyes glued to the basket 30 feet in front of their Mosquito. The refueling probe was extended and the basket danced around in the turbulence from the cargo plane from which it was trailing. Sanders was trying very hard to concentrate on the refueling basket and tried to blot out the image of the basket becoming very briefly entangled in the props on either side of the cockpit. When the contact was made Donner announced that fuel transfer had commenced. The next few minutes were intense concentration minutes as Sanders added a little more power to compensate for the additional weight and then would back off a little as the bend in the fuel line indicated that the two planes were closing. Finally, Donner announced that they had taken on a full load and could break away.

They were the last of their flight of four to finish refueling and all four Mosquitoes turned southeast while the two cargo plane tankers turned northwest to return to base. Hopefully, there would be a tanker to meet them on the return trip if they needed more gas. Sanders and Donner were the lead ship in the lead element and assumed their place in the formation. The other three aircraft were in trail with about four miles of separation between ships. Their ship was designated Red One and they were the bait. Bait with teeth.

On each wingtip was a heat seeking missile and they had 200 rounds for each of the four 25mm cannons mounted under the nose. On the wing hard points were 200 gallon drop tanks that would be the first fuel used and then jettisoned at the first hint of trouble. Red One's speed and maneuverability would improve without the extra drag and weight of the wing tanks. The camera in the nose was set to record anything of interest and broadcast the video to the other three planes of the flight. Flares and chaff were available to try to deceive missiles. In addition, the range finding laser that was part of the camera would try to blind any incoming missile or pilot. All the pilots of Red Flight had spent the last several weeks practicing air-to-air combat. Red One was the bait and the rest of Red Flight was going to try very hard to be the jaws of a trap.

Red Flight was the only flight operating today but several similar flights had been sent out earlier in the week with no results. The general operational area was the same area where a missile shot down a Mosquito and the trailing wingman chased by a fast aircraft. Today Red Flight hoped to avoid getting shot down and to get some video of whatever was out there. And they hoped to get a shot at this unknown opposition.

Sanders settled down to a 240 miles an hour cruising speed and divided his time between checking the instruments and searching the sea and sky for any contacts. Donner was also dividing his time between an eyeball search of the sea and sky and watching his radar warning indicators. Occasionally, he used the camera and its zoom lens to check on something. Sanders was hoping that if they did spot something that it would be soon so they would have more gas and less distance on the return leg. Mentally he was switching back and forth between hoping for a contact and hoping for a boring but safe round trip. Going into combat the first time against an unknown enemy at a distance from home that precluded any chance of rescue was not a real confidence booster.

Just before a planned 90-degree course change Donner announced that he was getting something on his radar-warning receiver. "It looks to be search radar at about 2 O'clock with a weak signal. Don't know what they see but my guess is that we are out of detection range."

Sanders made a course change that put the radar threat on his nose and climbed a little higher. "Right 60," was the brief call on the radio. The only answer was clicks from the rest of the flight. On the horizon Donner spotted some specks and trained the camera on them and started recording. The camera would automatically track the specks and Donner joined Sanders in searching the sky for bandits. Soon the radar warning receiver alarm sounded, indicating that the computer calculated that they were being painted with a strong enough radar beams that they would be detected. The flight crew's eyeball search of the sky and horizon intensified. Sanders finger hovered above the switch that would drop the wing tanks.

"Missile, 11 O'clock low. Donner had spotted the flare as the missile accelerated upwards in their direction. Sanders altered course to the left and the missile followed, showing that it was tracking their aircraft.

"Another Missile, also 11 O'clock low." Sanders dropped the wing tanks.

"Wait," Sanders kept telling himself. "Don't break too soon." To Donner he said, "Start the laser now and start dumping chaff and flares as soon as I break. I am going down to the left when I break." This was the procedure that they had rehearsed but Sanders repeated the information just to be sure. Donner triggered the laser on the first missile. It continued to guide on them. "I will break to the right on the second missile." Sanders pushed the throttles all the way forward and started the water injection that would boost the horsepower and cool the exhaust somewhat.

"Breaking left," Sanders called on the radio, informing the rest of the flight and simultaneously rolled the left 135 degrees and pulled back on the stick. He felt the thump of the chaff and flare dispensers and g-forces as the plane's nose came around and down in a dive. Both crewmen were frantically looking for the second missile as the first missile overcorrected and tumbled wildly, but neither had been able to follow the missile through the maneuver. Sanders mentally counted and judged that it was just about time to maneuver to defeat the second missile when Red Two called for another break. Again Sanders rolled and pulled back on the stick and Donner kept dumping chaff and flares.

Sanders eased off on the stick and leveled the wings. He was surprised to find the aircraft upside down and still in a dive. Rolling upright he pulled out of the dive and turned back on the reverse of his original course. As the aircraft leveled off he eased back on the throttles and stopped the water injection.

"You got two bandits about five miles on your six Red One. Haul ass."

It was another call from Red Two and Sanders pushed the throttles forward, re-engaged the water injection and kept the plane in a shallow dive. The airspeed picked up rapidly and was over 450 miles per hour and increasing. Sanders concentrated on flying the aircraft as Donner looked back trying to spot the bandits. Again there was a call from Red Two.

"Come left 20 degrees Red One. There is a cloud you can dodge through if I miss with my missiles."

Sanders turned and spotted the cloudbank and aimed for it as Donner spotted the bandits.

"Two bandits on our tail Wolf, get us moving."

"Red Two is firing both missiles on the Bandits one and two. They are past me and I will not have a gun shot. It's your shot now Red Three and Four. I will try to close on Red One."

Red Two had stayed high and on course through the missile attack and had turned to attack the bandits but was soon outpaced. Red Three and Four had also stayed high and on the original course and were next to turn and try for a missile shot at the bandits.

"Red Three has no shot. One bandit is down and the other is running to the north. Good shooting Red Two. Red Three will trail Red Two."

"Red Four has no other bandits or missiles. Our tail is clear. Red Four will trail Red Three."

The second air-to-air combat for the EC ended with a small victory and some good video recordings that would send shock waves through the EC and the NAR.

# Chapter Seven

# Film at Eleven

January of Year 32

Bob, Jake, Ben, and assorted engineers, pilots, and military officers watched the video from Red Flight with intense interest. Red Two had the best seat for the big show and the camera followed Red One through the maneuvers to avoid the missiles and then switched to the bandits. They were sweep-wing jets with two engines mounted in the wing roots. They did not seem to have any external stores or missiles for armament. They did leave a noticeable smoke trail.

"Shit, we are in big trouble now," Jake grouched.

"Wait, you haven't seen the worst yet," said Bob.

One of the recordings from Red Four showed a surface ship. It had a distinctive flat top.

"It's an aircraft carrier. First jets and surface-to-air missiles and now they have aircraft carriers. At least it is trailing some smoke; it's probably not a nuke." This was from one of the engineers that worked for the Mosquito Aircraft Company (MAC).

"Another engineer added, "At least it was a straight deck design and not a canted deck design. That will limit their flight operations some."

"They had fast reactions, too fast to be a launch on detection mission. They had to be a Combat Air Patrol (CAP). That means they expect air attacks and since we haven't attacked them, there must be at least one other race that uses aircraft. CAP operations are expensive, must be a hell of a war going on out there." Ben Grant was worried. "Our aircraft will be dead meat for those jets."

The comments and dire predictions came in bunches as the video from all four ships in Red Flight were shown. These were valuable observations and Bob let the flow of comments run on with no attempt to rein in the meeting. The video was shown a second and third time. On the fourth run, motion was stopped and still pictures enhanced, magnified and printed. Copies of the video were distributed. Finally, Bob restored some order and tried to get some focus back into the meeting.

"Several comments I want to make. First, this video has been released to the press. The EC did that to prevent English from classifying and hiding this incident. Second, we hope that this will light a fire under the NAR population and congress to force English to start funding war production and research. Third, we have to be prepared to defend the continent with the present force structure, at least for a while."

"We need to equip our present Mosquito squadrons to deal with jets in air-to-air combat. Something we can do in months not years. I am going to need your ideas by close of business tomorrow. Next, I need ideas about how to build our future aircraft and missile defenses. Start thinking about two to three years out and what we need to do to prevent invasions anywhere on human soil."

Bob continued with a little reality therapy and tried to get the entire group focused on the immediate needs instead of gloom and doom predictions. When he was satisfied that at least some useful ideas would be forthcoming the next day, he ended the meeting. Jake and Ben stayed on.

"One more thing that the video shows," Jake added. "It shows that some race out there has a lot more industrial power that we do and maybe as good or better technology. They are getting mass production of their war fighting technology across the board where we have to pick and choose. No way can the EC produce jet engines or jet aircraft. The only reason we have an air force at all is because you figured out how to build wooden airplanes. We got mass production of decent airplanes out of furniture and piano makers. Hope you got another rabbit in the same hat that you pulled the Mosquitoes out of."

"Yeah, both the Furries and Vikings mass produced basic weapons and went to wars of conquest immediately. They were going for quick wins. They only produced higher technology items when forced to by the competition. When they ran into a decent air force they had to retreat and build up their industry. Looks like someone jumped to mass production of a higher-level technology. A good way to do it if you aren't hard pressed early on before you can get tooled up. We have to push technology at all levels and find a feasible way to defend our continent now. But more defense expenditures now mean slower investment in the technology infrastructure and weaker industry later. We have to find a cheap way to fight smarter or avoid fighting at all." A long speech for Ben but he had obviously been thinking in terms of overall strategy rather than the nuts and bolts that the engineers and military types at the meeting kept bringing up.

Ben continued, "We have to find a way to make our Mosquitoes effective now against a higher tech race while we continue to build the infrastructure for mass production of a state-of-the-art military. If we can detect and hit hard at any invasion force we can avoid expensive ground fights and thereby afford modernization."

"Yeah, make do and build for the future. It works as long as we guess right about the make-do part." Jake boiled down the thoughts of both Bob and Ben to very simple terms.

"Any luck with President English," Bob asked President Baker.

"Some," Baker admitted. "She agreed to produce the electronics for your Buzz Bombs and to release the latest heat seeking missiles. She still doesn't want to chance long-range systems at all. So we can forget about long-range ships, planes or submarines from the NAR. Your project will be the only long-range reconnaissance asset under development. The NAR Congress is on our side on this but she has enough influence to delay any major investment. She claims that immediate upgrades to our air forces will take all the available cash and we will just have to negotiate with and engage the Furries, Vikings, and Bears rather than fight. God, from what planet did the Connection get her. It can't be the same Earth that the rest of us hail from."

"What about a treaty with the Bears? I read in the papers that they want a base and are willing to trade information for basing rights. Surely that falls within the realm of negotiation and engagement."

"Naw, her idea of negotiation and engagement is cultural exchange and maybe trade of consumer items, but nothing of a military nature. She says that military superiority is fleeting and temporary and that we should attempt to build mutual understanding and friendships. The Bears want a submarine base period. Guess how the negotiations are going. The only good thing is that Eastwood is running the University and they are getting good progress on the language aspect. Once we get clear communications I will find a way to make a deal."

"Well, tell her that you have to survive in order to reach mutual understanding and friendship, and that the Vikings and Furries shoot first and didn't ever ask any questions. Survival first, then we see if we can even co-exist with races like the Vikings. Besides, if we have a massive invasion I will take temporary and fleeting military superiority."

"I'll drink to that. Keep up the good work."

Next afternoon, Bob, Jake and Ben were having a beer in Bob's office. Various engineers, pilots and military officers had dropped off numerous papers and these papers were spread all over the office. Bob had intended to work into the evening to get a sense of what his project team had come up with in terms of making do with the current force structure. He had been sitting and glaring at the stacks of stuff when Jake and Ben had arrived with a large pizza and two six-packs of beer. The three of them started eating, drinking, reading, and talking.

"Whoa, here's one," said Ben. "This guy says he know another guy that can make a CPS. That's a Continental Positioning System. Won't be as good as Earth's GPS but it can be encrypted and its coverage would include most of the continent and all of the coasts out to 100 miles offshore. That's got to be a winner. Wait, it will take 2 years. It's still a winner but I putting it into the long term pile."

"Hang on a minute, we could really use that. I will bet that we might be able to speed it up a bit and get it working for high priority areas fairly fast. Put in the immediate pile," said Bob. "It would really help our anti-ship missile program and coordinating large strikes."

Later, Jake found something he liked. "The NAR is working on a helmet mounted sight for heat seeking missiles. That would be a great aid for our Mosquitoes in a dogfight. Maybe we can beg, borrow, or steal this from the NAR."

Ben looked up from reading, interested. "Forget the helmet, if we can slave the heat seeking missiles to look where the camera looks, the Sysops can fire on a wide range of targets. The pilot can concentrate on flying and firing ahead looking missiles and the guns. I think that would be a lot easier to implement and nearly as effective. And it would stop the NAR from charging us an arm and a leg to modify the planes. I like it."

"Ok, another keeper. Put it in the immediate pile. Josh just told me that English was going to release the latest missile but they are still working on the helmet. If we can modify the missile's input we won't have to wait for the helmet." Bob grabbed another slice of pizza and dripped some sauce on the paper he was reading.

Ben hit another one. "Since we could be facing aircraft carriers and air strikes, we need to camouflage anything near the coast. Here is a set of plans for camouflaged aircraft revetments for our frontline airfields. This goes into the immediate pile, I think."

Bob and Jake both nodded.

"Night fighters," said Jake. "If we are faced with air strikes, we may also face night operations." This guy thinks we can modify the new cargo planes with radar and have them act as airborne fighter controllers for both day and night operations. The video showed that the opposition has faster jets but if they get their wings cluttered up with bombs, missiles, and fuel tanks, they might be slow enough intercept them with missile armed Mosquitoes."

"Good idea," Ben commented. "But if I was flying one of these airborne controllers, I would much prefer a Mosquito version if I had to run. We already have some radar equipped Mosquitoes for ocean surveillance. With different radar we could use the Mosquitoes as fighter controllers."

After reading another paper, Bob announce, "Anything that involves jets, turboprops, or radar guided missiles had better go in the long range planning pile." Surprisingly, the immediate pile was growing faster than the long-range pile.

"Here is a proposal for an integrated Combat Wing with some cargo planes, Mosquitoes, Super Mosquitoes, and additional support elements as a packaged trade deal for the Bears. The basic idea is to trade for basing rights on their continent and whatever else the Bears are willing to trade. Long term pile?" asked Jake.

"I vote for the immediate pile, we can just put that together from exiting assets," said Ben.

"Immediate," Bob muttered.

The eating, drinking and reading went on with less talking. Some papers were disposed of without comment and promising ones ended up in one of the two piles.

"Here is another UAV. This one uses wood and a small air-cooled piston engine. It carries a camera and has about 12-hour endurance. The airframe is new but all the other components are off the self. Uses a lot of your Ultra Light parts.

I am going to put it in the immediate pile. Any objections?" Bob asked.

"This is plans for anti-aircraft weapons. This time it is for guns and heat seeking missiles mounted on my jeeps. It's very easy to do in my shop. Immediate? Jake asked.

Bob and Ben both nodded.

# Chapter Eight

# To Hell with Poker

March of Year 32

"Major, I got a funny feeling about our friends on the sub." Seth was serious.

"Let me guess, they got lie detectors?" said Sam.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Remember when I tried to teach them poker?" I had the same feeling and decided to test them. They don't read minds but they sure as hell know when you are bluffing. Why do you think I stopped?

"I thought you were just a lousy poker player, got mad and took your cards and chips went home. Losing that fishing boat and motor was all just part of your master plan then?"

"No, I was trying to win one of their guns. We might be able to learn something about their technology by a detailed analysis. I lost the boat trying to bluff with nothing. What I won instead is a little insight. Don't play poker with the Bears."

"You tell anyone?"

"No, I am not sure yet and I didn't have the nerve to sound crazy. Got any solid evidence?"

"No, but I kept getting this feeling about them. Tried some little white lies and got the weirdest stares from them. I get the impression that they were just about to insist on a correction but it didn't go that far."

"How do you think they were going to insist?"

"He was about to hit me, I think."

"Yeah, sounds crazy but that's the same impression I got. I watch it now as they could knock a guy's head clean off with one swipe of those hands. Got any ideas on how to test our little theory without risk to our necks?"

"Actually Major, I do," Seth answered.

Former President Eastwood was very popular with the Scouts but some of his university employees were not. Professor Clair Soggins was definitely not one of the favorites. She was an overbearing, arrogant, extremely politically correct, and a pain in the ass. She was also the perfect candidate for empirical experimentation on the Bear's tolerance for less than perfect honesty. Soggins' specialty was extraterrestrial biology and she bit at Sam's offer of some up-close-and-personal time with the Bears. She was going to try to trade some of her extensive knowledge of Furry biology for some information from the Bears. Trouble was, she had very little knowledge of the Furry biology since the only examples came from furry corpses and marine life.

"Get what you can," Sam told her. "Surely you know enough to get some kind of trade, what with you being a Full Professor and head of the Extraterrestrial Biology Department."

Flattered and full of self-importance, Soggins decided to accept the proposal and let Sam set up the meeting.

"The important thing is to impress them with your knowledge of Furry biology. That's key to getting them willing to trade information. Best if it comes from you so why don't you just outline the basic areas of your Furry expertise. Don't be too modest; the Bears aren't real interested in biology so you have to make it interesting. You can't be too technical either because of the language problem. Really appreciate your trying Professor." Seth was smothering a snicker in the background.

Later, Sam and Seth set up a meeting between three Bears and Eastwood and Soggins. It was on shore near the pier where the sub was moored. The Bears liked to get out and the Scouts had set up tables, benches, barbeque pits and a sports field. The three Bears sat on one side of the table and Eastwood and Soggins sat on the other. Sam and Seth stood at either end of the table. The best human translator, Susan Williams, joined the human side and started the negotiations.

At first the Bears seemed uninterested. Pictures of dead and live Furries and fish from the Furries versions of ecology stirred little interest. Then Susan explained Soggins field of expertise. All three Bears turned and stared at Soggins. Soggins began to explain the importance biology in general and the advantage of knowing about Furry biology in particular. Prepared by Sam she expounded upon the guesses she had about Furry biology. She didn't get far when the middle Bear raised a small switch and whacked Soggins across the fingers. The three Bears continued to stare at Soggins and Eastwood and Williams sat there shocked. Seth had to turn away and faked a coughing spell to hide his laughter. Sam rushed up and hustled the Eastwood, Soggins, and Williams off, apologizing and warning that this was the Bears method of cutting off negotiations in which they had little interest. Professor Soggins and interpreter Williams seemed to accept his explanation. Eastwood remained non-committal and silent. Sam continued his apology and then excused himself.

"Got to get back and mend a few fences with the Bears. Sorry, Professor, I guess I misread their interest." Sam left but was followed by Eastwood.

When the Professor and the interpreter were out of hearing range, Eastwood exploded.

"Just what in the hell are you two pulling. Being Gloria Scouts doesn't mean you can run a scam on me. And I gave you that medal and I will rip right off your chest if you don't come clean. What in the hell is going on?" Eastwood took a purple pill and swallowed it.

"Sorry Mr. President, but we had a theory we wanted to test. Come on back with me and we will try to get the Bears to open up about it. They probably won't try to hit you if you let us do all the talking."

Eastwood followed Sam back to the table where the three Bears and Seth were still sitting. Eastwood was not about to let the Scouts do the talking.

Glaring at the Bears Eastwood declared angrily, "One more incident like that and I will have all three of you shot."

With a calm, deliberate demeanor the middle Bear raised his switch and hit Eastwood across the knuckles. With no change in expression all three Bears stared at Eastwood.

Eastwood turned to Sam and yelled, "I will have your commission for this Major. Both of you are going to be privates before the sun sets."

This time the blow was with an open hand to the face that rocked Eastwood back, nearly throwing him on the ground. Again, no change in expression and all three Bears stared intently at Eastwood.

He sat back and chuckled. "I could have had a lot of fun with these guys at congressional hearings or cabinet meetings. How did you figure this out, Sam?"

Sam, who was trapped between the urge to pull his gun and defend the famous ex-President and his desire to teleport to the nearest bar, didn't have a clue what to say.

Fortunately, Seth had the wits to respond. "The Major played poker with them, Mr. President. You can win but you can't bluff. They seem to have built in lie detectors and it looks like they aren't going to let lies slide by. We did get some little white lies by with just some stares. Just like the ones you're getting now."

Eastwood leaned forward and stared intently back at the middle Bear. "Is that true, you can tell if a person is lying?" The Bears huddled together and conversed between themselves for a few seconds.

Sam said, "They are talking about the translation. I think they got it right." Sam and Seth were as good at understanding the Bear language as the top interpreter, Susan Williams.

The middle Bear returned his attention to Eastwood and said in English, "Yes."

"Holly shit," said Seth.

The Bear was not finished. "Not read minds." "Detect lies." "Most times."

"Holly fucking shit," said Eastwood.

Eastwood turned to Sam and said, "I am not in your chain of command any more and can't give you any orders. But I think it would be wise to keep this under our hats for the time being. Just till we investigate a little and see how the negotiations are going. I will raise a lot of suspicions if I spend too much time here so you men are going to have to follow up on this and keep me informed. You got any problems with this arrangement?"

"Not me Mr. President," said Sam. Seth just nodded.

"Anyone else know about this?" Eastwood asked.

"I don't think so Mr. President. Susan Williams is the closest to the Bears beside the two of us and she is so intent on the languages that she doesn't see anything else," said Sam.

"She just doesn't have enough street smarts to figure it out, Mr. President," added Seth.

# Chapter Nine

# It's Alive!

May of Year 32

The video showed the missile as it was dropped from the test aircraft. Its pulsejet started immediately and the missile gathered speed and outdistanced the launch aircraft. It flew in continuously changing curves that averaged out to a steady course of 268 degrees. The top speed of 458 miles per hour was quickly reached and the chase aircraft, a slick version of the newest Mosquito, was hard pressed to keep up. The chase Mosquito stayed with the missile by flying a straight course while the missile flew in constantly changing curves.

On the side of the big screen various flight parameters were being updated and the missile stayed in the center of the screen. It was live video being transmitted from the chase aircraft to the Design Building of Bob's experimental aircraft company. About 50 engineers, pilots, military officers, and production workers were present, along with Bob, Jake, and Ben.

"Go baby, go," was the chant from several engineers in the third row of seats. The missile was fully loaded with fuel and a dummy warhead and was expected to cover the 100 miles to the target in about 15 minutes. It was an ambitious test of the third prototype. The first two had failed in flight but the causes of both failures had been identified and corrected. The basic design was proving to be sound. Bob had taken a calculated risk and had sent the airframe design straight into production and so far he was winning this gamble. The tough part had always been the electronics and programming.

Bob was absorbed in watching the flight parameters and tried not to watch the mission clock that seemed to shift into lower and lower gears as the missile flew on toward its target. Finally, the missiles pitched over into a moderate dive and straighten its course. The terminal velocity was over 500 miles per hour and the missile scored a direct hit on the target, a mockup of a steam-powered ship's exhaust stack. There were immediate shouts and hand clapping that changed into slaps on the back, hand shaking, and words of congratulations. It was a perfect test flight.

"Damn glad we got that over with," said Jake. "I am ready to roll with engine production. I can have carloads of those jets on your doorstep any time you want."

"Wish it was that easy, Jake," Bob answered. "There is still a lot of work to do to make the Cheap Charlie a finished product. Not to mention giving it a real name instead of that label you put on it. You got something against someone named Charlie?

"Nope, it was just a quick quip and you can't blame me for the fact that your employees grabbed that name and used it. Besides, that cobbled together contraption doesn't deserve a name like Avenging Thunder or Bold Lightning. It's definitely a mongrel. It is a bit of a mix between a German V1, a Mosquito, and a Tomahawk, all put together by a mad scientist. Besides, Cheap Charlie as a name has a bit of counter-culture charm. And that appeals to an old drag racer like me."

"Yeah, it's got a bit of charm alright, but it's not a mongrel, it's more like Frankenstein's Monster, with bits bolted on from various dead donors."

"Ok, I give you that, but at least it's alive."

General Brennan was not amused. "You mean I am supposed to defend the Continent with a weapon named 'Cheap Charlie'," he shouted. "Men are supposed to risk their lives delivering 'Cheap Charlies'! This is supposed to inspire confidence in the men and the people! Change the name. Make it Avenging Thunder or something. Maybe a few hot-shot pilots will like that insolent crap but we have to spend a lot of money on this missile and it deserves a decent name for Christ's sake."

"I am afraid it is too late General. The men grabbed onto a passing comment and everyone is using the name now. I could give it an official name but it won't be the one everyone is going to use. Want me to go ahead anyway?"

"Hell yes."

"Ok, here is another good one." Jake was half drunk and the pizza was all gone and Bob and Ben were tired enough to give him any name he wanted.

"The Terminator. You know, like the movie with that big guy, Arnold something or other. We even have the movies on DVD in the archives. We can call it T1 for short, and T2 for the next model. Hell, he made a bunch of those movies didn't he? Get a photo of old Arnold with that red eye showing and a Cheap Charlie in his fist. Hell, we can make a fortune making and selling posters of it. And best of all, old Arnold is either dead or too old to care, and on the other side of the connection and can't sue us."

It was settled, Terminator was the official name but everyone called the missile Cheap Charlie the Terminator. Brennan was still not pleased but some minor defects were acceptable in the pursuit of a little counter culture charm.

# Chapter Ten

# It's a Thunder Run

June of year 32

"Radar contact. Looks like an air search radar. Bearing 135 true and very weak. I don't think we have been spotted." Donner was speaking in a calm tone and only the slightly speeded up speech betrayed any nervousness at all. Sanders acknowledged with a grunt and began a wide sweeping 180-degree turn to the right.

"Watch for the rest of the flight to pick up our turn. I don't want to use the radio if I can help it. But if they don't all turn we will risk a call." Donner was on the right hand side of the cockpit and had the best view and concentrated on picking up the trailing aircraft.

"Red Two is turning. Red Three is wagging his wings and will turn as soon as we close a little."

"Red Three is turning. Red Four is wagging his wings. Donner shifted his eyes to the rear, watching for swept wing bandits. "Our tail is clear I think. Give me a little turn to the left so I can get a better look."

"Wait for the flight to close up and kept checking our six until we get a little closer to home. Then I will try a few circles to make sure we are clear. I don't want to lead them home and the rules are to avoid any contact." Sanders waited for the rest of Red Flight to close and then checked the radar-warning receiver. It was silent. Sanders then used hand signals to order a defensive wheel. The four-ship flight began a wide left hand circle with each plane taking a different 90 arc.

"How far out were we when we first got radar contact," Sanders asked Donner.

"About 300 miles from Last Chance, 225 miles from the nearest land to the point of radar contact," answered Donner. "The radar source had to be further out but we can't be sure how far. We never did get a visual sighting on surface ships or aircraft."

Sanders acknowledged and continued to orbit an empty spot on the ocean. An hour later, the radar-warning receiver lit up again.

"Air search radar on bearing 135 true. It's the same radar on the same bearing as before. They must be steaming towards us. The signal strength is weak and the probably haven't seen us yet." Donner was dividing his time between scanning the sky and checking the radar-warning receiver.

"All right, let go home while we still have some gas." With that Sanders wagged his wings and waited for each ship in the flight to acknowledge with a return wag. Then he turned to set a course for Last Chance. "Let's get home and warn the Continent that we may have some visitors."

Colonel David Miller, Commander of the Last Chance Regiment, hurried towards the debrief shack and mentally started a check off list of what to do if the Continent was about to be invaded. The list started with sending a warning up the chain of command. That had already been done as had sending warning messages to the Lower Big Muddy River Command and both adjacent airfields. He had authorized the messages as soon as the debriefing officer had notified him of Red Flight's contacts. Now he was on his way to get some first hand details on the contact from the flight crews.

"The evidence is pretty slim, I admit," said Donner. "But our orders were to avoid contact and not to lead them back here. But my guess is that we are about to be visited. The distance and time between contacts was just right for a 135 degrees true course and a 20-knot speed. Sounds like a carrier battle group to me."

"Sounds like sheer wild ass guessing to me," said Col. Miller. "But, it the first bit of excitement we have had for a while so I am going to give the full treatment. Set Defense Condition One", he told the Base Commander. Get the Battalion Commanders, Wing Commander, Squadron Commanders, and the Engineering Commander over to my headquarters in 20 minutes. Hold all flights and maintain radio silence." With that Col. Miller left the debriefing shack. The flight crews left soon after and headed towards their squadron's ready room.

The meeting at Col. Miller's headquarters was brief.

"Absolute radio silence, not even the squad radios until further notice. The base camouflage is not complete and even if it was the base could still be spotted from the air. Get all the aircraft and vehicles under cover and make sure nothing is smoking. The road to the Lower Big Muddy River Command will point right to us but I don't want to make it easy for them. What's our fuel status?

The Base Commander responded immediately, "We are at 90% of storage capacity and both the Thermal Depolymerization Plant and the Alcohol Farm have batches in process. I notified them to crank up production for the foreseeable future even if we have to dump some product due to lack of storage."

"Supplies in general?"

"90 day supply and the New Orleans is due in two days. We can contact them using the fiber optic cable and the upriver repeaters."

"Good, send a message that I want them to arrive at dusk and leave the next morning. Squadrons?"

"We have 24 Mosquitoes, 12 Super Mosquitoes, and 8 cargo planes on the Base. There are 4 more light observation planes detached to the Lower Big Muddy River Command. All planes can be ready for a strike in 24 hours. We have 137 glide bombs in inventory and 24 more on the New Orleans." The Wing Commander, Col. Bill Thomas continued, "The remaining 24 Mosquitoes and 12 Super Mosquitoes are detached to the satellite airbases."

"Send them a warning order to be prepared to return to base. If we have to mount a large strike, I want to use every plane I can in one maximum effort. How about the Battalions?"

"First Battalion is at full strength and assigned to base defense."

"Second Battalion is at 90% and spread all over the place down on the lower river."

"Third Battalion is at full strength and detached to the satellite air fields."

"Engineers are at full strength and are upgrading the road to the lower river."

"Ok then, we are in good shape, except that we have no idea of what we face. Make sure each of you hides or disperses your equipment and get your men in good cover. We may be in for some air strikes within 24 hours.

Abe Wallcott was a nineteen-year old corporal in charge of a four-man fire team and an observation bunker. Abe's bunker was on the south bank of the Big Muddy River and faced the ocean. In the morning following the radar contact by Red Flight, Abe's men were busy improving their bunker. Fresh cut leafy branches now covered the bunker and all exposed earth. Some additional support beams were being added and a few branches were cut to improve fields of vision and fire. All these were items that the previous occupants of the bunker should have done but during 8 years of peace some things inevitably got postponed. However, by noon most everything that could be done without engineer support were accomplished and Abe let his men take a long lunch break. One man was on watch and three men eating and resting. Abe was just finishing a cup of coffee when he noticed the contrails.

"Willie, get your glasses on those contrails and report," he shouted. Willie had been scanning the horizon for ships and had missed the contrails.

"A flight of four aircraft with swept wings. They are definitely not ours." Abe ran for the landline phone and pressed the company headquarters button. The sighting report was quickly passed up the line. Abe put everyone on alert and four sets of eyeballs scanned the sky and ocean for any sign of intruders. About 10 minutes later the phone rang. It was Abe's company headquarters passing some information back down the line.

"Abe, it looks like that flight of four your men sighted has spotted the road to Last Chance. They are making low level passes and are working their way toward the Base. If they spot the base, they might send a strike package so keep an eye out for incoming aircraft. We need numbers and types of aircraft. Look for different sizes, number of engines, type of engines, and external loads. Anything you can pick up will help Regiment decide if they want to fight or lay low. Pass it up on the All Hands circuit."

Abe was impressed. He had never had anything to report on the All Hands circuit. He passed the information on to his men who immediately starting bitching about the impossibility of identifying aircraft types for completely unknown alien intruders.

"Quite bitching, just get the basics, number of engines. Are the engines propeller or jets? How many of each type? Are there any visible loads? Just look for the basics and report. Next time I'll have the unknown aliens send us recognition cards before they bomb the shit out of us, but for now we just have to look for the basics."

All four set of eyeballs returned to searching the sea and sky and four sets of lips stopped flapping. Abe was satisfied they were ready for anything. What they got was waiting, six hours of waiting. This time Willie spotted the contrails first.

"Two flights of four. Jets with swept back wings. Bandits."

Abe used the All Hands button and reported. His company commander kept Abe and his team informed with a call about 20 minutes later.

"They are still following the road towards Last Chance. Some of the road is hidden in the forest and these guys are taking up right where the last flight left off. My guess is that they will find the base and we will get a major attack tomorrow morning. But be ready for anything."

Sanders and Donner chose to dig in just outside the camouflaged revetment that hid their aircraft. It wasn't much of a revetment; wood frame with packed earth filling formed three walls around the plane. A canvas roof topped the structure and newly cut branches tried to hide the outline of the emplacement. If you knew what to look for, it was easy to spot from the air. The hope was that alien eyes would not know what to look for and would be too busy dodging ground fire to notice. About 200 yards away were some very conspicuous targets. Two wrecked and stripped Mosquitoes and three old and stripped Mosquitoes were parked in a row. A wrecked fuel truck was parked next to them and a fuel line stretched from the truck to the nearest Mosquito. From the ground it was an obvious fake, but from the air on a strafing run at 450 mph it looked like a real target.

Col. Miller had decided to lay low for the anticipated arrival of the two flights of four aircraft and the fake targets were an invitation for the aliens to declare their intentions. It didn't take the aliens long to declare.

The aliens were working one flight low tracking the road and the other flight high providing cover. Sanders was in a tree and had a clear view of the high flight and occasional glimpses of the low flight. Suddenly the low flight stopped searching and headed for the base.

"I think the high flight spotted the airstrip. They are headed our way."

Sanders started to scramble down the tree and then changed his mind and stayed as the jets roared overhead. He caught glimpses of them as they circled and lined up on the abandoned Mosquitoes. The low flight split into pairs and began a strafing run right over Sanders position. Spent brass rained down as the first two jets fired on their targets. As they pulled up two heat seeking missiles were fired from positions on the other side of the flight line. One missile hit the trailing aircraft and the other homed on the burning aircraft as well. The second jet of the low flight then began an attack on the missile launch site. The high flight immediately also turned and dived for the missile launch site. Several more missiles were launched from the ground and strings of tracers rose from other locations. The aliens pressed the attack despite the ground fire and both flights made repeated passes at any gun or missile site they could identify. Two more jets were hit and one went down in the river and the other headed for the ocean trailing smoke. The surviving aircraft kept making runs and then abruptly broke off and followed their smoking comrade. Sanders tried to climb higher in his tree to keep sight of the aircraft but soon lost them.

As the all clear signal sounded, Sanders, Donner and the crew assigned to their aircraft started running toward the smoking remains of an anti-aircraft gun site. The guns were a total ruin and the three of four men assigned to the guns were clearly dead. The fourth was trying to bandage several wounds in his legs that were caused by shell fragments.

"Easy man, just lay back. We can take care of these bandages," said Sanders as Donner and two other men started working on the wounded legs.

"What's your name soldier," Donner asked as he used his knife to slit the wounded man's pants leg and started applying bandages. "Doesn't look too bad, we can stop the bleeding with a little pressure on the bandages." Donner continued talking to the soldier while he worked and wasn't getting any replies from the dazed man. Blood had soaked the pants but Sanders judged that Donner was right, the bleeding wasn't life threatening. A jeep arrived up with two men and a stretcher. The wounded man was quickly loaded and taken away. Sanders and Donner never did learn his name or fate as the air raid alarm sounded again.

Sanders looked around and spotted the smoking jet that had earlier headed toward the sea. It was a mile off the end of the runway and headed directly towards the base. The pilot was trying to keep the plane in the air but it kept rolling to the right and crashed into the forest a half-mile from the far end of the runway. It did not burst into flames.

"Come on Donner, it hit in the swampy area, maybe we can keep it from burning and find out what kind of critters they are. Sanders and Donner and several other men started running toward the crash site. At first the going was easy as the men ran down the grass airfield but the forest area was slower going. It got even slower when they ran into the edge of the swampy area. It took several minutes to cover the last few hundred yards to the crash. The jet had hit at about a 30-degree dive that crashed through a tree and into a creek that fed the swamp. The canopy was shattered and an orange blood was smeared over the forward portion. The smell of fuel was very strong and the engine still smoked.

"Start splashing water over the hot sections of the engine," Sanders ordered the men who had followed them to the crash site. "Use the water from upstream; the water downstream is contaminated with fuel. Donner, help me get the pilot out."

Sanders and Donner climbed up on a wing and used their knifes to cut the strange straps that held the pilot in place. The pilot was obviously dead. He had been nearly cut in half by the tree limb that had smashed the canopy. As they pulled the alien out of the aircraft Sanders notice that there was neither an ejection seat nor a parachute. It was just a bare seat with a headrest and restraining straps. The pilot was dressed a one-piece flight suit and was again a biped form. It was not a Viking, Furry, or a Bear. There were now at least four other races on the planet and three races shot first and never asked any questions.

Abe's men were all on watch. Nobody wanted to take it easy as reports from the Base came in over the phone. It was Abe that spotted the five jets returning from the attack. One was trailing and having obvious control difficulty. When it was just past overhead, it rolled and dived into the ocean about a mile out.

"That's four out of eight shot down. Don't think they will be coming back for more," said one man.

"Don't be too sure," Abe said. "We may have just made them mad and thirsty for revenge."

Evening was about an hour away and Abe set the watch and insisted on a sleep plan. "We need to keep a sharp watch 24/7 and that means that each of us needs to get some sleep. Willie and I will take the first watch. You two men need to get some sleep.

Later, when Abe was off watch he fell asleep almost instantly. It had been an eventful and stressful day. When his shoulder was shaken and a voice whispered in his ear he was awake just as fast.

"Abe, we got movement on the beach."

"Wake everyone up and send a report on the All Hands circuit. Show me." Abe move to the observation post and used his glasses to scan the beach. Carl, the duty man on watch pointed to a low dune.

"Over there about 300 yards out, there are four of them I think."

"How did they get there, did you see a boat."

"No boat, at least not one I spotted. They just came out of the surf."

Willie arrived with their helmets and the attached night vision goggles. Still not as good as the helmets the NAR Scouts had eight years earlier but the best that the EC could produce. As Abe adjusted his NVG another two shapes emerged from the surf, dragging bags behind them.

"They probably got their weapons and equipment in those bags. I hope that's all of them. Ok, I think we do this the easy way. Willie, get on the support line and call for a time on target at these coordinates." Abe referred to his map and read off the coordinates. The aliens had landed just to the left of the bunker and Abe had a good fix on their location. The standard fire support was a 4-gun battery of 155 mm cannons. This beach was one of the favorite practice ranges for the infrequent times the artillery did practice. They had always been very good at hitting the beach in practice but even so Abe was worried. His life wasn't on the line in practice shoots.

After 15 minutes of waiting, Abe was getting more and more worried. "Willie, when are they going to shoot?"

"Any time now, they only had one gun crew on duty and the officer in charge wants to use all four guns. One gun is ready any time but we have to wait a few more minutes for all four guns. Give the word and we can start with the ready gun."

"They haven't moved yet so let's wait for the big show. Tell them to hurry and fire when ready."

A few tense minutes later, Willie announced "Shot." Everyone ducked even though they all knew that it would take a while for the shell to arrive. Abe looked back up worried that the aliens would move before the shells arrived but ducked again when the freight train sound of the shell was heard. The explosions seemed to be right on top of them but when Abe looked up he could tell that the impacts were right on target.

"Carl, you and I are going to take a look. Get your gear. Weapon, ammo, and full armor." Abe added that last because the armor was heavy and hot and in peacetime was one of the first things to be left behind. "Willie, you are in charge. If we need more artillery support I will throw a grenade. Hit the same spot. I just intend to get closer for an eyeball check. We will examine the bodies, if and when more troops arrive."

Abe and Carl moved through the tree line until they were as close as they could get without moving out onto the sand. Nothing was moving and there were some lumps on the beach that hadn't been there at sunset. Leaving Carl on watch, Abe returned to the bunker. He didn't even have to ask.

"The Captain is sending a squad to reinforce us. They should be here in about an hour."

Sanders and Donner sat and watched the temperature gauges climb. When they reached the normal operating range, Sanders reported to the tower that they were ready to taxi. The rest of Red Flight soon followed suit. When the tower gave permission Sanders to lead his flight of four to the downwind end of the field and waited while safety pins were removed from the missiles and then started his takeoff. All of the twelve airplanes of the 37th squadron (Puma's) followed taking off in pairs.

One of the most probable advantages of the Mosquitoes over the alien jets was range and endurance. The Puma's were taking off with maximum fuel including drop tanks and armed for air-to-air combat. The twelve Super Mosquitoes were similarly configured but had less endurance than the Mosquitoes. They were on strip alert and would take off when the Mosquitoes had to land to refuel. It was hoped that if the aliens attacked at daylight the Mosquitoes would be able to make diving attacks (called a bounce) on the jets while they were busy on ground attack. It was also hoped that there would be enough warning to launch the Super Mosquitoes as well. The remaining 12 Mosquitoes were the "C" models that were light bombers and not well armed for air-to-air. They would remain under cover, unarmed and drained of fuel, waiting for a chance to attack the alien aircraft carriers and escorts. Or landing craft if that's what the aliens were up to.

Radio silence had been lifted since the base had been located and attacked. The air search radar was also active. Equipment had been dispersed and the decoys moved, patched, and ready for their primary duty as bullet magnets. A strange array of cobbled together pieces of plywood, canvas and junk was also ready as decoys. The infantry and air defense assets were dug in and everything down to light machine guns and rifles were going to be used. Buildings were evacuated and critical equipment removed and placed in the forest or bunkers. The Base was as ready as it could get given the time available.

The attack came an hour after sunrise. Fifteen flights of four were sighted by the lookouts and then tracked by radar. The Super Mosquitoes were safely launched and were climbing to the west, trying to get into position to bounce the aliens after the "G" model Mosquitoes of the Puma squadron.

Sanders and Donner were circling at 20,000 feet to the North West of the Last Chance Base, hoping that the distance and clouds would hide his three flights of Mosquitoes. As Red One, Sanders was in charge of all three flights. The Commanding Officer of the Puma Squadron had been wounded in yesterday's attack and the Executive Officer was detached with the other twelve Mosquitoes to the southern satellite base. At the moment, Sanders was trying to hide in the clouds and maintain visual contact with the base. The plan was for the anti-aircraft weapons to fire first and draw the high cover flights into the fight, as the super aggressive aliens did the previous day, and then for the Puma squadron and then the Super Mosquito squadron (The Wolf Pack) to bounce the low and slow ground attacking jets. If the high cover flights did not take the bait then the bouncers could in turn be bounced.

"Nothing on the radar warning receiver," reported Donner as the aliens approached the base. The base controller was giving updates on the incoming strike and Sanders knew the attack was only a minute or so away. He ducked back into the clouds and lost visual contact with the base. It was up to the base controller to call for the bounce, hopefully when the high squadrons were either drawn down into the ground attack or when it was clear they were going to stay high. Sanders was now blind. The controller called the beginning of the attack and the tension grew, as the call to the Puma's did not come. Sanders had visions of cannon shells ripping his comrades apart, burning buildings, and exploding ammo dumps but the call to begin the attack did not come immediately. Finally, after about 2 minutes into the attack the base controller announce that the high flights had committed to the ground attack. The super aggressive aliens of yesterday were still as aggressive.

"The Puma's are going to teach them a lesson about aggression," thought Sanders, as he called for all three Flights to drop their wing tanks and commence the attack. Red Flight was in tight formation that was necessary to maintain visual contact in the clouds and the other three aircraft followed Sanders as banked into a moderate dive in the direction of Last Chance.

"One pass and haul ass, Pumas." Sanders broke out of the clouds and pointed the nose at the fur-ball above the airstrip. The throttles were all the way forward and the water injection engaged. The airspeed built up rapidly to over 450 mph. The plan was for Red Flight to be slightly ahead and down the middle of the airstrip with White Flight on the left and Blue Flight on the right.

"White and Blue are both on our left, Wolf. Take the right side of the runway." Donner's job was to watch for the other flights as Sanders picked out a target and lined up for an attack. The three flights had exited the clouds in slightly different order than Sanders expected.

"Red Flight, we will take the right side of the runway." Sanders made the call to his flight and concentrated on picking up a target. Red Flight was in a line abreast with about 100 feet between aircraft. Sanders hoped that the three Puma flights were also roughly abreast so that no one would get shot in the ass by a fellow Puma pilot.

"Blue Flight will take the middle." Blue One made the adjustment and informed his flight.

As Sanders closed in on the base he picked up a pair of jets circling and getting lined up on some target on the ground. He had selected a heat seeking missile and listen for the growl that would indicate that the missile was picking up the heat signature of a jet exhaust. At least he hopped it was a jet exhaust and not a fire on the ground.

"Red One firing heat," was the radio call from Sanders and he heard other calls from Puma aircraft. "Red One firing another heat." Then Sanders switched to guns and tried to get a shot as he zoomed through the alien fur-ball of jets. Some of jets broke wildly and other continued their attack, oblivious to the planes and missiles coming their way.

"Red Flight break right an up," was the next call. Sanders wanted to keep his flight together and try for another bounce. The radio was filled with noise as all three flights tried to coordinate the fight. One call that did sink into Sanders consciousness was the base controller ordering the Wolf Pack to begin their attack. As Sanders pulled off of the attack and climbed for another run he looked back a confused mess of alien jets, Mosquitoes, missiles, flaming aircraft and explosions on the ground, he couldn't tell if his second missile had hit anything. The first had exploded in the close proximity to a jet but then he lost eye contact with the target as he switched concentration to another plane. Donner was on the wrong side of the aircraft to see much of the fight and was concentrating on keeping track of Red Flight.

"Red Two is still on our wing and Red Three and Four are about a half mile in trail," reported Donner. This also sank into Sanders consciousness but most of the radio calls when in one ear and out the other. Sanders tried to tune out anything but Red calls and Donner but the chatter was distracting. He settled into was wide climbing turn to allow Red Three and Four to cut across and catch up. Both Sanders and Donner were looking all around for enemy jets.

"I don't see anything following us. God, what a mess, the jets are all over the place. I don't see any organization at all. The Pumas are all clear, I think. Here comes the Wolf Pack."

"Let me know when the Wolf Pack is clear. I am trying to get Red Flight organized for another attack." Sanders was looking for a jet or a small group of jets that he could send Red Three and Four to pounce on and another that he could attack with his wingman. This fight was no longer under any overall control; it was up to each pair of Mosquitoes fight on as a team of two. Hopefully two but might even get down to individual dogfights. Sanders selected a single jet just pulling off a strafing run and sent Red Three to attack. Red Four followed his wingman. Then Donner yelled, "1 O'clock high, break left."

Sanders rolled the aircraft left and pulled on the stick. He could hear someone grunting as the G forces mounted. There was a loud bang from the aft fuselage but the aircraft kept responding and flying. A blur passed 100 feet in front of his eyes and then he continued the left bank and tried to get a shot at the retreating jets but they were out of range by the time his nose came around. A missile rocketed into his field of vision from his left as Red Two announced, "Red Two is firing my last heat."

"Two is still with us," said Donner.

Sanders stopped the water injection and watched the show as Red Two's missile gained on the trio of jets that had just bounced them. At first the jets started a right turn and then they spotted the missile chasing them and they broke left and right. But they broke too soon and the missile could turn inside their turn and impacted on one jet that immediately broke up in flames.

Sanders concentration on the chase in front of him broke when the missile hit and he remembered to keep looking around. They seemed to be clear of any attention by enemy jets. In his rather frantic scanning around Sanders spotted Last Chance Base again. There were still jets making runs on the airfield and very little ground fire. Sanders started the water injection again and turned toward the base. Red Two showed up in the corner of his right eye. "Good man," he thought. "He deserves to be a lead instead of my wingman."

The jets were moving at over 450 mph and the Mosquitoes top speed was under 400 mph at this low altitude but Sanders eyes followed a jet that was lower and to his right. Most of the jets would come off a ground target in a climbing turn to the right. Sanders adjusted his course to cross above and behind the jet as he made his run. When he pulled up Sanders was still in a shallow dive and could close to firing distance. Leading the target by about 50 feet and slightly to the right Sanders fired and let the jet fly through his stream of 25 mm shells. There were several flashes down the length of the plane and then the jet rolled right and smashed into the ground. Sanders level off and headed straight away from the base, looking all over for more jets.

"We are clear I think. Good shooting Wolf." Sander again stopped the water injection and started a climb. A moment ago the sky was full of aircraft but now nothing seemed to be around. At least nothing that Red One could catch. Sanders continued his climb and turned back toward the base. Several columns of smoke were arising from the base and several more fires were visible. No jets were around and two shot up Super Mosquitoes were attempting to land. Sanders continued his climb and leveled off at seven thousand feet and started orbiting the field. Soon other Mosquitoes began to filter back. Sanders soon had 10 Puma aircraft back organized in one flight of four and two flights of three. The Wolf Pack aircraft were also straggling back and were ordered to land and rearm and refuel.

"Red One, Red Two. You have a hole in the right side of your fuselage. I don't see any smoke or fluids leaking. Looks like you got one in the bomb bay. Good thing that we were strictly air-to-air this time."

"Thanks Red Two, we got this when those three jets bounced us. I forgot about it until now. The plane seems to fly all right so we are good for now. Let me know if anything big falls off." Then the right engine just quit.

"White One, you have Puma command. Red One has lost an engine and is headed for the barn. Suggest you get high and west until it's your turn to land." With that Sanders turned to line up for a landing. The tower gave immediate clearance and Sanders made his approach. The landing gear and flaps went down and the plane still handled halfway decently and Red One made a good landing. The tower gave permission and they taxied up to their revetment and shut down. A small tractor backed up and hooked onto the tail and pulled them under cover in the revetment. The crew chief brought up a ladder and helped them un-strap and exit the plane. Sanders was just telling his crew chief what happened when the air raid alarm went off again. Everyone headed for the trenches and holes outside as the sound of jets again filled the air.

From his hole Sanders had a good view of the far end of the runway where the creek and swamp was. The jets were working that area over and were getting a lot of fires, explosions and smoke.

"What in the hell is going on? There isn't anything down there except gators. Is that what this is all about; the aliens have got a grudge against gators? What in the hell is blowing up?" Sanders was mystified.

"The put a bunch of 55 gallon drums loaded with crude oil from the thermal depolymerization tanks and a few demolition charges. Set a few off to draw them away from the rest of the base. It seems to be working. They have been shooting the hell out of that end of the field and setting off the drums and charges. It tends to keep the alien scumbags out of mischief." The crew chief was trying to be cool and calm to keep the younger members of the plane crew from panicking. It didn't seem to be working on the plane crew but it helped Sanders immensely.

The trees limited the view of the sky but there didn't seem to be any opposition from the Puma's or Wolf Pack. "Hope they got away, with most of the missiles gone it will be a up close and personal gunfight. They will get slaughtered."

Not being able to see and without a radio, Sanders felt isolated, impotent, and completely in the dark about the most important human battle since the Furry and Viking wars. Frustration was an understatement about the emotions Sanders was feeling. Two Wolf Pack Super Mosquitoes roared over the field and fired their cannons at the jets at the end of the field. Sanders watched as two jets swooped down on their tails and began to fire on them.

"Break right, break right," yelled Sanders as he leaned right trying to will the Wolf Pack planes to make an escape maneuver. Helplessly he watched as one Super Mosquito was hit and then both turned in opposite directions. The jets tried to follow but their higher speed took them past their targets and out of Sanders view. A Mosquito crashed on the field and slide across the runway into the trees on the far side from Sanders. A heat-seeking missile flashed overhead and hit something behind Sanders but he was not able to see just which side was down another plane. Two jets promptly attacked the crashed Mosquito and it blew up. Two parachutes were drifting down and were being strafed by four jets. Smoke was everywhere and a huge fireball came from the direction of the alcohol plant. Sanders drew his survival pistol and stood and fired on the jets overhead.

A voice came from a nearby hole, "Get down sir, you can't hit anything with that pistol and if you draw their attention your plane will get strafed." It was the crew chief. Sanders ducked down in his hole and started cursing and continued the cursing until the attack was over.

# Chapter Eleven

# A Nice Day, Except for the Bitch II

June of Year 32

"They shot down about half of the Pumas, a third of the Wolf Pack, and got six of the Slammers "C" model Mosquitoes on the ground. The alcohol plant was destroyed and the depolymerization system damaged. Last Chance had about 250 casualties and lost some buildings and equipment but they can still operate. The only thing that saved the base from complete destruction by the second strike was the return of the detached planes from the satellite bases. I am going to fly in replacement squadrons and an additional squadron of Super Mosquitoes. The Pumas, Wolf Pack, and Slammers are flying out. And I am going to send every heat-seeking missile I can get my hands on. Is there anything else you men can do for the Last Chance Base? I can't send more squadrons until we build up the infrastructure." General Brennan had a harried look and didn't want to overlook anything.

"Send lots of anti-aircraft guns and missiles," said Ben.

"I can send some kits to convert the "C" models to accept the latest missiles. It takes about two days to convert each plane. It will be best to fly in new models and send the C's back here for conversion." Bob was thinking out loud. "I don't have enough Terminators to make a difference but I can start a second shift and work overtime on the production line. We can start making a bunch fairly soon."

"Good, do it. You are going to have to finance it for a while until we can get our ducks in a row. That woman has gone ballistic and is blaming us for provoking these new aliens. She is threatening to hold up shipments of Terminator electronics until less we have a full investigation of our operations down south. The NAR Congress is wimping out and letting her go completely unchecked. Is there anyone in the NAR leadership with a backbone except Eastwood?"

"No." said Ben and Bob simultaneously. "But I have been running an illegal batch of chips on a microprocessor production line licensed by the NAR. I am violating the license agreement but I can make the electronics here in the EC. Tell English to take her investigation and stick it in her ear."

"No, I can't quite do that yet. We need her to get some sort of deal with the Bears. Can you start up the Gull production line?"

"I have been looking at that. We made ten machines years ago but we got canceled because of the lack of a threat and the notion that any new fighter should be a jet. We will be stretched thin for production workers but I can start rolling out a Gull a day in 60 days. Am I supposed to finance that too?"

"No, we can go ahead and use EC financing. English bought off on the idea of a low cost, short-range defensive fighter-bomber, especially if we buy some NAR electronics and superchargers. Evidently, some supporter needs the business. She actually asked if we had a design that would use NAR V-12's. Looks like the Engine Shop needs business too. She has been pushing spending bills through for the last five years and she is running out of money and even that bunch of wimps in the NAR Congress won't give her another tax hike."

"Actually, I do have a design for a fighter using the V-12's. It has about the same performance as the Gull except for the range. It is as long range as a Mosquito. Won't take the battle damage a Gull will and it's no match for a jet but I have the design. Have to have a helmet-mounted sight for heat seeking missiles to have a chance in a dogfight. Tell her I need those helmet-mounted sights or I won't build deathtraps for EC pilots. She knows how I hate losing pilots in my planes. I bet she will buy it. Don't tell her about the range."

"That's a good idea except I can't stand talking to her. I just can't understand what drives that woman. Thank God that President Baker can occasionally get through to her. I will leave it to him to negotiate with the NAR."

"What about the Bears, anything new?"

"They agreed that their species are to be called Bears. Said that Sam selected the name and it was acceptable to them. There is nothing else that I am allowed to talk about, even with you."

"Ben, are you ready to start training some pilots for the Gull?" Bob did not want Ben to test fly every Gull and Ben clearly needed some test pilot help. A lot of corners would have to be cut to start mass-producing single engine fighters and Bob didn't want Ben to be the one to pay for that cutting.

"Yes, I can have a training syllabus done in a couple of days. It should be easy. We have a lot of pilots that trained in a single engine trainer and moved on to Mosquitoes or Super Mosquitoes. We can convert pilots faster than you can produce the machines. It's a lot easier than last time. The EC kept pilot training at nearly wartime levels and put them in the reserve. They fly on the weekends and we have plenty. We have a whole generation that loves to fly. The air reserve is the only branch of the military that didn't get substantial peacetime cutbacks. The pilots will love the Gulls. It won't be the pilots that hold us up this time."

"You want how many by when?" croaked an incredulous Jake.

"I want 2,000 by the end of the year. I can produce the airframes and the electronics but you are the only supplier of pulse-jets on the continent. How about it Jake?" Bob was serious. "The airframes are in production and I have trained a whole new generation of wood workers. Those grants you and I gave to create high school wood, metal, and mechanical shops are paying off. And with no child labor laws to speak of, I have a bunch of part-time school kids making nearly as much money as some adults."

"I can do it, no problem. I am just astounded that you will need that many that soon."

"Part of them will be the decoys. They are real small and easy to produce. But most of them will be ship killers. Cheap Charlie is going to war I think and I will sleep better knowing we can strike back at those carrier battle groups.

The eight planes of the Puma squadron were peeling off in pairs to land at the Middle of Nowhere airstrip. The newly named adversary race, the Fives, were moving north along the east coast of the continent. The Puma's were following, moving along the coastal airbases. During the pause after the Viking and Furry wars, the EC had built a series of airbases for just this reason. They were stocked with fuel, some ordnance, food, and primitive living quarters. The basic concept was that airpower could be quickly moved to these bases to defend the continent. The Middle of Nowhere base had the advantage of a road and pipeline from the Big Muddy. It was better suited to support large operations that some of the other bases. Sanders had visited some of these airbases and knew that most of what they needed would still have to be flown in. Cargo planes were following with ground crews and the various and sundry items that would be needed to mount combat operations.

The Fives were leisurely steaming up the coast at about 15 knots and were sending their jets to inspect the coast. Intelligence also suspected that they were landing small parties along the coast for reconnaissance. One party had been detected and wiped out at the mouth of the Big Muddy and small warships were seen along the coast. There had been no sightings of the carrier battle groups but the presence of jets was the sure sign that they were just over the horizon somewhere. The Fives had not attacked Last Chance again but had begun this movement northward. The Pumas, Slammers and Wolf Pack squadrons were going to get some payback if the Fives kept this up.

There were some permanent ground crew and two old model Mosquitoes stationed here and the ground crew directed Sanders and Donner to there parking area. The Pumas were lined up in a neat row that sent chills down the Sanders and Donner's spine. It made an irresistible and easy strafing target. Especially since the ships would be fueled and armed.

"I intend to sleep far away from this parking area. If the Fives knew about this place we would be toast, buttered and burnt toast."

"Yeah Wolf, this would be easy meat for just a couple of jets."

Overhead some cargo planes circled waiting for their chance to land and behind them were the Slammers, Wolf Pack and still more cargo planes. It wasn't enough to hit the carrier battle groups but the destroyer-sized ships that were nosing along the coast were going to get a serious test of their air defenses.

# Chapter Twelve

# This is going to Ruin Politics as We Known It

June of Year 32

It was a big, important meeting to sign a treaty between the EC, NAR and the Bears. English was there for the NAR, Baker for the EC, three Bears, Eastwood, Sam and Seth. In addition to these actual principals there were various interpreters, advisors, secret service, experts, television crew, reporters and various other unnecessary and superfluous baggages. English sat on one side a long table surrounded with her staff, the Bears opposite her, Baker sat alone at the end of the table, and Eastwood, Sam and Seth were standing in the door.

"If there were one more camera crew, we would be back by the picnic tables," said Seth.

"Naw, I would just watch this at home on TV," said Eastwood, not quite in jest. "This is going to be a blast, and at home I could laugh at all the right places. Here, we are going to have to swallow it and act like serious statesmen. That's going to spoil half the fun. Course, it is going to be great to see the expressions when the Bears reveal their little secret. I am going to be immune from serious repercussions but you guys are going to have to find a new career."

"That's all right, the EC Rangers are looking for a couple of good men," Seth whispered.

"Whatever happens, it is going to be worth it to get an honest treaty. I don't care if it does embarrass some politicians." Sam's words rang with conviction but some doubts remained. Was he being more loyal to the Bears than to his own race? Did his oath as a Scout require that he inform his superiors that the Bears could detect lies? Of course, no one asked the Scouts anything. The big brains did their own work and drew their own conclusions. The Two Scouts were treated like old, used furniture. The academics were all English supporters and treated the military with distain, especially after the little incident with the Biology Department Chairperson.

"Well, you guys may get lucky, they are going to be so busy bobbing and weaving that two Scouts may be beneath their notice." Eastwood was obviously looking forward to the meeting and was enjoying himself immensely.

Some of the preliminaries were taken care of and the main event was next. The Bears had agreed to the language of the treaty but insisted that the principals sit down, read the provisions, and then sign. English started reading the treaty and the three Bears stared intently at her as she did so.

"All aspects of the agreement between the parties are specified explicitly in the following clauses and there are no implied obligations for any of the parties."

"Lie." The middle Bear spoke in English.

"Pardon me," exclaimed English.

"Lie," repeated the Bear.

This caused a flurry of consultations between English and her advisors.

"Are you accusing me personally of lying?" English was incredulous.

"You don't intend to honor this provision. That is a lie." The Bears continued their intent stares.

This caused more consultations. Minutes passed. Finally, English turned back to the Bears.

"This treaty must be a living document. We can't possibly know everything that may occur in the future and this document will serve as a framework for future interpretations. We must be flexible and grow in our friendship and later generations will need to interpret these provisions in light of future events and circumstances. The document will need to evolve."

"We do not agree. The treaty is correct as written. There will be no finding of implied obligations." The Bear was as unreadable as a statue.

"But there may be a difference of opinion at a later date about unforeseen circumstances; we must be able to expand the interpretation of this agreement to deal with these circumstances."

"Modification of the treaty will be by agreement between the parties and will be by an amendment in writing. No obligations except those explicitly stated in the treaty."

This caused more consultations between English and her advisors.

"We agree."

"Lie. Impasse. No treaty. "

Eastwood, Sam and Seth were struggling to keep straight faces. Finally, Eastwood whispered to the Scouts, "We didn't even get to the good parts yet. I wonder just what part of the treaty they want to weasel on."

"My guess is the clause that forces us to defend their base as if it were our own. Or maybe the clause that forbids making treaties with the Furries, Vikings, Fives, or any other race without prior disclosure to the Bears. I didn't think this provision would cause a problem."

Meanwhile, the Bears turned to President Baker of the Eastern Confederation.

"You read."

Baker read the same sentence that English had. The Bears were silent. Baker continued. The Bears continued to be silent. Both the Bears and Baker ignored English.

"The Eastern Confederation will defend the Bear Republic Submarine Base on the Columbia River as if it were an Eastern Confederation installation of comparable value."

Baker stopped and looked at the Bears and said, "I am not sure what that means. I will not defend your base at all costs, at some point I may decide that your base is not worth the effort and abandon it. I don't know how hard I am willing to defend your interests. Besides, the base is on New American Republic Territory."

"Yes you do. Continue."

"No, I do not know."

"The effort you would extend to defend our base on your soil is within the range of efforts that we find acceptable. You would not permit the NAR to do otherwise."

That surprised even Eastwood and the Scouts.

"Are you reading my mind?" Baker's question drew a few gasps from the assembled crowd.

"No, we are reading what you would call your character."

English turned red as the implications of this sunk in, as did her staff.

"This just keeps getting better and better," Eastwood whispered.

A fuming and boiling over Barbara English tried to take back the meeting.

"Gentlemen, this is going nowhere. We have agreed upon the language of the treaty between all three parties. The Bears have just told us that despite their previous agreement, they no longer agree to sign the treaty. I must insist that we return to discuss the points where we have difficulties."

"No treaty with the just the NAR." The Bear's tone was flat and final.

"We will sign with the EC. They will honor the treaty. They will force the NAR to honor the treaty."

Baker looked like he had just taken a bite out of a particularly bitter lemon. English looked like she was about to explode. Her aids were livid and attempting to whisper to anyone with an available ear.

"This is a brilliant move by the Bears. They know Baker can be trusted and that he can force English to honor the treaty. I bet Baker hates to be put in this position." Eastwood was keeping up a running color commentary on the treaty signing. He only had an audience of two but he was having so much fun that he didn't care.

Baker interjected, "Madam President, since you have already agreed to the language of the treaty, it is my view that we can still have this agreement signed today as long as you will give me your word that the NAR will honor the treaty as written."

"I have already agreed to that. The Bears say they won't sign with us. The NAR is a sovereign nation. We are either a party to the agreement or we are not bound by the agreement. The EC cannot sign for us."

"The NAR may sign. Your compliance must be guaranteed by EC. We must meet and re-sign the agreement if there is any change in leadership in the NAR or the EC."

"Diplomacy sure isn't their strong suit. Or maybe it is." Eastwood was getting into his role as color commentator and was on a roll.

Fifteen minutes of conferences between English and her advisors followed. Baker sat like a stone. The Bears stared at English. At last, English indicated she was ready to sign the treaty. The Bears asked for one more thing.

"Take those three as ambassadors. Leave in five days." The Bear pointed at Eastwood, Sam and Seth.

"Holy fucking shit!" exclaimed Eastwood.

"No way am I doing that again, No way sir," said Seth with a firm voice.

# Chapter Thirteen

# A Little Payback

June of Year 32

The strike was on. All over the field engines were starting and warming up. The coastal watch had spotted three destroyer class ships and were tracking them with laser rangefinders. The position of the ships was known down to a few feet. The ordinance was loaded and programmed. The mission was planned and briefed. The Pumas were taking off first, followed by the Wolf Pack and last by the Slammers. The cargo planes and support crews would also leave within minutes of the strike package. The Middle of Nowhere strip was only 123 miles from the anticipated attack point, close enough to the coast that a retaliatory raid was very probable.

The Mosquito seemed alive and eager to go as Sanders taxied into position to takeoff. It was a crowded airfield and planes were taking off four at a time. White Flight was the second group of Pumas to take off and planes were moving all over the field. It was a relief when Sanders lifted off and got away from the traffic jam on the large grass field. Donner was fiddling with his new toys and muttering words like fan-fucking-tastic and awesome. Sanders agreed.

The strike package formed up over the field. Timing and near simultaneous attacks were the keys in this strike and when everyone was in position the strike clock started. The entire gaggle turned and slowly climbed. Everyone was heavily loaded with fuel and ordinance and the climb was slower than usual. Two course changes and forty minutes later the last set of coordinates from the coastal watchers were programmed into the glide bombs and decoys. Sanders pushed the throttles forward, engaged the water injection, and pointed the nose down in a shallow dive. The airspeed built up rapidly and the Strike Commander called for bomb release. Sanders triggered the release of the 1,500 lb glide bomb and started a turn back towards the north.

"The wings are deployed and it is flying OK," reported Donner as the entire formation released their loads and turned north. "Hot damn, what a sight."

Forty-four glide bombs and sixty-eight decoys were released and on their way. Sanders and Donner would have given their eyeteeth to stay and watch the attack but the most probable response was going to be a swarm of jets sweeping the area for aircraft or any ground installations. Therefore the entire formation was running for the next airbase up the coast, figuring that the jets would not have the range to make a sweep that far. It did leave the permanent personnel of Middle of Nowhere swinging in the wind but they were few and well camouflaged and dug in.

Sanders started a slow climb and led his flight into the planned positions as the rear guard element. The Slammers in the older C model Mosquitoes had almost no air-to-air capability and were running at full throttle north. The Wolf Pack with 25 mm guns and two heat seeking missiles each stayed with them to provide some cover. The Pumas climbed higher and stayed at cruising speed and were the primary air-to-air intercept option. They were wired for the latest heat seeking missiles and today they actually were armed with some of the newest model missiles. Some of the Puma pilots and system operators were eager to try out the new missiles but the old and wiser men hoped the entire formation would get away scot-free.

Behind the retreating formation the 112 glide bombs and smaller decoys kept their noses down in a shallow dive. The on-board computers knew how far they had to go and what to look for when they got there. The range was less that the maximum and the computers could order steeper dives and more speed in the attack phase. After a programmed delay the nose mounted cameras unmasked and started looking for images that matched those stored in their memory. They soon found them, three destroyer type ships that stood out like sore thumbs. All three were launching missiles that left a plume of smoke and heat that shouted, "Here I am, come and get me."

The destroyers had increased speed as soon as they picked up the formation of incoming glide bombs and started laying smoke screens, firing chaff, firing flares, and releasing decoys. Missiles were fired at maximum range and the ships turned to double back into the smoke screens. Courses were adjusted to unmask batteries of automatic cannon and soon these started firing. The glide bombs were easy targets, low, slow and with minimal maneuvering capability. They were shot down in droves but there were 112 targets to start with and attacking nearly simultaneously on the same axis. The defenses attacked decoys and bombs alike, not being able to tell the difference. Some bombs lost their targets in the smoke, other were confused by the countermeasures, some were shot down but all pressed on with silicon inspired bravery. As the bombs acquired a target they pitched down and began a terminal run. A few made it.

Six bombs and a few decoys impacted on their targets. The decoys did not cause much damage but the bombs had 1,000 lb warheads. They hit the broadsides of their targets and penetrated a dozen or so feet and blew a trench clear through the ships. One ship was hit once and turned to limp off away from land, leaving a trail of smoke that was not all from its smoke generators. Another ship was hit twice and was dead in the water and burning fiercely. The third ship was hit three times and sank within a minute.

The shore watchers recorded video of the entire attack and risked transmitting it back to the Middle of Nowhere Base. The permanent base staff was jumping for joy when the video came in but still managed to keep their helmets and armored vests within reach. So far, the base had not been detected and did not have a visible road to lead the enemy towards them, but the men and women of the base soon gathered their helmets and armored vests and headed towards their bunkers.

Back in the Puma formation, two flights of four were at 30,000 feet and heading north. It looked like a clean get away until the coast watcher reported that many flights of two and four aircraft were headed inland. The formation of Slammers and Wolf Pack aircraft were way ahead and rapidly receding at better than 400 miles per hour. The Pumas were at their cruising speed of 240 miles per hour and heading inland to draw any pursuit away from the Slammers and Wolf Pack, as well as their next base. Sanders was beginning to relax thinking that they had made their escape when the radio crackled to life.

"Puma Flight, Puma Red One, Bandits 5 O'clock low. New course 280 and haul ass. Let's see how much legs these guys have."

Sanders stifled the urge to look for the Bandits and turned left to 280 and pushed the throttles all the way forward. Red Flight started a shallow dive to pick up speed and Sanders led White flight in a similar move.

"Where are they Donner," Sanders yelled.

"About five miles back and 10,000 feet lower. They are busting ass and trailing black smoke. They are going to catch us in a few minutes. I can't fire at this angle. We need to turn to get any kind of shot."

"Puma Flight, Puma Red One, when they get closer we will go into a defensive wheel and start shooting. Wait for the break left call."

"Hot damn, I got the best seat in the house," said Donner who occupied the right hand seat and for at least part of the circle would have a clear view looking down at the approaching jets. Donner busied himself with setting up switches and selecting the missile he would use first. "I set you up to use missiles 3 and 4 and the guns, Wolf. I got missiles 1, 2, 5 and 6." Donner was using the outboard missiles on both wings and assigned the inboard missiles to the pilot.

Donner then turned on the tracking laser. This was a lipstick-sized device mounted just above his head on the headrest. It was slaved to the camera in the nose which in turn sent directions to the missiles on where to look for targets. The small laser projected a bright green or red laser on the interior of the cockpit canopy. It gave the systems operator a heads up indication of where the camera was pointed. Donner had a small joystick to point the camera and the laser dot was his aiming device. The missiles under his control would look in the same direction as the camera and allowed Donner to keep his head and eyes looking outside the cockpit. It wasn't quite a helmet-mounted sight but it allowed the systems operator to fire missiles at targets to the right, left, above and below the nose of the aircraft. Sanders controlled the missiles that fired straight ahead and aimed by pointing the aircraft. Together, they could fire is two directions at once. This was the first time a missile with a tracking, swiveling seeker head was to be used in combat. The Puma Mosquitoes had been wired for this missile but the NAR had delayed releasing it. Now it was going to get tested in combat.

Soon the call to break left came and each plane in Red Flight started a turn to the right. When all of Red Flight was into the defensive wheel Sanders started his turn followed by the rest of White Flight. If the maneuvers were timed correctly there would be a continuous circle of Mosquitoes with missiles able to fire in all directions. And everyone's back would be covered.

As the right wing dipped into a bank and the nose came around Donner had a clear view of the incoming jets. Cursing softly he used his joystick to put the green sighting dot on the closest jet and squeezed the trigger to the first detent. The sighting dot turned bright yellow indicating the image recognition software had identified a target and was tracking it. Almost immediately the sighting dot turned red indicating the missile was tracking the target. Donner squeezed the trigger to the last detent and the missile fired and quickly turned right and dove down towards the target.

"White One firing heat," Donner shouted on the radio. Several other missiles were in the air but neither of the flight crew heard the calls. Donner selected another missile and searched for another target but the turn had taken them too far around the circle and nothing was visible. A jet zoomed by in a steep climb on White One's left and Donner frantically yanked the joystick around, bending it slightly as the crew chief would point out the next day.

"Shit, shit, shit," chanted Donner he tried to track the jet and simultaneously select a missile on the left wing that had a view of the retreating jet. Finally the left wingtip missile fired and swerved to follow its target.

As the nose came around in the turn, Sanders got a better look at the fight. A jet rammed a Mosquito that was 180 degrees ahead of White One in the defensive wheel and another Mosquito was leaving the formation with a smoking engine. Sanders got a tone that his missile had acquired a target but all he was afraid to fire because Red Four was the closest aircraft. Missile smoke trails were all over and several burning jets were falling from the sky. Sanders eased the bank he was in to widen the turn and stop his missile from announcing that it was ready to vaporize Red Four when a jet filled his windshield and just missed colliding.

"Puma Flight, White One, the jets are trying to ram." Sanders wondered whose calm voice that was on the radio. "Sounds like me," he thought.

The defensive wheel was breaking up from losses and maneuvering to avoid fanatical jet pilots' intent on taking a Mosquito with them to hell. Donner fired his third missile and Sanders eased the turn even more and finally got a shot with his missile. No sooner that he fired his missile than a stream of tracers flashed by from the right rear. Sanders rolled left and pulled on the stick. More tracers and then a jet screamed by and Sanders tried to turn back for a shot at the jets exhaust but lost sight of the enemy. Frantically Sanders tried to look around and construct a picture of the fight but it was just yank and bank from one desperate encounter to another. Donner announced that he was dry and Sanders told him to take the last missile. Later Sanders would remember firing his guns but was never quite sure if he hit anything.

Then he rolled level and looked around and nobody was shooting at him. The only jet in sight was to the east and was in a moderate dive. Sanders turned and dived after him and noticed that he was not smoking.

"I think he flamed out, Wolf," said Donner. "Let's get him before he gets it started again."

"Guns," replied Sanders, indicating that this was his kill and not to waste a missile. With full throttle and in a dive Sanders began to catch the gliding jet. Sanders was intent on the kill but not so intent that he missed the fact that he was closing rapidly and he eased back on the throttles and briefly deployed the speed brake and slid right in back of the jet at about 300 feet and opened fire. Flashes sparkled on the left wing and fuselage and pieces started coming off the plane. Sanders pulled up as the wing broke off and the jet tumbled out of control.

There were some smoke plumes to the southeast but no aircraft at all and no response on the radio. "Let's head for the barn Wolf. There's nobody left."

# Chapter Fourteen

# Puma Squadron After Action Report for June 31, 32.

July of Year 32

The after action report was put together by the squadron intelligence officer from the surviving flight crews of Puma Squadron. It only took two days to compete. White One and Red Three survived intact, White Four crash-landed and the systems operator survived, and two other pilots from separate aircraft parachuted and were picked up after a day in the wilderness. There were no losses for the Slammers and Wolf Pack Squadrons. Video recording from all surviving aircraft, the coast watchers and the debriefing recordings were included as was the mission-planning brief. White one was credited four kills and one probable and now was the continent's first ace. It was theorized that the enemy had gone beyond their point of no return and ran out of fuel during the dogfight. The count was 24 enemy kills; some by Puma Squadron and some that just ran out of fuel. In addition, all three enemy ships eventually sank. A variety of metals were awarded, including medals for all Puma Squadron aircrews in the fight. Red One was awarded a Medal of Honor. The squadron received a Presidential Unit Citation. The Middle of Nowhere Base escaped detection and attack. Sanders and Donner were both promoted and Donner became the new Puma XO. New pilots and aircrews were assigned and Sanders transferred to become operations officer of a new squadron being formed at Sand Mountain.

Eastern Confederation President Joshua Baker viewed all the recordings and read every scrap of information on both of the after action reports concerning Puma Squadron. He was, after all, an old hand at intelligence analysis from the Viking and Furry wars with the Sniper Wing. He was on the horns of a dilemma. Can we make do with piston engine, wooden warplanes or do we break the bank and build all metal jets? What he had now was Mosquitoes but was a new generation of aircraft necessary in a few years? With a total human population of 10 of so million, the present force structure was barely sustainable. The answer was not clear-cut but his decision had to be. And he had to sell the decision to the nation, the NAR, and the military. The first step to resolve this issue was to mass some forces and deal with the carrier battle groups coming up the east coast. If they could deal with these ships with the present force structure then it supported the argument that a new generation of aircraft could be postponed and the resources used to grow the economy. If not, then massive investment, massive taxation, and rationing were required.

"General, just what do you need to defeat the carrier battle groups at the mouth of the Samson River?" It was three days after the Middle of Nowhere battle and at their present rate of travel the carriers would be off the Samson River in two more days.

"As you know, I have been massing forces ever since we picked up on the fact that the Fives were making a Thunder Run up our coast. I need more of everything including time. What I will have available will be ten squadrons of Mosquitoes and Super Mosquitoes, some that can use the new missiles, some that can use just forward looking missiles and some that aren't wired to use any missiles at all. We will have enough glide bombs and decoys to arm every plane I can muster for two or three strikes. We will even have a handful of Terminators available but I hesitate to use them until we have enough to be decisive. Since we don't know how many carriers they actually have and how many escorts, we can't be sure what we need. In any case, it will be a blood bath with high losses of aircraft. We could lose."

"We can't afford to lose General and we can't afford to pass up the opportunity. We need to know if we can defend the continent with present and projected forces or mobilize a wartime economy. This attack will give some information about which way to go. Use any resource available and blow those ships out of the water General."

"Yes Sir."

General Brennan had a problem. The EC combat squadrons were organized with regiments as combined units and were commanded by infantry officers. The largest strictly air unit was the Sniper Wing, which consisted of three squadrons. The proposed attack on the carrier battle groups had grown to 10 squadrons but there was no unified command except infantry officers. Brennan had been getting feedback that the squadrons were getting restless and critical about the current planning. He needed a senior air officer to honcho the strike and all he currently had was infantry generals. However, he had just the man in mind.

"Good morning General Grant."

"Shit. I knew I should have resigned my commission completely instead of being talked into staying in the reserves. Are you about to make a plea or order me back to active duty, sir?"

"This will be a short term plea. The carrier group attack squadrons are bitching about the lack of coordinated, competent plan and the lack of air experience with General Black. Black is a good infantry officer and can handle combined arms tactics but this is not a combined arms mission. I want you to fly out today and lend General Black a hand and see if there is anything to the bitching from the squadrons. If something is wrong, fix it on my authority."

"Sir, does that include replacing General Black?"

"Yes. Bear in mind that you will be the replacement for General Black."

"Do I have your word that this will be a short term assignment? After all, I have a lot on my plate here at Sand Mountain. Besides, I have done my bit for God and country."

"You certainly have and it will be short. Bob needs you and the nation needs Bob to come up with better combat aircraft. I can't say one week or one month but I will leave it up to you. If you are satisfied with the organization and plans then give me a call and I will send you back to Sand Mountain."

"I will leave within the hour General."

Bob was silent. Nothing he could do anyway. Besides, he could think faster when his lips were not moving. Ben Grant, soon to be General Ben Grant waited. After all, he wasn't due to leave for the new war for another 56 minutes.

"Take one of the new G models. We have one that has been test flown and been checked out. Better yet, take Jake's special. Also take a pilot and ride in the systems operator seat and sleep. Keep in touch. Anything else I can send with you?"

"Not unless you have an extra squadron of H's ready for action?"

"We got three planes total, want one?"

"No, save them for training the new squadron. The carrier attack will have to be done with existing squadrons anyway.

"Good luck and good hunting."

"Thank you sir."

The plan was not all that bad. Basically, it was a screen of air-to-air missile armed reconnaissance aircraft to locate the carriers and then a massive strike that would have to fight their way to the launch points. Ben added a few tweaks but overall it was a sound plan for a massive strike. The problem was that the squadrons only saw their part and not the entire overall strategy. Ben knew how to deal with this and started by briefing all wing and squadron commanders and by visiting each squadron ready room and answering questions. He still had one squadron to go when two jets streaked over the Samson Airbase where he had just finished with the Snipers.

"They are a new type, General. They look like high speed, high altitude photoreconnaissance types. They were doing about 600 mph at 40,000 feet. If we had some warning and time we might be able to position one of the new model Mosquitoes to get a missile shot at them but we would have to be lucky."

The air intelligence officer was apologetic and correct. Several other reports from coastal watch stations and another airbase reported the same type of over flights. The Fives had better intelligence and the initiative; it was time for a change of plans.

"Get me General Black," Ben ordered. The intelligence officer quickly complied and Ben took a seat at a computer with the image of General Black in a 6-inch square window.

"Sir, have you heard about the possible Five photoreconnaissance flights?"

"I have General Grant. Looks like they know where at least two of our airbases are and we don't have a clue where they are except that they are in range for an attack. I would send out more reconnaissance flights but if they get anywhere near the carriers they are attacked by missiles followed up by jets. We can't get an accurate enough fix on their location for a glide bomb attack and we almost always lose the reconnaissance aircraft. Unless they are close and we have a good fix on their location a massive strike could very well fail. I can't see fighting our way to a launch point and just have an empty ocean to shoot at. Have you got any good ideas?" General Black looked tired and depressed.

"I agree General Black. A big strike will have to search for the battle groups while under attack by jets and escorts. We could have considerable attrition and find only escorts. It would be a big gamble. However, we could use their aggressive tendencies against them. Pull the bombers back from the coast airfields tonight and arm every missile capable aircraft for strictly air-to-air. Go active with our radar and put up a big combat air patrol. Keep all the rest of the aircraft on 15-minute strip alert. Wait for them to attack and attrite them first and then bring back the bombers for a big strike. That is if we are still able to do so after their attack. I don't think we can strike first, not unless we they approach the coast and we get a good fix on them."

"I have orders from General Brennan to sink those carriers. However, I think you are right, attrite first and then go for a big strike. We risk missing the carriers if we are too successful in shooting down their jets. They could just withdraw. However, if we can whittle down their anti-air capability we can risk a big search and strike mission." Neither General was entirely happy about this decision, offensive air strikes were basic to any plans to defend the continent. Letting the enemy land the first blow and fighting defensively did not sit well with either man. But sending bomb laden Mosquitoes to fight their way through the escorts and jets with poor intelligence was an invitation to disaster.

# Chapter Fifteen

# Surprise, Surprise, Surprise

July of Year 32

Ben's new G model Mosquito was fueled, armed and ready to go and Ben had his flight gear on. Only common sense prevented Ben from getting airborne. One of the drawbacks of having your recommendations accepted and implemented is that you are now on the hook for success and Ben wanted to be where he could make a difference. In this case it was in the Sniper's operations center. It was 0900 and the anticipated Five strikes had not occurred. The radar was active, passive listening was manned and ready, and a huge Combat Air Patrol was airborne. A few older model Mosquitoes were still occasionally leaving as were cargo planes. The ground crews were busy arming the last of the missile capable Mosquitoes. The aircrews were trying to relax and not look scared. It was just about time to start replacing the CAP with fresh aircrews and aircraft. Mosquitoes had great range and endurance but three hours on CAP was the standard and replacements were manning their planes.

The first surprise of the day came from the farthest picket aircraft; airborne radar was being picked up on radar-warning receivers. The pickets followed their orders and retreated at their best speed. The threat was from the east and the pickets retreated northwest and southwest creating a hole for the strike aircraft to fly through. It was not long before the pickets started reporting radar guided missiles fired beyond visual range. Chaff, jamming and maneuvering was defeating at least some of the missiles. The next report was from the ground-based radar, 150 plus bandits incoming at 350 mph from the east, range 75 miles. It looked like they had the Samson Base and the Snipers bore sighted.

Ben waited for a minute that seemed to be endless and then the order from General Black came in ordering all ready aircraft to launch. Ben was still an advisor and not in the chain of command but was ready to take action if Black made serious errors. It was a relief that Black was in control and giving orders. Soon a warning order was send out to all airborne aircraft to expect radar and heat seeking missiles. Next the ground-based jammers were ordered to start jamming. In the background, air raid sirens started wailing. All that could be done was being done. Ben was satisfied about the command and control so far and decided to get airborne.

His plane was warmed up and ready to go as Ben approached the flight line. He had walked as his aircraft was parked as close to the operations center as possible. His crew chief helped him strap in and his systems operator, Bill Jenkins, passed on some orders. "Take off directly north, we are cleared for takeoff and the last to go. After takeoff head northwest and climb. A wingman will join up as we climb."

Ben nodded and waited for the crew chief to get clear. As the crew chief ran clear he waved the six small red flags that meant that the missiles were armed. Glancing around and seeing that everyone was clear and the huge grass field was clear, Ben started the engines. The twin engines started immediately and growled into a smooth idle. This was not just a standard G model; the engines had been run through Jakes engine shop and put out close to 3,000 horsepower each, a little less than 50% more than the standard V12. Ben pushed the throttles forward and released the brakes. Ben made a mental note to himself to take it easy on the throttles and give his wingman a chance to keep up.

As he climbed his wingman slid up on his right wing, and his left wing. His wingman turned out to be Sniper Gold One, the leader of a flight of four. The snipers did not want to lose the original sniper and the most decorated man in the EC's short history.

"Welcome back Murphy," was the greeting from Gold One who used Ben's old call sign.

"Not sure it is nice to be back, Gold One. My intentions are to climb and to get into a position to bounce some of the ground attack types. Watch for radar and heat seeking missiles. I don't think the Fives are finished handing us some surprises today."

The start of the attack on the airfield began with surface-to-air missiles being fired from half a dozen locations. They were ground-based versions of the heat seeking missiles the Mosquitoes carried and were very deadly for low flying aircraft. Soon numerous streams of tracers started tracking the incoming jets. The Five aircraft immediately jumped on the decoy aircraft scattered around the field and fired rockets and dropped bombs. Another surprise, since up to this point only strafing with small automatic cannons were used in the attacks. The decoys blew up and burned with satisfying fireballs, caused by placing 55-gallon drums partially filled with gasoline and crude oil with the decoys.

"Good place to stay away from," Jenkins commented, referring to the airfield. The anti-aircraft fire intensified as more aircraft came into range.

"Keep an eye out for the high flights; they aren't all attacking the base." Indeed, missile trails started to appear to the east. It wasn't clear just which side was firing but soon both sides were as the defending forces closed with the attackers from the south and west. Flares, chaff, and missiles trails filled the sky and briefly flashed when hit by range finding lasers that were being used to try to blind Five pilots and missiles. Burning aircraft were falling all over and a few parachutes could be seen.

"Radar missiles are going to be useless in this fur-ball," said Jenkins.

Ben spotted six jets in a line abreast lining up to strafe the base. "Gold Flight, Murphy. Let's take that flight to the southeast that's strafing the base. I intend to fly over them and let the sysops shoot down on them. Don't try to dogfight with them as they can just pull away. Stay high and shoot down. If they climb to engage us we will break into them for head-on shots." Ben was turning as he spoke and lined up for what he hoped would be the point where the jets would turn for another run at the base.

The jets finished their run and stayed low and for about a mile and then began a climbing right hand turn. Ben's flight was approaching from their left and the jets turn took them directly away from Ben. The sysops got a good look at their tail pipes and started firing. The jets slowed as they made a climbing turn and the missiles came at them from above and behind. Just as the first missile hit and destroyed the rearmost jets, the rest of the flight began wild maneuvers to avoid the threat. One jet's pilot forgot how high he was and rolled inverted and tried a split-S maneuver and smashed into the ground. Only one jet escaped the missiles and tightened his turn to come back at Ben and his flight. Ben had assigned all the missiles to Jenkins and didn't have time to change the armament panel for a pilot controlled missile shot. Jenkins tried to lock on but all Ben heard was cursing from his sysops. It was a high angle deflection shot and Ben didn't trust his ability to calculate the correct angle, so he guessed where the jet would go and pointed the nose at that spot. He squeezed the trigger on his stick and held it down. As luck would have it the jet flew right through the stream of tracers and two flashes showed that Ben had scored some hits.

"Jesus Boss, that is some shooting," said Jenkins with sincere admiration in his voice.

Ben started a turn to the left, away from the base, hoping to get a repeat of the shoot down scenario but a call from Gold Four stopped everything.

"Bandits 7 O'clock high Murphy. It looks like they are going to bounce us."

Ben looked around and spotted the Bandits. "Wait for the call and then break left and down." Ben kept his eye on the flight of jets that were now diving on them and launching missiles. "Break. Flares. Chaff." Ben rolled left, pulled on the stick and pushed the throttles all the way forward. After the nose came around about 90 degrees Ben rolled level and increased the dive angle.

"They missed. Now they are turning left and climbing. It looks like they are after someone else." Jenkins had followed the jets through the encounter and was giving Ben a running commentary.

Ben banked right and started to climb. "We can climb faster that the standard Mosquito, maybe we can get a missile shot from low and behind." Ben engaged the water injection and watched the jets continue to turn and level off. Ben was several thousand feet lower and at Bandit's 8 O'clock. Jenkins got the camera to track the Bandits but wasn't getting a lock from his missile.

"Too far Murphy, I can't get a lock."

"Request you slow down Murphy, Gold Flight can't stay with you."

"Just watch my back Gold Flight. I may be able to get a shot at those guys that tried to bounce us." The Bandits continued a slow left turn and Ben was cutting inside that turn and his relative position was drifting toward the Bandits 6 O'clock.

"Lock, firing." Jenkins shifted the camera. "Lock, firing." Jenkins fired three missiles at the Bandits and continued to watch the show as Ben started looking around and planning his next move.

"Hit. Hit. Miss. We got two more Murphy." Ben didn't pay any attention to Jenkins and instead was trying to get a mental picture of the fight but there was too many twisting and turning aircraft to keep track of. Ben turned right and headed west, with only one missile left Ben wanted to get clear, climb and set up for another good missile shot. Behind him Gold Flight was nearly bounced again and was now involved in a turning fight with two jets. Ben banked and was returning to help Gold Flight when the jets headed east at 100 mph faster than the Mosquitoes could follow. The raid was over.

The base was a mess, with fires and columns of smoke dotted all over the sprawling installation. The huge grass airstrip had burning wrecks; bomb craters, smoking litter, and emergency vehicles all over. Several damaged Mosquitoes were attempting to land and were forced to try and dodge the various obstructions and one crashed as Ben watched, adding to the burning debris.

The air controllers were desperately trying to get control of the situation and were diverting many aircraft to alternate fields. Those with battle damage and those low on fuel were instructed to orbit the field while damage control parties tried to reopen the field. It only took minutes to clear a path for landing aircraft and an orderly procession of aircraft started landing. The aircraft with fuel and missiles left were organized into a CAP. Once the emergency landings were finished Gold Flight stayed with the CAP and Ben was ordered to land.

Once back on the ground, Ben left Jenkins to be help with the refueling and arming of the aircraft while he headed toward the Sniper's operation center. The damage was considerable but Samson was a grass airstrip and would soon be back in full operation. The damage to the infrastructure would take longer but most of the damage was to empty hangers. The operations center had taken several rocket hits but was still functioning as Ben entered. It was an orderly chaos as air controllers were still monitoring air combat over the ocean and trying to sort out who was still alive and had a plane that could be rearmed and refueled. Every plane was still being rearmed for air-to-air and with the older bombers deployed further back from the coast, there were extra ground crews to help. A status board was being updated and red lines being drawn through aircrews that had been shot down. A separate status board was being set up for Seal Harbor base that had also been hit as a part of the raid.

Seal Harbor was also the headquarters for General Black. A glance at the status board indicated that General Black survived and was in control. Ben moved around the control center and tried to get a feel for the overall status. It was an emergency but the right things were getting done in the right order. Ben began to think that he would be more valuable in the air. The Five's did have a history of quick follow on raids.

The Sniper Operations Office, Lt. Colonel Taylor, approached Ben with a worried look. "Sir, we have radar contact with what looks like more reconnaissance jets. They should be overhead in minutes."

"Very well." Ben couldn't think of anything else to say. The jets were next to impossible to intercept and all hands were busy at important tasks. Then an idea occurred to him. "Any plans for enemy reconnaissance flights?"

"Yes sir, we do have some more barrels that could be set on fire and some fake damage ideas, but nothing that can be done before these jets are overhead."

"In my opinion, you should stick to what you are doing and ignore the jets as long as they stay high. What does General Black have to say about this?" Ben mentally kicked himself, he should have asked about Black before venturing an opinion. These people should look to Black and Ben should not undercut his authority.

"He said about the same thing. He is also screaming about getting more status information on our aircraft availability and enemy kills. I think he is trying to decide if we can mount an anti-ship strike later today. He did ask that you contact him at your convenience"

"Thank you Colonel, I am ready to talk to General Black anytime you can spare the resources."

"This way sir, we have a computer set up for you." The officer led Ben to a slightly quieter area of the operations center and pointed to a computer manned by a female civilian. "This is Sara Brown, one of our civilian programmers, she will get help you establish contact with the General." The Sniper officer was used to senior officers not being able to use computers and was tactfully avoiding exposing Ben's supposed ignorance.

Ben took a seat and turned to Sara Brown and said, "Thank you Miss Brown, I am sure you have other duties to attend to, I can manage this myself."

"Yes sir," she answered and moved about five feet to another computer and busied herself with something. Obviously, she would be on hand to help it needed.

Ben quickly established a connection with General Black's headquarters in Seal Beach. A harried looking 1st Lt answered and said that General Black would indeed like to talk to Ben and would General Grant mind waiting a few minutes, General Black was tied up at the moment. Ben waited and studied the status boards. Soon the General's image appeared on the monitor.

"Congratulations General Grant, I understand you may be our newest ace."

"Not yet Sir, I got four at most, maybe only three. How are things at Seal Harbor?"

"We got shot up pretty bad but the base is still operational. What did you think of the Five's air combat capability?"

"The planes are better than ours, except for range and endurance, their heat seeking missiles are not as good, they have beyond visual range radar missiles that we don't have, and their pilots and tactics are not as good. We can hold our own in a fight but like today both sides will take heavy losses." Ben stopped, there was more he could add but that was the short version.

"What are your recommendations for an anti-shipping strike?

"Flood the area with fighters and engage any aircraft we can find. Find the escorts but stay out of missile range. Find the carriers if possible but don't lose aircraft trying to get by the escorts. Bring back the bombers and plan for an anti-shipping strike to launch at 0300 tomorrow morning. They don't seem to like to launch before dawn and maybe we can get an early strike in before they are ready. We may catch them with decks full of fueled and armed aircraft. Bring up replacement squadrons if possible." Ben was speaking off the top of his head and paused, trying to find something else to add.

"Thank you General, I will take it under advisement." With that Black terminated the conversation. Ben sat back and reflected on his recommendations but couldn't find a better alternative. Lacking anything else to do, he headed back to his aircraft.

# Chapter Sixteen

# O'Dark Hundred

July of Year 32

Ben was tired but keyed up. Too much coffee at 3 in the morning over breakfast just before going out to a life and death fight can do that to some people. In addition, General Black had used Ben's recommendations and the responsibility for success rested on Ben's shoulders, or so he thought. The planning sessions for the staff had gone on long into the night and Ben had been a part of them until it became apparent that he was not going to be allowed to go on the mission. A call to General Brennan confirmed this.

"Hell no! You have done your part in the last war and have succeeded in getting the squadrons and Black working together again in this war. Not to mention being our newest ace. Let the new generation fight this war."

"I am the senior air officer present and it falls to me to lead this raid. I will not shirk my duty, General."

"The raid is being coordinated in the air by squadron and wing commanders and on the ground by General Black, all of which are now working together as a team. Just how long have you been a part of this team Ben? You seemed to have misread your orders. Get Black and the squadrons working together or replace Black. Are you now saying you should replace Black?"

"No Sir."

"Then that's it." The connection was broken.

But Ben was not finished. Instead he approached the Sniper Wing Commander and presented his idea. It was accepted and now Ben was going over the check off list for starting Jake's Special and regretting that last two cups of coffee that were required to clear the cobwebs. Bill Jenkins was entirely too cheerful and rested and that just irritated Ben even more.

The engines started and all the white lights on the base were out. Faintly glowing red and green displays were the only illumination in the cockpit and there were some red runway markers visible. The check off list was finished and the engines were warmed up and ready. Ben waited a minute longer hoping his night vision would get a little better but the time had come. Ben was going night hunting.

Once the plane was airborne, Ben began climbing and a series of turns under the control of an air controller who was tracking him on radar. The plane climbed very fast for a Mosquito; after all it had Jake's reworked engines that generated 3,000 horsepower each instead of the standard 1,800 horsepower. In addition, Ben had the 25 mm cannon ammo removed, lowering the overall weight of the aircraft. The only external loads were 6 heat-seeking missiles. Ben was hunting the Five's reconnaissance jets that could give advance warning of the massive strike that was about to be launched. Even with Jake's modifications there was no hope of catching the jets, but they could be ambushed. Basically, Ben was going to get as high as he could on the projected track of the reconnaissance aircraft and wait. Hopefully he could get a shot off and either down the aircraft or prevent them from flying over the base. Once in position, Ben began a wide orbit and tried to stay alert.

The strike started with air-to-air G model Mosquitoes taking off and fanning out over the ocean in hopes of finding the carriers. Following were the older model Mosquitoes and Super Mosquitoes. These were the ship-killers, armed with smart glide bombs and smaller, lighter decoys. Only the Super Mosquitoes were armed with heat seeking missiles and the older bombers would be easy prey for the Five's jets. This was the worst time for the reconnaissance jets to appear and they did, just as the sky was getting light before the dawn. Ben got the call from the air controllers.

"Murphy, we have two fast movers at your 078, 40 miles at 40,000 feet. We make their speed at 600 mph. Come right to 081." The controller was going to try to vector Ben towards the target and then turn him in the same direction. That way the jets would overtake Ben and give him a shot at their tailpipes. This would be a harder intercept for the controller to make but the alternative was a nearly head on shot with closing speeds over 800 mph. Letting the jets overtake Ben would result in a tail shot with only several hundred mph of speed difference.

Ben turned to the correct heading. He would have to rely on the air controller's skill to tell him when to turn. He started praying that the jet pilots were looking down and forward and not up and to the left.

"Murphy, start your right hand turn now." Ben started his turn as Jenkins checked his switches for the tenth time. If the controller was correct and Ben performed the turn just as he had drawn up earlier, he would be on the same track as the jets and a couple of thousand feet higher. "Good turn Murphy, they will be passing just below you on your right in 20 seconds."

Jenkins had set up two missiles for Ben to fire at targets directly in front of the nose. The other four missiles he could fire at wider angles by turning the seeker heads to look to up, down, left and right. The controller started a count down at 10 seconds to go and Jenkins looking back and yelled, "I got them Murphy." Murphy was just finishing his turn and dropped the nose and right wing to give Jenkins a better view as the jets passed them. The engines were at full throttle and the aircraft in a slight dive as Jenkins fired a missile. It jumped off the right wing and swerved in the direction of the enemy jets and Jenkins waited a few seconds and fired a second missile. Ben got a growl from his forward looking missiles and also fired. Jenkins fired a third missile and their airplane departed controlled flight and started a flat spin.

"At least I've got plenty of room to recover," thought Ben as he fought the controls. Both men lost sight of the jets as the craft continued to spin and lose altitude. Finally Ben got the spin stopped and into a dive that soon generated enough speed that the flight controls began to work normally. They were now at 25,000 feet and way behind the jets with no hope of getting another shot.

"What was that; Ben," Jenkins asked.

"I think a missile hung up on the launch rail for a few seconds and caused us to spin. We are lucky to be alive. Where are the jets?"

"I have no idea, which way is west?"

"We are headed due west; the jets should be at our 12 O'clock high. I don't see anything."

"Good shooting Murphy, you got both of them." The air controller's voice was calm and cool. "If you are through fooling around the heading to return to base is 271."

"Roger Sniper Control," was all that Ben could say. Then to Jenkins, "See what you can get on the channel two." That was the channel that the Snipers air-to-air Mosquitoes were on and it was about time for them to start running into the opposition.

It was a confused set of radio calls that slowly painted a picture of escorts on the horizon and several flights of two jets engaged in brief dogfights. The Snipers were attempting to go around the escorts in an attempt to find the carriers. They did relay the location of the escorts to the raid commander who was busy selecting a squadron of bombers for an attack. Jenkins was switching back and forth between channels trying to follow the action but was invariably missing most of the information. They were able to get a fuzzy picture of the fight however. It was inconclusive as yet but it was shaping up as an attempt to blow a way through the escorts and continue searching for the carriers.

The landing was uneventful but the crew chief was looking at the underside of the left wing instead of helping Ben and Jenkins out of the cockpit. "What the hell happened to launch rail, it's all twisted out of shape." It was not quite an accusation of mistreatment of his airplane but it came close.

"Damn missile tried to kill us instead of the Five's. It hung up on the launch rail and put us into a spin. If you can fix it fast then do so. If it is going to take more than a half hour or so then just rearm and refuel without using that hard point. Reload the cannons. I am going over to the control center but I will be back, we may need a CAP again."

Jenkins stayed with the plane and Ben walked over to the Sniper operations center. Inside was a hushed crowd that was intently listening to the radios. The status board showed several new sets of red lines through call signs. A cheer arose from the group gathered around a radio. An enlisted man behind a clear plastic status board started putting red dots on the three escorts being attacked by two Sniper squadrons. One escort didn't get any red dots and the radio announced that the Sniper squadron that flew Super Mosquitoes was attacking with their cannons. Ben eased up beside Lt. Col. Taylor and listened to the reports as they came in.

Taylor acknowledged Ben with a quick update. "Four squadrons equipped for air-to-air, two squadrons used their weapons on this group of escorts. That leaves four squadrons for the main attack. That is approximately 96 glide bombs and 194 decoys if they all make it to the launch point. I think we might get a carrier if we can find them and don't suffer major attrition." He paused, and then continued. "Our air-to-air boys are searching, the Super Mossie's are going to work over the three cripples and the bombers are returning for more bombs." Like most Wings, the Snipers had a squadron of G model Mosquitoes, one of Super Mosquitoes, and one of older C model bomber versions.

Ben nodded and asked about losses. Taylor replied,"4 G's, 2 Super's and at least 3 C's. At least that's what we know of now. There will be more unless we are real lucky. The CO is flying with the C's and the XO with the air-to-air bunch. They are both still alive last I heard."

Sara Brown, the programmer that had offered to help Ben with a computer communications, came up and offered both men cups of coffee. "Shouldn't you be in the bunkers, Miss Brown? Ben asked.

"It's Mrs. Brown, and I am here just in case a system crashes. Besides, my husband is a Super pilot. I couldn't stay away."

"I hope he's alright. It must be very hard on you to wait this out."

"Thank you, I have faith that he will return." She turned and left, looking at the status board as she made her way towards her computer station.

"Damn, I don't think I could stand it if I was in her position," said Ben.

"I know just how she feels. Those kids out there just are like family. They are a great bunch. It's really tough to send them out and tougher to lose them." Taylor was an older man who had lost the sight in one eye in a flying accident three years earlier and couldn't fly anymore. He now had a ground job with the Wing. "Shit," muttered Taylor as another red line was drawn on the list of call signs.

"Don't let me take you away from your duties, Colonel, I am just an observer here."

"No problem General, the planning was my primary duty and that was last night. All I can do now is watch.

"Do you need another G, Colonel? My bird is being rearmed and refueled. It should be ready in another 30 minutes."

"General, President Baker, General Brennan, General Black and everyone in between will have my ass if you get killed. You are too late to be a part of the strike but we could use a CAP when the strike birds return. I might even be able to dig up a wingman if you promise not to fly away from him like yesterday."

"Where did you dig up another G?"

"We have a flight of three replacements due in any time now. I am getting a trickle of replacement aircraft coming from all over the continent. These guys will have been in the air for six hours but we have genuine Sniper aircrews to replace them. Plus the Supers will be returning early since they used their bombs on the escorts. Also I have a few battle-damaged birds from yesterday that will be ready soon. Whoever shows up will be rearmed for air-to-air and sent back up for CAP duty."

"Ok Colonel, I will take the CAP assignment. Tell everyone to report to Murphy when they get airborne." Taylor nodded and both men turned to the radio speakers as ship sightings were reported.

A flight leader in the screen of fighters was reporting sighting many ships including a couple of small carriers. This flight leader was squawking so that the ground based radar could precisely locate him among the clutter and pass the coordinates to the bombers. A major dogfight was in progress and the calls indicated that the ships were firing missiles indiscriminately into the swirling mass of fighters, flares, and chaff. All four of the screening squadrons were converging on the fight with the four squadrons of bombers a few minutes behind. Ben was torn between wanting to listen and the desire to get to his airplane and do something. Realizing that his bird would not be ready yet, he forced himself to stand quietly and listen.

A junior officer approached and whispered something to Taylor who then turned to Ben. "General Black would like to speak to you Sir. You can use that computer over there," said Taylor gesturing towards a vacant workstation.

Ben took a seat at the indicated machine and tapped a command and a picture of harried General Black appeared. He was obviously busy with someone off the camera and Ben waited. Several seconds later General Black turned and noticed Ben. "General Grant, I have been looking at some of the video of the ships. They look like amphibious assault ships to me. I am going to request a general call up of all reserves and massive reinforcements from General Brennan. Can I tell him that you concur?"

Ben was stunned. An amphibious assault did not make sense. Why spend 10 days making a Thunder Run up the coast before trying a landing. Surprise was important for a successful invasion and the Fives had just telegraphed hostile intentions and their general location. Nevertheless, regardless of how much sense it made to him personally, the correct response was clear. "Absolutely General, I concur."

"Thank you General. I am transmitting the videos to you and the Snipers. Look them over and let me know if you think I am missing anything. In the mean time I will be talking to General Brennan. Oh, and don't go flying again. I need you on the ground, alive and advising me." Without ceremony the connection was terminated.

"Good thing I'm not in his chain of command," thought Ben.

Taylor was sweating bullets as the reports from the bombers came in. The Sniper CO was the senior man in the bombers and was trying to get all four squadrons to their launch points simultaneously and was only partial successful. Still all four squadrons launched with two minutes of each other and the planes were retreating at their best speed. "Time for me to get into the air," announced Ben as he headed towards the door.

By the time Ben reached his plane, some reports of hits were coming in from the strike aircraft. Jenkins and some of the ground crew were listening to a radio under the left wing of Jake's Special. "Are we ready to go?" Ben asked.

Jenkins and the other men jumped up. "We are ready to go but we only have two missiles. They are low on the forward-looking missiles and they are out of the side-looking missiles. Since we brought back one side-looking missile we are going to have one of each. The cannons are loaded and we have a full internal load of fuel. Oxygen is full. The wing hard point launch rails have been removed since we can't get missiles for them." Jenkins was climbing up on the wing as he talked. Ben followed him and both men started to strap in. "I checked her over pretty good and that launch rail was the only gripe Murphy."

"Good. I don't want to waste any time on the ground. We are going to try to set up a decent CAP from odds and ends that Taylor had lying around. We may have a few G's and some Super's. Maybe even a few C's that have the missile kits installed. Contact the Sniper Control Center and get our lineup and get everyone communicating." Ben was relying upon Jenkins to make sure that everyone had the same frequencies on each of the radio's channel buttons and that the CAP had its own channel. Ben used his own radio to contact the tower and tell them that he was starting his engines and would be ready to taxi shortly. Jenkins was talking on his radio and writing on his knee clipboard.

Once the engines were started Ben was ready to go flying but a group of C's were returning from the strike and their landings had priority. The crew chief was holding up the red safety flags that informed Ben that the missiles were armed. It took another five minutes to get the C's all safety down and then the tower gave Ben permission to taxi. The taxi was short, only about 150 feet and then Ben turned into the wind and the towered gave permission to take off. "Fly the plane Murphy; I will get the CAP organized." Jenkins could see that Ben was trying to plan how to manage his CAP, talk to the tower, and fly the plane. His comment was a tactful reminder to first fly the aircraft and plan later. Ben and Bill Jenkins had worked together for eight years at Bob Smith's aircraft company and knew each other very well.

# Chapter Seventeen

# The New Squadron

July of Year 32

Newly promoted Captain Steve Sanders was not happy. He wanted to stay with the Puma's and fly with newly promoted Captain Donner. He didn't want to fly single seat aircraft and didn't want to transfer to a new squadron still being put together. He wanted to fly and not be saddled with administrative duties. He did not want to be the new Operations Officer of the new squadron flying a new aircraft without his best friend Donner. His new CO, Major George Pipino didn't care what anybody wanted he just cared about performance. Sanders could perform or get squashed and discarded. Sanders was thinking it over as he followed a group of ten pilots towards the hanger at the end of Bob Smith's private airfield.

There were Ultra Lights of all different types lined up and a couple of weird looking single engine planes but not the new H model Mosquitoes. All models of Mosquitoes and Super Mosquitoes had two engines. As the group approached the hanger Sanders recognized Bob Smith and Jake Harris. They were standing drinking coffee just outside the hanger and were wearing jeans and sweatshirts that had the word Joe's on the front. Sanders was not impressed.

"Good morning Gentlemen. Welcome to the Smith's Experimental Aircraft Company." Bob was cheerful and Jake was silent. "Open the hanger please," said Bob to an open door in the hanger. Inside one of the production mangers caused the hanger doors to roll open. Inside was a machine that did not look like a Mosquito at all. "This is the new H model Mosquito. That's a slight misnomer as the machine combines a lot of both the Mosquito and the Super Mosquito. I haven't named this model yet, I am going to let you people give it a name. First let me tell you a little about the machine." Bob and Jake walked over toward the plane and the group of officers followed.

"I started designing this plane for turboprop engines as an interim fighter before the first generation of jets. It was a kind of intellectual exercise. I didn't think it would ever be built. Jets would clearly be the next generation of warplanes. What I didn't count on was the price the NAR was going to charge for turbine or jet engines. For the price of two of the jet engines now being tested by the NAR, I can build a dozen Mosquitoes. Now maybe a good jet could take on Mosquitoes and win but not a dozen. Especially missile armed Mosquitoes. And a jet, no matter how capable cannot be in 12 places at the same time. To be blunt, the EC cannot afford to build the numbers of jet aircraft that are required to defend the continent. So I looked for another solution."

"The problem with propeller driven aircraft was the speed. About the best propeller driven fighter could do was between four and five hundred miles per hour. However, I did find a propeller driven aircraft capable of 575 miles per hour. It was the USSR's strategic bomber code named the Bear. It had a horsepower to weight ration of about 3.5 lbs. per horsepower. It also had sweepback wings. With little better versions of the NAR V12's, I could get that power to weight ratio with a Mosquito. So Jake and I spent about 4 years experimenting with V12's. The result was that Jake here could take a 1,800 horsepower NAR V12 and rebuild it to put out 3,000 horsepower. When you put that on a fully fueled and armed Mosquito of 18,000 pounds, you get a weight to horsepower ratio of 3.0."

Ears began to perk up and even the reluctant Capt. Sanders started to get interested.

"To get Bear type of speed required sweepback wings. It also greatly increases the cruising speed. Blended winglets would help reduce drag by about 7%," said Smith as he pointed to the vertical wingtips. "What I ended up with is this aircraft you see before you. Tricycle landing gear, two 3,000 hp engines, twin rudders, sweepback wings with blended winglets, pressurized cockpit, and helmet mounted sights for heat seeking missiles, and a conformable, detachable pallet with four 25 mm cannons mounted on the belly. It also has a color camera with laser range finder and low-level lighting and infrared capability. It has a top speed of just over 600 mph with optimum conditions. Top speed in a combat configuration will be about 570 mph. It is still a wooden airplane but with some advanced composite materials and advanced electronics. And it is reasonably priced so that the EC can build a reasonable number without breaking the bank. And it can be built without NAR participation."

Sanders was definitely getting interested, as was everyone else in the small crowd.

Bob Smith went on, "We built these first three with two seats for training purposes. They will have a little less performance than the production model but Ben Grant was adamant that this plane needed a trainer version. These are the only three trainers that we plan on building so don't break them. The production aircraft are coming off the production line at the rate of 2 per week. By the time you get checked out in these there will be production models for you to fly. Bob went on talking and answering questions as they walked around the plane. There were a lot of questions and the session went on for almost an hour. Then it was time for the computers.

Sanders was assigned a workstation and told to get to work. The computer started with lessons about the new machine. After each lesson, the computer gave Sanders a short test and, if necessary repeated the lesson module. It was all self paced but soon became competitive as all the men vied to be the first through each lesson. Sanders was not a fast reader and the material was very technical but he managed to be in the middle of the pack and by late morning was finishing his third module. That was when Major Pipino got up in front of the class with an announcement.

"As of 10 hundred this morning, President Baker has declared an invasion emergency. This mornings air strike on the Five's carrier battle groups sighted numerous amphibious assault ships headed toward the mouth of the Samson River. All leaves have been cancelled and all reserves have been called up. There are no new orders for us but I have canceled the afternoon classes and we will route battle information and video to your workstations. In some cases, this will be real time video. All ten squadrons that are involved have sustained moderate to heavy losses. Capt. Sanders, since you are the only pilot with Five's combat experiences, I expect you to help all of us in interpreting the battle information as it comes to us. There are two wing web sites and four independent squadron web sites that are sending out data. Lets get organized and get all the sites up and running on our workstations now." Pipino went on to get all six sites assigned to workstations and left Sanders to float between whichever sites seemed to need his experience the most.

There was a mass of data available, recorded video and reports, real time video and real time status reports. Everyone was jumping from site to site and selecting different items. All twelve workstations were playing back something but the one that grabbed Sanders attention was a recorded video of a carrier type ship. It was jerky despite the software that automatically tracked the ship. Sanders replayed the video and stopped it so he could pick out details. It was a carrier all right but it didn't have any fixed wing aircraft on deck. There were about a dozen helicopters packed together on the aft third of the deck and what looked like deck edge aircraft elevators. A 1st Lt looked over his shoulder and commented, "Looks like a helicopter carrier. The USA had several types of helicopter carriers they used for amphibious assaults." Sanders nodded like he knew that all the time.

"Shit, we aren't going to get their carriers. We may sink a few amphibious types but unless we get the carriers, they don't have to call off their invasion. If we get the carriers first, we can finish of the invasion fleet at our own pace. If we don't get the carriers they can just keep coming and we have to fight our way through missiles and jet fighters to get a shot at the assault ships." Sanders was thinking out loud but soon everyone was looking for video that showed a carrier that actually had fixed wing jets. No one was finding any such video. Then one man shouted, "I got Murphy's video. He's flying CAP for the Snipers. We may get some real time dog fighting." Sanders stayed with his current workstation and tried to get more video recording of the carriers, but most men crowed around the computer with Murphy's feed displayed.

On the Snipers web site Sanders found a rough estimate of the anti-shipping strike. Eighty-one planes launched their weapons and it was estimated that there were twelve hits scattered through the amphibious ships. There was some video showing a few hits but nothing showing any ships sinking. It was not clear if any of the ships were sunk. The bombers launched their weapons and immediately turned and ran for home. The fighter screen tried to cover their retreat and also headed for home. The jets chased away any chance of damage assessment. It was an inclusive strike at best and would have to be repeated.

The workstation showing Murphy's video was quiet. Sanders walked over and asked what was happening. "Nothing much, the strike birds are coming back and Murphy has a flight of three G's, a flight of four Super's, and a section of two C's. All armed with two missiles, all forward-looking missiles. Sounds like they are turning around some of the Supers and G's but they are running out of missiles. How about using guns on those jets, Steve? I hear you got a kill with guns."

"If they are down to guns they should evacuate, it will be a slaughter. With full loads of side-looking missiles we can kill more of them than they do of us but with just forward-looking missiles it will be reversed. Without any missiles we would be lucky to get one for every ten losses." Silence greeted this opinion. Sanders wasn't sure they all believed him. Pilots like these were super confident and aggressive and believed they could beat anybody or anything. Without the chatter, Sander could hear Ben Grant talking to the Sniper Control Center.

"Anything on the radar?"

"Negative Murphy. I expect that we busted up their strike plans and it will take a few hours to rearm and refuel for even a partial strike on our airfields. I am rearming everyone for air-to-air, except the C's that can't take missiles. I have enough of the older missiles to give everyone two but that leaves nothing in the inventory. I am holding everyone on 10-minute strip alert and will rotate you guys down for fuel in an hour. If we have a big strike package coming our way I will launch the alert birds. I want your CAP to use the missiles you have and then head west for alternate fields. After the missiles are gone, we are going to be down to our ground defenses. Later on we are going to need all the Mosquitoes we can get so make sure that you get out of Dodge after you use the missiles. Live to fight another day and don't lose your bird for nothing. This is coming from directly from General Black. Do you agree; General Grant?"

"Roger Sniper Control. I concur."

The men listening to this exchange glanced up at Sanders with new respect as the radio conversations confirmed his views. Sanders decided not to tell them that his gun kill was on a jet that had run out of fuel and would have soon crashed anyway. The message was getting across without missiles the current Mosquitoes were not competitive with the Five's jets.

The only action was on the recorded video and soon most workstations were reviewing status reports and the conversations turned toward the possibility of another Five strike on the airfields. Sometime, Sanders was not sure just when, several platters of sandwiches and big urn of coffee were delivered. Bob Smith and Jake Harris dropped by and stayed for 20 minutes or so. It was about 3 in the afternoon when the Five strike package was picked up on radar. The count was not precise but it was over 150 planes. The combined total of missile armed Mosquitoes was a little less than 80.

It was impossible to follow the action with any overall idea of the tide of battle, but individual transmissions from some aircraft were available. All that was certain was that both sides were taking heavy losses and that the airfields were getting attacked again. Sanders stayed with the video coming from Sniper Control and for the most part it was a relay of Murphy's camera. The actual action over the Samson Air Base took less than 10 minutes but the aerial battle was over twice that long and was spread over several hundred square miles. It would take EC intelligence several weeks to piece together the sum total of what happened and many individual fights were never known with certainty. The air-to-air battle was close to a draw with losses of about 40 for each side. The ground air defenses accounted for another 10 attackers and both airbases were wrecked. About 20 aircraft were destroyed on the ground. Ben Grant and General Black survived but the CO of the Sniper Wing was killed and the XO assumed command. And the amphibious ships continued to steam toward the mouth of the Samson River as night fell.

# Chapter Eighteen

# Dig In

July of Year 32

"Just what the hell am I doing here," whined Willie.

"I don't have a clue, you were worthless at Last Chance and you're worthless here. No reason for you to be anywhere, let alone here," replied Abe Walcott. "The rest of us are here because we are the only grunts with actual combat experience with the Fives. My guess is that the brass thinks of you as sort of a lucky mascot. Roll over and let one of the guys scratch your tummy."

"I will if they will send me back to Last Chance. Watching for a few sneakers in the surf is a little different than watching for an LST dumping a company of armored vehicles on my little private section of this beach. Especially when helicopters are inserting infantry in our rear and our butts are being strafed by waves of jets. Besides, this is the 6th regiment's area. Last I heard we are from the 10th." Willie did have a point; the rest of Abe's squad had to admit.

Abe was now a squad leader and had a new set of stripes. But he had the same basic job, coastal watch. After the Middle of Nowhere battle, the brass had decided to reinforce the Samson River bases and Abe had volunteered. In fact the entire squad was volunteers, even Willie. Of course that was before the amphibious ships had been spotted.

Willie continued. "At least at Last Chance we had a bunker. Here we just have a few holes and we had to dig them ourselves. The only bright side to this mess is that it is a lot cooler here and we got a few pack mules to haul our stuff."

"The bright side is also the dark side you idiot. The plan is to run if the Five's land in force. Those pack mules mean that we are going to living on the run playing death tag with aliens. That's why our camp and those mules are about a half mile back, gives us time to call in some artillery while the rest of the guys pack up." Abe's position was near the top a 300-foot hill overlooking a beach about a half-mile further east. This was the duty fire-team's lookout position and the rest of the squad had a camp a half-mile to the rear. It was just after daybreak and high tide was about two hours away. Nothing had been sighted yet but the brass expected the party to start with high tide. A few contrails were seen but the orders were not to report them because the radar was still up and running and yielded better information than the coastal watchers.

The conversation ceased as the teams call sign came from the radio. It was the duty officer for coastal watchers. "The flyboys are reporting ships about 20 miles off the coast. I think you are about to get some company."

The thermal imager was the first to spot hot stacks and stack gasses but soon the team could use their field glasses to spot ships. There were about 10 that looked like cargo ships and another 19 that looked like landing ships of some kind. The thermal imager also had a 20-power zoom lens and a range finding laser that Abe used to calculate the ships speed. "That middle landing ship is on a steady bearing. It looks like he is going to run right up on the beach in front of us. That's what the navy types say, a steady bearing and closing distance is a collision course. Let's get the guns set up to hit that beach just as they drop their ramp. Willie, get on the radio and give them the coordinates of flag twenty three." The beach was marked with numbered flags for quick reference by observers. "Tell them I want a time-on-target, air burst and I will give them the exact time for the splash. They should be able to figure back to the exact time to fire, given the coordinates and the time to hit." Willie was busy with the radio and Abe used the laser to refine the distance and speed of the incoming ship.

"I am going to have to wait for the other ships to actually hit the beach before I can give you the flag number but this one is straight on and I got him dialed in but good. What does the artillery officer say about the number of rounds to sink a landing ship?" Abe was not going to try to hit moving ships but wait for them to hit the beach or anchor.

"They got a lot of calls for fire but they want to wait for the actually landing before firing. We are going to get first call on a four-gun battery. They say they may have to switch the battery to other targets but we will get at least 10 rounds per tube before they switch."

"Shit, four guns! I don't see anybody else around here. Who else is calling for guns?" Abe was mad. There were two battalions of 155's dug in and camouflaged to their rear and Abe wanted them all. "I got good targets for every gun on the east coast." Abe didn't expect an answer to his bitching much less one that made sense but Willie had one.

"Don't get greedy. The flyboys are reporting some helicopters inbound. They hope to shell the landing zones before we get cut off."

Overhead several flights of jets were heading inland and one flight was looking over the coastline for any good targets. Abe was suddenly glad that they had dug their holes under the huge branches of 200-year-old oak and that there was more trees covering the trail back to camp. "Shit, that reminds me. Call the camp and tell them to pack up. We are going to be moving shortly. These new guys are going to ruin the entire neighborhood. Ok Willie, tell them 1021 for the splash. John, you and Paul take the imager and fuel cell and take off. Willie and I will call in fires until the Fives get their shit together and push us off the hill. Might as well start heading for the backup position as soon as everything is packed. We will catch you before long. I don't intend to die on this hill."

The other two men gather their stuff and took off, leaving Abe and Willie to watch the approaching ships. A few hundred yards off the surf the landing ships bow doors opened exposing a ramp still in the upright position. The ship slid up on the beach and the ramp came down. About a hundred troops came rushing down the ramp and fanned out on the beach. Abe began to wonder if his timing was off for the artillery, as they seemed to be moving faster than he had anticipated. A tracked vehicle with several guns mounted on top started down the ramp. Then the freight train sound of the incoming shells sounded and eight flashes as the shells exploded all around the ships bow. Abe turned to Willie with a question on his lips.

Willie beat him to the punch and responded to Abe's unasked question, "We get two batteries for two rounds and then they will pull one battery for targets to the north. We get to work with just one battery for a while. No promises from the artillery guys."Abe nodded and asked for two more rounds of surface bursts directly on the ship, which was now firing on anything that looked like it might be harboring an artillery observer. In fact Abe's hill was getting raked over by small automatic cannons. Shell fragments rattled through the oak tree branches over their heads and both men kept low. But there was a lot of territory that might make good observation posts and the guns moved on to new targets. Abe started making a list of targets and their coordinates. "Willie, give this list of coordinates to the artillery guys. Each is the location of a beached landing ship. If we go off the air they can still fire on these coordinates. They are supposed to be able to hit anywhere on this beach without corrections. They may have to if those gunners down there get a clue where we are. Tell them to save that list and until we go off the air and until then I will pick the targets and correct." Willie nodded and started calling in the coordinates.

The next two salvoes from their assigned battery impacted close by and on the landing ship. The automatic cannons stopped for a while and then started up again with a reduced volume of fire. More troops and vehicles were coming down the ramp and the troops on the beach started moving inland. "What do you think Willie, stay on this ship or spread the wealth?"

"Spread it around. About a third of those troops are lying on the beach and not moving. That's enough to make a human outfit combat ineffective. Let's make a bunch of combat ineffective units instead of trying to eliminate just one." Abe thought that was exceptionally good advice from the squad mascot and started working his way down his list. He did keep an eye on the troops in front of him that were starting to work inland however. When they were about two hundred yards down the hill and climbing he pulled the plug. "Tell the artillery guys we are moving. If they get bored and don't have anything to do, start on that list, the ships aren't moving. Grab your stuff and let's get out of here."

The two men started down the backside of the hill and kept to a fast walk. It looked to be the start of a long day. The camp was deserted except for John who was trying to cover the tracks of the retreating squad and their four pack mules. "Skip that John, I don't think those aliens are going to be able to read tracks yet. Let's just move out." There was no bitching about this order and the men headed west.

The backup position was about two miles as the crow flies but closer to three by the route the squad took. The last quarter of a mile was up a creek that was supposed to hide their tracks. There was water, good grass, and lots of trees for cover. Again, one fire team watched the back trail while the rest of the squad moved back several hundred yards to set up a cold camp. The camp was hidden and the duty fire team had great views of the country to the south. Willie checked in with the coastal watch duty officer and reported their position and got a situation report.

"Abe, we got landings on our sector and another over by the mouth of the Samson. No landing south of our sector so that is the way to evade if necessary. There were some ships going up the Samson and they think they are headed toward Seal Harbor and the airbase there. Helicopters may have inserted some troops between Seal Harbor and us but no one has a good location. The mounted battalion is on the move and will try to keep the country east and south of the base clear. The two infantry battalions are going to stay dug in around the Base. The 21st mounted battalion is going to provide a screen around the artillery and their infantry battalions will stay at the Samson Base. They say that we are going to get four more squadrons of Super Mosquitoes by tomorrow morning and that we can expect air support then. The ten squadrons we had are shot up pretty bad and will be withdrawn. There are still some coastal watch positions still holding out and they are shelling the hell out of the landings. We are to hold our position and keep a watch on our sector. We can get artillery support but they have lots of targets so it had better be something better that just a patrol. I got updated maps of all of this so check out the computer when you get a chance."

Abe used his squad's computer and tried to get a good picture of the overall battle. The major uncertainty was the helicopter landings, the advance of the forces from the beach, and the ships going up the Samson. In other words, just what were the enemy's disposition of forces and their intentions? "Well, squad leaders don't have to deal with those types of problems," Abe thought, "Just how to get a single squad in a position to do some good and stay alive."

Abe set up three listening posts, the original one towards the coast with the thermal imager and two others in the other direction to guard against the helicopter troops. Once that was done, the mules picketed, and a watch rotation set up, Abe started to prowl around getting familiar with the terrain. He was interrupted by another call from the coastal watch duty officer.

"Abe, the ten squadrons are not going to withdraw, instead they are consolidating at the Samson Base under General Grant. They have gotten some reinforcements from somewhere and are planning night strikes. It will be low altitude strikes with dumb bombs. Seems the Five's have been busy protecting the landings and helicopters and have left everything except the Seal Harbor base alone. Send out a team to check the ships on the beach. If they are still in the same locations tonight then Grant will make low level passes from land towards the sea. They are going to be exposed to missiles from the escorts off the coast so they want to make sure that they have good targets."

"I am not sure how successful we can be at checking out the beach sir. The Fives know we had artillery observers in position to observe the beach and they were moving troops on all the likely locations. We can probably sneak in some low spots but they are sure to be sitting on the high ground. The only decent high ground was the spot we left as a company of infantry and a platoon of armor was moving in. If we have enough time we can make several penetrations and get a pretty good idea of what is there."

"I will leave it to you Abe, just check that beach by 2300 tonight and report to me on the radio. The flyboys will be listening to that frequency and will want to talk to you. Get them some targets."

"Yes sir." Abe looked around at his squad, minus the four men on watch. They had all been listening. "Any ideas," Abe asked.

Phil Gordon, one of four locals assigned to fill out the squad, nodded. "We can follow the creek down to the beach. That creek is good steelhead fishing and the brush isn't too bad on the south side. Once we get near the beach there are some big oaks that we could climb to get a little bit of a view. I know the way. Even did it in the dark a few times."

"Ok, that sounds good but I want to make at least a try for the hill. Maybe they pushed on through or left a part unguarded. Willie and I will make for the hill. Phil, take your team down the creek. John, you and Paul take the radio and stay back from Phil's team. That's the only radio we can count on to reach the coastal watch duty officer. We can use the squad radios to contact you and you will have to relay for us. Stay back as far as you can and still maintain contact. This will all be meaningless if we can't relay the information back. Eat before we go and just take weapons, ammo, and night vision gear. George, your team stays here. Pull in the listening posts after we leave and be ready to move. Are there any questions or suggestions?"

The squad spent another five minutes checking details and clarifying a few things but everyone seemed to be on the same page. Everyone broke up for cold meal and started checking their night vision gear. It was still light when they started out. They had just started out when they got another call from the coastal watch duty officer. "There is a hell of fight going on near Seal Harbor, the helicopter troops and the river landing force is making a strong push on the base. Don't count on any artillery support. I made them promise a single gun on call but the Fives have located some of the guns and are attacking from the air. The Snipers are trying to provide some cover but we have lost a few guns."

"Ok guys, you heard the man, keep out of sight. If you are detected, use the squad radios and run like hell." Abe and Willie then split from the other men and started picking their way through the forest towards the hill they had abandoned earlier that day. When they got a good look at the hill Willie pointed out a tracked vehicle sitting near the crest. "Shit, I hope they don't have good thermal imagers. We would stand out like a sore thumb."

Abe and Willie crawled through the brush for a better spot to observe and settled down to give the hill a through look over before venturing any further. As they watched, the track belched some black smoke and pivoted towards them. "Get ready to run Willie," said Abe. But the track kept pivoting till it faced the ocean and then slowly moved over the hill and disappeared. Several troops also got up and headed over the hill. The two men continued to watch for another 15 minutes and then a single alien got up and retreated over the hill. "Think that was the rear guard?" Abe asked. Willie nodded and then said, "They took the hill but didn't advance any further and now are retreating. It looks like our landing was a diversion. We should take a peek just to be sure."

The two men started a slow advance up the hill, choosing the south side of the hill instead of the top. The side of the hill wouldn't give quite as good a view but it would be good enough to see if the landing ships were leaving. It took most of an hour to make their way up the hill using every bit of cover they could. When they reached the crest it was easy to see that the landing ships were already off the beach and were headed out to sea. "Guess you called it Willie, this was just a diversion or a probe." Next they headed up the hill to the top, walking reasonable upright but still staying under cover of trees and brush when possible. From the top it was clear that all the ships in this sector were leaving. Abe used the squad radio to inform John and Paul of the situation. "Inform the coastal watch duty officer and the rest of the squad that the Fives are leaving. I don't see anything on the beach at all. Bring everyone including the mules up to our original positions. When you all get here we will send a team down to check the beach. We might be able to recover some alien trash. Be careful, the Fives could have left a few troops behind just to harass us."

It was dark before the squad assembled on the hill position. Two men were left behind with the mules and that left ten men looking over the beach. The thermal imager and its alcohol fuel cell were set up and nothing was visible. "It is hard to hide from the thermal sight on that beach but we still got to check. Phil, take your team down and make a sweep of the area near flag twenty-three. That's where the first ship beached. If you don't find anything, I am going to send everyone but me and Willie I back for chow and rest. We can set a team rotation after chow. Looks our part of the show is over and I want everyone fed and rested just in case the regiment wants us to head back and save Seal Harbor by ourselves."

# Chapter Nineteen

# Night Attack

July of Year 32

Jake's Special was getting some battle damage repaired so Ben Grant and Bill Jenkins were flying a standard G model Mosquito that had just been ferried in by a NAR crew. It was fully loaded with 800 rounds for the cannons, two forward-looking, heat-seeking missiles, and four 500 lb bombs. The Fives had attacked and overrun part of Seal Harbor's defenses, retreated and were now loaded back on their ships and heading down the Samson River towards to ocean. There were twelve landing ships and six escorts, all armed with formidable automatic cannon and the escorts had radar guided missiles. In addition, there was a CAP of eight jets also with radar guided missiles. The plan was to come in low from the north and hope that the Five's radar wasn't good enough to pick up the Mosquitoes until it was too late.

At low altitude and with a full load the top speed was only 375 miles per hour and scary as hell. Ben had on a night vision device on one eye and the other eye was bare. He preferred it this way and felt that the combination of natural eyesight and night vision assisted vision let him see into the night and still have a better field of vision than with just NVG. Next to him, Jenkins was using the camera that had excellent night vision capability and a high-resolution screen. "I got a strobe at 11 O'clock, two short flashes per second. That's our marker Murphy."

"Red Flight, I have the marker at 11 O'clock, turning left." Ben was leading the strike but each flight was proceeding independently and was timed to cross the Samson River in thirty-second intervals. "Stand by for pop up." A pause then,"Execute." Ben began a steep climb and the speed dropped off despite the roaring engines. The river became visible and Jenkins picked up his target and locked the camera on the ship, one of the escorts. "Locked," was the only word from Jenkins. Steering cues flashed on the heads up screen and Ben began a shallow dive towards the target and pushed the bomb release. Nothing happened but Ben knew that the computer would release the bombs at the best solution now that he had given authorization. Ben concentrated on the proper line up and as he pulled up felt the release of the four bombs. Ben started short turns left and right to throw off the gunners as tracers started flashing by. The short distance to the far shore seemed to take forever and Ben stayed as low as he dared. As soon as they passed over the shoreline and the trees masked the guns behind him, Jenkins started looking for Jets and the rest of the flight.

The attack had been made in a line abreast formation and each plane was to pick a target directly ahead and not try to poach to the left or right. Coming off dry was better that two planes converging on the same target and colliding. Still it was difficult to be precise at night and Ben concentrated on flying the plane as low and fast as he could and trusted Jenkins to watch the rest of the flight, which should be to his right. No radio calls from the rest of the flight, which should mean that everyone dropped on a target. "The rest of the flight is still with us Murphy," reported Jenkins. "I don't see any jets or missiles." Ben then heard a frantic call from Red Four.

"Red Four has a missile on my tail, popping flares and chaff and jamming."

"I see it Murphy, it's after Red Four. He's banking right. He's hit. He's down, no chance for chutes." Ben resisted the impulse to pull up and go hunting jets. That was the job of White Flight, who had some side looking missiles just flown in from the NAR. "I got some missiles at 5 O'clock high. It looks like White Flight is taking some shots at the CAP. Wow, a big explosion back in the river. Don't know if its Blue Flights bombs or a secondary but it was big. Ben pulled up a little and turned for home. His strike was done but and more crews were still lining up for their attack but Ben's orders were strict, one pass and haul ass. White and Gold Flights were equipped and tasked for air-to-air and Ben didn't want a massive fur ball of Mosquitoes firing missiles in the dark. Besides, White Flight had orders to shoot at anything above 2,000 feet. Ben stayed low and as fast as could.

About halfway home was the delousing station. Ben pulled up to 1,500 feet and checked to make sure that his Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) transponder was working and steered straight and level. He knew that radar was painting his flight and that Gold Flight was hanging around somewhere to take a shot at anything that didn't have the right IFF codes. Nothing happened, which was just what Ben was hoping for. The rest of the flight was uneventful. While landing, Jenkins was transmitting his camera recordings. "Did we hit anything?" Ben asked. "Two hits," was the answer.

"Nice working with you General Grant, now go home." General Black was not known for tact or pussy footing around a subject.

"Nice working with you General Black. I am on my way as soon as Jake's Special is out of the shop." With that Ben cut the connection and sat back and started to enjoy his breakfast. The Sniper Control Center had taken some more battle damage but was up and running just the same. The amphibious group was 100 miles offshore and heading southeast along with numerous escorts and a large CAP. The location of the carriers was unknown but nothing was coming west towards the continent. More and more warplanes were arriving by the hour but Black was satisfied to let the Fives retreat. They had lost fewer planes than the EC but had eight landing ships and six escorts sunk and others damaged. It was a victory of sorts. The intelligence staff was going over the recordings from last night's strike and updating totals and lessons learned. The Sniper Wing had a new CO and most of the fires at Seal Harbor were out. And Ben Grant and Bill Jenkins were going home to their wives and kids. Ben finished the last of his eggs and hash browns took a sip of coffee and started the software that would call home.

"Well, it was a raid, pure and simple. They found out our coastline is weakly defended and mostly uninhabited, that we have a capable air force that can respond to threats quickly, that we have decent ground troops and artillery and that we don't have a Navy. If they had picked a spot further south they could have established a beachhead but without a bigger force we could have pushed them off the continent." General Black knew all this was covered in detail in the after action reports but the executive summary was what his audience of General Brennan and President Baker wanted. And they wanted his judgment about the future. He gave it to them. "We can defend the continent with the present generation of aircraft for several years to come but we need more of them and we need the anti-ship missiles. We will need more airfields around the coast to stage these aircraft. We were limited to ten squadrons due to the lack of air bases and it nearly cost us. And we need better air defenses. But we don't need to push the panic button just yet and order a full mobilization of the economy."

Baker shifted his attention to another window on his computer screen and asked, "Do you agree General Brennan?"

"In general I do sir. You will receive my detailed recommendations within a few days but I don't think we have to break the bank and rearm with a new generation of weapons. We have effective weapons systems in our inventory or in production and with reasonable increases in military spending we can get by without massive spending. It is a bit risky in the short run but in the long run we have to integrate technology into the economy and invest for long-term growth. We should also increase military research and development to a higher level than the last eight years however."

"I agree. Therefore, I will seek a modest tax increase and higher military spending from congress and will need both of you to testify so get prepared. As for R&D, we have to increase our efforts and not rely on the NAR. President English is not ever going to be a wholehearted partner like Eastwood was and we need to develop our own technology centers. Perhaps we can start giving grants to Smith and Harris to start a graduate engineering school at Sand Mountain." President Baker was by nature a person that dug in and examined the details of problems set before him and now started in on the details of the Samson River Raid.

"Run the Terminator production line to the maximum. In fact run all your production lines to the maximum. We need more G and H model Mosquitoes, more Gulls, more Super Mosquitoes, more upgrade kits for A, B, and C model Mosquitoes, more Terminators, and your long range project. I can get the money authorization through Congress and President English is cooperating for a change." President Baker was optimistic and energized and was passing on what he thought was good news. Bob Smith and Jake Harris weren't so sure.

"We can certainly increase production and run a little overtime, but I am not so sure about massive hiring and training of new workers. The economy is booming and the high tech areas are drawing new university graduates and workers. What I need is wood workers and production line workers. I can train these workers but there is little demand for laid off wood workers and everyone knows it. I have a decent core work force but everyone knows that we had declining aircraft production during the last eight years and that the future belongs to jets and all metal aircraft. I am going to have problems attracting good workers to what amounts to a buggy whip industry. I may need some government help." That last comment by Bob Smith drew a nasty glare from Jake.

"What kind of help?" Baker asked suspiciously.

"We need a long term commitment to fund a commercial aircraft industry. Specifically, what I want is a contract to build a modern all metal cargo and passenger aircraft. This would be in direct competition with the NAR. In addition, I want Jake to build the engines. We need gas turbines to start and eventually jet engines."

"That would not only be in direct competition with the NAR, it would be hitting them in their most profitable industry. We can already manufacture electronics and internal combustion engines. The last major monopolies they have left are graduate education, R&D, drugs, and non-wooden aircraft. This could be a deal breaker for English. Want to try for double or nothing?"

"You want us to take on something else?" Jake interjected.

"I want you to start a technology and engineering school at Sand Mountain. I can get you some grants for a first class educational and R&D center. We can no longer let the NAR leadership have sole control of critical elements of our national security."

# Chapter Twenty

# A New Line of Work

November of Year 32

It was hot at the airfield for November was the start of summer in the southern hemisphere. Ambassador George Eastwood and Military Attaché Sam George watched as the four-engine cargo plane took off. "No changing his mind, Seth is convinced that he is about to become rich and famous. Hell, he is already famous for being a Gloria Scout and a Bear ambassador. He just might get rich as well." Eastwood was sad to see Seth leave but elated that someone had taken his idea and was going to act upon it. Sam was just depressed. Seth had been his right hand man for nearly three years and before that a member of his fire team on the retreat from the Scout Base Gloria. In a profession where a major source of job satisfaction is working with men like Seth, his departure was leaving an empty spot that would take a while to fill. The fact that the embassy staff was arriving and families would be soon follow was a bright spot that helped ease the loss but the job ahead was going to be very challenging, especially without Seth.

The plane disappeared into the distance and the two men turned towards their vehicle, a Bear driven equivalent of an SUV. It was larger, had wheel spinning power and suspension like a truck. The interior was like a truck, big and rugged with little thought for comfort. The vehicle had a heater but no air-conditioning, which was just as well since Bears very seldom rolled up the windows. Their driver was also the Bear Military Representative and a very high ranking official in the Bear Military. "Good man that Seth, hope he makes a bunch of money. I invested with him," said Roolf as he started the engine. Eastwood and Sam turned and stared at Roolf.

"Just what in the hell did you invest? We don't have any method of monetary exchange worked out yet," Eastwood asked.

"We are partners, 50-50 split. We will work out the details later. He will start and run the business and I provided two of my sons and one daughter. My children will share in my split. They are very good and Seth is honest and capable. Besides, it is clear that your people need our services. It's a good deal all around." Roolf drove as he talked. Bears were fast but careful drivers and seldom had accidents. "No more talking." Bears also didn't believe in distractions while driving.

The drive to the embassy was short and Roolf pulled up to the side parking lot. It was like most Bear buildings, solid concrete construction, big wide doors and windows, large rooms with high ceilings. It was like the vehicle, rugged and practical with little attention to comfort. Also like the vehicle, it had minimal heating and no air conditioning. The windows were glass and were usually open. Bears liked fresh air and thought that anything from 30 degrees to 100 degrees was good for the health. All three got out and entered the building. They had business to conduct and no time like the present was the unofficial Bear motto.

Inside was some outsized furniture and several desks and a large conference table. Roolf sat down at the conference table and was ready to start negotiations. Sam was continually amazed at the lack of ceremonies in the Bear culture. They didn't seem to feel that a ceremony was necessary to honor someone or to celebrate something or to aid weight to obligations or agreements. It did make sense to Eastwood, the truth detection ability of the Bears made a lot of ceremonies unnecessary. Why have a marriage ceremony to emphasize a lifelong commitment when everyone knew that it was a genuine lifelong commitment. And celebrations tended to informal feasts, which the Bears were really good at. And negotiations tended to be quick and simple and disputes submitted to binding arbitration. Not only did Bears possess the ability to access the truthfulness of other Bears and humans but also had a real knack at judging character. Agreements were usually easy to reach when parties were very honest and ethical.

The problem with the current agreement was the lack of a system of monetary exchange. How many Mosquitoes, pilots, armament, and support staff did it take to equal a submarine and what was the risk involved for each? The question was complicated by the Bear's insistence that the trades involve the crews as well as the hardware. Humans would support and fly the Mosquitoes and the Bears would support and sail the submarines. It was a huge complication and endless details to work out. Essentially, each side would lease a military unit to the other and have it fight with their new bosses. Eastwood immediately rejected the proposal as too complicated and unworkable. The Bears insisted that it would work and that it would be far better than trading hardware.

"Speed is essential in this trade," said Roolf. "It would take us several years to design and build a submarine to your specifications and even more time to train a crew. You would have to do the same thing. Redesign a warplane for a Bear, build it, train the pilots and support personnel. It would take years. We may not have that much time."

That last comment grabbed the attention of both Eastwood and Sam. "What do you mean, is their something out there we should know about? Are the Furries or Vikings coming back? Are the Fives mounting another attack? What gives?" Eastwood asked the questions but both men had asked questions like this before and were told that information like this had to be purchased. And purchasing information circled back to the issue of the lack of exchange rates and the current impasse on valuations.

"Furries are no problem, you smack them hard every once in a while and they stay away. Vikings are busy fighting the Fives over an empty continent. Fives are the worst of these three but have decided to take the empty continent first. Probably take 10 years to throw the Vikings off that one continent. Your fight with the Fives shows that you are not an easy target and they will wait until the fight with the Vikings is over before invading in force. Probably." This was more information about the other races than the Bears had let slip since the first contact.

"If we are safe for 10 years, then what's the hurry? Is there something else out there?" Sam asked this question.

"The continent is empty because race X wiped out race Y. They are much worse that the Fives. Good technology, good navy, good air force, good infantry, good industry, breeds fast. Right now they are fighting among themselves. One side wins, they turn to the rest of the world. Probably try the Vikings first since they are the weakest. May try the Fives first since they are the strongest; get them out of the way before they get too strong. They may not know about humans, your continent was still under quarantine when they fight the Y's." This almost got by Eastwood but Sam jumped on it.

"Just what the hell is quarantine?"

"Every race gets a chance to establish themselves under quarantine. Any ship or plane that approaches a quarantined continent are warned first and destroyed if they continue. You are the latest to come out of quarantine. We came out of quarantine 30 years before you. Don't know about the rest. There are still two areas under quarantine."

"Who or what sets up the quarantines and why?"

"Don't know. We figure that planet is just a big zoo exhibit. This world is a big experiment and we are all just lab rats. We heard Bob Smith's theories and agree. All that is certain is that we are here and survival is not guaranteed. It's up to us to determine our own fate." Sam and Eastwood had heard this theory before in the back room of Joe's, from Bob Smith no less.

"What kind of warning do you get?"

"Like a big bolt of lightening, only straight as a line. You get one bolt far ahead as a first warning. Then a close bolt as the final warning. The third bold destroys whatever it hits. Fishing boat, submarine, battleship, they all get destroyed with all hands. There are never any survivors. In a submarine you don't see it but you can hear it and it disrupts all electronic devices. There is never any talk or explanation, just whap with the bolts. Somebody or something is running this planet but there are just guesses about how, why, and how long."

"From our experience, it took close to a hundred thousand years to set up our continent. Animals that are extinct long ago on our home planet are present here. Humans only came in the last 200 years. Either these unknown experimenters have a long planning horizon or they can manipulate time as well as matter and space." Eastwood looked down at his shoes and paused. "However and why ever we are here, this is our home now and we will fight for it. I wasn't born here, got picked up by what we call the connection and transported here. It was instantaneous as far as I can tell. We could go back and forth for a very short time and it was years before we lost contact. How about you?"

"We were put here about 150 years ago. No communication and it was instantaneous according to those transported. There was close to three million of us with large amount of equipment. You were lucky, two transports and communications. Do you have any idea why two separate connections?"

"We always figured that the second connection was specifically for an injection of technology. Guess the people behind this wanted to make it a fair experiment. They didn't want to give anyone an insurmountable edge. We all seem to have about the same level of technology. We also all seem to be bipeds in form. Guess this is the industrial biped section of the zoo. Or maybe it is a war museum." This kind of discussion always got Eastwood mad. He was not the sort of man that liked to be jerked around, especially by unknown agents cloaked in mystery.

"We must go back to our agreement. We need a fast fix and a long-term strategy. We suggest you send 10 wings of your best airplanes and we send two coastal defense task forces and 10 submarines. Base one task force on each coast. Spread the submarines around to warn of large scale attack." Roolf had changed the subject and Sam knew that when the Bears changed the subject it stayed changed. Even Eastwood was beginning to realize this as well except he almost refused to let someone else set the agenda.

"That's the same proposal you have been making for the last month. We don't want coastal defense task forces. We want submarines. Two submarines per squadron and we can only spare ten squadrons. And they will be good airplanes but not all will be our best. To get ten wings we would have to strip our continent bare and have just the reserves to provide defensive reaction. Make a new suggestion. If time is so short, get a new proposal on the table. By the way, since you are letting some secrets out, why don't you have your own aircraft? You obviously have the technology." Sam groaned. The Bears didn't let secrets slip, don't let others change the subject easily, and were as persistent as a river wearing away a bank.

"We have lots of steel. Ingredients for steel are cheap and plentiful. But we don't have much aluminum or titanium. We have good diesel engines but they are heavy. We never did develop gasoline engines like you. We have a few aircraft but they are heavy, slow and short ranged. Our wood is not as strong as yours either. So we rely on our navy for defense of our continent. A combined arms approach is needed, navy, air force, and ground forces. We supply the navy and you supply the air force. A synergy is what you call it." This was a day of surprises and the Bears were intentionally providing more information without insisting on payment. Very un-Bear like behavior.

Normally, Sam let Eastwood do the talking but jumped in this time. "Why are you telling us all this? You always insisted on payment before."

"The Fives developed carriers about 15 years ago. They started using them against the Vikings and Furries about 10 years ago. They were not very good at carrier operations until now. We had several subs tracking your fight with them and they are now capable of inflicting serious damage on our navy. We both need a combined arms approach to defend ourselves. The X's are worse. The short-term fix is to trade naval forces for air forces and the long-term strategy is a mutual defense pact. You make good aircraft and we make good ships and really good submarines; the best submarines on the planet. I am telling you this to get a deal. Payment will be a deal. We trade ten wings of your best for two coastal defense task forces and 10 submarines and information. Deal?"

# Chapter Twenty-One

# Crank Up

December of Year 32

"Mr. Smith, there is a man named Seth Williams and three Bears here to see you. They don't have an appointment." Bob was busy as hell and couldn't be interrupted at a worse time. He was in the middle of some very complicated design issues and just knew he would lose the solution that was slowly forming somewhere in his mind. But Seth's name and the mention of Bears grabbed his attention immediately. "Really, Seth the Gloria Scout and real alien Bears?" Then not waiting for an answer, "Send them in Betty."

Bob rose as the door opened and Seth and three Bears entered. "Welcome to Sand Mountain Seth. I thought you were overseas. Introduce me to your friends here," Bob said as he shook hands with Seth.

"It's nice to be here Bob. Sam says to say hello. We just got back from overseas. I resigned from the Scouts and I am going into business for myself. And these three are my new partners and employees. Bob Smith, this is Charlie Roolf, Chris Roolf, and Mary Roolf." Seth continued the introductions and Bob shook hands with each of the three aliens. Their hands were huge and gripped differently than human hands but although somewhat strange, it worked and accomplished the same greeting ritual. All three of the Bears were over six and a half feet tall and only Mary was less than 300 pounds. The usual greetings and small talk revealed that the Bears had taken human first names to put humans more at ease and retained their family name of Roolf.

"We are starting up a consulting business and looking for work. Have you heard about the lie detection ability of the Bears?"

"I watched the treaty signing fiasco and talked to Baker and Eastwood about it. I don't talk to Sam about it because it might get him in trouble with English and her minions in the NAR. Is it really true what they say about you people?" This last comment was directed at the trio of Bears.

"We can't read your minds but we can read your character and determine if you are telling the truth most of the time. We think humans need our services for contract negotiations, arbitration, conflict resolution, investigations, and your legal system. Maybe even for personal matters such as marriage."

Bob was stunned as he suddenly had visions of the effects of nearly total honesty would have on human civilization. This was an opportunity and called for serious consideration and immediate action. Bob responded as he always did in an emergency, he reached out and pressed a button on the intercom and said, "Betty, get Jake on the line and call Stella and reserve the big booth for lunch. Ask Ben to come over." Then he turned and looked at the Bears and asked, "Do you guys like burgers and fries? How about beer?"

The Bears were omnivores and did indeed like burgers and fries. Also they liked beer, milkshakes, and blueberry pie. They did take supplements but found human food quite good as long as there was plenty of it. The only problem was that the big booth was barely big enough. By the time Bob, Ben, Jake, Seth and the three Bears were seated it was elbow to elbow. Stella wanted to send them to the back room but Bob wanted everyone to see the Bears. It was a huge success as everyone wanted to meet and talk to the Bears and all three were on their best behavior, which was moderately polite and friendly.

"OK Seth, what's the deal?"

"Here? You want to talk business here?"

"Yes, right here and now. Your not going to be giving out any secrets are you?"

"No. Ok, what we want to do is to contract out the services of these three Bears to people and organizations that need their abilities. Jake, Ben, these three are amazing lie detectors. We figure that there are all kinds of situations where this ability would be useful; contracts, agreements, arbitrations, court fights, investigations, employee screening, marriage, divorce, financial reports, and politics to name a few. But listen; let's give them a little test. Jake, tell us how old you are?" Everyone turned and looked at Jake.

Without hesitation Jake said, "Fifty six."

Whack. Mary had produced a foot long switch from somewhere and hit Jake across the knuckles. "What comes next if I lie again? Jake asked.

"Depends, sometimes another hit from the switch and sometimes an open hand to the face. That's what another Bear did to Eastwood when he tested them. Give it a try. I'm willing to take the risk."

"Sixty seven." Nothing from the Bears but Bob and Ben turned and stared at Jake, "You have been telling everyone that you were sixty two, Bob said with an aggrieved tone."

"Nope, sixty seven is right. That's earth years. Remember that this planet's years are longer than earths. I am sixty-two in local years. No way would anyone know that but me. Ben, give them a try."

"I am considering going back on active duty." Bob and Jake both winced.

"Whack."

"Thank god," said Bob.

"No way would I go back on active duty."

"Whack."

"Hey Stella, have you ever cheated on any of your husbands?" Jake was allowed a little latitude given that he was about the richest man on the continent.

"No and if that Bear ever wants to eat here again, he had better not touch that switch."

"Whack, Whack." The hits were on the table this time and everyone broke up laughing including Stella. The Bears were somewhat mystified, they had caught Stella in a major lie and everyone just laughed. They were needed here.

"Bob turned to Jake and said, "I think we just found an ethics department for our technology center."

"God help us," moaned Jake.

"Mary, you doing anything this afternoon," said Ben.

"That's a great move." Baker was pleased. Good P.R. for the Bears was just what was needed if he was to get the submarines for Mosquitoes deal done. "I will get that included in the grant, three part-time positions for Bear Ethics. I think that you will get so much business that you will make money on those three. But how does Seth fit in?"

"Seth is going to concentrate on the commercial side of Bear services; we provide some steady cash flow, a major organization to contract with instead of just Seth, office space, and good public relations. If the demand is what I think it will be, Seth will have to bring in more Bears and he gets a cut of the revenue. We can either employ the Bears part-time ourselves or contract out their services. We are going to try to work out the exact details with the Bears tomorrow." Bob was elated that Baker liked the idea of the technology center hiring the Bears.

"Ok, change of subject. How is production going?"

"Well we are up to our war-time production levels. We are converting the last of the A, B, and C models to G models, and are producing Terminators, decoys, G's, H's, Supers, and Gulls. But I need a long-term contract to be able to hire more workers. There is a lot of structural unemployment in our economy. Farm workers and older workers not able to learn modern industrial skills are being left behind in this surge of technology. I can use these people but they need some long-term future if I am to convince them to relocate here or to be a subcontractor. They want some job security and a future. I realize that I won't be able to keep everyone in a peacetime economy but if I had a civilian aircraft contract I could use reduction in overtime and attrition to ease the layoffs. Besides we need a civilian airline industry."

"I am working on it but it is not a done deal yet. Everyone wants warplanes and the NAR is producing very good cargo planes. Give me a design that fills a market segment that doesn't go head to head with the NAR planes and I will be able to help."

"I have just the thing. It was Ben's idea."

Sanders was very satisfied with his new squadron and his new job. The new H models, as yet unnamed, were fun to fly and the way they were flying them was even more fun. As the H models came off the production line experienced pilots were assigned to train in and fly these new aircraft. In addition, the Puma's and Snipers Wings were here at Sand Mountain getting new aircraft and replacement aircrews. Since the EC didn't have any jets, the H models were in demand as an opposition force to give the slower Mosquitoes some experience with 100 mph faster aircraft.

Sanders job as operations officer meant that he was in charge of developing the day-to-day plans for both training new H model pilots and simulated slaughter of Puma and Sniper aircrews. As a personal matter, Sanders was running up a respectable score of simulated kills of some of his best friends and drinking buddies. Some were now former friends and drinking buddies as Sanders was getting very good at actually executing his plans and was merciless in training exercises. Getting waxed twice a day was hard on some former-drinking buddies. In fact, it could get downright nasty at times such as this afternoon's debrief. Sanders had a lot of video recordings but it wasn't the full setup that Earth's Red Flag and Top Gun fighter schools had, and there were knock-down and drag-out fights regarding close judgment calls. It was a pain in the neck and getting worse. Learning was getting to take a back seat to simulated kill totals and who was the top aircrew. Sanders was about to stomp a few egos and now that he had made up his mind on how to handle some of the swelled heads he was looking forward to the debrief.

Sanders had arrived early at the debriefing room and was surprised to see Ben Grant, an unknown civilian, and a huge alien. Ben and the civilian were laughing and obviously in a good mood. The alien was serious and intently studying the surroundings. When Ben introduced the pair, Sanders suddenly realized that the civilian was one of the Scouts that made contact with the Bears, which put him a little off stride when introduced to the huge alien named Mary.

"Mary? Is that your real name?" Sanders stuttered.

"Yes, it is real. I chose a human first name to make extensive contact with humans a little more comfortable. Is Steve your real name?"

"Actually not; Steven is my real name but Steve is a shortened version that everyone uses. Some names are like that and some don't need a short version."

"Very curious; why pick a name that you know won't be used?"

"Beats the hell out of me, just one of the many irrational customs that we humans seem to get trapped into I guess. Are you here to learn to fly?"

"No, I am here to observe and render a service."

"No shit!" Sanders turned to Ben and said, "It true then, we got a real, live lie detector."

"I think so. So watch yourself out there today and let Mary do her thing."

"Should I give any warning for the guys?"

"No warning or introduction. Let them find out for themselves. It should be a lot of fun."

About 30 minutes later the aircrews began to arrive and were greeted by an impassive Sanders backed by Ben Grant, Seth Williams and Mary Roolf. The men were asked to take a seat and no explanation or introduction was given. When the assigned time was reached Sanders began the debriefing session even though the last aircrew had not arrived.

"The morning exercise was a squadron anti-shipping strike opposed by a flight of six H models. Both sides were armed with side-looking missiles." This brought a series of catcalls from the flight crews.

"The brief was for a flight of four not six. We were sandbagged," whined one of the Puma pilots.

Mary got up and walked over to the pilot and whacked his knuckles with her switch. She calmly walked back to her seat.

"Jesus, Solo just got Englished," said another Puma pilot. "Just like on TV," said another.

Solo, the call sign of the Puma pilot that just got whacked responded in good humor, "Alright, you just briefed that we would have a flight of opposition. But we have always used flights of four. We built our reaction plans on the assumption of a flight of four."

"Your reactions are not the problem. Your lack of discipline was the problem. Your Red Flight jettisoned their Terminators and started a dogfight. That was reasonable but the rest of you turned into spectators more interested in watching the fight that keeping watch on your sectors for more bandits. Two fighters creamed White and Blue Flights without taking any losses in return. Red Flight put up a decent fight and protected the strike birds from the first four opposition aircraft. One more thing, Red One should send a flight instead of personally leaving the strike aircraft to run up his point totals. Red One is the strike lead and should stay with the primary mission."

"Hey, that's unfair. I led the interception because it was critical to the mission, not to just run up the score." Solo was heated on this issue and didn't notice Mary until an open hand nearly knocked him off his chair. Surging upright he turned towards the alien and cocked his fist back and threw a punch. Mary took the blow and picked Solo up, dragged him over the table and threw him halfway across the room and he slid the rest of the way on the floor right up to the Seth's feet.

There was shocked silence in the room until Seth said, "Slow learner. Bears won't tolerate lies and only the real stupid individuals take a swing at one. Good thing that Mary here is the easy going type."

Solo got up slowly and walked up to Mary and extended his hand. "Sorry about the punch, I was out of line."

"You lied twice and lost your temper. Do not come to the Bear continent until you can do much better." Mary did not offer to shake hands. The rest of the briefing went smoothly without any serious arguments.

"Bob, I am getting a real twitching feeling about this lull in the action and it's not the Bears I am worried about. I think we need to re-examine our production processes." Jake was having a beer with Bob and Ben and the talk so far had been about the Bears.

"Well, we are nearing our top war time production level. It's going to take a big investment to make a big change in production capacity and it won't be fast. But I know the feeling; suddenly we have to make aircraft for two continents instead of one and its real sense of urgency I get from the Bears. Not to mention the losses we incurred from just a big raid. If you got any suggestions I would like to hear them."

"Your Mosquito idea started me reading about WWII back on Earth. A few months ago I dug up a Wings Channel program about the FW 190. It was as good as any piston engine fighter of the time and subcontracting to small shops spread all over the country produced it. The massive strategic bombing campaign didn't even slow down production. Now we don't have an enemy bombing campaign but we do have a problem of cranking up production here at Sand Mountain. There is a small labor pool here and the infrastructure including housing won't support importing significantly more workers. My idea is to subcontract modules of each airplane to small shops and farms all over this part of the continent. You may have to re-design some but it could solve some of the production problems. Ship the modules here and make this the final assembly site."

"Shipping modules here instead of relocating whole families could be a more efficient way to expand production. Let me see what modules I can subcontract to amateurs."

# Chapter Twenty-Two

# A Lone Wolf

May of Year 33

The Night Striker was running on the surface at 27 knots, near the maximum that its diesel engines could manage. A trickle of power was diverted to top off the charge on its batteries but that was less that 5% of the electrical power generated by the diesel driven generators. The conning tower was manned (or Beared to be species sensitive) and passive surveillance was listening for the slightest electronic emissions. The passive sonar was useless at this speed but the lookout stations were manned and scanning the sky for any aircraft. Captain Whylan Stogest was in the control room leaving the Officer of the Deck in the conning tower to drive the sub. The Captain's main interest was in getting to a place where he could actually do some good. The report of an enemy task force was sketchy to say the least. All that they had was faint radar emissions were received by a human piloted Mosquito at certain location.

Whylan had been notified and told to execute standing orders to the best of his ability. The standing orders being referenced were very simple; just sink everything in sight. To do this, deducing the right position to launch an attack and getting to that position was the primary duty of the Captain. The OOD could run the ship why Whylan poured over the map display in the control room. Where was the task force headed? First he assumed that it was an enemy task force headed for the Bear continent. If it wasn't, then all that was wasted was some diesel fuel. If it was a hostile task force headed toward his continent, what was the target? Two likely locations jumped out at him. The first was a busy port with lots of industry and military installations. The second possibility was a largely uninhabited and remote part of the continent with good beaches. It was Whylan thought, a great place to establish an invasion beachhead. It was a lousy place to raid however. A raid would head for the port and an invasion could try to sneak ashore unopposed in the uninhabited beaches.

Whylan considered the port. There were lots of military assets there and although his boat was a powerful weapon, it would just be one piece of a massive response at the port. At the beaches, his boat would be a large part of a small response. Whylan decided to take his boat and guard sand dunes and forests. It was a risk, for if he was wrong, his judgment would be questioned and he could be relieved of his command. However, that was an irrelevant personal risk and Whylan ignored it and concentrated on the risk to the continent. He could reach the beaches and prepare and could only reach the port after the fight had been joined. He reached his decision and informed the OOD of change in course. A radio transmitter buoy was programmed and launched. Its purpose was to wait a few hours and then transmit a radio message covering his intentions. Then it would quietly sink having done it job of protecting the subs location.

It was after dark that the Night Striker reached its destination and slowed to 5 knots and submerged to periscope depth. The electronic surveillance mast was raised and the passive sonar became effective once again. Passive sonar was the best sensor now that speed had been reduced and the electronic surveillance mast was only raised for short intervals several times an hour. The enemy task force would be noisy and could be tracked from the safety of depths. It soon became clear that a sizable task force was headed toward the port but there were ships that had broken off from the others that were headed for the beaches. Whylan called the weapons officer and started making his plans.

The Bear was mad. True this was only an averaged sized male but that said a lot. The real frightening thing was that this Bear was Phil McFarland's crew chief and he had a mangled fragment of a tree branch in his oversized fist. The tree branch landed in the middle of Phil's lunch tray. The Bear glared at Phil. Gary Stoll, the squadron commander, rushed over to Phil's table with his interpreter as Phil was considering how to handle the angry Bear. The sensible thing to do was to take it like a man, maybe. The interpreter said something to the crew chief and got an angry reply.

"Aban reports that his aircraft returned from a training mission this morning with this branch and other debris in the engine cowling. Further, this pilot flew Aban's aircraft this morning. Aban respectfully requests an explanation of why this pilot is so irresponsible with this valued piece of equipment." The interpreter looked a bit angry as well.

Phil began to feel trapped. He couldn't lie and the truth wasn't all that great either. He began to sweat. "I was making a gun run on a simulated target. I decided to treat it as a heavily defended target and approached using low-level terrain masking. I got a little too low on one hill and ate a treetop. But I would have surprised the target and not left it time to shoot back. It was a good run boss."

Stoll turned to the interpreter, "Tell him." The interpreter talked for a minute. Aban picked up the mangled leaves and stuck them under the Stoll's nose. Stoll calmly took the leaves and put them back on Phil's mashed potatoes and then removed two pictures from his pocket. He held up the first, a picture of a large Saber Toothed Tiger snarling at a jeep. Then he held up a picture of a rabbit with a pink ribbon around its neck sitting on a rocking chair. "What kind of pilot do you want to fly in defense of your continent? One like this," said Stoll, holding up the picture of a tiger. "Or this?" holding up the rabbit picture. "Tigers play rough and take chances," he said picking up the leaves and handing them back to the Bear. The interpreter translated.

The Bear took the picture of the tiger and turned to Phil. He held up a very large fist and raised one finger. Then he tore the picture in two pieces and stalked out.

"Guess that means you used up your one chance before becoming a Bear punching bag," Stoll said. "You're grounded." Then he stalked away.

Phil pulled the leaves out of his lunch tray and said, "Shit, he got some sap in my mashed potatoes.

The squadron XO appeared out of nowhere and said, "My office, now."

It was started out to be a bad week but neither Phil nor Aban knew how bad it was going to get.

The XO's office was a typical Bear room, large, practical and lacking in any attempt to be comfortable. It was cold and the XO was colder.

"You are a volunteer for this assignment. You came into this with your eyes wide open. We work for the Bears so the Bears will work for us. We depend upon the Bears for support. It is a bad idea to get the Bears mad at us. Especially the ground support crew we worked hard to get trained. If we can't get cooperation from the Bears we don't fly. If we don't fly, we might as well go home. What's it going to be Lieutenant, fly or go home?"

"Fly sir."

"Ok, you are still grounded until the CO says different or until an invasion fleet is off the coast. Get out.

Phil got out. "If we do have an invasion we are going to need some low-level experience," he mumbled to himself as he left. "How was I to know that there was a hundred and fifty foot high tree when everything else is only a hundred feet. Once in a lifetime mistake and I didn't break the bird."

The Training Wing Commander waited until the last of his staff made it to the briefing room. The Bear base commander was there as well with his staff. Among the last to arrive was the trainee wing staff.

"Continental Command has just informed me that a very large fleet is nearing the coast. This fleet is completely unknown and considered hostile. We are now on combat alert. Since the Kodiaks have just started training, command has placed me in overall command of both wings. As of now, the Kodiaks are activated as a combat command with Col. Foster as its commander. He will report directly to me and I report to General Roloft, as does the Base Commander," Col. Whistler said, nodding at the huge Bear in the first row.

"Right now we have 213 pilots and 156 Gulls on the base. The pipeline is up and running so we will have all the fuel we can use. The ammo bunkers are full and there is a partially unloaded ammo train on the base. We will have enough fuel and ammo for at least a weeks worth of surge operations. We can expect air strikes starting tomorrow and a landing on the coast is possible the day after. I want every squadron to have a flight of four Gulls armed for air-to-air on strip alert and another flight on 15 minute alert. If your strip alert birds are launched, move up the 15-minute alert birds to strip alert and make ready another flight to fill the empty slot. No matter how many birds you launch, have one flight on strip alert and another on 15-minute alert until you run out of planes. Get your planes and equipment under cover as much as possible. Make all preparations for going to war because the war is coming to us."

"Right now we have to be prepared to move to support the port city of Salman. The Polar Bears are located there and equipped with Super Mosquitoes, Mosquitoes and Cheap Charlies. If they are hit badly we will move to support them. However, it is our primary duty to guard our section of coastline and prevent any enemy beachheads from developing. Since we cannot carry Cheap Charlies we will not be expected to carry out anti-shipping strikes unless they actually attempt a landing. Then we will strike the amphibious assault ships. We will leave the escorts and carriers to the Polar Bears. Since we are 63 miles from the nearest coastline we are ordered to lay low and wait for developments. The enemy may not know anyone is here at all. This area was nearly uninhabited before this base was established the Bears do not think it has ever been scouted."

Col. Whistler paused and then repeated for emphasis, "Our primary duty is to guard this section of coastline from amphibious assault and our secondary duty is to be ready to move to support the port city of Salman. Get ready to fight here first and make whatever plans you can to support a move. Ground training for the Bear support staff will continue. Flight and weapons training is on a limited basis requires direct approval from me. Major Adams will give you an update on the intelligence gathered so far. Major."

A thin, small man rose and moved to the front of the room. "There isn't much for sure. Radar emissions were detected by a Polar Bear flight yesterday. Several subs have reported sonar contacts and we have identified two groups of ships. One is headed towards the port city of Salman. It is faster moving and is lighting up radar warning receivers all over the coast. Command thinks it is a carrier task force headed for Salman as a strike against military targets there and to act as a diversion. There are other, slower ships headed for our section of the coast and could be an invasion fleet. The timing is about right for a strike by the carriers at Salman and then a rapid dash down to cover the amphibious assault. If so, the Polar Bears get hit tomorrow and we get a double whammy of air strikes and landings the following day. If we are lucky, the Polar Bears will delay some of the carriers so that we may get to strike the amphibs before they get most of their air cover. We have one friendly sub operating in our area, so no strikes on subs. My web site will have all the latest intel so check in often, we are getting lots of reports from various sources and things will change rapidly. So far the enemy emissions are consistent with the Fives but that is not a definite identification yet.

The Base Operations Officer was next and it was a Bear and an interpreter. "The ammo train will be unloaded tonight and leave in the morning. All anti-air assets will be deployed tonight. Approach the field into the wind and under the control of the tower. Our IFF is very good but if you approach from an unauthorized direction you could be fired upon before being identified. We will be getting a reserve-armored battalion sometime in the next two days via the railroad. They will have lots of anti-air assets and have not worked with humans before. Extra caution will be required." The Bear sat down abruptly.

The news of the possible invasion spread like wildfire and caught Phil sitting under a tree drinking some Bear beer. The Bears made excellent beer and regarded it as a near necessity of life. It was a little low on alcohol content but Phil was developing a taste for it. It was highly available here and none of the must be at least 21 years old bullshit about drinking. This was a good thing since the majority of the pilots were under 20. Pilot training in the EC started at 16. By 18 pilots are ready for assignment to an active duty squadron. Phil was just short of his nineteenth birthday and feeling sorry for himself. That stopped with the news and the orders to start digging in. The training squadron had been set up as a model for the new trainees that were pouring into the base and had already built and camouflaged their facilities. The trainees, as a part of their training were expected to build their own facilities. The revetments for the aircraft were finished but slit trenches and bunkers for the personnel were next. Phil found out that next mean now.

Later than night after chow Phil hung around the squadron ready room waiting for the latest intel when the news of a Polar Bear Wing strike started to come in. The wing had mustered 67 of the 72 aircraft for the strike, each with a Cheap Charlie and two decoys. The subs had localized what appeared to be several carriers and escorts. The continental command had quickly authorized a night strike. The strike birds did not carry air-to-air missiles and were to launch at 100 miles from the target and run for home. The wing launched about 0100 and everyone was glued to the computer screens waiting for updates. That's when the XO came in and spoiled the party.

"Everyone not on duty will get out of here and get some sleep. We are going to be at war tomorrow and you have got to be ready for surge operations. That means hot refueling and rearmament and no rest. Sleep is going to be hard to come by in the next week so get some rest now. Aban and his friends here are going to give you 30 seconds to get out and then he has my authorization to throw you out." Aban flashed what could be called a grin and stretched his arms. The room emptied in 20 seconds.

Whylan considered the surface plot and then the sonar repeater. Both were a mess. What could best be called a blob was approaching at 10 knots. The Night Striker had 20 torpedoes but only four tubes. All four tubes were loaded now but the reloading could take 20 minutes or more. Twenty torpedoes would barely make a dent in the approaching fleet and that's if the Night Striker survived long enough to fire all 20 torpedoes. Whylan wanted a high value target but which target was worth more? Whylan decided to go deep and steer towards the blob and shoot anything that had four screws. The really big carriers had four screws.

Two hours later the Night Striker was resting lightly on the sandy bottom and let the screen of escorts pass overhead. Then there were a profusion of twin-screw ships that were slow and noisy. There were a numerous ships that could be light carriers but also could be various types of assault ships or cargo ships. Whylan was about to just pick a likely pair and shoot when three targets turned and speeded up. Several of the escorts also turned and maintained station on these ships. "Turning into the wind and speeding up to launch aircraft," thought Whylan. Two targets were closing on the Night Striker and one was increasing the range. Whylan selected the two large, twin-screw targets that had changed course and were now steaming at close to 25 knots. "Designate that one target A and that one target B," said Whylan pointing to the sonar screen. "Assign tubes 1 and 3 to target A and tubes 2 and 4 for target B. Program 20 knots approach speed and 50 knots attack speed. Open the outer doors and swim the torpedoes out."

Whylan waited while his orders were carried out and when the weapons officer reported that the torpedoes were programmed and a good solution was available, he ordered the weapons to be launched. When all four weapons were running Whylan ordered the outer doors to be closed and the tubes to be reloaded as soon as they reached a depth that would not use all their high pressure air to force the sea water out of the tubes. Then he ordered a decrease in depth to get off the bottom and a new course away from the track of the targets and at a speed of 5 knots. Then he waited. There was a lot of noise here and the torpedoes were very quiet at 20 knots but when they acquired their targets with their onboard sensors and moved to attack speed the cat would be out of the bag and the escorts would be actively hunting for a submarine.

"Torpedo one has switched to attack mode. Torpedo three has switched to attack mode. Whylan acknowledged each report with a brief Bear equivalent of "Very Well." Active sonar soon began pinging and several of the escorts turned toward the sounds of the high-speed torpedo screws. Torpedoes two and four were next to switch to attack mode and the targets turned and increased speed. Even more noise was put into the water as the escorts and target ships deployed decoys. Soon all the ships increased speed and maneuvered to avoid torpedoes real and imagined. Sonar reported more high screws in the water but not close. The escorts had launched anti-submarine torpedoes but were far from the Night Striker. Right on time were the two hits on target A. Target B's explosions were 5 minutes later and also right on time. Whylan stayed close to the bottom and headed away from the enemy ships. When he judged he was clear of the escorts he rose to periscope depth and chanced a look. There were ships on the horizon and a glow in the direction of the target ships but nothing that was definite. In his heart Whylan felt sure that he had caught two carriers in the middle of flight operations and severely damaged both. A good night's work and he started plotting his next attack.

Morning found Phil sitting in his cockpit waiting. He had the first four hours of strip alert and was in position. The engine had been started and warmed up and Phil had taxied to the strip alert area for his squadron. Once the engine and oil temperature were at operating levels the engine was shut down and external power and data lines were connected to his plane. The electronics were working and fans blew outside air over critical components to keep them cool. Since it was winter in this hemisphere it was fairly cool but every once in a while the small air-conditioner that kept the equipment, but not the pilot, at a reasonable temperature kicked in. Nothing much was happening on the field but reports were coming in about the Polar Bear strike last night. Phil started reviewing the strike reports. The 67 strike birds had all launched their Cheap Charlies and decoys and ran for home. They were now refueled and rearmed for air-to-air and waiting for the Fives to return the favor. The subs in the area reported explosions and burning ships but nobody had any idea what was hit or how bad. Phil logged on to a Polar Bear chat room and found that the pilots were chomping at the bit to load up and strike again. Several of the chat room participants were doing just what Phil was doing, waiting in their cockpits for an incoming raid.

The only excitement of his watch was the appearance of reconnaissance jets over the port city and some sections of the coast. They were too high and fast to be intercepted and were ignored. Nothing was near the training base and no flights were launched. When his alert watch was over and his plane returned to its revetment and Aban's watchful eye, Phil headed for lunch and it was there he learned that the Fives were striking at the port city. There were two waves of about 100 aircraft each and the Bear air defenses were proving to be formidable. Some air-to-air birds were launched but were held inland over the two airfields that the Polar Bears used. Most of the action was around the port and military installations there. But one airfield was hit and some air-to-air action took place and five Polar Bear aircraft were shot down. Numerous attacking aircraft were shot down but no totals were available but eyewitnesses claimed that there were heavy losses by the attackers, which were now confirmed to be Fives.

Later, when off alert duty, Phil checked the status boards and found he was not on the alert rotation and that he was down for a 0100 wake up call. A little further checking revealed that there would a 0300 takeoff for a mission to support the Polar Bears. Even more checking turned up the plans for surge operations all the next day. The orders were for full loads of 25 mm, two heat seeking missiles, and folding fin rocket pods. Hot turnarounds with three missions per pilot planned. The Fives were definitely headed their way and landings expected on a number of beaches. Phil ate most of an early dinner and went to bed early.

Phil was certain that he didn't sleep at all that night but when the 0100 wake up call came it was real hard to get his eyes open. "Funny the way that worked out," he thought. Get dressed, breakfast, and on to the briefing room. The thin, small major was giving the briefing.

"Your target this morning is the invasion fleet heading for White Sector Beaches. You men have been selected because you all have been certified in the simulators as proficient in launching Cheap Charlie Decoys. You will have a full load of gas, 25 mm and two decoys each. You will take off at 0315 and join up with the Polar Bears 200 miles northeast over Pinlan Valley. You will be assigned target coordinates and launch instructions in the air by the Polar Bear Red One. After launching the decoys you will return to base for hot refueling and rearmament and go after targets of opportunity on the invasion beaches. We will be in full surge mode and don't expect to get out of your cockpits while we still have daylight. The good news and details keep coming and Phil's thigh clipboard was filled with call signs and radio channel assignments. Phil was going to be Kodiak Blue Four today. "Number 12 in a 48 plane mission to start the day and then just let it rip all day. Outstanding," thought Phil. "It's going to be a hell of a day."

Aban was his usual surly self and gave Phil an intense stare as they exchanged sloppy salutes. It was Phil's aircraft now and soon it was his turn to follow his lead to the end of the field. The Gull was a single engine fighter that resembled a WWII Corsair. A big radial engine and a tail dragging design made it impossible to see forward at a taxi but a small video camera in the nose and a display in the cockpit was an acceptable substitute. Tonight they also had guides with chemical glow sticks to show the way. The take off was in pairs and Phil followed his lead down the runway. It was a relief to get the tail up and be able to see forward. Phil just never felt in total control until the tail came up and the plane was near takeoff speed.

Running lights were on low and some pilots were using night vision goggles but Phil had better than average night vision and preferred not to get the tunnel vision effect of the current devices. Besides, the greater moon was up and it was a nice night for flying. The course took the Kodiaks inland and to the northeast and they were still 100 miles from joining up with the Polar Bears when the missile programming instructions started to be received. The airborne data link was slower than the landline data link but it only took a few minutes to be received, verified, and loaded into the decoy's memory. It did involve radio transmissions, which could alert the enemy CAP. Running lights were turned off and necks began twisting as pilots increased their scanning for enemy jets. Phil, as the number 4 in his flight was responsible for the rear and was constantly turning and using his rear view mirror.

The tension only increased as the turn toward the sea was made and their noses pointed directly at the targets. Just before the launch the Kodiaks went to maximum power to give the decoys more energy to use in the attack. The launch was anticlimactic as the decoys disappeared into the distance and the Kodiaks turned for home. The launch was at 80 miles from the nearest ships and neither side sighted each other. There were 96 decoys launched by the Kodiaks and another 120 decoys and 60 anti-ship missiles launched by the Polar Bears. The decoys were 10 to 20 seconds ahead of the Cheap Charlies and most flew higher than 1,000 feet with some decoys and all the Cheap Charlies flying at 50 feet. It was a major strike and even the decoys would do some damage. The Bears had insisted that the decoys have some sort of warhead and so a 20-pound charge was wrapped around the fuel tank. Given the 300-pound weight of the decoy, its speed, the remaining fuel, and the warhead, it would cause some damage but nothing like the 1,000-pound warhead of the Cheap Charlies. The most frustrating thing to Phil was not seeing the results of the strike. There were some submarines that could pass on some information but it was fragmentary.

The return to base was routine and it was still dark. Phil's first war mission had turned out to be less exciting than most gunnery-training missions. In fact, the Bears and humans never did get solid information about the effects of the missile strikes on the Fives. The next missions were up close and personal and the effects were seen live and in color.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

# Office Politics

May of Year 33

Phil joined the line for the refueling and rearmament. It was nearly dawn and flight after flight of Gulls was taking off. The invasion was already under way with landings starting almost an hour ago. No enemy aircraft had so far been seen over the base but that probably wouldn't last long. When it was Phil's turn and the engine shut down, humans and Bears swarmed over his plane. A young Bear inserted a fuel hose into the receptacle on the wing and then started cleaning his canopy. A mixed team put a side looking missile on each wing tip and another team attached a 19-rocket pod under each wing. Aban appeared and handed him a numbered gripe sheet. Phil checked the no-gripe box and with a grunt Aban disappeared. The power and data lines were connected and the latest intel on the landing downloaded. His flight was tasked for targets of opportunity on the beaches 124 miles from the base. Each flight was to proceed independently and attack at the direction of the flight leader. Phil had not finished looking at the all the intelligence when a pebble bounced off his canopy. It was Aban who was holding the power and data lines in his fist and giving the signal to start the engine. The war was about to get real.

Phil was happy about the approach Blue One was taking. They were in the radar shadow of a 1,500-foot ridge and only five miles from the beaches. Blue One turned to head directly at the beaches and popped up over the ridge. Phil followed but when the radar-warning receiver started to buzz he dived back down. There was one lower ridge before the beaches and it would hide the flight to less than one mile to the beaches. The rest of Blue Flight stayed high. As Phil pulled up to skim over the last ridge a missile hit Blue Three and scattered flames and parts all over the place. As he cleared the low ridge tracers flashed by and Phil picked up a landing ship on the beach with its bow doors open and the ramp disgorging troops and vehicles. Phil stayed low and swerved right a little and lined up directly down the centerline of the beached vessel. At about 800 yards from the ramp he started his salvo and 38 rockets accelerated at 70 g's down range. The salvo was not simultaneous and took several seconds to finish the salvo and Phil walked the aiming point down the length of the ship. The rockets started impacting fifty yards in front of the ramp and blew sand, troops, parts of troops and pieces of equipment in the air. When the rockets started hitting the ramp they punched holes through the metal and sprayed fragments that clattered down the enclosed vehicle deck. The twin automatic cannons on the bow disappeared in explosions and the explosions marched down the length of the ship and the last ten rockets hit the superstructure at the end of the ship, converting the bridge to an open air design and sending a fountain of flesh and metal into the air.

Phil pushed the throttle all the way forward and engaged the water injection. The 3,000 horsepower radial engine roared and Blue Four stayed low through smoke and debris of the explosions and emerged to see an escort another 1,000 yards directly ahead. His hands automatically selected the cannons and immediately started firing. Phil aimed at the forward missile and gun mounts and started a little high to allow for the range. Then he lowered the nose and touched the rudder to spray the shells around the front third of the ship. When there was a secondary explosion he pulled up and banked to the left. All that Phil saw was a narrow view directly ahead and that was enough. Ships, equipment, and troops were all over the beach and Phil popped up and began a long strafing run down the beach. When the guns stopped he pulled up and banked toward the low ridge inland from the beach.

Down on the other side of the ridge and then up and over the next ridge and heading for home, it wasn't until Phil had two ridges between him and those missiles and the radar warning receiver was silent that he stopped the water injection and looked around for the rest of Blue Flight. He didn't see them but didn't waste anytime looking; he was heading back for more ammo and rockets. The return was at near full throttle instead of at cruising speed and Phil gained altitude when he neared the base. It was a mess, planes were circling as several crippled Gulls were on their final approach and more were lined up waiting to take off. The control tower was gaining control and things soon got organized. Phil was in a seemingly endless queue of planes landing and heading toward the hot refueling and rearmament area.

A human signaled for engine shutdown and Phil shut the big engine down. A team started loading more rockets into the pods and the refueling hoses were inserted in both wings. Panels on both wings were opened and ammo reloaded. Power and data lines were connected and automatic download of gun camera video and uploading of intelligence and orders. Aban appeared and fortunately a human translated for him. "You got metal fragments embedded underneath the aircraft and two holes in the vertical stabilizer. It will take an hour to repair."

"Any leaks?" Phil asked.

"No."

"Fix it tonight, I got a mission to fly." Phil tried to make sense of his orders. He was now Blue Three and was to hook up with Blue Four at the take off queue. "Hook up, what kind of order is that? Where is Blue Four and who is he?" Phil was confused but not willing to wait. When Aban signaled to start engines Phil was ready. There was a flight of four waiting to take off and one Gull off to the left of the runway. "Blue Four, is that you off to the left of the runway."

"That's me, are you Blue Three?"

"Yeah, I am the singleton behind the flight of four taking off now. Join up and let's go blow something up."

It was about a thirty-minute run to get back behind the high ridge and Phil decided to change things up. "Blue Three, we are going to pop up and over that ridge and then dive down behind the next ridge. When we get out of sight of the beach we will turn right and parallel the ridge. Next we pop up and over the low ridge and fly parallel to the beach. I want you lined up on my left side and shoot anything from 20 yards in from the waterline. I will take the waterline targets. Do not shoot the same targets as me, keep to the inland targets, 20 yards from the waterline and inland." Blue Four acknowledged.

Phil checked his switches, rockets two at a time was selected, he didn't think he would get another salvo target and intended to pick targets one at a time. Then it was time to pull up and over the ridge. This time he looked around a little instead of just focusing on the next 1,000 yards dead ahead. The radar warning receiver started to buzz and Phil started down in a shallow dive and banked right. Almost immediately he pulled up and cleared the low ridge by fifty feet and looked for targets. A cargo ship was about 800 yards off shore and surrounded by small landing craft. Phil pushed the throttle all the way forward and started the water injection and then aimed for the ship. At about 1,000 yards he started firing pairs of rockets as fast as he could push the button. When the last rockets were on the way he banked right and tried to find Blue Four. It was easy to see as Blue Four was ahead of him and firing rockets at a group of vehicles. Keeping Blue Four in sight Phil lined up on a pair of landing craft just approaching the surf and used his cannons. The shells hit the first landing craft in the rear third and it immediately turned broadside to the surf and capsized. The other craft took some hits and kept going. Blue Four pulled up and then nosed down and attacked something else. Phil was behind because of his little side trip out to the cargo ship and slowly catching up. Up ahead a flight of four Gulls topped the low ridge and attacked something on the ground with rockets. Two missiles flashed overhead as they lost their targets against the background of fires and smoke on the beaches. "Break left Blue Four, it's time to go. I am in trail behind you."

Blue Four heard him and broke left and up and headed towards the low ridge. This time they both cleared the ridge by less than twenty feet. Once down behind the ridge Phil tried to get things organized. "Got any rockets left Blue Three?"

"I got a dozen left Blue Three. What have you got in mind?"

"Let's go back on that section of beach we just left, nobody else is working it and there are lots of targets. You lead since I am out of rockets. I will watch your back and try to spot any jets that may be around. Shoot fast and haul ass."

"Amen to that Blue Three."

Phil followed as his wingman banked hard to the right and turned back for another run on his own private section of beach. Blue Four thundered over the ridge once more and immediately picked up a target and fired his remaining rockets. That done he banked left and headed back over the ridge. Phil followed and strafed some troops and supplies and was again focused on a narrow tunnel between him and his wingman. Things were happening all over the beach and nearby ocean but Phil was only seeing his narrow 1,000 yards. Once back over the ridge Phil took the lead and said, "One more pass with the cannons and then back to the bird farm." Blue Four acknowledged.

This time they headed directly towards the beach instead of parallel to it. There were some tracked vehicles heading away from the beach and Phil lined up and walked his cannon rounds across two of them. As he was pulling off the target a huge explosion came from off shore as the ship he had rocketed earlier was racked with a series of explosions. "Time to call it a day," thought Phil as he turned for home. It was 1015 and Phil had more ahead of him.

This time the hot turnaround area was less crowded and more organized. There were a few new holes in Aban's plane but his attitude was a little more subdued and preoccupied. More rockets and ammo, fuel, water and checks of various things took 20 minutes and the intel was very interesting. Several fights with jets had taken place but nothing decisive was happening in the air-to-air arena. The anti-air missiles and cannons were taking a toll and the losses were mounting. The Polar Bears were loading more Cheap Charlies and would strike again in the afternoon. In the meantime it was all up to the Kodiaks and the Trainers. Phil started his fourth mission before 1100.

The original Blue One was back with a new wingman and Phil was Blue Three in a flight of four this time. Phil made sure that Blue One knew about what happened to the original Blue Three and why. Halfway to the beaches Blue One turned back and Phil was now Blue One with a flight of three. Phil never saw Blue One again. Again it was time for a change of tactics. "I am going to pop up and look things over. Keep behind this ridge and within a few miles of here. I am going to try and spot targets and send us in one at a time to salvo our rockets at them. When we are out of rockets we go back for more. Save the cannon ammo in case we run into jets or anything passed the low ridge."

On the first pop up there was more beached landing ships unloading vehicles and boxes. Phil marked the spot and fired a rocket at the spot where the attack should be started. "Blue Four, head directly out to sea past my mark and attack a landing ship. Should be directly on your nose after you cross the low ridge."

Blue Four acknowledged and began his attack. Once Blue Four was over the high ridge Phil again climbed to observe the attack. The radar-warning receiver started to buzz and he nervously scanned for an incoming missile. There was a flash and a smoke plume arising from one of the escorts offshore and Phil reversed his course and the missile changed course. It was guiding on him. Now it was a waiting game as the missile leveled out and closed. When he could no longer wait Phil dived for the safety of the ridge's radar shadow and started popping chaff and flares. The missile missed overhead and eventually blew itself up several miles inland. Blue Four reported that he was off the target and returning. He made over the high ridge by a few feet and nosed down as a missile passed overhead. It was time for another change in the increasingly dangerous game they were playing with the offshore escorts.

This time he ordered Blue Two and Blue Four to play popup and down to fix the enemy's attention why Phil flew parallel to the ridge for about 10 miles and then turned around. Flying as low as he dared, Phil crossed over the high ridge and then down behind the low ridge and build up as much speed as possible and then began his attack on the escort ship that was sending so many missiles their way. Skimming over the low ridge he put the nose down and stayed as low as he could. He was still several miles down the beach from the escort and tried to keep something burning between his plane and the ship. There was lots of burning things littering the beach and some close inshore. He flew directly over a burning patch of floating oil and had about two miles to go to get into firing range. The escort was launching another missile at Blue Two or Four and Phil hoped that the cycle time for another launch was longer that the 20 seconds it would take to reach firing range. After 15 long seconds Phil could wait no longer and aimed high and started firing. The rockets accelerated at 70 to 100 g's but the motor burned out after 400 yards. Phil kept his aim on the top of the ships mast and led a little toward the bow. As soon as the rockets were gone he switched to cannons and bore in for a close attack. Now he was close enough to aim for the aft missile launcher but the rockets started hitting and spray and smoke obscured his vision so he fired at the spray. The ship was in there someplace. The shells kicked up more spray and flashes told him that something was hitting. He passed directly over the ship and turned toward the beach and felt several thumps as his plane took some hits. As he ran for the safety of the ridges he saw Blue Two attacking with a salvo of rockets.

As he passed over the low ridge and then the higher ridge the engine started running a little rough and he throttled back and it seem to even out a little. No red lights were flashing but the plane seemed to want to roll to the right. Calling for Blue Two and Blue Four to follow Phil turned for home. In a few minutes both planes joined up and looked his plane over.

"Looks like a hit in the right wing and another in the right fuselage and your leaking fuel from the wing. I am not sure your landing gear will deploy either. I don't think you are leaking hydraulic fluid but the fuel is streaming out pretty good."

"Roger Blue Three, my hydraulic pressure is holding but that wing tank will soon be empty. Unless something else goes wrong I can make it back." The plane still wanted to roll right but it was probably due to the damage reducing the right wings lift. A little left pressure on the stick seemed to keep things under control and soon the fuel leak stopped as the right wing tank empted. The engine started to run a little rougher and Phil cut back on the throttle some more. Things seemed to stabilize and the trip back took 40 minutes instead of the usual thirty. The tower cleared him for an immediate landing and the gear went down and locked but it was harder and harder to keep the plane from rolling right. The right gear touched first and bounced the plane around a little but Blue One was down a little before 1300.

The taxi to his revetment was short and Aban signaled for engine shut down. Phil expected a ration of shit from Aban but he swarmed up on the wing and helped him unfasten his straps. When Phil tried to get up his legs were cramped and weak and he struggled for a few seconds and then felt strong hands grip his shoulders and he was lifted out of the cockpit. Aban deposited him on the wing and Phil nearly fell. He had been in the cockpit for 10 hours and his legs were very unsteady. As he moved around a bit the strength and feeling came back and in a minute he was able to get down off the wing and back on the ground. Aban got down also and started inspecting the plane. Phil hobbled along behind. The damage was impressive. Aban turned and Phil expected a hostile glare at least but it was a cold bottle of beer instead. And it was followed by a grin and a very sharp salute. It had been a very good day at the office.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

# More than One Way to Whack a Carrier

May of Year 32

There were twelve torpedoes left in the Night Striker. Captain Whylan Stogest had picked off two ships limping away from the invasion beachhead and was impatient for another target. There was lots of activity along the beach and escort warships kept arriving to provide air defense to the invasion beaches making it difficult to approach without running into active sonar that made the Night Striker's detection very probable. When the sonar operator identified a fast ship with four screws, Whylan made up his mind and turned away from the coastline and started hunting big game. A fast ship with four screws had to be a major aircraft carrier. Sinking or severely damaging a carrier would be the best way to degrade the enemy's air defenses. Holding on to an invasion beachhead without solid air defenses would be close to impossible.

There were six escorts with the carrier and the entire group was moving at a leisurely 18 knots. The Night Striker could not catch the group while submerged and to surface would almost certainly cause them to be detected. Whylan was left with the option of outsmarting his foes. He had to get to where the carrier group would be operating and lie in wait. The question was where was the carrier group going and when. It came down to sheer guesswork. The carrier had to stay near the invasion beaches and would probably stay away from the port city of Salman. The port had the Polar Bear Wing and anti-shipping missiles and a lot of submarines that had gone to sea on the first warning. It had to stay far enough out to sea to have room for flight operations and to be able to launch aircraft in the case of another anti-shipping missile attack. It had to stay close to the invasion beaches to provide air cover. The port city was northeast so the carrier would probably operate on the southwestern area off the invasion beaches. Whylan marked out where he would operate if it were his carrier group. It was a depressingly large patch of ocean.

Further, the enemy would be operating randomly within this large area if they had any sense. The chance that they would stumble across the Night Striker was unacceptable small in Whylan's judgment. He needed more information to shift the odds. Whylan had the Night Striker brought up to periscope depth and sneaked a peak. Nothing was around. Next the electronics mast was raised and the electronic emissions analyzed. No radar that could pick up the periscope or electronics mast. Meanwhile the radio receivers were copying the latest encrypted intelligence messages.

After fifteen minutes of this the Night Striker went deep again and the Captain studied the reports. He found something that might be useful. A Bear submarine heading for the fight around the port city of Salman reported a sighting of a four-ship group guarded by three escorts moving southeast. It was out of range and not headed towards the port or even the continent. It was about the right size for an underway replenishment group. Carriers in a fight used a lot of fuel, ammo and supplies and it was unlikely that they would return to their own continent for replenishment. This small group might be the carrier supply source. Whylan blocked out an area where he would station a replenishment group to support a carrier battle group. It was another large area. Next he plotted the last positions of the carrier and the suspected supply group. Somewhere in between the two would be the point where an underway replenishment would be attempted. It would be two large ships on a slow fixed course unable to maneuver quickly with ammo and fuel being transferred. Whylan was interested. "Bring the ship to periscope depth," was the order.

The surface plot showed nothing within visual range and a quick sweep with the periscope confirmed this. The Night Striker surfaced and started its diesel engines and was soon on its way at 25 knots. It was a delicate balance of speed and stealth that Whylan was aiming for. A dash at 25 knots for 20 minutes, then a few minutes at 5 knots for a passive sonar listening search and back to a dash. The dash was interrupted for a crash dive for any visual sightings of surface ships or aircraft but back to the surface for the dash and recharging of batteries when it was clear.

Phil had finished his beer and debriefing and then headed for the squadron ready room to see the latest intelligence. There was a lot of intelligence, a flood or raw facts, reports, videos, and estimates that did not convey any overall sense of the battle. Human and Bear losses were fast and accurate but enemy losses and more importantly information on the remaining forces was vague. The flight status board was out of date with no name listed for Blue Two or Four. "Just who the hell was I flying with then?" Phil asked no one in particular. The answer from the duty officer was that it was a pick-up flight with whoever was available and it was somebody from another squadron. The squadron had started the day over strength in planes and pilots but was down almost 40% in planes and 30% in pilots. Phil had started out the day as a wingman and now found himself listed as a flight leader.

A platter of sandwiches was brought in and Phil helped himself. There were other pilots that hadn't started flying first thing in the morning that were now replacing pilots that had finished three or four missions and still had an intact aircraft. Over the sandwiches the pilots started trading stories. Everyone had lost someone from his flight but the original Blue One was the only one that had just quit. No one knew what happened to him and the duty officer wouldn't say anything.

"All right, listen up." The duty officer was walking up to the podium in the front of the room. "We have 10 flyable aircraft left and enough pilots to keep everyone to 4 or less missions for the day. If you have 4 missions today then get something to eat and grab some sleep. We are going to start flying tomorrow at 0400. That will get you over the beaches by daybreak. I just posted the assignments and those of you that are going to start the day will get a 0200 wake up call. Don't drink more than two beers. The Polar Bears will put in one more Cheap Charlie strike in an hour and will have one more strike tonight. That will exhaust their supply of Cheap Charlies and they will join us in striking the invasion beaches and shipping with bombs and rockets. You can't do anything else here so get some food and rest."

Nobody left immediately but over the next hour most of the pilots that had started with the early morning decoy strike left. Phil left shortly before 1700 and was asleep before 1800.

Sam George and former NAR President Eastwood were hunched over their workstations trying to figure out what was happening. They were having the same trouble everyone else was, a flood of data that included raw facts, reports, estimates, videos and guesswork with little overall summarization. The worst thing was that they were on the other side of the continent and had few decisions to make and few staff to work with. The most positive thing they could do was to process the raw data into coherent information to pass on to the NAR and EC.

"They are getting creamed on the beaches, boss."

"But we are taking losses and they keep coming. A couple of days of this and we will be out of aircraft and will have to fight it out on the ground. We need more airpower."

"The only help on the continent is one more squadron of Gulls being unloaded in the east. It will take two days to get unloaded and one more day to fly west. Not very much help and not very fast. We do have more Cheap Charlies unloaded and it will take a couple of days by train to reach Salman and the Polar Bears. If they try attacking without missiles there may not be enough Mosquitoes and Super Mosquitoes left to mount significant attacks. The Bears can make 25mm ammo, rockets and bombs but the Cheap Charlies being unloaded in the east is all we are going to get in the next two weeks. It's time to use the ferry options. The G model Mosquitoes are the only ones that can make it. In a week we can have a couple of wings of G's here and ready to fight. If the Bears can kill a few carriers the additional G's could cut off the beachhead from the support from the sea." Sam had made plans for the emergency transfer of Mosquitoes by flying but the range was extreme and the whole operation was very risky. It was time to talk to General Roolf.

"I am going to recommend it and you should arrange whatever help the Bears can give us. Get on it right away." Eastwood didn't dither and seemingly was at ease in making decisions with less than perfect information. Sam left to see the General Roolf in person.

It was night and Whylan felt a little safer on the surface dash with the cover of darkness. His speed was up to 29 knots as the batteries were fully charged and all available power went to the propulsion. Lookouts were stationed and an electronic listening watch was set. The Night Striker had submerged three times so far to avoid flights of planes but had managed to dodge through all the surface contacts. Whylan left them alone; he was hunting bigger game. The next leg of the approach to the area where Whylan thought that he might catch the carrier and replenishment group was coming up. It was time to slow down and listen with the passive sonar for 10 minutes or so. Whylan ordered a gradual decrease in speed in the faint hope that anyone within passive sonar range would think the contact was being lost in the distance. When they were at 5 knots the diesels were stopped and the Night Striker submerged to a depth where the sonar was more effective. The ocean was full of noise and each contact was classified and the plots updated. The carriers were not detected. "No flight operations at night," Whylan thought. The carriers were very noisy when generating enough speed to launch and recover aircraft and without flight operations Whylan lost contact. The time was right for the next dash. This time he would stay on the surface all the way to the chosen operating area.

General Roolf had a better idea. "We have an island with an airstrip that can land your aircraft. We have been working on it to improve the airstrip and it still won't support your 4 engine cargo planes, but it will take your Mosquitoes and Gulls. With no weapons load and maximum fuel I think that some of your aircraft could make the trip." Sam was astounded. Where did this island come from? Why weren't they told? What other secrets were the Bears sitting on?

"It is an uninhabited island with a mixed ecology. It has plants and birds but no land animals. We stationed a submarine tender, a tanker, and some submarines at it as a listening post and to act as a tripwire to warn of surprise attacks. We can refuel your planes and not have to attempt a much longer direct flight. These details are in the information packet given to you when the treaty was signed."

The information packet was huge; several hundred thousand pages long and not well organized. It was not surprising that some details were known but not distributed to the right people. Some of it was still being translated. "Where is it? What's the longest leg?" General Roolf called up a chart on his computer and pointed.

"The longest leg is 2,138 miles from the closest point on your continent and it is another 1,853 miles to the closest point on our continent. It is just on our side of the equator. It could be ready in two days."

The Night Striker was in position and gilding through the water at 3 knots. Whylan had a dilemma; the replenishment group was being tracked but no carrier group. Should he attack the carrier's supply or the carrier itself? It was clear that there were more than one carrier operating in support of the invasion. Perhaps he could force all of them to withdraw by sinking their supply. It was tempting, especially since the four supply ships were headed his way. Whylan made up his mind.

There were four large twin-screw ships and three smaller escorts. One hit would be enough to sink the escorts but it would take at least two hits to seriously damage or sink the larger ships. To get them all Whylan would have to stay shallow and lay a trap. The ships were zigzagging and there were only 12 torpedoes left. This was enough for one trap but if it failed, the Night Striker would have to end its hunt and return to Salman for more torpedoes. Whylan decided to be patient and wait, maintaining a position between the ships and the continent.

It was three hours later that the replenishment group stopped zigzagging and headed towards the Bear continent at an increased speed. The escorts were dashing ahead and then slowing down to use passive sonar listening. There was always one ahead of the group listening, one with the supply ships and one speeding ahead. Whylan increased speed to 12 knots and changed course to get into position ahead of the group. It was a gamble, the increased speed would drain his batteries some and if they resumed zigzagging he could be in the wrong location for a trap.

When his position was as good as it was going to get, Whylan instructed his Weapons Officer on how he wanted the torpedoes programmed. The outer doors on the torpedo tubes were opened and the first four torpedoes swam out and proceeded on their way at 11 knots. The reloading started immediately and twenty minutes later the next four torpedoes swam out at 13 knots and the reloading of the last four torpedoes was started. Whylan changed course to close on the leading escorts. The eight torpedoes in the water were approaching the convoy and would soon start their attack run. Whylan wanted to be in position to get a shot at the leading escort when the torpedoes were detected. It would add to the confusion to have torpedoes coming from three different bearings. When the first set of torpedoes had been in the water for 40 minutes the leading escort suddenly started active pinging with his sonar. The other escorts soon followed his lead and several of the torpedoes started an attack run at 50 knots with their own active sonar. All the ships increased speed and started to maneuver as more torpedoes switched to an active attack mode. Whylan fired one torpedo at the lead escort. It was programmed for a dash attack of 65 knots. Whylan then ordered a dive to a deeper depth and an increase in speed. He also changed course to increase the range to the leading escort.

The first hit was on the leading escort and Whylan stopped worrying about an attack from that direction. Hits were heard in the direction of the convoy. High-speed screws of more torpedoes were heard as the escorts fired back down the course of the Night Strikers torpedoes. Whylan ordered a reduction in speed to 6 knots and continued to steer towards the convoy. More explosions were heard and the screws of another escort stopped. Whylan waited patiently as the sonar crew tried to sort out what was happening on the surface and which ships had been hit. The picture emerged over the next 10 minutes. Two escorts and one large vessel sunk, one large vessel damaged but underway at 10 knots and the remaining two large vessels and the escort running west at 22 knots. Whylan decided to go for the crippled ship.

"Come to periscope depth," he ordered. When the Night Striker was at periscope he took a quick look around and saw that the sonar crew had accurately plotted the surface dispositions. The cripple was a long shot and the torpedo could easily miss its target but the ship was faster than the Night Striker submerged, at least it was faster than his prudent use of his batteries would allow. There were sure to be aircraft and perhaps helicopters coming so Whylan fired two torpedoes at the retreating cripple and changed course for the port of Salman.

The briefing was grim. A D model Mosquito and made a high altitude reconnaissance run and gotten good videos of the invasion beaches. The D models had a huge wing and pressurized cockpits for high altitude video reconnaissance and flew at over 50,000 feet. It wasn't high enough and the D was chased and shot down by jets but not before transmitting good pictures of the invasion sites.

The briefing officer continued after a running a short video segment. "We count over 100 vessels unloading on the beach. About 20 were LST or LSM types that unload and then head west. We assume that they have to make it back to a port to load up again. The others are assault types that carry landing craft that are making round trips to the beach and back to the offshore ships for another load. The last two Polar Bear strikes have been against these ships and the 20 or so escorts that are providing air cover. Continental Command reports that the subs and previous Polar Bear strikes have degraded the carriers to a point where there is minimal CAP over the beaches. We don't expect any air strikes against this base or the Salman complex. The Polar Bears are out of Cheap Charlie Terminators and will be dropping 2,000 lb laser guided bombs. We are going to provide air defense suppression for their mission. We are going to put up 87 gulls armed with rockets and 25mm cannon. The Polar Bears will provide 17 Super Mosquitoes armed with rockets, 500 lb bombs and 25mm. We plan to come out of the morning sunrise at low level. Use your rockets at the longest range and close for strafing. Drop lots of chaff and flares. Make one pass and get out. At the same time we will have 35 G Mosquitoes coming over for their bomb run. Their success will depend up your timing and effectiveness in suppression of air defenses. The highest priority targets are the escorts but hit anything you can if you don't have an escort dead ahead. Don't poach right or left. Straight in at high speed and hit anything if front of you. Stay low and head out to sea for a few miles and then a big right turn to return to base. The Bears have some recon troops in the area that will mark your initial positions for the attack run."

The nuts and bolts and details of the mission came next and it was a grim bunch that headed for their aircraft. Phil was not happy; he was Blue Three this time and didn't trust the new Blue One. Timing was critical on this mission and Blue One was a screw-up. Worse, he was Phil's flight leader screw-up. Screw-ups were easier to tolerate when they are someone else's flight leader. Phil was betting that they would be late over the target area. Early would have them attacking by themselves and the target for every gun and missile in the entire invasion fleet. Late would be safer and there would be lots of reasons why they could be late. Blue One was a late waiting to happen in Phil's estimation.

It was just getting light as the Kodiaks, Trainers, and Polar Bear aircraft joined up inland from the targets. It was supposed to be Kodiaks on the left, Trainers in the center, and Polar Bears on the right. Within the Kodiaks, squadrons and flights were assigned positions and Blue One was in the wrong position and trying to shift to his assigned position. Phil ignored the increasingly shrill orders from Blue One and maintained his position in the ragged line abreast and pushed the throttle forward as the massive strike gaggle increased speed and pulled up to cross the high ridge and headed toward the beach. Better to attack on time rather that try to fine tune positions was Phil's thought. There were still lots of smoke plumes over the target area from all the strikes over the last 24 hours but lots of targets were visible. The radar-warning receiver started buzzing and indicated search and fire control radars. Phil punched off some chaff and engaged the water injection. It was five miles to the beach once they crossed the high ridge and that was about a minute of serious crunch time. Phil concentrated on maintaining his course and not to drift right or left and into the field of fire of other flights. Dead ahead was an anchored cargo ship unloading into landing craft on both sides. Other landing craft were circling off the bow, waiting for their turn to load. It was about 20 seconds into the minute when flashes of automatic cannons started and strings of tracers started rising. A few seconds later a missile was launched and rose on a pillar of fire and smoke. Then it started to arc over to attack the approaching fighters. More missiles were launched but Phil's attention narrowed down to the cargo ship in his path. All else was ignored, tracers, missiles, radio calls, smoke, explosions and rockets simply did not register as Phil bore straight in and started firing rockets two at a time at his target. Despite his concentration on the target Phil was counting his rockets and spaced them out to leave some for another target. He also remembered to punch off chaff and flares on the way. When he had fired twelve pairs of rockets he pulled up from the shallow dive he was in and cleared the masts by 50 feet and was looking for another target. It was a medium sized landing ship heading in towards the beach and obviously deserved the rest of the rockets. Phil pushed the nose down and fired as fast as he could and pulled up when he was out of rockets. Nothing further out to sea and Phil started looking around and back. He was out ahead of most of the aircraft and the view back towards the beach was a mass of explosions, tracers, flak bursts, smoke trails, burning ships, burning planes, and missiles. Most of the attacking aircraft were staying low and running out to sea. What stood out to Phil was escort still firing missiles upwards toward unseen targets to the east.

"Stay with me Blue Four," said Phil as he pulled up and turned and lined up on the escort. Phil was surprised as rockets came up from his right and headed directly at his target. Blue Four had stayed with him and had some rockets left to boot. The rockets impacted on the bow area and the sea around the ship as Phil started strafing the stern area. A secondary explosion occurred as his rounds hit a missile about to be launched. Phil flew through the smoke and debris thrown up by the explosion and the through a much larger explosion on a ship directly ahead. The Polar Bear's laser guided bombs were impacting and Blue Three staggered as shock waves from huge explosions bounced the aircraft around. Now Phil concentrated on the ridges past the beaches, it was time get away from the water as both sides seemed intent on blowing his ass off. It was another minute to skim the low ridge and then over the higher ridge and Blue Three and Four were in a radar shadow and turned for home.

"Hell of a ride Blue Three, you sure know how to show a guy a good time."

"Glad to be your tour guide of the lovely beaches of the western shore of the Bear Continent. Be sure to tell all your friends about our thrice daily, thrill packed adventure tours Blue Four."

Brilliant repartee it wasn't, but it was the best a sweat-soaked, young man with sky-high adrenaline levels could do off the cuff.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

# Bears in the Woods

May of Year 32

Blue Three was directed to his normal parking area instead of the hot refueling and rearmament area. Actually it was the aircraft's normal parking area as Phil' plane was still being repaired. A mixed human and Bear crew helped Phil out of the aircraft and started routine servicing instead of a quick turnaround routine. A Bear Truck was collecting pilots and Phil jumped in the back and was soon headed for the debriefing shack.

The debriefing officer was accompanied with a Bear. "Probably a trainee," thought Phil. The debriefing officer asked for his plane identification number to make sure he downloaded the right data and then got right to the point.

"Your flight lead states that you disobeyed a direct order to stay in formation and deliberately inserted your flight element in the wrong position. The radio recordings back this up. What's your story?" The officer was matter of fact and non-committal.

"That idiot got us in the wrong position. We were supposed to be to the right of White Flight and he had us mixed in with another squadron. Blue One tried to slow down and move into the correct position but that would have made us late off the IP. I decided that we should be on time even if we were a little out of position. He had to be late if he managed to find the right spot at all. I decided to go and shoot something rather than wander around lost with that idiot. Besides, I told him we were joining up with the wrong squadron. I think it was deliberate. The man's a coward."

Both the debriefing officer and the Bear remain impassive and impossible to read. They simply went on to review the video of the rest of the strike. "Why did you turn around and head back into the ships? Your orders were to make one pass and withdraw."

"I looked back and saw an undamaged escort launching missiles at the high level bombers and decided that I could do some good. We were supposed to be the air defense suppression element after all. The entire area was a confused mess and I didn't think they would pick us out of the background before I got a gun run in." Phil wanted to add more but had the feeling that it was best to keep it short and sweet. Again the officer and the Bear were impassive and noncommittal.

"I will pass your answers on. I am scoring you as making good hits on three vessels, including significant hits on the highest priority target." The interview was over.

Outside, Phil headed for the squadron ready room. The XO gave Phil an intense look and went back to posting assignments on a status board. A large announcement was scrawled on the whiteboard in the front center of the room.

"No more strikes on the beaches today. Rearm for air-to-air. Strip and 15 minute alerts by order of General Roloft."

"Shit, we hit them hard today, we should go back and finish the job and not let them get anymore troops and equipment ashore." Phil made this comment to Will Fellow, his wingman today, who had just come up. "They give you any crap about not following Blue One or turning back to work over that escort?"

"They asked about both. I just told them I just stick by my lead and shoot bad guys for a living. I haven't made a decision on my own yet. Check that, I just made a decision to go get a beer. Are you coming? Neither of us is on the flight schedule for the rest of the day."

"Hell yes."

Sam was hard at work, buried in a mass of data and struggling to make sense of it all. A picture was beginning to emerge. He decided to bounce his ideas off of General Roolf.

"Looks like the Fives didn't expect to find a humans and airpower here. I think they planned a diversion strike at Salman and then to put the main effort into an invasion of the beaches to the southwest. Once they had a firm beachhead they could build airfields and fly in strike aircraft. Then they could swing around to take Salman and have a port for solid logistical support. But either we hit some of their carriers or they didn't plan for enough air support. We can keep them from building airfields or taking a port even if we can't kick them off the continent yet. If they don't get substantial air support we can mass enough forces to eliminate the beachhead. The Five's only hope is to attrite our airpower fast enough to bring up enough carriers to tip the balance in their favor. Looks like a logistical race to see who can get reinforcement here first."

"I agree with the first part but we can defeat this invasion now without more aircraft. If we simply hold back the remaining planes and hit the invasion ships with your missiles and our naval and ground forces we will win. Their ships have to be close to shore where we can observe them and with enough missiles we can make reinforcements so costly that they will have to withdraw. Our naval surface forces and our ground forces have yet to be engaged and they are formidable. Your aircraft and pilots have done their part, now our forces will be sufficient to finish the job. However, no General in his right mind would refuse more airpower. Paranoid overkill is a very reasonable strategy in war."

"Then we are going ahead with the plans for ferrying aircraft to this continent?"

"Yes, we are dispatching a tanker and expediting construction of the island airfield. Even if we defeat the Fives quickly, it is a common sense thing to do. We will also have to fortify the island. The submarines stationed there will not be enough given the additional importance the airbase. We will have to renegotiate our agreement."

"Sounds like you have an overall strategy to win this battle, is it something you can talk about with me?"

"Certainly. We intend to hold back your aircraft attacks until we replace your missiles and some of the planes and pilots. In the meantime, a surface defense task force will attack the shipping and the army will squeeze the already landed forces. We have a mechanized unit in transit, some on the roads and some on the railroad. It totals approximately 30,000 troops; some armor, some infantry, and lots of artillery. Units will start arriving within days. Some advance units are already in place. This brings up a problem. We will need a few of your personal. I have a request for a particular individual."

The beer was good and cold. The Bears took their beer seriously and had the best beer joint on the base. Phil McFarland and Will Fellow were trying to buy another round of their favorite, a dark brown brew but today pilots were drinking for free. Especially since Phil and Will's video of the mornings run on the invasion fleet was being run on the big screen at the end of the bar.

"I can't believe he did it," complained Will.

"Yeah, free beer is hard to believe," answered Phil.

"I'm talking about the CO and you're being grounded. I couldn't believe you either, telling him that he wouldn't have the nerve to make the charges or to ground you if a Bear was present. You just called the CO a liar and a phony."

"Yeah, in retrospect, that may not have been a real high point in my military career. But that bastard stuck me with two cowards as flight leaders. The CO personally selected both of them with help from the XO. It's time to ask if the problem is a little higher than two suck-up flight leaders and get a little gut check of squadron command."

"That's above our pay grade. Don't know about you but I just kill bad guys for a living." Live and let live and then go out and blow something up was Will's philosophy.

"Well those jerks are getting some of our guys killed and not killing enough bad guys. Let them explain their actions to the Bears."

"Hell of a note that we trust aliens more than our own leadership." Will downed the last of his beer and reluctantly turned down another from the 350 lb bartender. "Got to fly tomorrow," he observed. "Got to go get some chow and then some sack time."

After Will left, Phil sat nursing his beer. A really fit looking Bear in infantry battle dress sat down beside him and got a huge mug of a pale orange beer. A slim female Bear sat down on his other side. She also got a huge mug of the pale orange beer. "You Phil McFarland?" she asked in English.

"That's me," he admitted.

"Heard you were grounded, that true?"

"Yeah, it's better to fly good formations than to accomplish the mission."

"We need a human with your skills. General Roloft and your Sam George have given us permission to transfer you to our Ground Invasion Task Force. We would prefer that you volunteer but Stacker here will drag you kicking and screaming with us if necessary," said the female, nodded at the Bear on Phil's other side.

Phil turned and stared at the huge Bear and said, "Only sissy pukes and women drink orange beer. Real men and real Bears can drink the good stuff."

The female translated. The male named Stacker responded.

"Stacker feels insulted and challenges you in return. What method of resolving this dispute do you prefer?"

"Gulls at a 1,000 yards and closing," answered Phil without hesitation.

The translation was made. Phil braced himself for a Bear equivalent of a love tap. Instead the Bear calmly gestured to the barkeeper and had his pale orange beer removed and a dark brown beer substituted. He made a few comments to the female and started drinking.

"He says that if you wallow with pigs, you sometimes have to swill their slop."

"Oink, oink. Why do you need a grounded pilot?"

"Your term for it is forward air controller I believe. A ground controller to work with ground forces to coordinate air strikes. You will work directly for General Stacker." That got Phil's attention.

"Right now it's kicking and screaming. The squadron needs good pilots. Any idiot can be a ground controller."

"You will be expected to train your replacements, after which you will be transferred back to a squadron with adequate leadership."

"No."

"Drink your beer Lieutenant, it is your last for a while. But if you come willingly, we will let you see how General Stacker deals with your old CO."

"Hell, lets go. I might even start drinking that orange crap to see that."

It was a thing of beauty. A flight leader, the XO and the CO standing at attention as General Stacker dispassionately asked them questions about the two missions with Lt. Phil McFarland. No switch for lies, just a quite word. "Lie." Then came an intense stare. Soon the true stories were reluctantly dragged out of the trio. The original Blue One had turned back because he couldn't deal with command after he screwed up and caused the death of one of his flight. He shot himself in the leg after returning and was medical evacuee. He had been a close friend of the CO and the CO blamed Phil for the loss of a friend and flight leader. The second Blue One had also deliberately screwed up but tried to cover it up by blaming Phil. The CO didn't completely buy the story but used it as an excuse to ground Phil. The XO was just supporting his CO even though he didn't buy into the flight leader's story either.

"Report to your wing commander and tell the entire story. A Bear will witness your report. Your fate is up to your commander." General Stacker was beginning to get angry but it was tightly controlled. "Do so within the hour."

Phil was eager to see the confrontation initially, but ended up just depressed about the entire episode. He was relieved to leave with the Bears.

Outside was a diesel powered, Bear sized SUV. The General got into the driver's seat and the female of the front passenger side. That left the back for Phil and he found his personal gear there. In addition, there was some other human equipment and weapons. It was NAR Scout gear. Phil was impressed. The NAR Scouts had the best equipment and weapons of all the human forces. He was even more impressed when he read the name on the label. Seth Williams was a Gloria Scout and this was his gear. Phil had grown up reading about the fighting retreat from the Gloria Scout Base and the end of the Furry war, in which Seth had been involved. "Hell, Seth and Sam George had made contact with the Bears," thought Phil. "Great gear with a great tradition that included the night vision equipped helmets that only the Scouts could afford." Phil was really impressed.

"Get dressed," translated the female. "You are about to become what you people call a grunt."

Phil, two human soldiers dressed in Scout gear, the female Bear (named Stel), and a four Bear team were creeping up the heavily wooded side of a ridge. The ridge was a lot higher now that than the last time he was in this area. "Damn, nothing like having a 3,000 hp engine to make short work of this ridge," Phil muttered under his breath. The humans were too winded to respond and only the Bear Stel understood English. She had no comment. The Bears had offered to help with the human's loads but they had all refused. All three were now reconsidering their positions.

The Bears moved fast and easily through the woods and seldom made any noise. All three of the humans had grown up in the EC were hunting, woodcraft, and firearms were a way of life and were just barely able to keep up and to keep the noise level down. The ridge they were climbing was the second ridge back from the invasion beaches, 1,300 feet high and five miles from the shoreline. The smaller ridge, 500 feet high and four miles from the high ridge was in enemy hands. The high ridge was disputed with both forces having small units moving around and ambushing each other. The Bears were sending in what they called small teams of 18 to 24 soldiers to set up sniper positions and to call in artillery. The artillery was arriving in fits and starts and was dug in 5 miles back.

The Bears preferred to move at night and Phil had spent the third day on the invasion resting. It was now about midnight and they were a couple of hundred feet below the ridgeline and in good cover. One of the soldiers motioned to take five and then disappeared into the woods. The three remaining soldiers took up defensive positions and Stel whispered to the humans to keep their packs on and for God's sake to keep it quiet for once. Phil eased down and put his backpack up against a tree. The other two humans did likewise. They keep their night vision visors down but Phil left his up. It was cooler and he had better than average night vision and felt comfortable as long as the greater moon was up. It was about a 20-minute wait and Phil was alerted by a single click in his earphones. It was Abe, signaling that someone was coming. Abe and Willie pointed uphill and soon Phil picked up two Bears moving back into their little perimeter. After some whispered conversation, Stel moved over to the humans and gave them an update.

"We are in contact with the team that will support us. This is our guide," she said pointing at the new Bear. "We need to climb up to the ridge and set up our equipment. The nearest Fives are about a mile away and are about to be eliminated by another team. Do not panic if there is shooting in a few minutes. Do not shoot at shadows, as we will be moving by some sentries. Keep up and stay quiet.

"Yes mother," muttered Willie. That drew a sharp glance from Abe. Phil agreed with Willie but put his night vision visor down. He didn't want to screw up now, especially in front of his alien allies. It was a short climb to the top and as soon as they reached the crest there was a series of sharp cracks of Bear rifles. The Bears favored high velocity, large caliber ammunition and it produced distinctive ear splitting sounds. There were also several explosions. The Bears also favored large grenades, which also produced distinctive sounding explosions. There were a few other rifle and machine gun sounds that had to be the Five's reply. These ended quickly.

The Bears that had accompanied the humans set up their equipment and soon in business. They had a telescopic thermal sight with a laser range finder. They were picking out targets and radioing coordinates back to the big guns. In about 15 minutes there were sounds as artillery rounds began impacting in the valley below. From the top of the ridge even some parts of the beaches were visible and explosions started walking around anything that looked like it didn't belong in a seascape painting.

Abe and Willie set up their gear and started picking up targets and relaying the coordinates to Stel. Phil just sat back and watched the fireworks. "Why in the hell did they go to the trouble to shanghai a pilot when they had all this firepower and knew how to use it," he thought. He looked around and found a likely looking spot and started digging in. Stel came over and started to help, as did Abe and Willie.

"Running out of targets and we got to get some cover. The Fives are smart enough to know we got artillery observers up here. We are bound to get some return fire or a patrol looking for us." The four of them dug in behind a fallen tree soon had a fighting position for the four of them. The overhead cover took some more work but several Bears brought up some downed timber and camouflage netting and soon they had a decent position. The officer in charge of the team came by and laid out fields of fire and where not to fire. Abe and Willie were soon in the hole and asleep. Stel disappeared and Phil sat wondering why he was here. He found out in the morning.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

# The Bloods

May of Year 32

Captain Steve Sanders was getting bored. Five hours into a six-hour flight was airliner duty, where you could get up and stretch and have a meal and coffee. Maybe even harass a stewardess. Five hours into a six-hour flight in a single seat fighter was boring. The CO and the XO were doing the navigation and that was simple. Steer a set course and listen for a radio beacon from a Bear submarine. When you heard the beacon, steer towards it and correct for drift, if any. Sanders went through the same exercises but the CO and XO were right on the button. Boring.

The next beacon would be Midway Island. That was the human name for it and the Bears used it as well. The fuel was good, the engines were purring and everything seemed normal. The H model Mosquitoes had been converted to ferry configuration. Guns and ammo were removed. The gun ports were plugged and sealed over. Extra internal gas tanks and external wing tanks were installed. The normal range of 1,500 miles had been extended to over 2600 miles and the distance to Midway was only 2,300 miles. It was a piece of cake. Except if you had to take a crap. The urge had begun an hour earlier and was beginning to edge out the boredom as the primal thought process. Sanders began watching his wristwatch. It was obviously defective. The relief tube was not an answer either. Sanders started thinking about other things. Wasn't that a missed beat in the engines? What were the chances of rescue if he had an engine failure and had to punch out? Squirming around in the seat seemed to help for a few seconds. Finally, Sanders decided to just sit it out and crap in his pants if necessary. Somewhat distracted he almost missed the beep, beep, beep of the Midway radio beacon.

Sanders flight was third to land and a Bear truck led the flight to the assigned parking area. Each plane had a Bear directing the plane to a parking area. Sanders' Bear was a stickler about precise parking and was frowning as the exact mark was missed. Bear or not, Sanders was ready to strangle that alien when he finally begrudgingly gave the signal to cut the engines. Sanders cut the engines and set a record in shutting down the aircraft, popping the canopy and un-strapping himself. A wave of heat and humidity washed over Sanders and the interior of the cockpit was coated with condensation as the hot, humid air came in contact with the air-conditioned interior. Sanders barely noticed and popped out of the cockpit and headed for the jungle just behind the parking area.

When he returned, the Bear didn't seem to notice and was checking the fluids under the direction of a human civilian. He handed Sanders a shovel. "Here, bury it. These Bears don't shit in the woods." Sanders took the shovel and returned to the jungle.

Stel explained what was going to happen. The Fives were building up strength on the beaches and on the other side of the low ridge. The Bears were bringing up teams to the high ridge and calling in artillery. So far, the Bear's Army had been able to keep the Fives from crossing the low ridge in numbers. Soon, the Fives would have the numbers to cross the ridge and take the high ridge where Phil and the others were dug in. Then they could move against the artillery positions. Then it would be a battle of maneuver on the grassy plains inland. The Bears were prepared for that but would like to stop the Fives here and now. If they come in numbers then the human airpower would be critical in stopping the Fives short of the ridge. Phil's job was to coordinate the airpower part and save the continent. At least that's what Phil felt like Stel and General Stacker had placed on his plate. No pressure, just stop the alien hordes and save the continent and the Bear race by doing something he had never done before and hadn't been trained for. Phil's mind started to race.

"Ok, what do I have to work with? I need to know about communications, spotters, artillery, infantry, and airpower, the whole works. I know I don't control it all but I need to know where I fit in." This question was almost to himself but Stel overheard.

"The invasion is using four beaches along a ten mile section of coast line. More ships and a lot of escorts have been arriving and unloading. The escorts are the reason we stopped air strikes on the beaches. The last strike was very effective but the losses were over 20%. At that rate we would be out of airpower in a few days. We are going to conserve the airpower for the time being and let the coastal defense task force and the Army deal with the Fives. If they mass faster than we can handle, we want to use your aircraft to stall them here on the beaches. We have direct communications with General Stacker and your air base. We can talk directly to the aircraft. General Stacker will coordinate the fight and call on you if they cross the low ridge and look like they are going to take this ridge. We want you to plan how the airpower will be used if necessary. It will be necessary if they cross the low ridge in the ten's of thousands in the next few days."

Phil kept asking questions and Stel keep answering. She never seemed to run out of patience and seemed to know everything. Abe and Willie listened in but didn't say anything. Phil was getting and overload of information and finally just decided to treat the whole thing like he was a flight leader with a free hand. "I need a good map of this area showing the heights of both ridges. Then I will need lots of big, bright colored canvas. Then we will be ready for a dress rehearsal. Oh, and I need to talk to the wing operations officers, both of them.

The flight to the Bear continent was uneventful. The airbase had huge asphalt runways and lots of hangers. The ground staff had flown in NAR four engine cargo planes and was waiting. Smaller two engine cargo planes were ferried in and would take the ground staff and equipment in hops across the continent. There would be a two-day wait here while the Bloods (the new name for the H models) were converted back to fighting machines. New cannons would be installed, Bear cannons instead of the standard 25mm guns they were used to. The Bears were making 25mm ammo but not the guns. To save time, Bear 21mm guns would be substituted. They were smaller but had a higher rate of fire. They would have one day to practice with the new guns and then on to the front.

Sanders was uneasy about the new guns and was in the hanger to watch as they were installed. First, the gun port plugs were cut out and the extra gas tanks removed. Then the guns were installed. It seemed to be a solid installation; the Bears were superb engineers and had thought it would be easy. Wiring the guns to the controls seemed straightforward and it tested out fine. The final step was to test fire the guns on the ground. The Bears fired in short bursts and made adjustments after each burst. Through a translator, the Bears asked how he wanted to aim the guns. Did he want a shotgun spread or a pinpoint concentration? Sanders wanted all the rounds to hit in a five-foot circle at 200 yards. The Bears nodded, set up a target and continued firing short bursts. Finally, one Bear looked satisfied. He spoke to a translator who in turn relayed the concerns to Sanders.

"We would like a test flight. Pull lots of G's and negative G's in your maneuvers. Fire a short burst after each maneuver. Try various speeds and dive angles. Try firing upside down if you want. We have examined your gun installations and considered all the problems and feel confident but it needs a through testing." Sanders accepted the offer and was soon airborne. At first the guns worked fine. The gun sight computer had been programmed for the new ballistics and Sanders liked the higher rate of fire. But after the fourth burst, two of the guns jammed and Sanders returned somewhat irate.

The Bears, assisted by human crew opened the plane up and the jam was quickly cleared but the aliens were not satisfied and questioned Sanders about each of the maneuvers he had made prior to the jam. Big Bear heads were inserted into the gun compartment and agile, two thumb hands pushed, pulled and shook the guns and ammo belts. The noise level rose as four Bears began talking all at once. The plane actually moved as the gun installers attempted to see how the guns had jammed by rocking the aircraft. The old ammo was replaced and new ammo installed. Finally, the translator announced that they were ready for another try.

This time Sanders tried the negative G maneuver that had jammed the guns on the last flight first. The guns jammed again. On the landing Sanders was directed to a large hanger where a larger group of Bears and humans gathered. Soon the panels to the gun compartment were opened and Bears were all over the plane trying to see into the innards of the plane. Sanders went over the maneuver he had performed; using his hands and gestures to recreate the incident. Then they wanted him to get back in the cockpit and show what he did during the test firing. Sanders obliged and strapped in and pushed the stick forward and pretended to pull the trigger. The Bear conversations got louder and Sanders had to repeat the simulation of the maneuver several times. All the ammo was removed, the gun breaches cleared, and the sequence repeated, this time with the power on and the safety off. Sanders actually pulled the trigger. More loud conversations, more Bears arrived and different heads inserted into the gun compartment. New dummy ammo was loaded and Sanders repeated the simulation exercise. Finally, the guns were removed and disassembled on the hanger floor. An older Bear arrived and everyone tried to talk to him at once. He ignored them all and looked at the pieces lying around on the floor and gave a short command.

Everyone scrambled and the guns were assembled and installed back in the airplane. Then everyone backed off, as the old Bear looked things over. He pushed and rattled the ammo belts and then pointed and said a few short sentences. He turned and left. The ammo belts and the guns were removed again and several Bears started pulling parts off the various sub assemblies. These parts were rushed out of the building. The translator came over to Sanders and said, "One day delay. The ammo belt displaces under negative G's and the feed mechanism must be modified. Please be back in two hours for another test."

It started with artillery and rockets that impacted in the lower sections of the high ridge. "Looks like they're going to soften up the easiest paths over the high ridge," grumbled Willie from his lookout spot on the crest of the ridge. "I expect air strikes next and then the main event." No one disagreed with him. The artillery lasted about 15 minutes and then switched targets. Some rockets impacted on the ridge and some went overhead aimed at targets to the rear. "Our number is bound to be coming up soon. This high point is a natural observation point." As if in response to Willies prognostications, the Bear team leader started getting all unnecessary personnel off the ridge and back a couple of hundred yards to shelters. Phil, Abe, Willie, and Stel stayed and got all their gear on and headed for the bunker they had built.

They got hit a half hour later but it was rockets that impacted in a wide spread pattern that didn't get their bunker but did cause some casualties, as some screams for medics came from several positions. During this phase of the shelling, some armored vehicles poked their noses over the low ridge and started down into the valley between the two ridges. Infantry also poured over the low ridge in numerous places in a wide spread attack. "That infantry are smart, they are staying spread out away from the armor," commented Willie, who was now the official play-by-play announcer. Bear artillery was now hitting around some of the armor in a mix of surface and airbursts that was causing mobility hits and striping away antenna's, sights, machine guns, and anything else not under armor. Bear truck mounted rocket launchers now began hitting infantry concentrations. A second wave of infantry and armor began appearing over the ridge and continued to spread out.

"The indirect fire is still light since there is a lot of cover in the valley," said Stel. "We can expect more as they get closer. At the rate they are covering ground it will take 2 to 3 hours to reach this ridge. Most of the rockets are being reserved for counter battery fire and the last mile of ground they must cover. We are relaying video and reports back to General Stacker. He says this is not the main attack yet and will not call for air support yet."

Phil was glad to hear that last comment as the Kodiaks and Trainers were conducting rehearsals sixty miles down the coast and would have to return and rearm for a strike. At least about one third of the aircraft were conducting rehearsals, the rest were available to be over the targets in 45 minutes.

"I agree with General Stacker, I think these guys are just a screening force. Bet they are carrying heavy machine guns for anti-air defense and mortars to support the main attack. Bet they stop in the trees and set up. Then they could just keep sending platoons and companies over to build up the forces over a day or two." No one was willing to take Willie's bet offers. None of the armored vehicles seemed to be making it very far and they were getting most of the artillery.

"All right Willie, will it be a night attack or a day attack." Abe was certain it would be a night attack but was trying to see if Willie would take a bet on a night fight.

"Daylight attack. These guys are brave and don't seem to be real sensitive to losses. They just want to get a chance to drill some aliens. It will be definitely a daylight attack." Abe didn't offer to bet since Willie's comments jogged his memory of Five attacks at Last Chance and Samson River.

The battle settled down to artillery and rocket attacks that seemed to favor the Bears. They were dug in and had good observation points. The Fives were satisfied to shell the ridgeline where they knew the Bears would be hiding. More troops kept moving over ridge and disappearing into the trees on the lower slopes and valley floor. In some ravines, the trees ran right up the ridge to the crest and offered cover all the way. What was coming down these ravines was anyone's guess.

In the late afternoon, it looked like Willie was going to be right. All day long small bands of troops came over the lower ridge in scattered locations and took cover under the trees. Phil was amazed that the bears were counting and plotting these groups and was developing estimates of where concentrations of troops were located and where the main attacks along the ten-mile front would occur. It gave him an idea. It was time to call the Polar Bears.

Four o'clock in the morning is too early for most people but Phil was pumped. The Polar Bears and General Stacker had agreed upon his plan and it was about to happen. Abe and Willie were taking turns using their thermal sight but were not calling in any artillery strikes. In fact, artillery had been silent for the last two hours. It wasn't for lack of targets. Even the Bear snipers were quiet.

"That's it, concentrate and get ready for the big push," murmured Abe. "Nice big bunches out in the open, getting organized for the big show. Hell, the Five's are cooperating, where are the Polar Bears?"

"Super Green Three missed his strobe light marker and is circling back. We are going to have a three-minute delay on the strike to get everyone in sync. We want as near as we can get to a simultaneous crossing of the ridge." Phil knew had difficult it was to find your initial position in the dark and at low level and get the 41 remaining Polar Bear aircraft in position to cross the high ridge together. Especially in flights of 2, 3, and 4 aircraft since that meant that there were more separate pieces to coordinate. Phil was now just an observer and was restricted to just listening in on the air frequencies. "Ok, should be in two minutes, fire the markers."

Up and down the ridge, small groups of Bears fired rockets at the target zones. On impact, each rocket scattered three small flares. Several rockets were fired at each target. Precision accuracy was not required.

The first sounds Stel's team heard was the throaty roar of four supercharged, 18 cylinder radial engines at full power coming up the Bear side of the high ridge. Two Super Mosquitoes were flying nearly parallel to ridge and just slightly lower that Phil's position on a high point of the ridge when they passed by on their way to the attack. They popped up and over the ridge and quickly turned and started a shallow dive that kept them in a radar shadow and also kept their speed up. Each Super Mosquito carried six cluster bomb dispensers that in turn carried 650 submunitions. Phil heard the pilots call "Tally Ho" as they pickup their targets and started the programmed drop of their nearly 8,000 bomblets in a trail of death and destruction over a five hundred yards long and 200 yards wide. Each bomblet contained .7 lbs of TNT embedded with six hundred razor sharp shards of steel. About 95% of the bomblets exploded on contact and were lethal up to 40 feet. Even the unexploded bomblets were lethal and would explode if stepped upon or kicked. The result was a spectacular fireworks show from Phil's locations and an end-of-the-world event from the troops in the target zone viewpoint.

The show was repeated in twelve locations as groups of 2, 3 and 4 aircraft hit their targets within a one-minute span of time. In less than two minutes the Polar Bears were back over the ridge and on their way home with no losses. Behind them were the flashes of Bear artillery and rocket strikes that followed the air attack.

"Better get down and button up, it may be our turn next," warned Willie. He was right. Just before sunrise there was a roar of jet engines and bombs began impacting up and down the ridge. Stel's team was in their bunker with good overhead cover when a bomb hit about 25 yards down the slope. The blast stripped the camouflage netting off and several of the smaller logs used for overhead cover. The Bear's night vision device was smashed but Abe had brought in and covered up his thermal sight and laser range finder as soon as it began to get light. Mortar shells followed the bombs and everyone but Abe kept their heads down. Abe kept sneaking looks between the blasts and said to Stel, "Looks like they are coming. Think I have a location for those mortars. Get your artillery people on the line. Phil, I think you need to check this out."

Phil tightened down his helmet strap and edged up to the viewing ports in the forward wall of the bunker. The Five troops were still a mile out and had about a 500 to 800 foot climb to reach the crest but were walking upright and moving forward. "Stel, contact General Stacker and request permission to launch the first wave of attack fighters with escorts. It looks like we are going to need them shortly." Stel got busy with her radio and had a very animated conversation with the rear echelon Bears.

Finally, she responded to Phil, "General Stacker refuses to launch aircraft at this time. We will have to hold without airpower."

"Lord help us," moaned Willie.

Phil just turned back to his viewing port and started searching for those damned mortars. The mortar fires lifted as the Fives switched targets and Abe said, "Too late you assholes, I got you spotted and plotted. As soon as we get some priority we will plant those mortar bastards six feet under." Ten minutes later, two rounds from each tube in a Bear battery granted Abe most current wish and covered the mortar positions with dust and smoke and a few secondary explosions.

All around came the sharp cracks of Bear rifles. They were large caliber; high velocity weapons and the Bears were good long-range marksmen. Short burst also came from Bear machine guns that used the same ammunition. Bear Artillery was firing at their maximum sustainable rate, as were mortars. There were also some rockets that burst high over the heads of the Five troops and scattered Bear versions of bomblets. But, unlike the one-pound human submunitions, these were ten pounds and exploded about ten feet above the ground. Despite this the Five's kept climbing and firing back. More jets passed overhead heading for the artillery in the rear and missiles and strings of tracers came up to meet them.

"Shit, this is the best seat in the house," yelled Willie. "We got 360 degree action and something going on every where you look." Willie had a small video camera out and was slowly panning around the entire horizon. He had climbed out of the bunker and was sitting on top of it, dangling his feet down through the gaps in the overhead cover that the bombs had blown off. "This is going to wow the kids if I ever decide to get married." A few seconds later he dropped down into the bunker cursing, "Here come those jets again, take cover."

It was a strafing run this time and small cannon shells walked over the bunker sending a shower of splinters all over the four occupants. Phil ended up with a three inch jagged piece of the overhead sticking out of his left arm. Stel started calling for a medic but Abe called her off. "Doesn't look to bad," he said as he yanked the splinter out and began to bandage the arm. Stel also had a few splinters and Willie moved over to start working on them. Stel ignored Willie and went back to observing the attack. The advance was slow as the Five's started moving in small bunches and stopping to providing some covering fire.

"Is that good or bad," said Phil referring to the small bunches moving in short rushes.

Abe replied, "Very good infantry tactics, makes it hard for the machine gunners and riflemen to hit them but slows the advance down. It's easier to adjust the indirect fire and keeps them in the kill zone longer. Plus the Bears are very good at long range shooting. If we had more troops, there would be no way they could take this ridge. Right now, my guess is that the general should start warming up those Gulls." Phil agreed with that, and he rounded up his rifle and started checking it over.

The Bears had worked wonders and shortly after lunch two flights of four were ready. The CO was flying lead on Red Flight and Sanders had the Blue Flight. Contrary to their original plans, the CO was going to split the squadron and have the XO bring the other 16 planes in two days. Sanders agreed, mostly because the news was bad but also because he was tired of waiting. One morning of waiting was already as much as he could take.

The planes were equipped with the new guns, a full load of ammo, two side looking heat-seeking missiles, and two wing tanks. It would take two stops to cross the continent and it would be late at night when they reached the Salman area and joined up with the Polar Bear Wing. Then it would be an early morning start to provide air cover for the Bears. That's what Sanders was eager for, an air-to-air rematch with the Five jets, except that this time they would be more evenly matched with the new version of the Mosquito, the Bloodsucker.

Most of the pilots shortened it and just called them Bloods. Jake Harris had struck another blow for a little counter culture with his off hand remark that these new Mosquitoes were deadly looking bloodsuckers and was now credited with two names, the Bloods and the Cheap Charlies. Three more names and Bob Smith was going to award Jake with an unofficial ace status.

"Get your gear, we are leaving," Stel announced.

"Is this a general pull out," asked Phil.

"No, it is just us four. We are going to the rear and act as ground controllers for aircraft attacking breakthroughs. General Stacker needs English speaking radio talkers. We have been selected.

"Shit, looks like you and I got a new job description Abe," Willie said with mixed emotions. He liked having a bunker in the midst of all this fighting but also liked the idea of being in the rear with the gear. He got his stuff together.

# Chapter Twenty-Six

# Top Cover

May of Year 32

It was a beautiful morning and it was going to be a nice day to hold a war. Sanders was the lead of a flight of four. They were at 20,000 feet and orbiting ten miles back from the battlefield. Several flights of Gulls were circling at lower altitude waiting their turn to attack one of several breakthroughs that had occurred the previous night. It was great bait for the opposition jets and they were sure to be coming soon.

When they did come it was a token showing, four flights of 4 and they went for the bait immediately. Sanders kept looking for some high cover but there just wasn't any. The Kodiaks were waiting and it was a low-level knife fight with missiles and cannons. Most of the Kodiaks dropped their bomb loads and started a huge defensive wheel. Most of the jets made a pass at the maneuvering Gulls and continued on through, usually with a missile in pursuit. One flight of four jets made a pass and then made a wide climbing turn to reengage and Sanders flight was on them as they finished their turn. Sanders had a good look at the jets tailpipes and fired a heat-seeking missile. Two other missiles were also fired from his flight and Sanders pulled up and away as the missiles chased down the unsuspecting jets and killed two of them as they lined up for a second pass. Still way above the fight Sanders waited until another jet strayed far enough away from the fight to be a missile target without endangering any of the Kodiaks. It was a long shot but the seeker head picked up enough to start buzzing that it had acquired a target and Sanders fired his last missile.

"Blue Two take the lead for the next shot." Sanders eased back on the throttle as his wingman picked up his next target. Blue Three and Four were off to the north in the process of bouncing another pair of jets. Blue two fired his last missile and scored a hit. It was now down to guns at low level. Sanders tried to pick a reasonable target in the swirling mass of forty plus jets and Gulls but there were tracers, flares, chaff, missiles, and burning aircraft spread over several square miles and decided that he would make a high speed pass and blast on through the fight, shooting any jet that was in his way. Taking the lead again, he picked a pair of jets and pointed the nose down and eased back on the throttle to keep the speed under 550 mph.

"Two, I got the left hand bandit," Sanders told his wingman who would take the right hand jet. Sanders fired a short burst and saw a few flashes indicating a few hits and then was by the jet. He pushed the throttle forward to the stops and pulled up into a climbing turn. As he did so he could see one jet smoking and running for the sea but didn't see the other. "Two, one jet is burning and running. Do you have the other in sight?"

"Lead, he's down. Let's go back for another pass."

"Roger that Two."

Sanders kept it simple; pull up and away from the fight, pick a target for a high-speed pass and then up and away for another look. He made two more passes but didn't get any hits but his wingman got another kill. Then the sky was empty of jets and the Gulls took up strafing for a living. Returning to his high cover perch, Sanders took a long drink from one of his water bottles because his mouth was suddenly very dry. Blue Three and Four rejoined. All had gun rounds left but no missiles. It was time to return to base and let the CO take top cover while Blue Flight refueled and rearmed.

The Bear version of an armored personnel carrier actually had a pretty good ride and it smoothed out a lot of the bumps that the driver seemed to go out of his way to hit. Still, the ride tended to throw Phil around a lot and as the driver kept the petal to the metal and delighted in quick changes in direction. They were on their way to another breakthrough, the third since getting off the ridge. The gun in the forward hatch ripped of a long burst and the Bear gunner grunted in satisfaction as the deafening roar of a jet marked the passage of another jet overhead. The APC slewed around in a sharp turn and stopped.

"Good view. The jets are leaving. Take the right side hatch and start controlling." Stel was not one for small talk and got right to the point. Phil did what she requested and stuck his head out of the hatch. The jets did seem to be leaving, as did the Gulls and Bloods.

"Willie, what's up next? Anything?"

"Trainer Green Flight is about 2 minutes out. They are a flight of four Gulls with rockets and 25mm. Use channel six." Willie, as usual, was ahead of the game and had the needed information at his fingertips.

As Phil switched channels on his radio, Stel replaced the gunner and started surveying the battlefield. It was her job to contact the grunts on the ground and relay the requests to Phil. The driver had done an excellence job and the APC had most of its hull below the crest of a ridge and still allowed Phil and Stel a view of the battlefield. Stel swiveled the gun towards the enemy lines and used the range finder and compass repeater to nail down the locations of targets. At least the targets that were visible from the APC.

"Trainer Green, this is Bear Control. We are located about 1 mile southwest of the big, red five markers. When you have the marker in sight we will pop smoke to let you know exactly where we are. We can give you range and bearings from our location to the targets. We may also be able to give you some marking fire. Over."

"Roger Bear Control, we have the big five in sight, request you pop smoke at this time."

Abe stepped out of the back hatch and tossed a Bear smoke grenade back down the ridge. "Yellow smoke Boss," he yelled back to Phil.

"Bear Control, we have yellow smoke. Is that you in the APC on the ridge north of the smoke?"

"That's us Trainer Green. Request you orbit south of the battlefield while we get targets located. The jets have all left according to our spotters and the bad guys have several heavy machine guns in the target area. Safe bailout area is to the south and east." Then to Stel, "See if you can get locations on those heavy machine guns. I want to start with them."

Stel nodded and went back to talking on her radio. Then she turned back to Phil. "We don't have a good location on those guns but we have a company moving up on one of our positions. We will mark with white smoke. The targets will be infantry in the open to the west of the smoke. I can't see the targets but they will be southwest of the smoke. Nothing short of the smoke."

"Trainer Green, we have troops in the open about 1,500 yards northwest of our location. We will mark with white smoke. Make your approach from the east. Come in one at a time and kept everything to the west of the smoke. The good guys are to the east of the smoke. Start with the rockets and keep making passes until I call you off. If you spot any heavy machine guns go after them immediately. Call the smoke and come off dry if you don't spot it."

"Roger Bear Control, Trainer Green One is in hot. I have the smoke."

Phil could see the plane but not the target. However, the plane did seem to be lined up in the correct general area. This was his last chance to call off the air strike but everything seemed reasonable. How come his stomach hurt all of a sudden?

Rockets streamed off the Gull and it pulled up and turned away to the north. "Bear Control, Trainer Green One spotted troops in the open. They are all around my rocket hits. Send in the rest of Green Flight."

"Roger Trainer Green One. Go get them, Green Flight."

"Trainer Green Two is in hot from the east. I have the smoke and the targets."

Phil watched for three more runs, the last two of which drew strings of tracers from three locations. Stel was listening to the Bear channels and pinpointed one of the guns. She cut loose with a long burst from her gun and then turned to Phil, "The target troops are retreating. The next target is the heavy machine gun at 275 degrees and 1450 yards."

"Stel, request your troops to mark their lines with panels or smoke. We can't see enough from here to do a good job of controlling the fight. Just mark our lines and let the pilots attack whatever they see."

Stel started talking again. Then she switch channels and talked some more. After several minutes she nodded towards Phil. "Red panels and white smoke will mark our lines. I advised our troops to take cover. We will be ready in five minutes."

Phil advised the pilots of the plan and the suspected location of the machine gun. It was only a general location and didn't include good visual reference points. The pilots were free to pick their own approach routes and targets. When Stel said the Bears were ready, Phil turned Trainer Green Flight loose and asked Willie for the next flight in the line up.

"You and Abe and Willie can do the ground job just as well as I can. But I can do a lot more in the air. I can loiter for several hours and mark targets with rockets. You need a pilot in the air to spot targets. Call General Stacker and tell him what I said. You three can train more ground controllers and I can train more air controllers. It's the best way." Phil was finished arguing but Stel didn't look convinced. Still, she was an alien and who knew what she was thinking.

"Agreed." Stel didn't talk a lot and usually got right to the point. Also, she had the General's confidence. Phil was on his way back to the cockpit.

Sanders put his visor down and lined up the crosshair on the visor with the mark on the consol and pushed a button. His helmet-mounted sight was now aligned and the camera and active missile would look where he looked. This time he was loaded for a real fight with six missiles and a full load of 21mm. The missiles were in short supply but the CO's catastrophic flight opened up the supply floodgates. The entire flight of four Bloods had been shot down about 2 hours earlier with no survivors. The CO's flight had started with 2 missiles each and was jumped twice by jets. After the first bunch they were down to just cannons and were chased down by the second bunch. That left Sanders as the ranking officer present and he personally supervised the loading of the extra missiles. No one argued.

The trip to the invasion beaches seemed faster this time. It was the second trip of the day and the route was familiar. There was a flight of Gulls circling just to the east of the forward edge of the battlefield but no jets. Sanders checked in with the Bear Ground Control Officer and was told that there was little activity. The Bears had stopped the advances and still held most of the high ridge. The four Gulls were orbiting as a reserve and would soon have to expend their ordinance on targets of opportunity and return to base. Sanders decided to stay high and east of the beaches and conserve fuel. Jets would probably accompany a push by the Fives and a change in strategy was called for. Sanders was determined to shoot missiles at the longest range possible then blow through any enemy formation at high speed and get clear before re-engaging.

About 20 minutes later the four Gulls formed up in two elements and skimmed over the high ridge and were back in less than 30 seconds, minus their bombs. A few minutes later they repeated the maneuver for a strafing run and then headed for their base. Sanders kept orbiting but never did get a look at a jet.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

# Bob, Jake, and the Three Bears

May of Year 32

Bob's secretary was upset. "Mr. Harris is out by your hanger and is ranting and raving. He has threatened to have everybody fired and made Betty cry." Betty was a part-time accounting intern and a high school student, not a good match for Jake Harris on a rant.

Bob knew just what the problem was; Jake's Special was parked in his hanger and had just been finished. Jake had been tweaking that machine for years and regarded it as his private property. Ben could fly it but Jake personally worked that machine over and every part and transistor was anointed as perfect by the old drag racer himself. "Get a Bear over here now," Bob said to his secretary as he headed out the door. "We got a fire to put out."

Bob stopped in the outer office and got two huge mugs out of the freezer and filled them with iced tea. Then he continued out the door and headed towards the hanger were he usually stored his ultra light airplanes and now contained what was formerly known as Jake's Special. He found Jake with his head in the side hatch inspecting the machine gun installation. "Hi Jake. Want to have lunch or are you on a diet of fried interns now." Bob handed Jake one of the mugs of iced tea and sipped on the other.

"Jesus Christ on a crutch, a guy can't even express himself a little without some child running and telling her mother. Don't tell me I am going to have to go apologize to that little girl; she ought to be school anyway. And did you run out of beer? What is this iced tea shit?"

"Naw, she's going to have to learn to deal with a little abuse now and then if she wants to keep working here. Worst thing that can happen is that English will learn of this and try to get us to make a bunch of child labor laws and force all working kids to switch to midnight basketball instead. And its iced tea because I got to go back to work after rescuing our innocent children from your evil clutches. How do you like my Bear version of a G model Mosquito?"

"The Bears asked for this? I was just getting to like and respect those critters. These worthless pieces of shit Bear machine guns?"

"Yeah, 10.57mm Bear machine guns. I changed the cannons in the belly as well to 21mm Bear guns. They have a higher rate of fire than our 25mm and are a pretty good ballistic match to the machine guns. The Bears want as much as possible to be Bear equipment, simplifies the logistics."

"Machine guns are useless fireworks compared to the cannons. Not to mention that the camera is missing. The camera is the key to accurate bombing, missile firing, reconnaissance, and low light operations. And the integrated laser is a rangefinder, target designator, and maybe even a weapon. What kind of idiots would take out the camera?"

"I didn't take out the camera. In fact there are two of them now. See those pods on the wings? There is a camera in each. Now each crewmember has a camera. You can shoot with one and continue searching with the other, or shoot with both, or search with both, or track with both, or some combination of shoot, search, or track. The Bears requested two cameras to make this a better standoff missile platform. I have to agree about the machine guns however. Compared to the cannons, they are just useless fireworks."

"Why did you put them on then?"

"The Bears wanted more firepower. These guns fire 1,200 rounds per minute and are very reliable. You can select either the cannons or the machine guns or both. The Bears just like guns I guess. Oh yeah, it has an auto mode also. The camera laser picks up the range and fires the cannons at long range and adds the machine guns when you get closer. Just chews the shit out of a target."

"Any other changes while you were at it?"

"The engines are your modified 3,000 horsepower masterpieces. The bomb bay is now an extra fuel tank. The wings are reinforced to support more hard points and external stores. It's wired for helmet-mounted sights. Just look at something and press a button and the pattern recognition software will track it with the camera and automatically zoom in for visual identification. You can track with both cameras and still shoot missiles with the helmet-mounted sights. The crew is going to go nuts with all the possibilities. The programming for it makes my head hurt. There will be a few changes to the airframe if we build new ones but the plans are to just upgrade existing A's, B's, C's and G's. The Bears want things in a hurry."

"Can't say I blame them for that given how the invasion is going."

"Well, tomorrow is the big day. The western surface defense task force is finally going to get into action. It's going to be a maximum air-to-air effort to protect the task force while the task force shoots up the invasion beaches. Unless the Five's have a couple of carriers in reserve it will be the end of the invasion threat."

"What happens if they do have a couple of carriers in reserve?"

"It will be a big air battle to protect the surface ships while they close with and destroy the amphibious ships and the landed forces. It will be jets against prop driven piston engine fighters, not a happy picture. But we find out tomorrow."

"Took them long enough, these task forces are their main method of defending their continent. So far, it has been our air power that has done most of the damage."

"Our air power and the submarines have the done the most damage and unless the Five's have some ace's up their sleeves the invasion will be crushed even without the surface task force. The Bears have close to 30,000 troops in the area and have just started to engage the invasion forces. I expect that the combination of the ground forces and the naval task force will force the Fives to commit all their carriers. It could be a big fight."

The conversation continued as Jake looked over all the changes that the Bears had requested. "We used this airframe as a lab rat for all the changes that the Bears wanted. It was easier to just bring in some workers and make the changes than to make detailed plans for everything. Most of the changes are being made by the aircraft mechanics rather that my design engineers. Kind of like how you do things, Jake."

"Most of the changes are fairly straight forward; sounds like the programming will be the hard part. How do you coordinate two crew and two cameras?"

"Right now it is just two separate systems and a set of switches that select who controls which system. Each man can run either system. Not very elegant but these are two men sitting next to each other who are trained as a team. Keep it simple and rugged is the Bears motto. Our programmers are drooling to get a complicated computer oriented, cooperative system, but right now I am happy with two men sitting next to each other who can talk things over and cooperate."

Three figures appeared in the hanger opening, it was all three of the Bears.

"Reinforcements?" Jake asked.

"Insurance. This is just in case you wanted to make some more of my interns cry."

"Shit, I hardly raised my voice. Let's go talk to the Bears, I got some compliments for them."

Bob and Jake walked over to the Bears who were waiting just in the shade of the hanger door and greeted all three by name. "Hi Charlie. Chris. Mary. Glad you could come over on short notice but it was a false alarm. Jake here has some disagreements with the new Mosquito but it wasn't an emergency that I first thought."

The largest Bear, Charlie, replied, "What are your objections to the new configuration Jake? Your opinion carries great weight with us."

Jake, no longer mad, and now flattered, sputtered for a few seconds and then got his thoughts together and started spilling his ideas. "First, those machine guns, when you compare their performance to the cannons they are just worthless fireworks. Add cannons if you want more firepower. And speaking of cannons, our studies always come up with 25mm as the optimum round for fighters. Shoehorn in a couple of more 25mm cannons if you want more firepower. Take out all your guns and put the 25mm guns back in. If you want to put something in the nose, try radar. We have some good models for air-to-air. The radar missiles are in the pipeline. If you want a standoff missile platform you need radar and both radar and heat seeking missiles. You can stick in a radar, four 25mm cannons, 2 radar missiles, and 4 heat seeking missiles and still have plenty of range and speed close to 500 mph."

"All that is true, however, time is an issue. Our people can put the guns on the existing mosquitoes on arrival at our continent in a couple of days. The camera pods and wiring have been made into a kit that also be installed in a couple of days. We can have multiple squadrons in the fight in a month or two. Follow on Mosquitoes should be equipped as you suggest but it is possible that we will need something sooner. First with the most is a human expression I believe. Besides, we are the customer and are willing to pay for the changes."

"Pay extra you mean. Ten wings for twenty subs and two coastal defense task forces was the original deal. We have to to get something more for all these modifications. The camera system is the most expensive item on a Mosquito and now you want two. What's in this deal for the human race?"

"Payment will be survival and a second source for jet engines. We have the manufacturing capacity to produce jet engines. Precision computer controlled machines and high temperature steel. Or would you rather deal with President English?"

Bob jumped into the conversation, "Do you have the designs or do we have to supply that as well?"

"We understand the principle but do not have a design."

"Damn Jake, we could start producing Joint Strike Fighters in a few years if we had a decent supplier of jet engines. It would drive English crazy."

"Yeah, that alone is worth the deal. Let's go talk about a deal. By the way, I want to compliment you Bears on the screening job you have done for me. I can't believe how much smoother things are going since you made those personnel recommendations."

"Just what are you talking about Jake?" Bob was both surprised and curious; Jake usually talked over everything with Bob.

"These three sat down individually with about 60 of my senior staff and evaluated them. They gave me a confidential report. Basically, they identified 7 managers that are more trouble than they are worth. In a bunch of small, subtle ways they were causing problems and hitches in our getting things done quickly and efficiently. All had some good abilities and skills and did their jobs but would in a variety of ways screw up the works. Find problems when a little effort would solve it without a fuss, not support a co-worker, negative gossiping, stirring up people about others, emphasizing small or imaged faults, leaking information, and paranoid fantasies about other companies, politicians, races etc., etc. I fired two, reassigned the other five and ordered counseling for them. In less than two weeks the changes in cooperation and teamwork is noticeable. Hate to think that I could have overlooked these people and missed seeing what problems they create but after it was brought to my attention I began to see what they talking about. I had to keep it confidential until I had a handle on the situation. You ought to give them a try; I can just spot a guy on your design staff that does the same thing."

"I know the guy you're talking about. He works best by himself and does good work, but everyone tries to avoid working on anything with him. Stirs up trouble every now and then but I try to keep him busy on his own projects where he does very good work. I have had requests to move him to another building but I haven't taken any drastic steps yet."

"We would be happy to do an evaluation for your aircraft company," said Mary. "We have already identified a man that is leaking information to the press and the NAR. That is a substantial conflict of your ethics."

That little bombshell got both Bob's and Jake's attention.

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

# Big Guns and Little Missiles

May of Year 32

Phil was now a Trainer. He had been transferred out of the Kodiak Wing and into the Trainer Wing. He was the designated close air support controller trainer and had a detachment of four airplanes and six pilots, or would have as soon as three airplanes and five pilots were found to round out the detachment. Meanwhile, he had a Gull and a ground support staff, Aban and three other Bears. The plane was in top shape for a standard Gull but Phil had some changes he wanted to make it into a close air support controller. This made apparent that one more thing would have to be added to his detachment, a translator.

"Four! I need four radios," said Phil, alternately holding up four fingers and pointing to the radio. "I need three human radios and one Bear radio." Sign language, gesturing, a few human words, a few Bear words and guessing was a poor substitute for a translator. Finally, he got Aban to stand on the plane's wing next to the cockpit and got everyone else on the ground. After pretending to fire a rife, throw grenades, and act like he was fighting hand to hand, he stationed a Bear to act as a ground combat force. At least he hoped he did. Then he extended his arms and buzzed around acting like a plane. Then he grabbed a Bear and pushed him toward the ground force making explosion sounds and firing a make believe rifle. In a few minutes, he had an enemy ground force (Bear Two), a Bear ground force (Bear Three), an airborne controller (Aban), and a flight of ground attack planes (Phil) organized.

Pushing Bear Two toward Bear Three and making all kinds of silly noises, Phil then grabbed Bear Three's head and turned it towards Aban. Then he had Bear Three point to Bear Two, the supposed attacking force. Then he ran over about ten yards and played airplane again. He buzzed around like a five-year old while Aban got angry and started glaring at Phil. Then the light went on and Aban pointed at Bear Two. Phil buzzed over and strafed Bear Two. Bear Four, who had been unassigned up to that point, then attacked Bear Three. Bear Three pointed at him and looked at Aban. Aban looked at Phil and pointed. Phil attacked Bear Four. Aban jumped down and gathered everyone together. He raised two fingers. Phil took that as Aban recommending two radios. Phil started drawing pictures in the dirt. A single plane, several flights of four, several ground forces, and airfield, a Bear with a general's insignia, and lines connecting them all to the single airplane. Aban patted him on the head and nodded. The four Bears retreated to the plane and started opening hatches and talking. The noise level when up and gesturing began. The Bears were on the problem of making a standard Gull into a close air support controller aircraft. Phil left them to their task and when looking for lunch.

The mess hall was open 24/7 and was busy. Both Bears and humans were scattered all over the huge room that was filled with oversized tables and chairs. It was a little more crowed today because it was a minimum effort day. The big day was tomorrow and today was just a few flights of ground support and CAP. Rest, repair and replace were the plan for the day. Even the Bear ground forces were retreating and avoiding fights.

There were a lot of new faces hanging around eating lunch as the Gull shipment that had been off loading at an eastern Bear port when the invasion started were flying in and filling out the Kodiak Wing. In addition, a steady stream of NAR cargo planes were arriving filled with side looking heat seeking missiles and the helmets mounting the sights necessary to make use of the new missiles. Most of the Trainers and the Kodiak pilots had only used the helmets in simulations. The Gulls were wired for the helmets but the NAR charged almost as much for the helmets as the entire airframe it was used on. The Trainer and Kodiak Wings could muster almost 100 aircraft for duty tomorrow. Phil had even heard that the Polar Bear Wing had a few replacements and could put close to 50 aircraft up. Phil was not included however. The orders from General Crusher were that Phil was to start training close air controllers and not to be sent into combat. Phil was not quite all the way back to being a fighter pilot. He did have a few ideas about changing his current status however.

Abe and Willie were sleeping. Stel had joined the general pullback of the Bear forces and contact with the Five's had been lost. The Fives now occupied most of both the low and high ridges for twenty miles along the coast and the Bears were moving back toward the road, pipeline, and rail complex that ran from the port city of Salman to the Gull training base. It was about 50 miles of rolling grasslands from the high ridge to the road complex. It was great terrain for mechanized maneuver warfare, which was just what Abe and Willie were expecting next.

Stel's armored personnel carrier was moving east at a steady 10 miles per hour and was nearing the rapidly expanding Bear encampment surrounding the road for several miles. Armored vehicle laagers were being passed with increasing frequency and military equipment of all kinds was being set up. The Bears were arriving in numbers and were well equipped for the next phase of the war if the surface task force didn't complete the elimination of the beachhead.

Both Abe and Willie awoke as the APC turned into a vehicle maintenance shop set up by a creek. "Are we there yet?" asked Willie. "Yes, we are here and I am going to have a look to see just where here is," replied Abe. "Maybe Stel knows." Abe exited the vehicle and spotted Stel talking to dirt and grease smeared Bear with an irritated expression on his face. The expression on the greasy Bear's face turned to surprise when Abe and then Willie emerged from the APC. Stel finished barking a few phrases that ended with a couple of words that Abe recognized. It was the English equivalent of "Now, Asshole."

The Bear stared at Abe and Willie for a few seconds and then turned and strode off barking a series of orders. As he walked away he waved for the APC's driver to follow him. The APC followed him for about 20 yards and stopped on a patch of gravel next to the creek. Two Bears with high-pressure hoses started washing down the tracks and road wheels of the APC. Stel disappeared towards a huge tent complex and left Abe and Willie standing alone, somewhat bewildered by the situation.

"Come on Abe, lets go see if we can get a job at the car wash," said Willie. Abe nodded and the two ambled over and tried to get the Bears washing down their vehicle to relinquish the hoses. Abe's Bear looked at him in amazement but got the idea and gave Abe the hose. The hose nearly knocked Abe over and got away from him as the pressure and volume were Bear sized. The Bear just looked and sneered. "Hey Willie, give me a hand with this hose," yelled Abe. Willie came over and took second place on the hose and soon they were able to control the hose enough to begin washing down their side of the APC. The Bear watched for about a minute and then left. Soon Abe and Willie had the tracks and wheels cleaned off and turned off the hose. Willie opened up the engine compartment and commented, "Looks pretty sealed up in here, bet we could power wash the engine compartment without screwing up any electronics."

Abe nodded and started turned the hose back on at a reduced pressure and the two human soldiers started back to work. A Bear looked over their shoulders and then started inspecting and tightening the tracks. Another Bear took a vacuum hose and started cleaning the driver's compartment. Abe left Willie to finish the engine compartment and started hauling the human gear out of the APC as the vacuum Bear switched from the driver's compartment back towards the passenger area. After about an hour of work from the inter-species work party the APC was clean with a variety of maintenance tasks completed. The Bear driver seemed satisfied and even smiled as a truck with cans of ammo, fuel and other supplies arrived and stared replenishing the APC's stocks. Just when the task seemed to be finished, three more APCs showed up and Willie started cleaning another set of tracks.

It was an hour later when the grease smeared Bear showed up again and started handing out beer and huge sandwiches. He pointed at Abe and Willie and motioned them over and gave each a beer and a sandwich. Abe looked over the food and sniffed it with caution. Willie took a huge bite. "You know Willie, some of this Bear food may not work right in human guts. You need to check it out before you gobble it down," Abe said.

"Naw, that's what the beer is for, the alcohol kills the bad bugs and keeps the guts perking, besides, if it tastes good, it usually safe."

"Usually. Does that mean like 90% chance that lunch won't kill us? Is that your idea of good odds or what?"

Phil was hard at work trying to become a fighter pilot again. He was sitting at a computer searching for more information on dog fighting with jets. World War II and the Korean War seemed like good places to start since they were examples of the good guys in propeller driven planes and the bad guys in jets. He was just reviewing a Korean War case where some Corsairs mixed it up with some MIG 15s when a small window on his monitor popped open and a familiar face appeared.

"Jesus, it's Bob Smith," Phil thought. No sooner did he think this then another window opened and showed the image of Ben Grant.

"Who are you," asked Bob. "And why are you interested in air combat between Gulls and jets?"

"First Lt. McFarland sir. I am a Gull pilot with the Trainer Squadron and we are going to be flying CAP for the Bear surface task force tomorrow. I was just looking for any advantage over the Five's jets." The two legendary men whose images had just popped up on his screen completely awed Phil.

"We might just have something for you. Ben and I recovered a lot of the Five's wreckage and made a wind tunnel scale model of their jets. This is a lot of guesswork but we think that their jets may not be very stable in low speed turns. If you get one on your tail try turning. They can turn with you for a while but both of you will lose speed. At a slow speed turn they may just fall out of the sky."

Ben nodded in agreement as Bob talked and then added, "I also got an idea from reading about Pappy Boyington's squadron in WW II. They flew Corsairs and the Gulls are based on that design. One of his pilots was out of speed and altitude and was being bounced by a number of Zero's. He was wave hopping and tried a bit of rudder. He ended up crabbing along and when the Zero's lined him up in their sights they would consistently miss to one side. I don't advise getting low and slow in a fight but if you do, that's one idea for you."

"We also got a good look at their environmental controls and they are minimal at best. If they descend from altitude they may fog up their cockpit glass. Look for it if you have to dive away from them."

Phil was furiously writing notes as Bob and Ben kept discussing wind tunnel tests and the relative merits of Gulls and the opposition jets. He would be back as a fighter pilot yet.

"Rest. Eat. No beer. Stay close. General Stacker needs English speaking communicators starting tonight. Once the action starts you won't get a chance to rest." Stel had rescued Abe and Willie from an endless line of armored vehicles that were passing through the maintenance unit and was escorting them to the nearby command center tents.

"Over there are our stations. We will help communicate with the human aircraft. Get your gear from the APC and stack it behind our computers."

Abe and Willie followed orders, including the one about the beer, and in a half an hour were sacked out with their gear behind the workstations. Except for an occasional curious glance from a Bear, they were soon ignored. This happy state of affairs ended about midnight local time.

"Up. Man your stations." Stel was her usual talkative self. Abe and Willie manned their radios and computer workstations. Their instructions were to monitor the human aircraft frequencies and report status information to Stel. The computers were human models that were networked to the human airfields and gave them access to all operational plans including radio frequencies used by the strike packages and CAP. Off to one side was the status board for the surface task force. It was a great place to monitor the action and Abe and Willie considered themselves two lucky grunts.

"Keep track of the Bloods, the Polar Bears, the Kodiaks, and the Trainers. Tell me of any change in status or action reports. I will maintain the air status board for the General. You will see to keeping me up to date." The fact that neither grunt had been trained for this and didn't know much about air operations didn't seem to bother Stel or the Bears. Abe and Willie were soon scrambling to access wing and squadron web sites and to make sense of the information they contained. Abe took the Bloods and the Polar Bears and Willie took both of the Gull wings. Soon they had the status board updated. The Bloods had 18 H model Mosquitoes armed for air-to-air. The Polar Bears had 47 G model Mosquitoes and Super Mosquitoes armed with anti-shipping missiles (Cheap Charlies). The Trainers and Kodiaks had 97 Gulls armed for air-to-air. The Bloods and Polar Bears were on standby waiting for any sighting of the Five's Carriers. The Gulls were scheduled for takeoff just before dawn to provide a CAP for the surface defense task force as it closed with the invasion beaches.

Abe and Willie thought they had a good handle on the status of the human aircraft status. "All this organization is bound to go to hell when the action starts but right now we got the answers. Let's see if we can log into any camera feeds or squadron channels now before the action gets too intense. If we get good at this maybe we can stay in the headquarters and drink beer and watch the war from a camera feed instead of being up close and personal with death and destruction," Abe commented. Willie agreed.

The action actually started with Stel informing Abe and Willie that Bear submarines had sunk two picket ships in the path of the surface defense task force. Neither man had been watching or understood the Bear status boards; so intent were they on their own little piece of the action. While Stel briefly explained the meaning of each board, she suddenly stopped and grunted with satisfaction. "The Night Stalker had a positive location on at least one carrier. They will soon launch a Polar Bear strike." Stel was grinning with more teeth showing than usual.

Abe looked to his computer and maximized the Polar Bear Wing window and soon picked up a blinking button labeled "Orders". For fifteen agonizing minutes he waited with no further updates then the information came in a flood. "The Polar Bear strike package is taking off. All 47 aircraft are participating. Armament is Cheap Charlies, heat-seeking missiles, and full loads of 25 mm. No decoys!" said Abe with a "shit" added under his breath. "All the Bloods are going along with orders to escort the strike package."

Willie had some action to report as well, "The Trainers are launching 16 Gulls for a CAP over the surface defense task force."

Not to be outdone, Stel added, "The task force has gone active with surface and air search radar. Speed has been increased to 31 knots, the maximum speed for the slowest ship. This will almost certainly draw lots of attention from the Five's. We are hoping to have the Cheap Charlies arrive just as they are arming and fueling for an air strike on our task force."

The feeling of tension just went a little higher in the two humans and even the normally unflappable Bears seemed to be effected. The noise level went down and whispers seemed to be the preferred mode of communication. A dropped plate of sandwiches drew shape glances from high-ranking Bears. The all business Bears notched up their usual intolerance for unprofessional behavior to a level that even got Willie's attention.

Stel stood behind the two new human communications specialists and glared at their screens that stubbornly refused to yield instant status information about all human assets on the continent. Abe was sure it was his fault that everything was in a holding pattern over hell and no one was giving him a blow-by-blow description of the unfolding Armageddon. Finally, Willie whispered that the Trainer Wing CAP was over the surface defense task force at 10,000 feet and climbing towards 20,000 feet. Stel pounced on that scrap of information and posted it on a Bear status board. The Trainer's were transmitting radio calls and camera feeds but the Polar Bear Strike birds were completely silent.

Stel's announcement to Abe and Willie that the surface defense task force was engaging targets was greeted without surprise. It was still dark over the invasion beaches but muzzle blasts from Bear cannons and shell flashes were visible to the CAP's cameras and Willie's two screens were showing two different camera feeds from the Trainers. Soon several more Bears were looking over Willie's shoulder. The two human grunts were getting better battle information than the Bear senior officers. One Bear watched for a few minutes and then stalked over to the surface status boards and started emitting some low, unintelligible growling sounds. The Bears that were maintaining the status boards hunched a little lower and got busy with their communication channels. A sudden flare on one of Willie's screen marked the end of an amphibious assault vessel. Stel posted the information on the Bear status board and the growling Bear Officer stopped growling and started having an earnest discussion with his communications staff. Stel beamed at Willie and said, "Good work." The Bear communicators just glared.

Some information came to Abe and Willie from the Bear side via Stel. The task force speed had been reduced to 21 knots as the ships entered a target rich environment. First the main batteries of 266 mm guns started firing and then the dual-purpose 96 mm guns and even the 53 mm anti-aircraft mounts were engaging targets. Amphibious assault ships, cargo ships, landing craft, and various targets on the beach were being shelled and destroyed. The ships were the highest priority but anything within reach was being hit. The camera feeds from the CAP aircraft were the most dramatic but most of the solid information came in from the Bears via the task force. Radio silence for the task force was over and everyone was talking and the Bears were organized to classify, sort, and summarize the multiple raw data feeds. One piece of information brought another smile from Stel.

"The Night Stalker is reporting that three large carriers and one small carrier have turned into the wind and increased speed." She did not interpret those facts any further but both Abe and Willie knew that was the maneuver that enabled a carrier to launch aircraft. It also gave the Polar Bear Wing a good location, course and speed to program into their ship killing missiles. Nothing was heard from the Polar Bear strike, who still maintained radio silence, but the Kodiaks launched their contribution of 16 Gulls to strengthen the CAP over the surface defense task force.

"Damn, I sure hope the Cheap Charlies hit before the Fives get their full strike force launched." Willie was worried about the timing of the Polar Bear strike. Absolutely nothing had been heard from the Polar Bears or the escorting Bloods yet.

Sanders was relieved to see the missiles launched and on their way, even though they would point like an arrow toward the strike force. Flying at 200 feet at night over a featureless ocean was nerve wracking to say the least and it wasn't over yet. All the Polar Bear aircraft turned and ran at their best speed toward home and the Bloods in the new H model Mosquitoes trailed as a rear guard. It was their job to keep the enemy fighters off the backs of the strike aircraft as long as possible. It was just getting light and Sanders wanted to climb but the strike commander had not given the word yet. So far the radar warning receivers had heard plenty of Five radar transmitters but everything was below the strength necessary to give away their location. At least that's what the latest intelligence estimates stated. Any increase in altitude could put them at risk of detection. A few more minutes of low level running would put the anti-shipping missiles nearly on top of the carrier battle groups and increase their chances of getting through the defenses and hitting something.

Staying low was the right move and Sanders agreed with the decision but if they had to mix it up with Five's jets then he wanted plenty of energy to use in maneuvering. And altitude was an energy store waiting to be used. Altitude was an advantage and Sanders wanted any advantage he could get.

Suddenly, two flights of four Super Mosquitoes broke right about 30 degrees and cries of "Tally Ho" were heard. An escort ship running with no active electronic emissions was nearly right on their escape route and there was no hiding the over sixty aircraft that was streaming by. The Super Mosquitoes started their runs in pairs firing 25 mm cannons. There was no answering fire from the ship until the third pair of Supers was pulling off their attack runs. That was enough for the Strike Commander. "Blood Red One, Strike Lead, take the high perch. Keep us in sight and call any bandits."

"Roger Strike Lead. Bloods are going high."

Sanders didn't wait for the call but pushed his throttles forward and started his climb. Glancing around he satisfied himself that rest of his flight of four was following his lead and that the rest of the Bloods were also climbing. Blood Lead's call for the climb was acknowledged by each flight and the entire 18 planes of the squadron stayed behind the strike Mosquitoes in the direction of the primary threat, which were the carriers. Sanders scanned the sky for any sign of bandits, aided by the coming light of the dawn. The eight Super Mosquitoes had finished a gun run on the escort ship and were running flat out after the other Mosquitoes. A few tracers chased them but they were quickly out of range.

"All Strike units, that escort ship is squawking on several frequencies. I expect we have been made. Call any bandits and keep the chatter down."

"And run like hell," Sanders thought to himself. The Bloods stayed close behind the Polar Bears and continued climbing, getting more and more radar hits as they gain altitude. After five minutes Sanders was beginning to think that they were going to get away clean but White Four spotted a gaggle of jets at their four o'clock low.

"Blood Blue One, Blood Red One, take your flight and slow down those jets at four o'clock." Sanders was Blue One.

"Roger Red One. Blue flight, break right and take them from their 11 o'clock. Fire your missiles as soon as you have a tone and good hunting." Nearly head on was a tough angle for heat seeking missiles but the newest models could pick up targets from any angle. They had to get closer and the odds of a hit were not as good but they were likely to break up the jets formation and cause them to abandon the chase of the strike Mosquitoes. Sanders selected a missile and started the liquid nitrogen flow that would cool the seeker head and increase the temperature sensitivity. As soon as the tone came indicating a target lock he fired his missile, the second one fired by his flight. Several more quickly followed and the jets broke in all directions like a covey of quail pounced upon by a bobcat.

"Blue One will take the left hand bandits," called Sanders who was hoping that Blue Three would remember his training and take the jets breaking right. Sanders still had the height advantage and remained in a slight dive as he made a 4 g turn to get a look at some tail pipes. Two jets broke right in a level turn and Sanders slide in behind them. "Take the right Blue Two," Sanders said and Blue Two's missile launch came almost immediately. Sanders then fired his second missile and started looking for more targets and almost missed seeing his bandit blow up. Some of the jets were resuming a course towards the retreating strike Mosquitoes but with little hope of catching them in a stern chase Sanders picked a lone jet and fired his third missile at it. There was nothing else in view and Sanders returned to the original course and climbed, hoping to shadow the strike package home. Blue Three called for them to slow up and allow them to rejoin the flight and Sanders eased back on the throttles. When Blue Three and Four showed up he pushed the throttles forward resumed his gradual overtake of the main formation.

Minutes later, Sanders heard Blood Red One dispatch another flight of four to deal with more overtaking jets. Strike lead remained on his base course and was running flat out towards home base without any contact with jets yet. There seemed to be little that Sanders and Blue flight could do to aid either the Bloods or the strike package of Polar Bear Mosquitoes. Blue Two had an idea.

"Blue One, Two. Since we are way back of the strike birds can we turn on our data links? It would give base some status information and if the Five's pick it up it might draw them away from the strike package."

Sanders thought it over. Radio silence was necessary to deny the enemy knowledge of the strike force's position but they were at least 30 miles ahead of Blue Flight and some misdirection could get the strike birds off scot-free. It could also bring a series of attacks on Blue Flight like the ones that killed the previous Bloods C.O. and his flight of four. But Sanders had three missiles left and everyone else had at least three. And they were fighter pilots who did not get bonuses for bringing back ordinance.

"Blue Flight, Blue One. Light up your data links and dump all your data to base. And keep your eyes open."

Abe was pissed. It was the middle of a battle that could change the fate of two races. Abe was right smack dab in the middle of the crucial events of this battle and he was worried. Willie, his subordinate, was getting all the available human action from the Kodiak and Trainer Wings and Abe was getting strict radio silence from the Bloods and the Polar Bears. It wasn't fair. Abe was the squad leader and Willie just a private. Stel and other Bear officers were hanging over Willie's shoulders to get a peek at the action. Abe was being ignored. That all changed as a red warning banner flashed on Abe's screen devoted to the Bloods.

The banner just stated that data links with Blue Flight had been re-established. It took a few seconds for the data link software to load and then make sense of the incoming information then windows popped open all over the screen. Blue Flight's status information when to the lower right corner and a map appeared in the center of the screen. Other windows contained camera feeds from the four fighters. Abe selected the map and tried to make sense of it all. Positioning his cursor on a line he assumed was the strike forces flight path, a small window popped up and gave the coordinates, time, course, speed, and number of aircraft that passed that point. Selecting the furthest point, Abe was rewarded with the missile launch information.

"Forty seven Cheap Charlies were launched on course 271 twelve minutes ago. All the launches were successful and the birds are hot." Suddenly, Abe was getting his fair share of attention. Stel pounced upon Abe and put some bruises on his shoulders as she stared intently at the screen. Abe explained what he could from the screen and then Stel asked, "Where are they now."

Able clicked on the last point of the solid line representing the flight path and found the current position of just Blue Flight. Taking a guess, he clicked on a dotted line that extended ahead of Blue Flight and found an estimated position for the rest of the strike force. "No losses so far. Blue Flight is trailing behind for some reason and is transmitting. The main force is still maintaining radio silence." Stel was off instantly to update the status boards. Abe gave Willie a contemptuous snort. "Top that, car wash scum," said Abe to Willie, referring to their afternoon stint helping wash down Bear armored vehicles.

"No sweat, I just got a report of three groups of bandits approaching the surface defense task force. Bandit Group Alpha is 10 minutes away and consists of 50 plus bandits. Groups Bravo and Charlie are smaller and at least 20 and 25 minutes away. The Trainers are going to scramble another 16 anti-air birds."

Events came to Abe's rescue and restored his rightful position as the center of attention. The Cheap Charlies maintained radio silence until their terminal attack runs and then started transmitting camera feeds to anyone listening. Fortunately, Blue Flight was high enough to receive and relay at least some of the last few seconds of the missiles attack run. In the center of Abe's screen a clear image of the port side of an aircraft carrier and an aircraft elevator at the hanger deck level. The missile zeroed in on a jet being moved onto the elevator and Abe got a brief impression of under wing stores before the window dissolved into static and switched to another feed. Stel refreshed the bruises on Abe's shoulders, as she demanded, "Play that back."

More feeds were coming in and windows were popped up with a few seconds of video from more than 20 missiles. Windows were opening and closing and were being overlaid with new windows faster than Abe could keep track of them. Abe would no sooner select a window to try to get a replay than a new window appears right in the middle of his selection. After 90 seconds or so, the missile camera feeds stopped coming and Abe spotted a window with a list of files. Starting at the top he clicked on each in turn a got a replay of each missile's last few seconds. Several videos ended way short their targets but 12 went all the way to at least three different carriers. The last video closed in on a carrier that burning fiercely and experiencing at least two secondary explosions.

For the next 8 minutes Abe played and replayed every attack video he had and tried to answer questions that were at best only guesses. When asked for the total number of hits he could only reply, "At least 12 but we didn't have enough relay transmitters to catch all the camera feeds." To the question of what ships were hit, Abe could only reply that at least 5 ships including at least 3 carriers. The attack was clearly a huge success but the question of its being a decisive blow was not clear. Then Abe lost his audience.

Over at Willies station the Trainer's CAP had worked into position just behind and above the first group of 50 plus bandits and was transmitting gun camera images. The bandits were slowed by heavy external loads of fuel and bombs and were making about 375 mph. They were sitting ducks for the CAP birds that were firing heat-seeking missiles from above and behind. The gun cameras of the Gulls had great view of the action. The Five's refused to drop their bomb loads and bored on toward the surface defense task force. It was a turkey shoot for the Gulls of the CAP but they had to break off as the surviving jets entered the air-defense envelop of the task force.

The first air-defense response was the 96 mm dual-purpose guns that send up dense clouds of black explosions and sharp metal fragments in the path of the attacking jets. Next were the 53 mm rapid-fire cannons that fired strings of tracers that filled the sky with deadly 5 pound projectiles. As the dwindling numbers of jets closed the last ditch defense of quad-mounted 21 mm cannons started firing. It was a devastating barrage that wiped most of the jets from the sky. Most of the attackers were shot down but not all. Three survived and did not even attempt to drop their bombs but just rammed their targets.

The resulting explosions were clearly picked up by the CAP's fixed, forward looking gun cameras and transmitted to the air base and then picked up by Willie. Images were brief as the CAP fighters had to point their aircraft toward the stricken ships to get a picture and then had to change course to stay out of the air-defense envelope. Various Bears wanting more pictures and all speaking at once without benefit of a translator besieged Willie. Willie was trying his best but the seemingly random nature of the feeds from various aircraft kept most of the images focused on patches of sky, clouds, and water. The images of burning ships and their Bear crew were available but scattered among the 16 birds of the Trainer CAP. The problem became worse as the 16 Kodiak planes joined the joined the party.

No sooner would Willie find a camera showing the damaged ships than the plane would turn away and Willie would frantically search for another camera pointed in the right direction. The Bears looking over his shoulder did not seem to have any concept of the problem and were getting more and more demanding. Finally, Abe could not stand it any longer and grabbed a Bear by the arm and demanded in a loud voice, "Get back! Let the man work!" Rather incredulous 300 to 400 pound Bears stared at Abe but he held his ground. One Bear reached out and took a handful of Abe's shirt and pulled him up to get a close look at a mouthful of formidable Bear teeth. Abe was impressed but mad enough to repeat his demands. Fortunately for Abe, Stel rushed over from where she was updating status boards and issued some sharp sounding commands. The Bears backed off and Willie and Abe went back to trying finding and replaying images of the both attacks.

Willie was so intent that he missed the "Tally Ho" calls from the CAP fighters as Bandit Group Bravo approached the surface defense task force. Abe did catch it and touched Willie on the arm and said, "Listen to the radio calls, the fighters are going after another bunch." Willie mutter a "Shit" under his breath and on his third try got a picture of oncoming jets complete with missile smoke trails. It soon became apparent that these bandits were an air-to-air bunch. Soon, a General and Stel were watching but not interfering as Willie tried to make sense of the swirling air battle. Willie had two screens and multiple windows open on each screen and the CAP radio frequency on his audio speakers and he was totally overloaded with raw data. Abe watched in horror as one window showed an inverted view of the sky and ocean and then just on-rushing Ocean before going blank. One of the fighters just crashed into the ocean.

Stel tapped Abe on the shoulder and pointed to his unmanned monitors. Abe took the hint and went back to being second banana watching videos of empty seas as Blood Blue Flight trailed the homeward bound Polar Bears. Sometimes being a squad leader just plain sucked.

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

# You Can Always Tell a Fighter Pilot, But

June of Year 32

Phil had his Gull strapped on and was ready to go flying. The Gull was fully loaded with 25 mm, the latest side looking missiles, and two extra fuel tanks. But his orders were to remain on the ground. The Bears had pulled strings to get him designed as a close air support specialist and there would be no air-to-mud action today. Phil was in reserve for the last ditch effort to defend the Trainer/Kodiak airbase and that was that, or so they thought. Phil had other ideas.

The ground power and data lines were connected and the latest Intel was coming up on both of his screens. One feed that Phil was watching with particular interest was the take off queue. Flights of four were constantly being moved up from 15-minute alert status to 5-minutes alert status to start engines to taxi to take-off status. Flights of four, three, two and even one were returning, some with battle damage. Refueling, rearming, replacing pilots, treating wounded pilots, and repairs to aircraft were on going all over the base. Both Wings were conducting surge operations in the air defense of the Bears Surface Defense Task Force. All air-to-air defense operations and Phil was a Forward Air Controller (FAC) for ground attack operations. So Phil sat and waited for his opportunity.

It was a second major battle of the day with the air war over the task force being the highest priority and the back stage, airbase only battle between chaos and order being fought by the ground crews and air controllers. It was a battle that the ground crews and air controllers were winning but only just. The heavy pressure of the air attacks and the resulting losses were keeping the pressure on the ground staff and some mistakes were inevitable.

"Kodiak Green Four has a check engine light on. The codes indicate that the supercharger is Kaput." Phil heart started pumping a little faster as he checked his radio to make sure he was on the air controller channel. This could be his chance. Flights of four were the smallest units currently being committed to the fight and Green Flight would have to wait for a replacement.

"Tower, Trainer FAC One is ready to taxi and can take Green Four's place." It is a military axiom that ten percent never get the word and Phil was hoping that this controller was not a ninety kind of guy.

"FAC One, who the hell are you? You are not on my list."

"FAC One is a Gull loaded for war and ready to taxi from pit seventeen. Or is this an invitation-only war?" Phil was motioning to Aban to pull the power and data lines and had his finger on the start engine button. Aban actually beat the controller and the engine was starting when the reply came.

"Start engine FAC One. Permission is granted to taxi to the south end of the field and join Green Flight as the number four. Good luck and good hunting."

It was a couple of days later that the Bears learned about this and that it is sometimes difficult to get through to a fighter pilot.

Chaos and the Fives were winning over the contested invasion beaches. The Bear surface warships were firing continuously at the invaders and any aircraft within range. Several warships were burning but only two had been sunk. Even the burning ships were firing at Five's amphibious ships, landing craft, and anything else that didn't look totally benign. Organization in the CAP had broken down and it was swirling dogfights of pairs of Gulls and even singletons against far greater numbers of attacking jets. Squadron flights of sixteen under the control of a senior pilot who orchestrated attacks on groups of bandits had broken down into air-to-air duels of individual Gull pilots who were lucky to have a wingman. No squadron or flight of four remained organized to fight intact when Green Flight approached the coast. The air-to-air radio channels were filled with excited and panic filled voices that talked over each other, interrupted frequently by a powerful voice that warned of still another approaching group of bandits.

"Green Flight, we are going to steer clear of the invasion beach and head out to sea. I am going to try to pick up the next bunch of bandits and try to bounce bombers instead of mixing it up with the air-to-air types. The bombers are the priority, not the fighters."

"Damn good idea," thought Phil. "I hope the next bunch is armed with bombs instead of missiles."

Green flight had been running at full power on the way from the airbase to the invasion beaches in order to gain altitude and shorten the travel time but still had fuel in the drop tanks. Phil was itching to get rid of the extra weight and drag of the external tanks but the big radial engines gulped fuel at full power and nobody was shooting at them yet. So the tanks stayed on as Green Flight circled out to sea in search of incoming attack jets.

It was Green Flight lead that spotted the incoming bandits off to their right and a few thousand feet lower. There were two bunches of about 12 aircraft each and they had external stores of some kind. Phil waited for the call to drop the external fuel tanks and break into the bandits. Instead, Green Flight Lead simply rolled and pulled his nose toward the bandits. His number two followed and in a few seconds Green Three did likewise. Nobody dropped their wing tanks and Phil cursed and then followed his lead, Green Three. Green One picked the closest group of aircraft and Green Three picked the other.

Phil dropped back and moved out to about 500 yard separation in preparation of watching his wingman's back and watched as Green Three launched first one then a second missile. A few seconds later Green Three fired another two missiles and then used his radio.

"Green Three is dry, Four take the lead."

"Roger Three, Four has the lead," replied Phil as pushed the throttle forward and engaged the water injection in an attempt to pass Green Three and get a clear shot. His eyes fixed on the extreme right-hand bandit as he pressed the missile-firing button to the first detent, telling the ready missile to look where his helmet mounted sight pointed. A growl in his ears was the signal that the missile was tracking a target and Phil mashed down the rest of the way on the firing button and the missile was away.

Then the bandits broke in both left and right directions as they sighted the inbound missiles and attempted to evade. Phil had another bandit locked up but hesitated as one of Green Three's missiles was tracking this bandit and Phil had to switch to another jet and didn't get a tone indication a lock. Cursing, Phil pulled a tight turn to keep several of the jets in view and fixed his stare on a likely target and pressed the missile-firing button to the first detent again and got another growl. He sent his second missile on its way and was looking for another target when Green Three's voice cut through to his get his attention.

"Come left Four so I can get a shot at the guy on your tail." Phil rolled left and pulled on the stick and resisted the temptation look back and tried to turn so that his nose was pointing at another bandit. This concentration was interrupted by tracers flashing by on his right followed by two jets screaming by even closer on his right. Phil reversed his turn and desperately tried to get a missile to lock on to the passing jets and saw one explode in flames as Green Three's cannon rounds walked over the jet's wing and fuselage, exploding as they impacted. Phil got a tone but figured that the missile was tracking the burning jet and turned to pick up another jet and get some kind of mental picture of the fight. But things were happening just too fast and there were too many airplanes and missiles in the air to do any more that just frantically scan for a possible target. That and hope Green Three was still watching his back.

As Phil pulled back on the stick in a tight turn he cursed as his plane seemed to be a bit sluggish in the turn and it dawned on him that he still had those external tanks. "Green Four is punching off the external tanks," he announced on the radio. "Got any targets in sight, Green Three?" Phil asked.

"Come left; there is a flight of four at your eight o'clock, Green Four." Phil spotted them as he made the left bank and when they were on his 11 o'clock he leveled his wings and got a missile lock and fired one missile and then his fourth and last missile. "Green Four is dry. Let go find the rest of Green Flight."

A powerful voice that could only come from a powerful ground based radio then chimed in. "Kodiak Green One and Two are down, return to base Kodiak Green Three and Four."

"Who the hell are you, you no call sign asshole," Phil answered.

"I am on the burning ship furthest north, Kodiak Green Four. Thanks for your assistance. If we ever meet I will buy the beer, now go home get more missiles."

"Roger, Kodiak Green returning to base." Phil couldn't think of anything else to say. Besides, just cannons didn't cut it in fighting jets. But Phil was back as a fighter pilot and he was happy about that, especially since he was flying with one hell of a wingman in Green Three.

# Chapter Thirty

# We Got Her Cornered

June of Year 32

Seth was pissed. The video of the battle over the invasion beaches was just coming in and the battle was far from decided. Bob, Jake, and Ben were eating pizza and drinking beer and getting first hand looks at the most critical battle since the Furries tried to cross the Salmon River. But was Seth getting a look at all this? No, he was on his way to a Sand Mountain Police station where Mary had assaulted a citizen and was cornered in an interview room by a squad of cops.

Seth could believe that Mary had assaulted a citizen. There are lots of dumb citizens out there, but how had they cornered her in an interview room? "Bound to be a few broken bones in that squad of cops," said Seth to himself as he drove his jeep towards the police station. He soon found out that he was right.

At the front entrance to the police station there were two ambulances. A cop with his right arm in a sling was being helped into one ambulance and another cop with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head was sitting on the on the curb next to the other. There were several medical types in attendance but no more cops. "Wonder where the rest of the cops are?" mused Seth.

Inside, he found a hallway filled with cops, most with guns drawn and several looking a little worst for wear. After having several of the guns pointed at him and been told to "Get out", Seth identified himself as a representative of the Bear in question. "Where the hell is she?" he demanded. "And put away those guns, you might make her mad."

No guns were lowered but one cop did point to a door and indicated that a Bear was on the other side. Seth didn't wait for any further small talk and strode through the door. He was met with a very close view of a clenched Bear paw. Fortunately, Mary stopped the blow just short of Seth's nose. "What the hell, Mary! You aren't supposed to pick on the cops," Seth blurted out. Mary didn't look any worst for wear but had a wild, intense look on her face that scared the shit out of Seth.

"Assholes," growled Mary who turned away from Seth and glared at a civilian and barely conscious cop, who both looked a lot worse for wear. Both of who flinched under Mary's glare. "That one habitually beats his wife and children," said Mary pointing at the civilian. "He killed a little boy today and that piece of trash has been covering for him." This time she indicated the cop. "The rest of the cops in this station take their word over mine. Did you bring some guns? I might need some help in cleaning out this nest of rats"

Seth, who was burning up brain cells in a rush of adrenalin and attempt to make sense of everything and find the right words that would make everything alright replied, "No, but let me make a call and I will get this straightened out right now." How, he didn't have a clue but a firefight with the cops didn't seem like a good idea, even for a Gloria Scout.

Mary, who was astounded at this lack of enthusiasm restrained herself and just growled at the two prisoners. Seth fumbled with his cell phone and managed to punch Bob Smith's number. He was relieved when it was answered after just one ring. He quickly explained the situation and asked Bob to call up the local military and have them send an armed squad of MP's to the police station. "We are going to have a major interspecies incident if we don't handle this right. Send a judge you can trust as well. It looks like we got a whole station of bad cops." Seth didn't even think to ask about the fate of the surface defense task force.

It was a tense 30 minutes until the MP's arrived. Mary wasn't talking and showed a lot of teeth whenever the cornered civilian and cop showed any indication of doing anything except cower in the corner. Then a bald head poked around the entrance door and asked if it was alright to enter.

"Sure," answered Seth. Mary just growled.

"I am Judge Anderson and just what is going on. And just who are you and what is so important that you need to get a judge in the middle of his dinner?" The bald headed man had entered the room and was surveying the room as he asked his questions.

Seth identified himself and Mary and gave a brief explanation of why Mary had taken on a station full of cops. Mary then interrupted and proceeded to lay out the details of the case. A lawyer representing the parents of the murdered boy had called Mary and she had come to interview the suspect. The battered cop on the floor had intervened and tried lying to her. She then had picked up the cop and the suspect and thrown them into an interview room. Some of the other cops tried to intervene she had proceeded to beat the hell of three of them. Then she went into the interview room and conducted the interrogation of both men.

The judge sat and listened intently without asking question. When Mary finished her explanation she leaned back against the wall and asked, "What are you going to do about this?"

"Well, everyone around here knows the Jeff Williams here is a wife beater and an all round mean son of a bitch. He has a real temper too. But his wife and kids never follow through on any charges. I can believe that he beat little Jimmy Johnson to death, there has always been bad blood between the Williams and the Johnsons. And this piece of shit cop is a cousin of Jeff's and a drinking and hunting buddy. I can believe that he tried to cover things up. He's been doing that for years, but never for something so serious. In fact, this whole police station is a problem. There have been lots of allegations of misconduct over the years. Guess we are going to get to do a thorough investigation this time. Since I am a Federal Judge and Mary here has diplomatic immunity, we are going have to bring in the Federal Police and Federal Attorneys into this matter. In the meantime, I am going to throw Jeff Williams in Jail, suspend the cops involved, and ask Mary to be available for the investigation. I suspect that your lie detection abilities are going to get an acid test. We just might be on the verge of making a lot of new law here.

# Chapter Thirty One

# Clean Up

June of Year 32

"Bears follow orders." The Bear base commander seemed cool and calm as he addressed Phil. "Why didn't you. Were the orders unclear?"

"No sir, the orders were clear. However, I am a fighter pilot and there was a fight going on, a fight where every pilot and plane was needed. Just ask the Bears in the surface task force."

"I did and you were needed and are still needed. The highest need now is fighter pilots for the surface task force CAP. Tell your commander that you are available for CAP duty. If you survive, you will need to explain yourself to General Stacker."

That was music to Phil's ears and he saluted and got the hell away before the Bear changed his mind. Since this little confrontation was at the refuel and rearm station and his plane was only 50 feet away, he wasn't quite sure where he was going but anywhere away from being ordered to be a FAC again was alright for the time being. Aban had his head buried in the cockpit and was busy with something. Several other Bears and two humans were still loading missiles and cannon ammo so Phil headed for a Bear lunch wagon.

A huge sandwich in hand, Phil went back to check on Aban. Aban looked up from the depths of the cockpit and immediately grabbed the sandwich, took a big bite and buried his head back in the cockpit. Phil just shrugged philosophical and when back to the lunch wagon. This time he got a sandwich and a beer and went looking for Green Three. But he had no luck, the Green Three plane had a mixed group of humans and Bears tearing into the engine and the pilot was nowhere to be seen. So he headed back to his aircraft. When he got there he handed the beer to Aban. Aban took the beer and gave Phil the thumbs up sign that the aircraft was ready. Phil walked around the aircraft and found that he had just four missiles and one extra fuel tank mounted on the centerline. There didn't seem to any extra dings in the bird so he climbed up, put on his gear and eased into the seat. Since the power and data lines were connected, he checked in and reported ready. The orders were immediate. "Start engine, taxi to the takeoff queue. I will find you a wingman by the time you are ready to take off," said an unidentified voice.

Phil motioned to Aban to stand clear and started his engine. Following Aban's directions, he taxied out of the refuel and rearm station and moved slowly toward the take off queue. There were a lot of shot up Gulls on the way and a lot of Bears and humans working on them but only one plane in the takeoff queue. Phil decided to preempt the situation.

"Gull waiting to take off, this is Purple One. I am right behind you and you have been assigned as my wingman."

"No dice asshole, this Red One and you are my wingman and when we finish up today you are going to spend the night in the detention center." The voice was that of the current commander of Phil's old squadron. And for once Phil shut up and waited for the tower to clear them for takeoff.

The sky's over the invasion beaches were fairly quiet, no Fives and only a few Gulls. The beaches themselves were the center of the fighting. What was left of the Surface Defense Task Force had finished up a run by the active beaches and had turned around and was slowly coming back. Their shelling the enemy beaches was continuous. Two ships were beached, burning and listing but were still firing from at least some gun mounts. The only visible Fives were scrambling to cross the low ridge to escape the naval gunfire. Phil could see Bear shells impacting in the valley in between the low ridge and the high ridge that were coming from the inland forces. Bear armor was advancing toward the high ridge. Phil's lead seemed content to obit at 15,000 feet and take in the scenery. Phil was content to simply follow and keep quite. Several pairs of Gulls arrived over the next hour and one pair left but no Fives.

Abe and Willie were bored. Stel kept them glued to their computer screens but nothing, but nothing was happening. The Polar Bears had landed and the Trainers and Kodiaks were busy as hell repairing Gulls but the CAP operations consisted of slow obits over the ocean. The Bears were now the stars of the information flows. Feeds from the Surface Defense Task Force and the advancing armor forces were getting all the good video and Stel would not let them even get a peek. Life as a squad leader still sucked in Abe's opinion.

Eastwood was thinking. After all, ex-presidents don't actually do grunt work and the little people were for taking care of the little details. Eastwood was definitely a big picture guy. Sam however, was as busy as a little worker bee should be. No air action but the Surface Defense Task Force was shooting up any Five in sight and totally innocent sand dunes when there wasn't. The list of targets and sand dunes was long and getting longer and Sam determined to record, classify, and summarize everything, innocent or not.

"What's next?" Eastwood asked.

"The Bear navy is creaming them and the armor is advancing," answered Sam, totally missing Eastwood's big picture point.

"No, I mean what's next. The invasion attempt is finished and it should be clear that amphibious landings are almost impossible without air superiority. Just what are those assholes going to do now that they have gotten bloody noses on our continent and here on the Bear continent? I don't think they are just going to stop."

With an almost audible grind of gears, Sam made a visible effort to switch gears from the nearly catastrophic tactical situation to consider the new strategic environment.

"They will blockade the continent and start air strikes to attrite our remaining air assets. Then, when they recover a bit, they might try another invasion attempt. At least that's what I would do. The invasion could be here or on our continent. I could make an argument for either continent but if it's here, Midway would have to go."

Not bad strategic thinking for a busy little worker bee. Even Eastwood was impressed.

"Will they have to go home to rest and repair or do they have enough left to just steam east and clobber Midway?" Eastwood asked. "Maybe even take it with the remains of their amphibious forces?"

"I would go home and build up my forces first. In the mean time do a lot of scouting and recon. Then hit Midway and blockade, raid, and invade later. But the Fives are not very sensitive to losses so they may go for broke and take Midway now. All that's there is a few submarines. Maybe not even that. The subs may have been recalled to help with the current invasion."

"What should we do?" Eastwood was adsorbing these thoughts and was letting the little people fill in the gaps.

"Reinforce Midway and tell my big brother and Jake to crank up big time. Or at least request President English and President Baker to consider doing so. Maybe get the Bears to find some way to help pay for a massive air power build up. Both English and Baker are going to howl about the expense." Sam's big brother was Bob Smith who was building all of the warplanes for both continents.

"Sounds right to me," said Eastwood. "Let's talk to General Roof and get your brother on the computer.

Bob, Jake, Ben, Seth, and Mary were watching the big monitor and were currently watching feeds from a Bear APC. A secretary entered and whispered to Bob. "Sam is on the online and requests to talk to you."

"Thanks Patty, put it on the big screen, will you."

Thirty seconds later, Sam's head appeared in a window in the middle of the big monitor. "Hey big brother, got a minute to talk to President Eastwood and me about how to defend Midway?"

Bob jumped right in with just a "Hi Sam" to precede his opinion on defending Midway. "It can't be done. Not if the Fives or anyone else really wants to take it. The best we can do is to place a composite wing of Mosquitoes and Super Mosquitoes on the island with a bunch of Terminators and make sure that they really want it and are willing to pay the price. I can augment them with some recon UAVs that I have made a few of. They are small flying wings that are powered by 200 horsepower, air cooled, turbo-diesels. They are stealthy and can stay up about 20 hours. They could give you target locations to program into your Terminators and let any bad guys get an idea of the potential cost of messing with Midway. But the island is too small and one good airstrike could eliminate your air power. Any determined enemy could take it, especially if they have jets and aircraft carriers."

# Chapter Thirty Two

# No Rest for the Weary

July of Year 32

Midway turned out to be a nice, tropical paradise, with lots of Bear beer. Just what Sanders needed, sandy beaches, tropical breezes, beer but sadly, no action, or chicks. He had been transferred to Midway with command of six H model Mosquitoes. In the two weeks that he had been on the island, four more of the new fighters had been ferried direct from the training and manufacturing base at Sand Mountain. The word from Bob Smith was that was about what he could expect; two new fighters a week until he had a full 24 plane squadron. Best of all, Sanders was first in line to be the squadron commander. Of course, if they were attacked, they would all be dead. Still, the beaches and the beer were great, if he could find the time.

Sanders was on his way to a ridiculously small aircraft revetment. Like all of the aircraft revetments it had a wooden frame walls that were packed with dirt and sand. The roof was canvas and it was camouflaged and hidden under some trees. But it was only about half the size of any other aircraft revetment. Parked inside was one of the new reconnaissance drones. It was a flying wing with no visible engines or propellers.

"It sure is a strange looking beast. Is a jet?" Sanders asked the two humans and three bears that were opening up hatches and peering into the air intakes.

"Nope, replied a civilian human wearing military fatigues with the shoulder patch logo of Bob Smith's aircraft company. "It has a 200 horsepower diesel with a two stage turbocharger running a ducted fan. This way we can eliminate the radar return of a propeller. The fan is completely enclosed here in the airframe," he said as he patted part of the aircraft. "It is like a turbofan engine except the fan is powered by a diesel instead of a jet engine." he said with a considerable amount of pride. "Basically, it is a robot airplane. It takes off, flies, and lands by itself. And it is all yours, don't lose it."

"Well, it sure is neat looking, but just what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Reconnaissance," was the reply.

This was great news for Sanders, 10 fighters, and undisclosed numbers of recon drones complete with a mixed civilian and military crew was being added to his expanding aviation empire. There was also a rumor that the pair of two engine transports was being modified for anti-submarine duty by a mob of unusually intense bears over on the other side of island. No doubt it would be added to his empire with its human pilots and bear ground crew. And then there was the matter of a mixed gaggle of Mosquitoes and Super Mosquitoes being worked up in Sand Mountain that were going to fed piecemeal into Midway any time now. There was some human anti-aircraft unit wandering around somewhere without any clue of where to go or what to do. All these various units were part of the composite wing being formed on midway. The only thing missing was the command element. Well, missing except to newly promoted Major Steve Sanders, who was going to flying a desk for the foreseeable future.

Phil and Aban were standing in front of a mixed bunch of humans and bears. Phil was the new CO of a detachment of Forward Air Controllers (FAC's) and Aban was his XO. General Stacker had not been sympathetic about Phil's desire to resume his career as a fighter pilot. Stacker wanted FAC's that could work with Bear ground forces and Phil was one he wanted to accomplish this task. Everyone thought that this was the ideal slot for Phil and that command of the detachment was a great opportunity for him. Phil was just pissed off. He thought that he was fighter pilot period. Aban thought that Phil should follow orders period, and maybe be made an honorary Bear.

Stel, Abe, and Willie were attached to a Bear General as inter-species communication specials. They were drinking a lot of beer and Abe and Willie were teaching Stel about computer games, especially first person shooter games.

Eastwood and Sam spending endless days haggling with the Bears about how many planes, missiles and various nuts and bolts were a reasonable trade for submarines and jet engines. The good news was that dependents were being allowed to accompany them on their tour of duty on the Bear continent and that Seth and the three bears were making bundles of money back in Sand Mountain.

Whylan and the Night Stalker were playing hide and seek with the retreating Five taskforces. They had picked off a straggling escort and were salivating over a slow and listing carrier.

Bob, Jake, and Ben were in Sand Mountain trying to squeeze more production of their sprawling factories. At least Barbara English in the NAR was giving some grudging cooperation to Joshua Baker and the EC. In fact she was in trouble back in River City for her lack of support in the battle for the Bear Continent.

And everyone was waiting for next race to step forward and try to take a continent from either the Humans or their best friends the Bears.

The End

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