Storymania - Weller--A Novel In Work by Woody Floria

Weller--A Novel In Work (2)
Woody Floria

Shanna Miller was running hard now, she had the Dodge’s big V-8 opened up and she was pushing it to the redline. Ahead in the distance she could see the glow of lights from the ring of refineries that nearly encircle Beaumont. A few more miles and she’d be home safe. Adam was strapped in beside her, petrified with fear. Fucking evil bastards she thought to herself. Her child would never be normal, never know peace, never be safe. Just as she careened around a sharp right hand curve she saw the blinding lights directly ahead of her. Reflexively, she slammed on the brakes and pulled the steering wheel hard right, fishtailing the truck’s light rear end into a hard spin. The truck turned a full 360 degree then flipped end over end coming to rest on its passenger side. The air bag had deployed with a deafening roar and Shanna hung suspended from her seat belt knocked semi-unconscious. Instinctively, she reached out trying to find her son Adam in the glow from the dash lights. Feeling his little body wedged tightly against the passenger side door, she tore frantically at his seat belt in an attempt to pull him close. Fighting the panic and fright she felt overwhelming her senses, she was suddenly filled with a feeling of warmth and serenity. Everything is okay. You are fine, your child is safe. Be at peace. We will help you. As the feeling of warmth flowed through her body, Shanna drifted into a state of peaceful sleep.

General Alfred Crocker sat patiently through Specialist Brown’s update then took control of the situation. Reaching over to the phone, he pressed the hold button and then looked at Hendrix with a hard stare. We’ve got confirmed angles and we know their destination--outstanding!! Hendrix could see the fire in Crocker’s eyes and knew exactly where his thoughts were going. Crocker reached back over and release the hold button on the phone. Peanut? What air assets do we have available? Anticipating Crocker’s wishes, Brown had already been mustering a list of available military options.
Closest available is a flight of two F-14 Tomcats over the gulf out of NAS-Corpus, sir. Arms, Crocker quarried? Strapped, Brown replied. Homeland Defense patrol, locked and loaded, full compliment air to air. Patch me through to NAS-Corpus, C and C Crocker instructed.

Deputy Sheriff Lance Wilcox was code three and moving fast through the night on a mystery call. All he knew was there had been a Hell of bang in his district and he was headed in the general direction of God only knows what as fast as he could get there. Over a rise in the terrain he could see a strange pattern of lights in the road ahead. Tapping his brakes, he slowed his Crown Vic Police Interceptor down to a more manageable speed and eased up to the scene of the accident. A Dodge pick up lay on it’s side just off the center of the road. Screeching to a complete stop, Wilcox jumped out of his vehicle and sprinted over to the wrecked truck. A quick look inside confirmed the truck was empty. Scouting around the scene in a quick search Wilcox was momentarily perplexed. Had the driver been thrown clear, or had he simply walked away. Keying up his mike, Wilcox called in the plate number and reported the accident and his location to central dispatch.

Weller slid back into his fighting hole pulling its Styrofoam cover over his head. He knew his thermal image would be nil with the Styrofoam in place. Through a crack at the edge of the hole he watch the ship glide silently over the tree tops toward the open field. It was lights out, a black triangle blocking out the star field overhead as it moved at an agonizingly slow pace and then stopped at a complete hover over the ambush site. In an instant, a blinding white light flashed out of the bottom of the ship illuminating the ground in a 100 foot circle around the sickening remains of the slaughtered alien party. Weller watch in a near state of disbelief as the bodies began to vaporize before his eyes. The sandy gumbo mud on the road began to crystallize into dirty, black glass under the intense heat of the light. Easing back across the field the ship stopped once again over the remaining dead alien left prostrate on the ground face down in the mud and once again the slight streaked down wiping out the last physical evidence of Weller’s rampage. Land damnit, Weller screamed in frustration!! Come and get me you son’s of bitches!!! In a moment of utter despair, anger bursting through ever fiber of his being, Weller grabbed the M-1 Carbine engaged the trigger assist hell-fire devise and emptied the clip’s remaining 28 rounds directly at the black mass as it hovered less then 100 yards away. Seemingly without notice of his actions, the light snapped off and the ship slipped away into the darkness of the night sky.

Lt. Commander Jim Andrews was OD at NAS-Corpus Christi when the call came in from SAC, Cheyenne Mountain on the encrypted, secure line. Shit, Andrews thought to himself, some numb nuts with nothing better to do, is going to ruin my evening with another bullshit Homeland security exercise. NAS-Corpus, Andrews answered, with just a hint of bored exasperation in his voice. Andrews attitude was met and overwhelmed by the tone only a General Officer with years of time in grade can muster as Crocker tersely dressed him down for not answering the secure line correctly.
Who’s speaking, Crocker demanded? Lt. Commander Jim Andrews Sir, Andrews answered reflexively, immediately aware that we was speaking with a superior officer. Andrews, the is General Alfred Crocker, stand by for code authentication. In an instant, Andrews had grabbed a pen and note pad to write the code he knew was forthcoming. Two minutes later, Andrews had authenticated the codes Crocker provided. Standing by for further instructions, sir, Andrews confirmed. Andrews, we show you have two Tomcats on patrol over the Gulf, Aye, aye Sir, Andrews confirmed, they are on the homebound leg of their patrol and we have a second flight on the ready line standing by for take off. We confirm, Crocker announced, launch your alert flight, we will be taking over C and C from this point. Aye, Aye, Sir Andrews confirmed, more then relieved to be off the hook for whatever little black project SAC had up its sleeve.

Lt. Frank Tankowski, call sign “Tank” sat patiently on approach to runway 2 left at Corpus Christi Naval Air Station when his radio cracked to life. Navy two-two-zero you are cleared for take off. Wind, zero, zero, eight Northwest. Confirm Tower, Tank replied looking over at his wing man, Lt. Jim Flowers, call sign “Valentine.” A silent nod and thumbs up signaled the joint rollout as the two F14 Tomcats paired up and rolled down the runway side by side in a perfect combat lift off. Climbing to Angels 18 tower, Tank reported as the powerful Tomcat’s afterburners pushed the warplanes effortlessly into the night sky. Stand by for orders “Tank” an unruffled female voice purred into the flight leader’s headset. Now switching C and C to Crystal Mountain. What the Fuck, Tank thought--almost out loud. Navy Flight two, two, zero, this is Crystal Mountain, how do you copy? Five by five Crystal Mountain Tank confirmed. Affirm, proceed to grid coordinates 260 Charlie, Charlie--we are vectoring you in to top off. You are number two in line behind Flight Zero, Three, Four. Roger that, Crystal Mountain Tank confirmed.. Three-Four, Tank thought to himself, Bud Wilken’s flight. Keying up his mike. Tank Tankowski switched over to the secure air to air net and hailed Bud “Refer” Wilkins. Coming up on your six, Refer. Roger that, Tank Wilken replied, we’re tanks full and rolling off the nipple.

UPDATE STARTS HERE

General Alfred Crocker and Col Matt Hendrix had taken up positions adjacent to Specialist Charles “Peanut” Brown’s primary command console as he vectored the two Navy flights of F14 Tomcat’s on to their intercept coordinates. Okay, Crocker exclaimed, the hounds are in place, now for the hunter. Keying up his comms, Peanut Brown reached out to the FA-22 fighter outbound from Kelly Air Force base. Air Force 9, 6, Bravo, this is Crystal Mountain, how do you copy? Wall to wall Crystal Mountain, standing by for further instructions. Roger, Roger, 9, 6, Bravo, proceed to coordinates four, niner, Lima, Oscar and await further instruction. 10-4, Crystal Mountain, 9, 6, Bravo out.

Major Ed Furlough, call sign “Big Time” throttled his FA-22 Stealth fighter up to 700 MPH, maintaining his speed just below the sound barrier to avoid the sonic booms that seemed to piss the general public off to no end and locked his flight coordinates into the onboard navigation computer. ETA to coordinates four, niner, Lima, Oscar 13 minutes he thought to himself as he ran a complete check on his weapons systems. This was the night!! All his training was finally going to be tested.

Furlough had spent over a year secreted away in the Nevada desert at Area 51 training for this moment. He knew his mission requirements all too well. Tonight, he was on a “bug” hunt. His weapons were designed to disable, not destroy. Other fighter jocks had caught a break in the past and brought down alien craft, but they were of little value once hit by a broadside of sidewinder missiles. New technology had been developed, but thus far, not “ real time” tested. Tonight would be the acid test. The electro pulse weapon system on his F-22 was unique and top secret. Designed to disrupt the magnetic fields alien craft surfed like the big waves off the Great Barrier Reef. If reality matched the theory, he would be able to fry the alien craft’s magnetic field generators just enough to force the craft down with a soft landing. That was the theory, at any rate. But to make it work, he’d have to get in close, and to do that, he’d have to stay invisible to the aliens. Reaching down to his master control panel, Furlough killed his running lights and shut down all unnecessary electronics. From this point forward, he would be completely dependent on Crystal Mountain to vector his flight into the fight. Reaching down, he pulled the rosary that hung around his neck up to his lips, kissed it, and said a silent prayer. “God help me tonight as I hunt one of your creations. Protect us all, amen.”

Tank Tankowski had assumed command of the four F14 Tomcats now headed north northeast at full throttle and pushing over 2000 MPH. Tank, this is Peanut at Crystal Mountain command. We’re going to get real informal now, because things are about to get hairy. Roger that Peanut, Tank replied…what’s the gig? First, Tank--none of this ever happened, do you copy? Roger that Peanut, copy we’re black, black, black.. 10-4 Tank, we’re on a bug hunt. No shit, Tank replied? You know the score Tank, I’ve read your service jacket and you’ve actually gone on record. Damn straight Peanut, I know what I saw, and that fucker left me in his smoke. Well tonight, you’ll get another chance to go Richard Dryfus. What’s the POA, Tank quarried? You are the hounds Tank, Peanut replied. You’ll be pushing our friend into the hunter. Rules of engagement, Tank requested? We don’t want to kill it Tank, we just want to bring it down, Peanut replied. Okay, I’m listening Tank replied with just a touch of Ron White irony in his voice. You are authorized for self defense only--no aggressive actions beyond those required to push the intruder North of your current heading. Roger that Peanut, any suggestions how we get that done, Tank ask with just the slightest hint of skepticism in his voice? Well, sort of Peanut replied. Fire up your attack radars to full power, open scan. We want you to make a lot of noise out there. Our friends aren’t looking for a fight, so they should turn tail the minute they think you’re on to them. What’s our ETA to target Peanut? Oh, about 3 minutes at your current speed. SHIT, Tank exclaimed!!! Everybody get that, Tank bellowed into his mike as he adjusted his combat radar controls to max power?

No reply was necessary as Tank’s flight was composed of seasoned fighter jocks that knew how to handle themselves in a scrap. Spread out boys, we want to make a lot of noise for our friends.

Nodding his approval. Crocker looked over to Hendrix--what’s the status of our ground reaction force? Well, too short a notice to scramble Delta Force, but we’ve caught a break. We’ve got First Air Cav and Ranger at fort Hood conducting joint training exercises with Hell On Wheels. Security clearance isn’t as high as we’d like, but we should be able to keep containment. Disposition, Crocker asked? We’ve got three companies of Rangers airborne escorted by three Cobra gun-ships, If we get lucky, we should be able to drop them into the LZ within minutes of touch down, Hendrix replied. Good, Crocker exclaimed looking up at the radar telemetry screen that covered a third of the control room wall. Looks like our angel is taking the bait. Hendrix nodded his agreement as he watch the blip on the screen turn 180 degrees and move due North.

Okay “Big Time” you’re in the batters box. Roger that, Peanut--you’re my eyes. Stay on course Big Time, you’re in the groove--weapons release on my mark, counting down…9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2--go, go, go!!! Furlough, flipped up the safety cover on the trigger atop the joy stick and pressed down hard. Gauges on his control panel showed max electro magnetic pulse release. The alien craft loomed in his windscreen as he bore down on his target. I have visual Peanut, Furlough practically screamed into his mic. Everything was a blur as Furlough adjust his position to move into the alien ship’s baffles. Pulling the joy stick hard right, the fly by wire controls kicked into effect, splaying the F-22 into a rolling dive that terminated with Furlough practically stuck up the alien craft’s ass end. For a sickening moment, Furlough watched helplessly as the alien craft accelerate out of his weapon’s range at incredible speed, then he saw the craft falter. The hesitation was so abrupt, that Furlough had to pull his controls back hard to avoid a near collision. Pushing his throttle to maximum acceleration, Furlough barrel rolled his F-22 back into position behind the alien craft as it began to scissor downward like a leaf falling to the ground. Pulling his controls hard right, Furlough set his F-22 into a spiral pattern circling around the slowly descending alien craft.

Angle down sir, Peanut Brown confirmed to General Alfred Crocker. What the status of our reaction force Hendrix, Crocker barked? Two minutes out sir, Hendrix confirmed. C. O. is requesting status and rules of engagement? Patch me through to the Ranger C.O. Peanut, Crocker ordered tersely. Major, this is General Alfred Crocker, you are authorized to terminate any and all hostiles with extreme prejudice. We want to craft first and foremost. Prisoners are a secondary concern. Roger that General, Major Joe Blalock confirmed. We don’t know what you’re facing down there Major, just hit the target as hard and fast as you can. We’ve got issues here General, Peanut Brown interrupted. The second angle has flipped on us and is moving fast toward the LZ. Shit Crocker exclaimed, ETA? Six minutes at current rate of speed Brown confirmed.. Open up all comms Peanut, Crocker ordered. Tank we’ve got a second angel inbound to our LZ and assumed hostile, you are authorized guns hot---splash the angel, repeat, splash the angle!!!
Roger that, Tank Tankowski confirmed, We have radar contact and going guns hot. Refer, take your flight up, Tank ordered, Me and Valentine are going straight in. Roger that Tank, Refer confirmed we’ll hit em high and you hit em low. Jerking his joy stick straight back, Refer Wilken and his wingman Lt. Bill “Archie” Bunker peeled off from Tank and Valentine quickly gaining altitude.

I’ve got lock Valentine, Tankowski confirmed to his wingman. Roger that Tank, I’m locked, cocked and ready to rock. Unleash the hounds. An instant later eight sidewinder missiles streaked from their rails under the F14’s wings running straight, hot, and true. Shit, Tank exclaimed…look at that bastard juke. In almost utter amazement Tankowski watched as the alien craft shot straight up with the sidewinders arcing hard attempting to hold contact. Fucking perfect, Refer purred into his mic as he and “Archie” Bunker tripped the trigger on their weapons release system and were rewarded seconds later with a blinding flash as their missiles struck home blowing the alien craft into a flaming ball of sparks and debris flying in a thousand different directions.

His eyes glued to the telemetry screen at Crystal Mountain’s central command, Crocker watched as the alien craft ceased to exist. Good shooting Navy, Crocker exclaimed, you are authorized RTB. Forty Roger General, it’s been a business doing pleasure with you, Tank replied. You know the drill Tank, Crocker cautioned. We copy General, hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. There will be no debrief on this mission Tank. You and your men go home and forget this ever happened. Do you copy Commander, Crocker questioned? We copy sir, Tank confirmed, but it’s Lieutenant sir. Not for long Tank, Crocker replied. You and your men start thinking about where you want to go for your next duty stations. Whatever you want, will be approved with advancement in grade for outstanding service to your country. Roger that, Tank exclaimed!!

Switching over to the secure air to air net Tank addressed his flight. Been nice knowing you guys, but I think we all know the drill. No trips to the “O” Club tonight. Go home, get your loose end wrapped up and put in your request for transfer. You heard the General, whatever you want will be approved with advancement in grade. Congratulations on a job well done and your promotions. Forming up into a staggered vee formation, the four F-14 Tomcats turned Southwest back to NAS Corpus. Adjusting his navigation coordinates, Tank thought to himself that Hawaii might be nice and he definitely liked the sound of Lt. Commander Tankowski!!

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