The AWAC operator send them a datalink showing a large group of PLAN aircraft starting to assemble over their fleet, probably preparing to attack the JDF fleet again. It looked like a squadron of F35s from the JDF fleet were assembling to help the Americans engage them as well.
“Angels’ Flight, you are directed to link up with the F35s and provide air support and missile defense for the fleet. Please acknowledge,” said the Japanese radar operator.
“I acknowledge. Angels’ Flight moving to join the fleet defense; please keep us updated with radar images.” Major Cruse wanted to ensure they had a steady datalink of what the AWACs were seeing in real-time. As they moved closer to the Japanese fleet, they could see a lot of dark smoke coming from the fleet location. Without having any reason to be suspicious at this point, Major Cruse assumed that the smoke was from battle damage the fleet had suffered (instead, the JDF fleet was busy generating black smoke in order to make it appear that they had been damaged).
Cruse addressed his flight, knowing that his enthusiastic fighter jocks were itching for a fight. “All right, listen up guys, we are going to provide missile defense for the fleet down there; you can see they already took a lot of hits, so let’s do our best to make sure they don’t take any more. Also, if you can get a shot off at any of the PLAN aircraft that get in range, take it. Let’s move Angels, and make these guys pay.”
As they moved into position, Major Cruse saw F35s moving forward; he assumed they were there to engage the PLAN aircraft as they maneuvered to their own positions. Unknown to him, as they continued forward, another flight of F35s took off from the carrier below and maneuvered behind them. Suddenly, without warning, the F35s fired multiple missiles at them. Within milliseconds, several of the ships below them launched rockets at them as well.
Major Cruse’s missile alarms were jarringly loud, jolting him into a reality that he never imagined. The electronic countermeasures on his F41 turned on automatically and performed minor technological miracles to try and jam the enemy missiles. When Cruse regained his senses, he frantically radioed his flight, “Angel Flight, this was a trap! Try to get away and fly back to the rally point two-hundred miles away!”
As Major Cruse began to engage his EmDrive, his aircraft shook ferociously; he had been hit by one of the F35’s machine guns. He turned his aircraft hard and went to maximum speed just as several missiles whistled past his aircraft. He activated his rear-view camera so that he could look at the scene behind him as he flew away; he almost immediately regretted this decision because he witnessed three of his fighter pilots murdered in the blazing flames created by the missile swarms. Another one of the Archangels took several hits and began to smoke badly as it spiraled down to the sea; fortunately, he did see the pilot eject, and the chute opened. However, if he were not killed by the Japanese, he would become a prisoner of war, which was not a fate he wished upon anyone. Only one other F41 was able to escape the fray and join him at the rally point. Stunned, they immediately terminated their links with the JDF fleet and AWACs.
“What the blazes just happened, Cruiser? They just blew our guys right out of the air!” exclaimed Flapjack, the only other pilot to escape.
“I have no idea — I think my aircraft is hit, but I’m not showing any warning signs. Do you see any damage?” asked Major Cruse, concerned that his aircraft might not make it back home.
Scanning Major Cruse’s aircraft, Flapjack replied, “I see a couple of bullet holes along the wing, but it does not look like they hit anything critical. I’d suggest that you not go hypersonic right now though, just in case it might rip the wing off.”
Cruiser signed in relief.
“Can we go back and engage those guys? We can easily take out a lot of those JDF fighters.”
Major Cruse took a second to think through his response. “No, we need to head back to base and quick. Without an AWACs, we have to light up our radars to see them. The last thing I want to do is let the PLAN and JDF know our location again. Our advantage has always been our speed and ability to go unseen.”
Major Cruse was still a little stunned and shaken by what had just transpired, and it occurred to him that he could have died. That was the closest he had ever come to being blown up or shot down, and it really rattled him. For a moment, he was lost in his thoughts before he could focus on the task at hand. A world passed by in a moment before he resumed giving out orders. “We need to get a message back to headquarters of what just happened. They need to know that the JDF fleet is hostile, that we lost four F41s, and we are now returning back to the base.”
“Major, if they can get an AWAC up over California, I could stay airborne and try to reengage them,” replied Flapjack, eager for revenge.
“No Captain,” replied Cruse. “I won’t allow you to go back on your own…that would be a suicide mission. We’ve lost enough men today.”
Don’t Shoot the Messenger
The base at L.A. Barracks was quite small; over the last few decades it had been cut down until it became a research station that held only about 350 men and women. Despite its small capacity, this little gated community unknowingly shined as the only real beacon of hope in rallying a military response to the invasion.
The guard at the gate spotted a police squad car driving a little too fast towards their entrance, and became alarmed that someone might have stolen the car to try to ram the front access point. He flashed a light at the car, and it slowed down mere milliseconds before he pushed the button to release the cement anti-ramming barriers. The cop car screeched to a halt, and the police officer inside started yelling frantically at the guard.
“I need to get to a UHF radio NOW! There is a foreign army invading Los Angeles!”
The guard was too stunned to respond for a moment. He started to mumble something about needing to see the officer’s ID, and the cop got a little agitated.
“—Look, I know you need to do your job. Here’s my badge, but you need to let me in!” He threw his badge at the guard.
The guard was practically in a trance, but hit the button to lift the divider so that the squad car could go through.
“Thank you. Now where can I find a UHF radio in here?” the officer bellowed.
“Umm, if you go to this first building on the right, someone there on the first floor should have one,” the guard stammered.
“Great,” said the officer, calming down. “You might want to call your boss. Pretty sure you guys are going to need back-up really soon.”
He sped off down the road, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. When he arrived at the outdated building in front of him, covered in peeling paint, the officer didn’t waste any time. He ran up to the first soldier he found. “Ma’am! Ma’am!” he yelled, waving his arms. “I need a UHF, as fast as you can get me to one! L.A. is under attack!”
She was startled, but ushered him to a room nearby where all the coms were. “What in the world is going on?” she asked as she messed with the buttons to get the UHF radio ready to go.
“I’m sorry, but there’s really just no time,” the cop shot back.
A loud explosion ripped through the air, coming from the direction of the gate. “Oh, for the love — are they really here already?” the officer quipped. “We don’t have much time. You might want to grab a weapon,” he directed, pulling his own gun from his holster.
“About that…most of us here on base aren’t armed,” the soldier responded. “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra, would you?” she asked.