The wingman watched in horror as the Sidewinder streaked towards the first Phantom. It detonated as it struck the rear engines and the cockpit split from the fuselage; the cockpit crumpled as it hit the ground and rolled end over end.
The young wingman had no time to mourn though as the Me 262 fired a large ball of plasma that tracked the Phantom. With nowhere to go the young man and his radar operator ejected before the plasma ball disintegrated their plane.
Fixed artillery batteries on the Pentagon’s roof continued to fire. The women operating the guns had been working nonstop for the last four hours. They were covered in dirt and grime but their spirit was not broken.
Sergeant Peters-Smith could not believe the women’s resolve, not because they were women but because they were volunteers with only a few hours training. If they could fight this hard, then his marines must fight harder; they owed the civilians that at least.
Nine massive guns bellowed as the USS New Jersey fired yet another salvo. The crew knew they were the only ones realistically holding back the enemies attack in this sector of the city; unfortunately, they were now attracting more and more unwanted attention.
“Enemy air to the North.”
“Roger that, incoming, incoming.”
Four balls of superheated light rushed towards the battleship as the Me 262s strafed the vessel. Out of nowhere four Huey’s flew straight into the plasma balls; they were instantly vaporized.
There was stunned silence on the deck of the ship as the crew watched their comrades sacrifice.
The four Me 262s then opened up with long streams of purple plasma fire but they were intercepted by a large squadron of Phantoms who managed to quickly overwhelm them with sheer numbers of five to one.
The American’s right flank collapsed at Stanton Park just after midday when a great formation of super heavy tanks smashed their way through a group of M48 Pattons. The Maus tanks ignored the supporting infantry and continued to take out as much armor as they could find.
Deep under the White House the remaining American leadership group sent as much armor as they could to plug the gap. A mixed battalion of the latest M60 main battles tanks rubbed shoulders with the obsolete M4 Sherman medium tanks that had been rushed back into service to swell the American’s numbers; they were completely outclassed though.
The smoke filled sky darkened and the downpour started soon after which put out many of the fires in the burning streets. The fighter jets still continued to engage each other but the Aryans advanced targeting systems were much more effective in this weather.
The strong tide was turning into a tsunami and the Americans were in danger of getting washed away.
Operation Menu
The deluge continued to buffet the battle scared streets of Washington DC. Heavy raindrops bounced off the M60A1’s thick hull. The main battle tanks maneuvered quickly through the streets. Commander Michael Orton led the massive, swift counter-attack against the Aryan tanks who had broken through Stanton Park.
The forty-five-year-old, dark-haired Orton had his orders. The Aryan forces had to be stopped before they reached the iconic Capital building. Orton commanded sixty of the best tanks the US had manufactured to date and he was supported by thirty M48 Pattons and finally, was reinforced with twenty Sherman medium tanks.
Artillery based around Capitol Hill had just finished softening up the area along Massachusetts Avenue and the adjoining streets leading from Stanton Park. They had left once choke point along Maryland Avenue NE. This was where the assault force would make their stand.
Overhead the growl of Phantom engines echoed across the rooftops. Five of the fighters hurtled passed low on their attack run. Their targets were the super heavy Maus tanks that had just rolled onto Maryland Avenue.
The Phantoms released their payloads over the targets and then bugged out quickly. The general purpose bombs exploded across the advancing Aryan tanks covering them in a thick cloud of black smoke. The Maus appeared through the explosion unharmed apart from a small black smear across the large turret.
Commander Orton watched through his binoculars, he was not pleased with what he saw. The middle-aged man sighed as he slicked his soaking wet hair back before he slid back inside his tank.
The bulk of the M60A1 tanks were hidden behind the buildings on Constitution Ave NE. They waited for their signal to attack. Thirty seconds passed until the signal arrived.
A formation of Huey helicopters zoomed overhead and began their attack. The Huey’s went in one by one in a long strafing line, firing missiles as they went. The missiles struck the side of the Maus tanks causing their tracks to be broken clean off.
The huge turrets tracked their targets and the smaller anti aircraft cannon fired purple flashes into the sky. Several of the rounds hit their marks and Huey’s fell to the ground.
“Starters group attack now, green light.” Orton bellowed across the radio.
Engines rumbled as the main battle tanks moved into life. They drove straight through the buildings like they were nothing, bricks and tiles from the roof flew in all directions. The M60A1 aimed in on their targets. The 105mm M68 guns thundered armor piercing rounds onto the enemy.
Commander Orton watched the results with annoyance, most of the rounds bounced off the heavily armored hulls of the Aryan tanks.
“They have got to have a weakness. Fire at the lower glacis.” He ordered.
The next volley was just as ineffective as the first.
“Damn it. Ok close in on them, we can’t let them get any closer than this.”
The M60A1 started to close the distance on the immobilized targets. They fired on the move but penetrating the front of the monster seemed like an impossible task.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance followed by another and another. The sky darkened even further as if a huge storm was on the way; the rain continued to drench the city. The Phantom pilots who had experienced this before and survived to tell the tale had requested to return to base.
The sky exploded suddenly in a brilliant shower of electricity as an elongated bolt of lightning zigzagged a path across the horizon. A large clap of thunder sounded off and the echoes bounced from building to building.
The Americans had witnessed this before and knew what was coming; all of the air support in the area turned towards the Ronald Reagan international airport to shelter from the coming assault. The Cobra attack helicopters were the only ones who continued the fight as they believed they could avoid the anti aircraft batteries if they stay close to the ground.
A squadron of Phantoms were engaging a group of Me 262’s just below the cloud base and had not received the order to return to base. The lead F4 and his wingman tumbled towards the diving Me 262; they American pilots twisted and rolled to keep in a firing position.
An American fighter streaked across their path, a few hundred feet in front and was quickly pursued by an enemy fighter. A stream of plasma spewed out from the pursuing Me 262 and the Phantom was hit in the starboard engine.
The Phantom pilot put his machine into a steep dive and plummeted earthward but he was unable to shake the much more agile Me 262. The pilot was desperate now and in his panic did not pull out the dive in time; the Phantom disappeared in a large ball of fire as it struck the ground.
As the squadron leader watched over his shoulder he shook his head briefly before switching his full attention back to the target in front. After a few seconds he heard the grumble through his earpieces as the Sidewinder missile locked on.
The more experienced pilot waited a few seconds before squeezing the trigger, the missiles motor ignited and the missile launched forward and immediately went into a rightward spiral.