Each plane acknowledged by voice response.
The weather was clear over Faery base. A line of red—the Bloody Road, the jet of incandescent gas that swirled out from Faery’s twin suns—rose over the predawn horizon. Thick, red, and lurid. It’s a warning, thought Lieutenant Zubrowski, Carmilla’s pilot. This isn’t Earth. These are not Earth’s skies.
“Targets are taking off in formation,” his flight officer reported. “We aren’t too late,” Zubrowski replied. “I wanted to take them out before they got in the air.”
Lieutenant Zubrowski silently locked on to the targets. There was a warning alarm. The lieutenant responded immediately, jinking the plane higher while keeping it level. A shock struck the rear of the plane with a loud bang.
“We’re hit,” said the flight officer.
He banked sharply, falling, then rising. Faery base’s automatic air defense Phalanx guns were shooting at them. There were three turrets. With Chun-Yan and Zouk backing him up, they eliminated the guns without a moment’s hesitation.
“Short-range missiles, four, closing fast.”
Lieutenant Zubrowski accelerated at maximum thrust, climbing toward Skymark I, an AWACS plane flown by Faery base’s defense forces. Nothing felt abnormal in the plane. The missiles launched from the target aircraft were closing in fast from the rear.
Carmilla tore toward the surveillance plane, not even trying to shake them off. He flew on a collision course, but the lieutenant hadn’t made a piloting error. In a moment, he’d swept past it. The swarm of missiles were locked onto Carmilla, but now the huge AWACS plane was in the way. There was no time to change course, and the missiles slammed into engine exhaust ports. The AWACS plane exploded.
“Picking up a second wave.”
“They’re not headed this way,” said the flight officer. “All targets have been downed by Chun-Yan.”
True to its Chinese name, Chun-Yan had soared like a hungry spring swallow, greedily taking all the targets for herself, devouring them in a twinkling.
“Shit,” swore Lieutenant Zubrowski. “I wasn’t expecting the defense system to react to us.”
“Nothing we could do about it. We were ordered to attack first. Well, we managed to evade it. Damage is minimal. We just took a round in the starboard vertical stabilizer.”
The moment they attacked, he’d expected the FAF computers to treat them like unidentified aircraft. What Lieutenant Zubrowski hadn’t figured on was their shooting first without even trying to confirm who they were. The automated base defense system was either being controlled by the JAM, or else its AI now simply categorized all unidentified craft as JAM. The AWACS plane had also been coordinating the attack. That was unprecedented. Looks like the danger General Cooley sensed was for real, the lieutenant thought as he and the other two planes reformed their combat formation and returned to their patrol course. It really felt like the JAM were going all-out on this offensive.
As the voice report that all target aircraft had been shot down echoed through the command center, General Linneberg voiced his hope that this would settle things.
“Much as I’d like to get drunk and sleep in this morning,” Major Booker replied, “it doesn’t look like that’ll be happening. We’ve lost track of Colonel Rombert.”
While it had been tracking him on the internal base surveillance monitors, the colonel was now gone and couldn’t be located anywhere, the tactical computer reported on the screen.
In addition, they had received an emergency call from the Rafe team headed to Banshee III. Text scrolled across the screen as the voice echoed through the command center.
“There are indications that Banshee III might self-destruct. Dangerous to approach. Withdrawing. Sending the unmanned Rafe in closer to gather intel.”
“Have the Rafe transmit real-time video,” General Cooley ordered.
“Self-destruct?” said Major Booker.
“I’m not sure why, but Banshee’s core temperature is unusually high,” said Captain Sashlin, the pilot of Unit B-12, Onyx. “I think the nuclear reactor’s overloading. All hands seem to be abandoning ship. They’ve already launched dozens of fighters, but…”
“They’re painting us with their targeting radar,” said Second Lieutenant Bausch, pilot of Unit B-11, Gattare. “They’re coming to fight.”
“Bogeys, approaching from D zone. JAM. A lot of them. Closing in. Banshee should be picking them up as well, but they’re not responding. They’re probably recognizing them as friendly aircraft. It looks like they see us as JAM.”
“Withdraw. Set the Rafe to automaneuver mode. B-11, B-12, RTB,” General Cooley ordered. “You’re authorized to attack without warning to protect yourselves, even FAF planes.”
“Roger,” they replied. The real-time video came in from the Rafe. It was unusual for the SAF to do this, but General Cooley wanted real-time data.
The area around Banshee glowed in the dawn’s light as it met the bright red rising sun. The Rafe caught sight of the huge black flying carrier. The central part glowed faintly red, as though bathed in colors of the sunrise. The redness rapidly increased, until a bright line of light, like molten iron pouring from a blast furnace, began to fall from the center. An instant later, the enormous flying aircraft carrier known as Banshee III exploded. The video abruptly ended.
“It wasn’t a nuclear explosion,” said Major Booker, “but the Rafe’s gone.”
The strategic computer displayed an alert.
JAM aircraft are appearing simultaneously from multiple directions. Extremely large numbers of them. It is possible that this data is being falsely generated by the JAM. Requesting visual confirmation from the humans in each aircraft, ASAP.
“Roger,” said Major Booker. Captain Pivot displayed all combat theater maps on the big screen. The presence of JAM was indicated by red, and starting with the front-line bases, their entire surroundings were now stained red. And that red stain was moving toward Faery base.
“If this is real,” said General Linneberg, “then there’s no way we can resist. But Colonel Rombert will survive. We can’t let him escape from here.”
“Can he fly a fighter?” asked General Cooley.
“Yes, he can,” said General Linneberg.
“Major Booker, don’t let a single aircraft leave Faery base. Stop all fighter squadrons from launching. STC, send cancellation orders to all computer systems.”
STC, roger. However, it’s difficult to say if all systems are currently operating normally. They’ve fallen into a panic, unable to judge the situation. In this state, either way, they won’t be able to cope with normal troop management.
“Even so, if anyone takes off, shoot them down—”
“No! Don’t shoot them down,” said General Linneberg. “We need the colonel taken alive.”
“General—”
“General Cooley. Lydia, the world doesn’t belong just to you.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“If the colonel leaves the base, we can track him and know what he’s doing. Shooting him down would be simple. You’ve shown me just what your people are capable of. But what will we gain by killing the colonel now?”
“Then please find him,” Cooley said.
“I have all my people giving it their full attention. Trust me.”
“This is Minx.” A message was coming in from Captain Kozlov, B-6’s flight officer. “Currently conducting tactical recon of JAM air superiority zone at Rakugan. The FAF aircraft gathered here have begun attacking each other.”