Sector 64 ambush sector.., p.1
SECTOR 64: Ambush: Sector 64 Book One, page 1
SECTOR 64: Ambush
Sector 64 Book One
Dean M. Cole
CANDTOR Press
Contents
Win Signed Copy
Blurbs
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Part 2
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Part 3
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Epilogue
1. Epilogue
Get Book Two
Also by Dean M. Cole
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Thank You
About the Author
Blurbs
What the Critics are saying about the Sector 64 series.
Huffington Post - IndieReader.com - Top Ten Science Fiction
Kirkus Reviews
"Cole tackles the first-contact scenario with bombastic flair. [He] delivers the high-resolution imagery of a Hollywood blockbuster ... A technologically riveting dream for sci-fi action fans."
LiquidFrost - Amazon Top 500 Reviewer
"This series moves into the Space Opera world, officially … Retribution moves (even) faster than Ambush … Hits the ground with destruction; ends with destruction, with destruction in-between. So yes, it is a heartwarming tale full of rainbows and kittens."
AudiobookReviewer.com
"SECTOR 64 was a highly imaginative action-packed apocalyptic assault on your mind."
IndieReader.com
"SECTOR 64 is an engaging book from the very first page to the final words of the Epilogue."
Audiobook-Heaven.com
"His descriptions of aerial battle and military procedure are accurately detailed and his knowledge of the aircraft themselves fascinated me ... Sector 64 is a great read."
Part I
"We stand now at the turning point between two eras. Behind us is a past to which we can never return …"
― Arthur C. Clarke
Chapter 1
Two fighter jets sliced through the night air. A crescent Moon, thin as an orange peel, cast a dim glow across the Nevada desert five thousand feet below the F-22s. Even under the waning crescent, the bright desert reminded Jake of a spaghetti western's night scene. As if filmed during the day with a dark filter to simulate night, the excess visual detail seemed out of temporal place.
"Papa Two-One, this is Lima Two-Four, over."
Air Force Captain Jake Giard scanned his fighter's computer-generated engine indications and then keyed his radio's transmit trigger. "Lima Two-Four, this is Papa Two-One. Go ahead."
The radio crackled to life again as his wingman replied. "Roger, Two-One. Come up internal."
Jake nodded and switched his radio selector to the ship-to-ship laser communication terminal. The autonomous system formed a virtual fiber optic link that allowed data to stream between the two fighters. A secure internal communication link piggybacked on the data stream. Unlike a radio signal, the laser beam couldn't be intercepted. So, fighter crews often used it like a cellphone for air-to-air communication.
"Hey, Vic. What's up?"
Over Nellis Air Force Base's remote desert training area, they flew a tight, echelon left formation. From his position just behind Vic's left wing, Jake studied the moonlit silhouette of his wingman's stealthy single-seat fighter.
"Uh … thanks for doing this. I know you didn't have to take a flight this late."
Jake smiled under his oxygen mask. "It's not like I had anything better to do at three o'clock on a Sunday morning." The truth was, he had plenty he could be doing. However, the junior pilot was having trouble completing his unit indoctrination training. Having already failed one checkride, Victor was struggling with the high workload of the unit's close air support scenarios. Jake had volunteered to take him out for additional iterations. However, in preparation for a combat deployment, the squadron's fighter wings were in high gear, training around the clock. So, Victor's additional period had been relegated to oh-dark-thirty in the middle of the weekend.
"Yeah right," Vic said. "I'm sure you'd rather be on a night training flight than partying a Las Vegas Saturday night away with Sandy."
"Wow, you're right," Jake joked. He broke his fighter into a left bank and rolled away from Vic's jet. "I'm outta here."
"Hey … I was just kidding," Vic said.
Having dropped below Victor's line of sight, Jake rolled his fighter level and passed under his wingman's aircraft. Emerging on Victor's right, Jake pulled alongside. In the Moon's soft light, he could see the back of his helmet as Vic searched the sky to his left.
"Over here," Jake said with a chuckle. When the young man's head snapped right, Jake barrel-rolled his fighter over Vic, the maneuver's wide arc carrying him clear of his wingman. It ended with Jake parked off of his wingman's left wing, back where he had started. "This sure as hell beats working for a living. Doesn't it?"
Vic laughed. "When my alarm went off at two AM, it kind of felt like work." Then his tone took on a serious note. "Did you see that report on the news tonight?"
"That report? Can you be a little more specific?"
"Sorry. They found more Russian surface-to-air missiles in Afghanistan."
Frustrated his attempt at levity had failed to distract the young officer from his unending worries, Jake looked across to his wingman and shook his head. I know where this is headed.
Fresh out of flight training, Lieutenant Victor Croft had never been in combat. Last week, the man's jittery nerves had kicked into hyperdrive when their squadron received orders to deploy to Afghanistan's Bagram Airfield at the end of the month. Renewed Taliban activity, coupled with enhanced weapons supplied by Iran, had NATO forces reeling.
"I'm sure they'll have it worked out by the time we get in-country," Jake said. He felt guilty playing down the threat. In the last year, the Taliban had employed Russian S-300 anti-aircraft missiles with devastating results.
"Maybe," Vic said dubiously. "I haven't slept since the meeting."
Jake remembered the white pallor he'd seen on Vic's face following their deployment brief. Wide, frightened eyes stared from the young pilot's light-skinned, ginger face. Drained of blood, Victor's skin glowed through his closely cropped red hair.
"Be calm, grasshopper," Jake said. He hoped the poor imitation of a Japanese sensei would allay Vic's continuing apprehension. "You'll be fine, your training will take over once you're in combat, trust me."
"Trust you?" Vic asked. The humor in the lieutenant's voice was good.
Victor thickened his soft hillbilly accent in the way that endeared him with comrades—and also won him favor with the Las Vegas ladies frequenting Nellis Air Force Base's officers' club. "Why, because you're from the government, and you're here to help me?"
Exaggerating his own Texan accent, Jake said, "Oh yeah, I forgot, you Appalachians don't cotton to us governmental types."
Victor laughed. "Yep, us hillbillies have a special place in our hearts for outsiders. Now, squeal like a pig, boy."
Jake's laughter broke as a tremendous shock wave, coupled with a blinding flash, rocked his fighter. Overtaking them from behind, a bright ring of lights had rocketed between the two aircraft.
"Shit! What the hell was that?" Jake said. Recovering from the shock, he adjusted the controls, reining in his battered fighter.
"I don't know. It must be doing Mach four or better—" Victor faltered as the object broke right. "What the hell?"
Bolting right, it made a ninety-degree turn, changing direction in an instant. One moment it was rocketing away from them, the next it blazed eastward at the same tremendous rate without curving.
"Holy shit, nothing can take those Gs," Vic said, thunderstruck.
"Oh my God," Jake whispered. Blinking, he tried to clear his eyes. That's not possible.
As if it had no mass or weight, the strange object made several more instantaneous course changes. Varying from slight angles, to complete course reversals, the maneuvers kept it near their two-ship formation.
Its zigzagging path circled the fighters twice. Then it stopped for a few moments. Matching their velocity and vector, it parked a mile off Lieutenant Croft's right wing. A moment later, it snapped to within one hundred meters of Victor's side of the formation, closing the mile-wide gap in less than a second.
"Whoa," Vic said with a shaky voice. His fighter jinked away from the object.
"Easy, buddy," Jake said. Jerking his F-22 left, he narrowly avoided colliding with his wingman. "I'm still right here."
"Sorry," Vic said.
"I've got nothing on radar." Jake paused, taking a deep breath to reel in his emotions. "When it was in front of us, I couldn't see it on infrared either."
"Hey, I see something," Vic said, panting. "There's a shadow."
Jake narrowed his eyes. "You're right! I see it against the background."
"Yeah, that's how I spotted it."
Gliding above the distant horizon, the ring of lights had dark voids protruding above and below. A brief eclipse of the background stars provided the only visual evidence.
"So, it's not some kind of …" Jake paused, searching for words. "Energy source. It must have mass, it's gotta be a ship of some sort." Studying it, he paused, then shook his head. "But I've never seen anything move like that."
"If this is one of ours, it's way beyond anything my physics professor knew about," Victor said.
Looking across his wingman's fighter gave Jake a chance to estimate the ship's size. Judging by the shadow, it was as tall as it was wide. Like a pregnant frisbee, it was broadest across its middle, where the ring of lights still rotated. Horizontally, it was roughly as long as the F-22, making it just over sixty feet wide.
"What the hell is it?" Vic asked.
"No idea," Jake said. He couldn't see the skin, but the silhouette's bottom was round, and it looked like the top came to a point. "This is incredible …" As Jake spoke, the ship started closing the gap. "Hey, be careful, it's getting closer!"
"Roger," Vic said.
Jake's heart raced as he focused on the ship's middle. "Those lights …" He faltered, unable to conjure an adequate description.
"I know," Vic said. He sounded as mystified as Jake felt.
A horizontal, pulsing ring of multicolored light seemed to rotate in the air around the object's midsection. As the ship neared Victor's fighter, Jake got a clearer view of its structure. As if radiating from the ship's center, the glowing rays only extended a foot or two from the ship's skin, but he couldn't see any fixtures generating the energy. "I don't see the source of the lights. They look like … raw energy." Watching the strange ship flying in formation with his wingman was both surreal and somehow familiar.
"I wish he'd pull up front again. My gun camera can't slew that far to the side," Vic said.
Recognition smacked Jake. "Hey, it looks like they want an escort."
"You're right," Vic said, then shouted, "Jake! Do you have your iPhone?"
"Yeah!"
Concentrating on flying his fighter while keeping an eye on the strange ship, he dug blindly through the bag he'd tucked into the small map pouch next to his right leg. There it is. Yanking out the phone, he turned it on—a clear violation of Air Force regulations. I think they'll forgive this one.
"Got it! I'll take a couple of quick shots, then drop back and see if I can capture it with my gun camera."
"Sounds good, just get it on something."
Staring at the phone's glowing, white boot-up apple, he shook the phone and growled, "Come on!"
Outside, the ship slid closer. When it parked a few feet off Vic's right wing, his fighter lurched.
Jake dropped the phone. "What happened?"
"I don't know. It feels like my right wing is trying to stall—" Victor's voice cut out as the buffeting rocked his fighter left and right. Broken by turbulence-induced grunts, Victor's voice came over the radio. "The stick is … beating up … the inside of my thighs."
He banked left to give Victor space. "Get away from the ship."
"I don't know … if I can hold on," Victor said. His voice strained as he fought to control the fighter.
Jake threw his transponder into the emergency position, alerting air traffic control. Ears ringing, his pulse raced in response to the adrenaline dumping into his system. "Get the hell out of there!"
A crescendo of static rose in Jake's helmet.
Chopped and modulated by the communication laser's failing efforts to maintain connection, Lieutenant Croft's panic-stricken voice broke through the cacophony, "… systems … going down … damn warning light … flashing … day, Mayday, May—"
Jake switched back to their assigned radio frequency and keyed the mic. "Lima Two-Four …"
Static.
"Victor, come in …"
Louder static.
The faint glow from Victor's engines faded, then extinguished. His fighter started losing altitude.
Jake's mounting alarm ratcheted another notch. Slamming both throttles to idle, placing his fighter in a rapid descent, Jake tried to keep up with his plunging wingman.
The external position lights on both fighters began dimming. The static increased to an ear-splitting level, and then it died. Jake's cockpit darkened as all its electronics faded to black. All electrical energy seemed to drain from both F-22s.
Switching radios to emergency, he toggled the mic. "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is Air Force Two-One-Five!"
No side-tone.
Shit, the radio isn't transmitting!
He switched back to the air-to-air frequency. "Lima Two-Four, this is Papa Two-One. Come in, Vic!"
Still no side-tone: he couldn't even hear his own voice. A quick check showed his helmet was still plugged into its socket.
Then, to Jake's horror, both fighters started drifting toward one another. "Oh shit," he whispered. He pulled against the stick, but the unresponsive electronic flight controls refused to budge.
Drifting toward Lieutenant Croft's fighter, Jake's ship started an uncommanded slow roll to the right. He yanked and jerked the stick left. Nothing. Without electricity, they couldn't respond. Jake reached for his ejection handles and froze. Already rolling through ninety degrees, his cockpit was aimed at his wingman's fighter. If he punched out now, he'd shoot into the top of Victor's airplane.
He watched helplessly as his ship rolled inverted. His F-22's dim shadow fell across Vic's fighter. For a surreal moment, the two stared face-to-face across the narrowing gap as both struggled with their unresponsive flight controls.
An unnatural glow caught Jake's attention. The mysterious ship's multicolored ring of rotating light brightened and then flared as it rocketed away—the only evidence of its departure direction lay in the fading image burned across his retina.
"What the hell?"
Instrument lights flared back to life, and his F-22 snap-rolled left as, power restored, the electronic flight controls responded to Jake's desperate tugging. As he rolled away, he saw the ship's blazing departure throw Victor's aircraft into a flat spin.
"Shit!" Jake screamed. He flipped his Raptor over, trying to keep his wingman in sight, but the night quickly swallowed the still blacked-out fighter.
He checked the radio. It was back online. "Come in, Victor!"
No reply.
"You're running out of time! Eject! Get the hell out of there, Lieutenant!" he ordered. As if trying to will the event into existence, Jake visualized his small-framed friend yanking on the jettison handle.
Switching back to the emergency radio, he transmitted, "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is Air Force Two-One-Five!"
"Air Force Two-One-Five, this is Nellis Radio. Please state the nature of your emergency," replied the air traffic controller, her voice maddeningly calm.
Before he could reply, night turned day in a brilliant explosion as Victor and his F-22 slammed into the desert floor.
"No!" Jake screamed.
Tires barked as his fighter touched down. Jake extended the air brake. The fighter decelerated. Heavy-hearted and in an anguished mental fog, he struggled through the after-landing checks.
"Air Force Two-One-Five, proceed to the end of Runway Two-One-Right, right on taxiway Alpha, left onto the ramp. A security police detail is waiting to pick you up."
Security police? They're not normally involved in crash investigations.
"Uh … roger, Nellis Tower, Runway Two-One-Right, right on Alpha, to the ramp," Jake repeated. His tone was flat, dutiful. Finishing his landing rollout, he saw the promised security detail's flashing lights ahead on the right.
