Only a few weeks ago the A-10 Thunderbolt was parked in the desert awaiting its turn to be scrapped. Then the carnage unleashed by the Wormwood event, which had decimated the fleet of state of the art satellites from the EMT pulse the meteorite emitted when it entered the atmosphere, necessitated her hasty recall from retirement.  Most of the United States military's cutting edge fleet of aircraft were grounded until NASA could assemble a new fleet of communication and navigation satellites. Until then old relics were being rushed back into service. So, after a thirty-six hour non-stop retrofit the old and rusty A-10 was sporting a new paint job, refurbished avionics, and deemed airworthy - barely. Now she was flying in formation with a rag tag collection of aircraft rushed into service.  Today she was carrying the usual light armament, not a full battle load. It consisted of just two Maverick air-to-surface missiles and a half load of ammunition for the Avenger auto-cannon. In their ragtag squadron there were four C-130 Transport aircraft (supply drops), one E-2 Hawkeye (communications), her A-10 (guardian angel), and two F-16s (spotters).  The A-10 pilot, Captain Johnson, who up until last week had never flown an A-10 but rather its more versatile cousin the F-35 III, was now on her twelfth mission in half as many days. The operation tempo was desperate but so was their mission. It had been just over two weeks since the meteorite had entered Earth’s atmosphere. In a matter of minutes hundreds of thousands of people had been wiped out. Within twenty four hours the death toll was in the millions. As she gazed out her cockpit’s canopy she could see hundreds of spot fires swirling vicious angry smoke into the sunny California sky. Most of them were wildfires started by the fallout from the Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Station meltdown. Some of them though were signal fires from stranded, starving, suffering, and dying people. A tear rolled down Johnson’s cheek and dripped over her oxygen mask. The exposure to death and carnage was nearly constant. The suffering was palpable even from five thousand feet. “Joker. Come in.” the radio chatter ripped Johnson from her dark thoughts. She keyed her mike on the joystick grateful for the reprieve. “Send it Hawkeye. This is Joker.” “Interrogative. How’s it going back there? Have you spotted any drop sites?” “That’s a negative Hawkeye….” Johnson wanted to say something more but there was nothing new to report. The situation below them was the usual - a horrific hellscape of death and destruction. “Roger. We’re not seeing anything up here either.” The radio went silent and out of boredom Johnson tipped her wings and increased the engine power. The sensation of being pinned into her seat by the aircrafts sheer power never got old. It was what she needed to eke out a half smile.  Flying as the squadron’s designated guardian angel had proven to be a monotonous job the past few days. No one was trying to shoot down a squadron of planes whose sole mission was to deliver, via parachute, desperately needed supplies. However, it was protocol and being up here “guarding” four C-130’s loaded to the gills with food, medical supplies, water, blankets, diapers, and other necessary equipment was better than sitting on the ground listening to the HAM radio reports announce the ever growing death toll.  Everyday supplies were arriving from all around the world, which were then loaded onto transport aircraft to be delivered by parachute drop to communities in need. It was an around-the-clock operation. Pilots from militaries all over the world were flying missions 24/7, assisting the U.S. military in evacuating injured, sick, and ill people, as well as delivering supplies. It was by far the largest humanitarian mission ever undertaken in the history of the planet. *I should have visited San Jose last summer with Charlene…* Johnson thought to herself. They had flown over what was left of the city earlier. *It’s going to be decades before the city recovers.* They were heading south-east over a desolate part of the country. Below her, stretching for miles in all directions were gently rolling hills dotted with Live Oak trees and the occasional dry stream bed. Besides an occasional road or barn there was not much evidence of civilization. “Come in, Hawkeye. This is Iron Horse Three” *If he wasn’t so unbearably cocky I could have married him.* Johnson thought to herself as the all too familiar voice of the lead F-16 pilot cut through the hum of her A-10’s engines. They had grown close in flight school but shortly after graduation they decided being friends was easier for both of them… and their careers. “Send it - Iron Horse Three.” “Be advised we’ve found another drop site. Marking the site with green smoke.” “Roger, green smoke… We’ve got eyes on. Clear the area so Mama Bear can offload.” “Roger Hawkeye.” Johnson watched as Mama Bear dropped out of formation and its huge bay doors swung open. A few moments later huge pallets began spilling from inside the cavernous C-130’s fuselage. Their chutes opened a second later. “Hawkeye be advised we have positive chute deployment on all deliveries.” Johnson reported over the net. “Roger Joker. See if you can get in for a closer look.” “Roger. Wilco” Johnson snapped into a dive and executed a perfect barrel roll at 500’. Putting on a bit of a show for those on the ground was meant to bolster their morale. It worked. As she tore through the sky, close enough to the ground to leave an impressive contrail of swirling dust, she could see a few dozen soot-covered people cheering. She tipped her wings and pulled the nose of her aircraft into a steep climb. There was nowhere to land, and even if there had been, they were on strict orders not to. Evacuations were proving to be quite dangerous, with swarms of desperate people stampeding onto the airfields in an attempt to get to safety. *Those poor people! They look miserable…* She thought to herself as she regained her position in formation and turned on the autopilot. The evacuation centers were not much better off, but try convincing the masses of scared and hungry people... A few evacuation attempts had turned violent. Three helicopters were lost - and a dozen or so lives. Now evacuations only took place with at least four fire teams of armed and armored military personnel to control the landing sites. ![[contact-iii5.jpeg]] “Come in Joker. This is Hawkeye.” “Send it, Hawkeye…” Johnson replied as she gazed at a particularly nasty looking wildfire belching smoke into the upper atmosphere to her west. “Can you swing back around and do a low pass over the last drop site? They are reporting some sort of large animal attacked them last night. They lost several dozen people.” “A large animal?” Johnson repeated incredulously. “It’s strange, I know. They actually used the word 'monster' when describing it. Honestly, I do not know what to make of it. They seem quite frantic. Perhaps a low pass would reassure them. They said the animal was last spotted in the rock formations in the mountains above the village. You’re cleared hot, if you see anything…” “Roger Hawkeye cleared hot to engage. Will advise if I see anything…” “Affirm, Joker. Happy hunting. We’ll continue our sweep for survivors. Report back if you engage. Out.” Finally her guardian angel status wasn’t looking so monotonous - even if she was only hunting some deranged bear or mountain lion. Surely, there was no monster out there. The villagers were just tired, scared, and overreacting. The village was only twenty or so miles behind her, to the north. She decided to have some fun and do some "nap of the earth" proximity flying on her way back to the village. While she understood the importance of the humanitarian missions she was flying escorting transport aircraft day in and day out while witnessing the carnage without being able to do much in the way of assisting directly was getting monotonous. Of course, she knew her job was crucial, but she was a combat pilot not the world’s most expensive grocery security guard. She felt guilty for being selfish in wanting a little more excitement. However, flying at 350 miles per hour a few hundred feet above the ground was anything but tedious. It was also something she had missed sorely from her deployment to Syria. The adrenaline rush was just what she needed after a week of “normal” flying. The ground passed beneath her fuselage in a blur as the A-10 engines screamed in complaint at being pushed too hard after spending a few to many years rusting in the Mojave. It was a fairly narrow canyon she was flying through, and she could feel the noise she was creating through her seat. The vibrations of the raw power was exhilarating. *This is WAY better than sex!* Johnson thought to herself as she leapt over a low ridge line and plunged into a deep valley. About five miles before the village, she spotted the rock formations of Pinnacles National Park to her port. She was focused on the terrain in front of her when she caught a flash of movement out of her peripheral vision. She glanced left just in time to see a tree hurtling through the air towards her aircraft. Instinctively, she dove for the ground and gazed in horror as a full-grown pine tree, roots and all, sailed a few feet above her canopy. “What the fuck!?” Johnson shrieked as she yanked the throttle, her terrain proximity alarms screaming, and pulled her aircraft up and out of the path of the canyon’s wall. “That was close!” she muttered to herself as she eased the throttle back and rolled towards where she had spotted the movement and where she suspected the tree had come from. *There near the tree-line, five hundred or so meters away! What’s that? It’s just a pile of boulders. Something is moving! What the fuc…?!* From the labyrinth of boulders—each one as big as a suburban home—lurched a nightmare stitched from the amalgamation of minds warped by eons of hate, anger, greed, and craving. Its form was an unholy fusion: the skeletal bulk of some long-extinct dragon, fused with the scorched visage of a demon pulled from a child's fever dream. Jagged plates of obsidian-scaled armor jutted from its twisted frame, pulsing faintly with a sickly orange light, as if the thing's own blood was poisoned magic. Its eyes—if they could be called that—glowed with a malevolent hunger, and its mouth split open in too many directions, each lined with glistening, needle-like teeth.  The thing climbed atop a boulder and grabbed its larger cousin, the size of a VW Bug… and flung it effortlessly at the A-10. Captain Johnson, starred in horror as the boulder gained on her with tremendous speed. She glanced at her gauges. She was still climbing, approaching one thousand feet at nearly 300 miles an hour! The boulder sailed through the air and missed her by an uncomfortably close margin. She leveled her aircraft out. *Okay fucker! You want to dance?* Johnson seethed as she flicked off her safety. The whirl of the Avenger auto-cannon sent chills down her spine. A moment later, when she depressed the trigger the entire aircraft shook so violently she thought it would fall out of the sky. It was just a one-second burst but the auto cannon was capable of firing 70 rounds per second, with an accuracy of around 80% of the rounds impacting within a 40-foot area. In just a blink or two she had unleashed 300 rounds. Two hundred and forty rounds found their target. Instead of falling to the ground dead the monster just glared at the aircraft and scampered towards a stand of full grown pines and began ripping them out of the ground. Johnson yanked up on the joystick and barrel rolled to the right to avoid a barrage of trees the monster lobbed at her aircraft. *Okay you mean bitch. How about you eat a few Hellfires for breakfast!?* Johnson leveled out the aircraft and locked the reticles onto the monster and unleashed her only salvo of Hellfires. The maneuver had only taken a few seconds but it was enough time for the monster to unleash another barrage of projectiles. Johnson tried to duck left but it was not soon enough. She screamed and flinched as three of the boulders impacted her fuselage damaging the tail, the fuselage, and shearing off part of her right wing. *Holy fucking shit this old girl is a tough old hag!  I can’t believe this old relic is still in the air after taking a hit like that.* Johnson swung around in time to see the monster emerge from the explosion the Hellfires unleashed.   *How the fuck is this thing still standing!? It’s totally unfazed even after two direct hits!* She emptied her cannon in the monster which was running pell mell up the chaparral covered mountainside.The trees and grass all over the mountainside were now on fire from the carnage she was unleashing. Unfortunately the smoke obscured the monster for a moment and when it cleared there was no sign of it anywhere. Captain Johnson inverted her aircraft and began to gain altitude. Then from the depths of a dark cavern deep in a jumble of boulders and cliff faces she caught a glimpse of two piercing orange eyes glaring up at her in the calm blue sky. Then a moment later the smoke obscured the cavern the monster had retreated into. “Hawkeye, this is Joker. Be advised I found the monster. My aircraft is badly damaged… It ambushed me…” “Joker, this is Hawkeye. Say again over….” “My aircraft is fucked up. Not sure if I can make it back to base. I have extensive damage to my fuselage, and part of my right wing has been destroyed. I am RTB at this time, requesting a wingman for the approach in case I have to ditch.” “Solid copy, Joker. Iron Horse Three is inbound to your position. They’ll rendezvous with you in 90 seconds.” “Tango Yankee, Hawkeye.” “Interrogative… Who ambushed you?” “An alien monster came out of the forest and started throwing trees and rocks at me….” “Come again, Joker? It sounded like you said an alien monster threw trees and rocks at your aircraft.” “Affirmative, Hawkeye. Those villagers weren’t lying… There is a monster out there.” ### Next Chapter: [[24 - Conception 🫣]] ### Previous Chapter: [[22 - The Cave Home 🛁]]