A distant flash of lightning cut through the sky. The minutes ticked by as the planes flew through the clearing storm toward the enemy fleet.
The increasingly heavy thrum of her pulse sounded like war drums in her ears at the thought of what they would soon face. TheUSS George Johnson had been equipped with the best anti-aircraft weaponry the Allied States had left. She could only hope that the New Gods did not know how to operate such advanced equipment.
Unfortunately, she had also witnessed what had happened when the Allied States underestimated their enemy. Even if a fraction of their forces knew how to use the weapons, the ships could prove devastating to their forces.
“Our squadrons are almost in position,” Souza said.
A few moments later, one of the pilots came over the radio. “Command, Eagle One. Approaching targets.”
Ringgold could almost picture the ships cutting through the dark waves that the pilot must be seeing.
“Commencing bombing,” said Eagle One. “We are—”
The line suddenly went dead.
Souza stepped closer to the radio operator. “The hell just happened?”
The operator shook his head. “I think they were shot, sir.”
Distant flashes of light strobed through the gray clouds over the horizon, like more lightning strikes behind the clouds. But there were far too many blasts for it to be from the storm.
“We’re going down!” another voice cried over the channel.
“Command, we’re taking heavy fire!”
“Engine failure! They hit—”
“I can’t hold out!”
“All systems are failing! Target is still—”
More explosions bloomed across the gray horizon. Frantic voices filled the lines.
Souza picked up the radio. “All pilots, this is Command. Concentrate all weapons on the USS General Johnson. You can’t let it get through.”
“Command, Eagle Three,” a pilot said. “We’ve lost contact with a third of our units.”
Souza turned away from the radio, his jaw clenched, fingers curled into a fist. “Damn it!”
“It would’ve been even worse if these monsters really knew how to use that weaponry,” Cornelius said. “All our aircraft and our base would be gone. We’re lucky they must not have half the expertise our Navy did.”
“Bombing still underway,” Eagle Three reported. “We’re hitting it with everything we’ve got.”
The rumble of the explosions barreled into Galveston like an unstoppable chorus of thunder.
“Command, Eagle Six,” another pilot said. “All ordnance deployed. Returning for reload.”
“Eagle Six, can you confirm that all enemy anti-aircraft weapons were eliminated?” Souza asked.
“Affirmative, all weaponry on the George Johnson is disabled! It’s spitting fire, sir. She’s not going to be floating much longer.”
Cornelius raised a fist, and Souza exhaled. Ringgold nodded at both of them, but the victory was short lived. Eagle Six reported two cruisers still had active anti-aircraft weapons.
Ringgold watched the first of the surviving aircraft returning to Galveston. Comm chatter painted a grim picture of the damage to their beleaguered air force.
She turned back to Soprano.
“Go confirm with Hernandez and Vance to see if there is anything the Mexican and Canadians can do to make their troops move faster,” she said.
“Yes, Madam President,” Soprano replied.
“New Gods land units are now twenty minutes to the bridge according to seismic activity,” Cornelius said.
“Sigma?” she asked.
“Still en route, just ahead of them.”
Ringgold raised her binos back to the Gulf Coast. Planes were taking off into the screen of rain and clouds again.
The first dark silhouettes of the First Fleet appeared over the choppy waters.
She zoomed in, and while she couldn’t make out all the details, the looming shape of the USS George Johnson was evident. Half its superstructure vented flames. The massive ship steamed ahead straight toward Galveston, but was listing precariously to its portside.
Two cruisers barreled alongside it. Fingers of smoke rose from each vessel, and most of their decks seemed enveloped in fire. Munitions exploded as the flames spread, shooting geysers of spreading debris into the air.
The smaller crafts that Eagle Six and the Coast Guard Response Boats had spotted were churning alongside the bigger ships, struggling to maintain speed in the violent waves.
“Unless the New Gods brought their own munitions, we know what was on those last ships for the anti-aircraft weapons,” Souza said. “They can’t have much left now, especially after all that damage.”
“I hope you’re right, because we’re sitting ducks,” Ringgold said.
Tracer fire spit into the sky from the cruisers. She watched in horror as the rounds tore into the lead aircrafts. A couple of the pilots managed to avoid the incoming fire, rolling away or diving underneath, but they disappeared in billows of white smoke and fire when missiles struck them.
Only a few made it through with a combination of expert maneuvering and sheer luck.
Blasts from the decks of the cruisers as the aircraft dropped their payloads. Part of the decks gave way, flames roaring out like enormous demons from the underworld. Crews on both ships started lowering lifeboats and another wave of smaller craft over the side. Some even jumped straight into the roiling waters.
The guns on the USS George Johnson remained quiet, but she could still see the shapes of surviving enemy soldiers on the decks.
Another wave of explosions rolled over the cruisers.
“Command, Eagle Six,” a pilot reported. “We scored direct hits on the escort cruisers. Coming in now to finish off any survivors on the George Johnson.”
Another explosion rolled over the superstructure of the destroyer. Flames erupted from holes torn into the bent metal, but the ship continued to carve slowly through the water.
That ship might be going down, but the battle wasn’t over.
Sirens wailed over the base once more. Soldiers raced for their battle stations along the walls, and spotlights raked the waters, illuminating the incoming boats.
Ringgold could do nothing but watch them draw closer.
A loud grating sound scraped over Galveston as the sinking George Johnson ground into the sand and rock offshore. Momentum carried it forward, kicking up waves, its ruptured keel slicing into the shallows until finally it lurched sideways, beached nearly four hundred yards from the Galveston beach.
The two burning and
