Convergence

The clanking of boots on metal filled the air as the hopeful rebels strode into Air Force One.  General Anderson walked at the front of the formation of seven, in full dress uniform.  Unlike the other men, who all possessed some form of assault weapon, he carried only a Berretta 9mm hand gun, holstered at his side.

As the men entered the presidential aircraft, a secret service agent jogged out of the darkness to meet them.  He waved his hands at the men, motioning for them to stop.

“General Anderson, we have been expecting you, if you could please come with me, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Anderson nodded, and the agent turned and began to walk back into the plane’s depths.  Anderson and the rest of the men followed.  The agent, hearing the large amount of footsteps, halted and turned to face them.  He eyed the men suspiciously.

“Only General Anderson needs to see the president, the rest of you must remain here.”

“It’s alright Harold, their good.”

The voice came from behind the first agent.  A man was quickly walking towards the group.  The agent turned towards the newcomer.

“Dan?  What are you doing here…”

He was cut short as the man punched him in the head, his arm moving faster than most would think possible.  The agent slumped to the floor, unconscious.

“Daniel, it’s good to see you my friend.”

Anderson smiled at Dan, and helped him drag the unconsciousness agent behind some crates.

“Glad to see that no one chickened out.”

Dan wiped his hands on his pants.  Then he took up the position that the first agent had been at.

“Go on, and be quick about it.  You can get through fine from here.”

Anderson motioned the group forward, and then turned one last time to Dan.

“You have our thanks son, your commitment will never be forgotten.”

Dan smiled, as if amused.

“I don’t need your thanks general.  All I need is your success.”

With that, Dan threw the general a quick salute, and then stood at guard.  Anderson jogged to catch up with his men.  As he moved, a shadow of doubt crossed his mind.

Was it really right to arrest the president?

Anderson hardened his resolve.

The position doesn’t matter.  If it’s wrong for one person to murder, then it’s wrong for everyone.

Still, as they ascended to the main level of the plane, Anderson had to wonder.

Would the Anderson that joined the military thirty one years ago have done this?

<(^)>

Thirty one years earlier.

“Welcome to boot camp soldiers, how are ya’ll doing?”

The drill sergeant smiled at the new cadets, though his eyes seemed icy.  A much younger Anderson eyed the sergeant with slight discomfort.

Weren’t these guys supposed to be mean or something?

The eighteen year old future general stood at attention, in a line of other young men.  The drill sergeant was slowly walking down the line if troops.  Anderson grimaced as one of the men decided it would be a good idea to reply.

“Uh… good sir, how are you?”

The sergeant whirled around, facing the outspoken cadet.

“Frikking horrable!  You want to know why?”

The cadet, slightly taken back, was slow to answer.

“Um, why… sir?”

The Sergeant grabbed the cadet by his shoulders.

“Because one of my new recruits, some sorry excuse for a human being, decided that it would be a good idea to answer my rhetorical question!”

The sergeant leaned in close to the poor man.

“Now who do you think that is?”

The man gulped.

“Um… me, sir?”

The sergeant pushed the cadet back, causing him to fall on his rear.

“Yes you, you moron!”

The sergeant stormed off to a small platform in front of the line of men, cursing at their obvious stupidity the whole way.

Anderson swallowed, afraid of the punishment that might be directed at the whole group.  The sergeant stomped up the wooden stairs, his footfalls resounding through the whole area.  The victim of the sergeant’s rage quickly picked himself up off the ground, brushing himself off.

The sergeant slowly shook his head, then pointed at the subject of his attack.

“You there, what’s your name?”

The cadet looked nervous.

“Um…  Will sir.

“Well, Mr. Will sir, would you like me to answer my rhetorical question?”

The sergeant tapped his foot impatiently.  The cadet shut his mouth, refusing to answer.  The sergeant sighed, and then kneeled down so as to be level with the men.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Mr. Will sir.”

“Um… yes then?”

The sergeant leaped to his feet.

“Good!  Because it’s about time that I answered it, and according to my watch, this part of day one has taken two minutes longer than it should have.”

The sergeant took a deep breath.

“The answer is, you’re all doing frikking horrible!  You know why?  Because the next several weeks are going to be the hardest, most painful, insane, and terrible weeks you will ever experience.”

The sergeant crossed his arms.

“The reason is, I am somehow supposed to take the lot of you civies, and turn you into soldiers, and I’m not sure how I’m going to do that, because you’re the lousiest bunch of losers to date!”

The sergeant paused, and shook his head.

“Let’s start with all of you doing twenty push ups…”

As Anderson dropped to the ground to perform the exercises, he couldn’t help but wonder:  When were they going to get to fly?

Three years later.

“Altitude is twenty thousand feet, leveling out now…”

Anderson eased forward on his controls, pushing the training jet out of the climb.  The little jet held two passengers; Anderson, and his flight instructor.  Anderson flew the plane from the front seat, while his instructor, call sign Spectre, sat in the back.  Anderson himself had been given the call sign Valk.  Spectre’s voice came from the back seat, transmitted through Anderson’s helmet.

“Nicely done Valk, try and slow her down a bit now.”

Anderson reached forward, grabbing the throttle.  He smoothly slid it backwards, reducing engine power.  The jet’s speed dropped down to two hundred miles an hour.

“Alright, good, now I just want you to relax for a minute here.  You sure you’re ready to do this?”

Anderson smiled, though no one would have been able to tell through the helmet.

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Alright then, I’m going to signal the tower, you get in touch with the tanker.”

Anderson pressed a button on his radio controls, and then spoke;

“Longreach, this is Valk, I’d like to request clearance for an airborne refueling.”

There was a hiss of static, and then the distant tanker plane replied.

“Copy that Valk, we’re ready for you.  Establish a trail on our aircraft, and we’ll guide you from there.”

Anderson accelerated, bringing his plane closer to the tanker.  He carefully adjusted the throttle, maintaining the same speed as the larger aircraft.

“Longreach, I am ready to commence aerial refueling.”

“Copy that Valk,” Anderson could see the refueling boom begin to descend, “move up, you’re going to slow.”

Anderson was starting to sweat, it was the first time he had ever attempted an aerial refueling.  He barely nudged the throttle forward, increasing the speed of his jet by just a few miles per hour.  Behind him, Spectre leaned forward.

“You’re doing fine Valk, just keep it together here.”

“Thanks Spectre.”

Anderson’s knuckles were white as he gripped the controls.  The tanker broke back into the conversation.

“Alright, that’s great Valk, just push a little to the right now.”

Anderson tugged the stick… a little too hard.  The training jet shot to the right, passing the wingtip of the tanker.

“Ugh, dang it!”

Anderson pulled the stick back to the left, but over corrected, flying past the other side of the larger aircraft.

“Valk!  Just be a little gentler with the stick, and try again.”

Anderson felt Spectre’s hand on his shoulder.

“Screw this Spectre.”

Anderson reached to bank the plane back towards the base.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Hold it right there boy.”

Spectre’s voice sounded in his helmet once more.

“I’m not going to give you some crap about being able to do anything, but I’ll tell you right now, as long as you don’t freaking give up, you can do this.”

Anderson chanced a glance back, looking at Spectre’s eyes, staring through his helmet visor.

“How are you ever planning on seeing combat if you won’t even put gas in your stupid plane?”

Anderson turned back to the controls, and carefully eased the plane back behind the tanker.  The tanker operator sounded a little frustrated.

“You ready this time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, increase speed to four hundred knots.”

Anderson accelerated, flying towards the tanker.  The other plane was flying a mere fifty feet away.

“A touch to the right Valk.”

Anderson barely tapped the controls, bringing the plane a few feet right.

“Pull up about ten feet…”

Anderson gently tugged back on the stick.

There was a short, loud rumble as the boom connected with the plane.

“Nicely done Valk.”

Anderson let out a sigh of relief, but made sure to maintain his aircraft’s position.  Within a minute, the jet had all the fuel it needed.

“Alright Valk, refueling is complete, continue with your flight objectives.”

The training jet slowly banked away from the tanker.

Five years later.

“We’re not supposed to be here Valk…”

Anderson’s RIO, lieutenant Quentin, muttered nervously from the back seat of the F-15E.  On the inside, Anderson was just as nervous as his RIO, though he didn’t show it.

“We’ve got orders Quill,” Anderson used Quentin’s call sign, “this is exactly where we’re supposed to be, just not according to international law.”

The F-15 progressed over the North Korean coast, accompanied by three other Strike Eagles.  Quentin found himself speaking up once more;

“Where are these planes that we’re supposed to meet with?”

“Forty miles out, and closing fast.”

Anderson eyed the approaching dots, awaiting their arrival.  Very quickly, the jets came close enough to see.  It was a formation of eight A-10 attackers.  Anderson smiled, this was easier than he’d expected.

“Skyeye, we have eyes on the attack formation, preparing to escort, over.”

The F-15s swooped down towards the A-10s, preparing to escort the aircraft back to the southern part of the Korean peninsula.

“They still don’t know we’re here, right?”

“By now, they’ve got to.  On the bright side, even if they do know, the rest of the world will never find out.”

Anderson tried to laugh as he said this, but couldn’t.  Suddenly, the AWACs starting transmitting.

“Attention Shadow team, you have numerous unidentified bogey aircraft, closing in on your location.”

Anderson’s face quickly drained of color.

“What’s that AWACs?”

“Twelve, no, make that twenty plus hostiles, closing in on your location, speed is approximately seven hundred knots, altitude is twenty three thousand feet.”

“Dang it!  What’s the ETA on those…  S…”

The mangled transmission was cut off as one of the A-10s exploded.

“All units, break!  Enemy aircraft penetrating the formation!  Take evasive action, all targets are cleared, destroy any

hostiles!”

The lead F-15 swerved, kicking on its afterburners.  Anderson banked his fighter the opposite direction as a loud beeping sound filled his cockpit.  Quentin cursed in the back seat.

“Dang it!  How did they sneak up on us so fast?”

“Well,” Anderson grunted as he dodged an oncoming Mig-29, “We are sort of in the middle of their country!”

“Whose freaking idea was this anyway?  And what were these A-10s doing here in the first place?”

Quentin shouted as he entered various commands into the Strike Eagle.  Anderson averted his gaze as one of the other Strike Eagles was engulfed in a fire ball.

“I don’t know, we’re just freaking following orders!  I don’t call the shots around this place!”

Anderson dropped in behind one of the older Mig-21s, firing a missile at the North Korean fighter.  The enemy plane exploded in a burst of shrapnel and fire.  Anderson slammed the throttle all the way forward, and popped out several flares.  He was now being followed by a duo of enemy planes.

“Screw this!  Shadow team, bug out, everyone, head feet wet!”

Anderson waited for several seconds, as the only sound on the radio was the soft crackle of static.

“Buddy,” Quentin called from the back seat, “You’re not gonna like this…”

A sense of dread crept over Anderson.

“Don’t freaking tell me…”

Anderson dared to look back, noting the more than a dozen smoking columns in the sky, and more importantly, the horde of Migs that seemed to be following him.

“AWACs, this is shadow three, we are heading feet wet towards the yellow sea, I’ve got a crap load of bandits on my tail, and my squad is down, I need immediate support!”

“Sorry shadow three, this is Skyeye, we are unable to provide any support at this time, RTB as soon as possible.”

“Dang it Skyeye!”

Anderson swore as a stray bullet hit the Strike Eagles right wing.  The Eagle shot out over the beach, its afterburners blazing a trail through the sky, a dozen Migs close at its heels.

“You have got to be kidding me…”

A missile cut through the air, flying towards the jet.  Anderson tried to drop flares, but discovered he had already dumped all of them.  The missile flew within a few feet of the jet, then it detonated.

“Engine fire right.”

The ever calm female computer voice sounded in the cockpit.

“Bail out.”

“AWACs!  This is Shadow three!  We’re going down!  We’re fifty miles north of the border, three miles out to sea!”

“Bail out.”

Anderson reached up above his head.

“Bail out.”

His hands tightened around the loops.

“Bail out.”

The canopy exploded outward with a shower of sparks, throwing itself off of the flaming Strike Eagle.  A second later, two ejector seats punched out of the jet.  Anderson looked down at the F-15, still moving forward.  It continued on for about a thousand yards, before it was immolated in a massive explosion.  Anderson shouted as a Mig-29 ripped past him, missing

by less than one hundred feet.  He was rocked by the shock waves.

The two airmen plummeted down towards the ocean, its glistening waves reaching up to meet them.  Just a few thousand feet above the water, the chutes opened.  Anderson was jerked as the air caught the chute, immediately slowing his descent.  Just a few moments later, he splashed into the ocean.

Anderson kicked, keeping his head above water.  The water stunned him, the waves tossing the airmen around.  He gasped for air, feeling almost helpless.  As his vest inflated, he let out a sigh of relief, then regretted it as he spit salt water out of his mouth.  As soon as he could, he slid himself out of his chute, to avoid being dragged across the ocean by the wind.

About two hundred feet away, Anderson saw Quentin glide into the water.  Hastily, he kicked towards him.  After several minutes, he had worked his way up to his RIO, who was struggling to breathe with a parachute cord around his neck.  Anderson swung his knife out, and cut through the twisted line.  Quentin gasped, sucking in the sweet air.  He looked over at Anderson.

“Thanks.”

High above them, the last of the enemy fighters were clearing out of the airspace.  Anderson sighed, and then returned his knife to his belt.  Quentin untangled himself from the last lines of his parachute, before turning to his pilot.

“So… what do we do now?”

Anderson looked at the distant coastline, almost four miles away.

“I think that our best bet… is to wait for rescue.  I did manage to make a distress call before we ditched.”

The two bobbed in the water, held afloat by their respective flotation devices.  Quentin looked skeptical.

“No offense, but judging by the nature of the operation we were just a part of…  I’m not sure if rescue is going to happen.”

Anderson grunted, and then looked back to the coast.  Sighing, he nodded.

“Alright, I guess we’d better get going then…”

Slowly, the two men began the long swim back to land.

<(^)>

PRESENT

“Mr. President, the strike package is prepared, we are ready to fire at any time.”

“Good…  Wait just a few moments…  I’ll wait and see if General Anderson has any bright ideas, before we spend a crap load of money.  I’ll call you and let you know whether to fire or not.”

The aid nodded, and then walked out of the room.  Nickelson heard footsteps approaching, stopping outside the door of the conference room.  There was a loud nocking.

“Mr. President, it’s General Anderson, may I come in?”

Nickelson closed a folder that he had been looking through, sliding it off to the side.

“Well of course General, it’s about time you showed up.”

The two secret service agents in the room turned their gaze to the door as it swung open.  The seven men strode through, weapons across their chests.

General Anderson stood at the front of the group.

“Mr. President, you are under arrest.”

<(^)>

Princess Celestia stood on a cloud overlooking Canterlot.  A guard stood on either side of her, constantly vigilant against any threats to their ruler.  The princess had closed her eyes for a moment, a visibly pained expression on her face.  Slowly, she opened them once more.

The city was a charred crisp of its former beauty.  Though a few sections had escaped the combat relatively unscathed, the greater majority was scarred.  Great piles of rubble lay where once elegant buildings had stood.  Piles of ash were all that remained of what were once pony’s homes.  Even the structures that still stood bore bullet holes and blast marks, making their survival bittersweet.  Amongst all this unfortunate, but repairable, devastation, a much more harrowing sight awaited.  Blood stained the streets, and temporary morgues had been constructed to deal with the increased influx of the dead.  That was never fixable.

The princess averted her gaze as a mangled body was dragged out from under a nearby ruin.  She overlooked the city, looking at the remnants of a construction project that was a decade older than she was.  It was hardly recognizable now.  The progress that she had seen made for the last three thousand years was all but gone, erased in the span of a few hours.  She felt her heart lurch within her.

Slowly, she managed to look past her grief, and turned to the real reason she had come up here.  The humans were retreating.  She managed a small smile to commemorate that victory.  The last of them had left a few hours ago, with the friendly humans right on their heels.  She was still unsure of what to think of the species.  They seemed such a mixed bunch, with some willing to immediately abandon their comrades to fight for a bunch of strangers, while the rest blindly followed orders to initiate their doom.  They were a strange lot.

Her own army was mostly tied up working in the city, but she had chosen a group of four hundred pegasi to fly to Mount Ragnon, the carrying with them the elements of harmony, and more importantly, their bearers.  She herself was to fly at their head, while Luna remained in the city to supervise the rescue and firefighting operations.

She looked at the group gathering just outside the city, a small number of flight capable chariots in their midst.  She hoped that they would be ready soon.  The quicker they could close this loophole in the fabric of the universe, the better.  Then things could go back to making sense.

She spread her wings, leaping nimbly off the cloud.  The air caught her feathers, and she glided smoothly down to earth.  Her guards, dismayed by her unannounced departure, hastened after her.  She alighted next to a group of officers, the selected commanders for the force.  Most of them were flying off, heading to their respective squads, but one pony waited for her.

She smiled at the last of the officers, nodding in acknowledgement.

“General Starblink.”

Starblink closed his eyes, and bowed to his ruler.

“Princess Celestia.”

“Stand.”

She commanded.  He quickly stood at attention.

“You may be at ease, general.”

Starblink relaxed slightly, and attentively listened for the Princess’s next words.

“When can the company depart, General Starblink?”

The general motioned at the large group of soldiers, milling about a hundred yards away.

“Well, we can leave right about now, actually.  We just need for all those officers you just saw to get back to their respective commands, and then the only other thing we were waiting on was you… and you seem to have arrived.”

“That is very observant, general.”

The Princess turned, looking out over the broad formation, which was quickly beginning to settle down.

“I want to depart as soon as possible.  We need to seal ourselves off from the human world.  As much as I would like to establish good relations with them, at the moment, the risks far outweigh the benefits.  I would like to have that portal shattered in three hours time.”

The General nodded,“these boys are good fliers.  We’ll get the bearers there as soon as possible.”

Celestia searched the crowd until she found the three chariots that would carry the non pegasi bearers and a handful of other flightless ponies.  She could make out Twilight standing on one of the chariots, making sure that the chest that held the elements of harmony was secure.  Celestia smiled as Twilight finished up, and produced a checklist.  Being organized always helped the lavender unicorn. Celestia turned back to the general.  Starblink stared at her, ready to carry out any command that she might give.  It amused her to think that his level of devotion stretched much further than simple respect and obedience.

“Rally the troops, general.  We leave immediately.”

<(^)>

“I find your lack of loyalty, disturbing.”

The president glared at the men who stood across the conference table from him.  Anderson’s hand rested calmly on his side arm.

“Surrender now, Mr. President.  Your time is at an end.”

It unnerved Anderson how calm the president seemed in the face of danger.

“No, no I believe that it is your time that is at an end.”

The two secret service agents swung towards the men, their weapons materializing in their hands.  They dropped to the

ground, firing off a flurry of pistol rounds.  The would-be heroes jumped in crazy directions, spraying their fully automatic guns at the two agents.  Anderson gasped for air as two rounds impacted his bullet proof vest, knocking the wind out of him.

“Don’t hit the president,” Anderson wheezed, “We need him alive!”

Through the flurry of bullets, Anderson saw Nickelson make a dive out the door.  Anderson’s heart sank as their prey ran away.  He popped his berretta up, firing three rounds in rapid succession.

“Don’t let him escape!”

The room fell silent as the agents were both neutralized.  Anderson quickly surveyed his team as they sprinted across the conference room, heading after the president.  Three of the men had light wounds, but their armor had taken most of the damage.  One man had a bullet in his thigh, but he motioned for the group to continue, and steadily limped after them, a trickle of blood running down his leg.

“Keep moving,” the soldier said through gritted teeth, “The president is more important than I am!”

They made their way into the next room, just as a group of agents rushed in, responding to the threat.  The first two were quickly mowed down, but the third popped out with a Remington 870 shotgun.

“Look out!”

Anderson dived to the floor, firing the whole way, but the steadfast man still squeezed the trigger.  A massive boom filled the aircraft, and one of Anderson’s men fell to the floor, a hole punched through his vest by the shotgun slug.  Anderson aimed the berretta at the man’s chest, and squeezed the trigger twice.  The agent fell to the ground, clutching his chest.  The rest of the squad quickly finished him off.  Anderson slid the clip out of his hand gun, and slammed a new one into the breach.  He walked forward, holstering the weapon, before picking up the shotgun from the fallen agent.

He chambered a new round, and continued forward.  His men followed behind him, leaving their fallen comrade.  There could be no time to lose.  Anderson sprinted through the upcoming hallway, just in time to see Nickelson disappear out the other side, and an agent step in, a P90 leveled at him.  Anderson squeezed the shotgun’s trigger, the gun recoiling in his hands.  The agent was thrown the ground.  Anderson quickly led the group up a flight of stairs, and into the next room on the plane.

A half dozen secret service filled the room.  Anderson ducked behind a computer terminal, firing a shot at the men.  Continuous gun fire filled the small room, Anderson peeking out and firing the shotgun, his men firing their submachine guns, and the secret service firing a mix of handguns, submachine guns, and shotguns.  Anderson fired a shot, taking out an agent sporting an Uzi.  He pulled the trigger again.  Click.   Anderson snarled, and flung the now empty gun at one of the remaining agents.  The surprised man ducked, and when he popped back to his feet, Anderson placed three nine millimeter rounds in his face.

The gun battle raged for another twenty seconds or so, before finally letting up.  Anderson charged with his now two remaining men, knowing that only one room remained beyond this one.  The lead soldier swung the door open, and was mowed down by a spray of gunfire.  Anderson popped two rounds into the agent responsible, before barreling in.  Another bunch of security personal awaited them.  Anderson screamed, his adrenaline spiking.  He fired another shot into a different man, before his gun was knocked away.  The last remaining soldier sprayed his weapon, taking out two agents, before a shot gun shell took his head off.  Anderson was dragged to the middle of the room, surrounded by the last three agents.

The president was huddled in the corner, quickly speaking something into a radio.

“Alpha, tango, tango, Charlie, niner, niner, bravo.  Yes, you are clear, wait for my signal.”

The president placed the radio on a desk, and turned to the defeated general.  Anderson’s excitement had turned to shame.  His defeat had finally come about.

“Mr. Anderson, you disappoint me.  I had very high hopes for you.  I really had placed more trust in you than this.  I mean, I reward you with the command of this base, and this is the kind of thanks that I get?”

The president shook his head.

“It’s terribly disrespectful, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Anderson gritted his teeth, and spat at the president.

“You’ll never get away with this you rotten son of a…”

One of the agents kicked Anderson across the face.

“Oh, such language!”

The president shook his finger at the general.

“Really, you should know better.  And honestly, I think I will get away with this.  Why, I think I still have to thank you, I mean, you have just provided the perfect cover story yourself.  I can just see tomorrow’s headlines:  Commander of Nellis Air Force base tries to assassinate president and overthrow country, huge battle in Nevada desert as a result.”

The president laughed cruelly.

“The media will love it!  It’s the most exciting news in years.”

The President adjusted his tie, “I could hardly have thought of a better plan myself.”

“Well, as we all know, your plans suck.”

The president, and the secret service agents all swung to face the new voice.

The MP5 gripped in the newcomer’s hands spewed bullets, tearing up the secret service agents, and wounding the president’s shoulder.  Anderson stared at the man standing in the door way.  He was one of the men from Anderson’s original team, and seemed unharmed.  Anderson lowered his gaze slightly.  The man was balancing on one leg, his other leg bleeding from a bullet wound.  He forced a smile.

“Who would have thought?  I guess limping actually pays off.”

Anderson grinned as his situation suddenly reversed.  He reached over, grabbing a new handgun from one of the fallen agents.  He stood, and turned to face the president.

“Mr. President, this time, you really are under arrest.”

The president glared at him, painfully gripping his shoulder.

“This isn’t over.”

He suddenly rolled over, and reached out, grabbing the radio he had previously been speaking into.

“Launch!”

He then proceeded to slam the device into the floor, shattering it.  Anderson’s heart started to beat faster.

“Screw you Nickelson…”

The president offered an evil chuckle.

“Yes…  Screw me.”

Then his eyes locked onto Anderson’s.

“And you too.”

<(^)>

The smoke pouring from the silo increased tenfold, and a deafening roar filled the area.  All the birds within a half mile took flight, looking for a safer roost, while the smaller foliage around the site was knocked flat by the artificial wind.  A huge metal tube slid out of the ground, quickly gaining altitude.  The intercontinental ballistic missile was en route to its target, though it would cross much more than just continents.

TIME TO IMPACT: 30 MINUTES.