World War III, Part One

PROLOGUE1

Beijing, China - 6:34 AM2

Two black fighter jets, their wings outlined in a blood red, soared among the glittering stars scattered about the lavender dawn sky above Beijing. None of the citizens paid much attention to them, as defense planes were a common sight around the Chinese capital during these tense times.3

What they did not know was that the local defense planes had been chased off during the night.4

The two black and red jets started to lazily helix down to where they were just at the height of some of the taller skyscrapers. Slowly, they rolled upside down, so that the German Luftwaffe insignia was shown. Beside it was the German war flag.5

The citizens looked onto it with glassy eyes.6

The two jets partnered up again at the end of the dense city, and ascended back into the sky.7

They had announced the beginning of the war much sooner and much more civilly than anyone had expected.8

Germany would yield no longer to Communism. It was time to bite the hand that poisoned them. 9

WORLD WAR III - The Red Alliance Returns10

Far outskirts of Berlin, Germany - Day after declaration of war - 5:10 AM11

The Kommandant sighed sadly and nodded as he ran his hand over the Luftwaffe insignia under the propped-up windshield of the Focke-Wulf II. The Luftwaffe jet in the center of the cross was so highly detailed that the Kommandant was actually quite impressed with the young man’s work.12

“I never thought it would come to this. I never wanted to see this jet take action, but…what kind of brush did you use for this?” he asked in German with his trademark aristocratic accent, noting the realistically shaded silhouette of a pilot behind the windshield on the insignia's Focke-Wulf.13

The designer, who was printing tracing copies of the design for the Kursteilnehmerstrahl, or ‘student jet’, turned and held up a brush, the end of which tapered to a point of a single millimeter.14

“Ausgezeichnet,” his chief complimented, now pulling himself onto the wing to examine the glossy German War Flag, or ‘Fahne’. “There isn’t a single flaw on the entire jet!”15

“You said you would pay me when I was finished,” the designer said, brushing his shaggy but well-kept hair from his cobalt-blue eyes. “How much is this going to turn out?”16

The Kommandant stepped off the jet and walked over to the designer, handing him a one hundred euro piece as he looked over the young man. “I’ll strike a deal with you. If you join the Luftwaffe, I’ll pay you that for each Fahne, double for each insignia, and triple for each hand-painted Focke-Wulf.”17

The young man was struck. Money? In these hard times? This was the opportunity he had been praying for! “I would be more than happy to join the league,” he answered, still getting over the shock.18

“What was your name again, sir?”19

“Jan,” the designer replied, grinning. “Jan Nikell.”20

The Kommandant smiled warmly. “Well then, Jan, let me show you the ropes around here. Walk with me.”21

The two set out of the hangar into the cool morning.22

“Well, well, look what we have here,” Larke whispered in his American accent, lining up the scope on his sniper rifle to target a high-rank officer and a civil-looking young man walking through the low morning haze. Just as he had finished loading, his partner pulled his gun down.23

“Don’t shoot,” his Italian friend Antonio Revolanti hissed. “We’re here to observe. Nothing more. The Commander wants to know whether to ally or antagonize Germany. Remember the orders?”24

“Yeah, yeah…but it’s so damn boring out here.”25

“Nothing more.”26

Larke sighed and silently lowered himself down onto his stomach, settling the rifle across his arms and putting his chin over it. Revolanti growled softly. “Get up. What if they come?”27

“We’ve been here for six hours and these two are the first to get up off their lazy asses and get out here!”28

The higher-ranking officer looked their way. Larke froze and Revolanti glanced over his shoulder at their matte black stealth fighter behind the trees in the clearing.29

The officer pulled his pistol and aimed for Larke, who thrust himself back and made a break for the jet. His partner followed.30

“Damn Communists," the Kommandant growled, putting his gun back. “There is no way I will let our country stoop to their level. We will fight to the political death before we are overtaken by Communism!”31

Jan watched two low-flying Luftwaffe jets drift apart to land on parallel runways. Their parachutes immediately opened to bring the pair to a simultaneous halt at the other end. No sooner had their wheels touched the ground did a matte black stealth fighter take off in the opposite direction, its underbelly painted with the American flag.32

“What the hell are the Americans doing spying on us?” the Kommandant whispered, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight.33

“Sir?”34

The Kommandant turned to a lehrling, or ‘apprentice,’ sometimes called the stable boy of the Luftwaffe. “What is it, boy?”35

“The two pilots you sent out on the demonstration have just returned.”36

“Ah, excellent! See them to their rooms and then give their jets the proper care. I will be up to greet them in an hour or two when they have had time to settle in.”37

“Yes, sir.”38

-_-_-39

NEW YORK CITY, NY - Kennedy Int'l Airport - 3:20 PM40

Larke circled the Nighthawk around the bundle of New York City skyscrapers in a downward helix for descent and deceleration, then let down the landing gear as he approached the runway of the Kennedy airport.41

“You’re too fast and too high,” Revolanti said, his experienced eye judging the distance and time between the jet and the runway. “Put your landing gear up and go around once more.”42

“We can make it,” Larke replied, steepening his line of descent.43

“If there’s one thing I won’t tolerate, it’s a careless pilot. Go around again.”44

Larke ignored his partner’s request and about thirty seconds later, the jet skidded onto the runway, swerving slightly as its pilot tried to straighten out the nose. His heart was racing as he looked ahead in disbelief. A Boeing 797 was taxiing down their runway.45

“…You didn’t clear us for landing, did you?”46

A control tower operator sipped his coffee and sighed. He needed a more exciting job. Watching the radar was getting old after ten years, and he would much rather be – 47

Was that a stealth fighter? “What the…?”48

The jet’s weight was thrown forward as Larke forced the brakes to maximum power and deployed the parachutes. Due to its radar invisibility, the Boeing was still unaware of the fast-approaching jet.49

“You’ve got one chance at this, Tom Paris,” Revolanti shouted over the scream of the landing gear and the reverse-thrusters.50

Larke’s mind was racing. He was trained to think sharply and act quickly, and that was just what he needed to do. He let off the back brakes and pressed the rudder pedal to steer the plane hard left, causing the Nighthawk to skid sideways and dip its wing into the asphalt. After what seemed like an eternity, the plane came to a screeching halt. When the smoke cleared, all Larke could see out of the windshield was the clean, white underside of the Boeing’s tail. Heart pounding, he looked back at his partner.51

“Toni?” he quietly called, fearing there would be no response.52

“Xeno…never…do that…again.”53

Larke took a deep breath and laid back in the seat. “No promises.”54