Land of the United Free!

Prologue / Chapter Eight

McGuire AFB*
1000 hours*

"And... Touch down." His co-pilot spoke, both of them feeling the metal bird touch the tarmac runway. Spotswood breaks his attention away from his bomber to the sight to his right, are rows upon rows of bombers and fighters, all lined up in a way so they can fit the limited size of the airbase.

Spotswood's bomber. The Hells Gate, was then towed by a pair of aircraft tugs to the mass of aircrafts at the terminal of the base. The co-pilot then let's go of the flight control, exhaling a pent up breath he didn't know he had.

"That was something." A voice suddenly spoke behind him. Turning around, the pilot and co-pilot saw the source.

A young man with a worry smile on his face.

"It's something alright..." He spoke turning to the front of the cockpit. The sight he saw hundreds of times, but this one is different, it felt, completely different.

"The future huh..." The co-pilot uttered, curiosity filling his mind.

The other two agreed. Those pilots claims about them being far in the future sounded insane, but when you looked at the crafts they are controlling...

"This might change a lot of things..." Spotswood uttered, studying the rows of propeller planes as they get closer.

1015 hours*

Spotswood, after stepping out of the craft and admiring the view around him, immediately bolted to find the flight that intercepted them.

A few minutes of running got the pilot to the hangers of the base. And a little tussle with the guards of the hangers. But his pleading to find the flight that helped the formation cought the attention of the said pilots.

Right now, they are in front of the lead flights warplane. An F22 Raptor. Him sitting on a folding chair while the pilots face him.

"You must be one of the B17 pilots?" One of them asks, earning a nod as a reply from the bomber pilot. The others look other to the other side of the base, a mess of propeller planes line up on the grassy parts of the base.

"One in a life time sight." Spotswood spoke, earning a nod from the others.

"Now... Back to the main reason why you are here, running around like a headless chicken?" The B17 pilot inhales, before asking his questions.

"What exact date are we on?" The USAF Fighter pilots, confused, look at each other asking each other if they understood what the Bomber pilot is asking.

"Like... Year? Month? Day?" Asked one of them, which Spotswood nodded, confirming the pilots question.

"23rd of September 2028."

Silence quickly fell within the hanger as Spotswood tries to comprehend what has been told to him.

"I... Think telling him the exact date was a mistake..." Another pilot whispers to the man who spoke. Who replied with an straight answer.

"He ask, I answer."

The other pilots had mix reactions to this, but ultimately, they let it slide as the bomb was already dropped.

"That many years past since..." Spotswood uttered and stopped, not wanting to further talk about the topic and left it for later. "... What kind of bird you currently have...?" He continues.

The pilots remained silent, they wanted to, really, they wanted to tell the man about advancements of aviation throughout the years. But the problem is the bombardier is asking about F-22, which is right behind them.

"... Is this one classified?" Spotswood suddenly spoke, surprising the pilots, but they nodded confirming the bombardier assumption.

Silence fell once again as the pilots wait for the bombardier to speak.

Which was not long as the bombardier ask his next question. "Then tell me of the none classified ones." The pilots thought of a second before all agreeing to the request.

Pearl Harbour, Hawaii*
1012 hours*

The thumping of the twin-engine helicopter reverberates throughout the harbor, beneath it are four naval vessels stand facing one another. The modern DDG's contrast sharply with the aging Battleship- a representation of past and future, where sheer brute firepower meets elegant, rapid destruction.

And in the middle of it all is a lone Chinook making a dash for the Battleship. The USS Arizona. The said ship has its Anti-aircraft weaponry already trained at the twin-engine, the only reason they haven't fired is fear of what will the three ships opposite of them will do after the destruction of the aircraft.

Soon, the Chinook reaches the battleship's "B" Turret. "This is the only place where we can drop you off sir! Anywhere else will cause major difficulties!" The flight captain informed the Admiral on board.

"I don't mind! As long as I can get on the ship anywhere is good!" The admiral replied before guided and instructed on how to safely rope down to the metal floor of the turret.

Those below him where stunned at the sight unfolding in front of them. The gunners of the anti-aircraft guns slowly lower their weapons. The Admiral slowly descends to the deck, his hands tightly grasping the rope like a tiger holding on to a tree using it's claws.

"Admiral?!" Exclaimed a voice from the top deck of the ship.

Though, the voice was barely heard thanks to the twin-engine helicopter, the Admiral still heard it and responded to the call.

"Good day!" He cheered happily, adrenaline still pumping throughout his veins.

The conning tower of the USS Arizona*
1125 hours*

Three men stood opposite of the admiral, their faces infused a whirlwind of emotions. Confusion, skeptism, and doubt, all to his words, and what it means.

But the admiral continue to reason with the chain of command of the ship. "Friends, they are as I claimed, USN of the future, I had a brief talk with the admiral of the fleet, and the exchange of information while I was on their ship."

The Commanding Officer steps forward with determination, his gaze steadily aligned with his higher-ranked counterpart, "Yes. We hear you admiral, and as CO of this ship I don't want any harm done to my ship or crew, but trust is something earned and, while I don't want hostilities with this "USN" I also can't trust if they will fire or not."

The Executive Officer nodded in agreement, letting the admiral know, his job will get harder from here on.

On to his last resort.

"Jason, I didn't want to do this." The Admiral spoke sternly, his light-heart demeanor quickly and suddenly switching to that of an austere, cold one. This sudden switch made the three other men within the conning tower freeze as if the room's atmosphere had plunged to the frigid temperature of the deep Atlantic Ocean.

"I - Admiral. I can't let your command overrule my mission to keep my crew and this ship safe." Captain Jason stated loud and clear. Not letting even the admiral, a rank higher then his, control him.

"Captain Jason. I hear you worry, and I wish no blood to be spilled as well, this is way I urge you that they are friendly." The Admiral replied.

Everything is freezing, everyone is crystalizing. As the two officers exchange words, those around them feel the chill slowly consuming everything, like a blizzard surging within the room.

Coldness kept on creeping, inching it's way into everyone within the room...

That is, until a shout broke through the crystalized walls.

"Captain! representatives from the "USN" are looking for you!"

To be Continued*