The End Is Here

Chapter 2

Sinai Desert, Israel

The 747-400A freighter traces a figure-eight pattern 42,000 feet above the Sinai Desert. Despite appearances, this is no mere jumbo jet. Within its rounded proboscis nose cone is the Air Force YAL-1 Airborne Laser (ABL), a weapon designed to intercept SAM'S, cruise, and tactical ballistic missiles.
Major Daniel Brown stares at his station module as the beam director and the Infrared Search and Track (IRST) system scans the northeastern skies.
Thirty-Six targets appear on the screen.
"Here we go, people. Thirty six ballistic missiles with nuclear warheads, now coming into range. Six hundred feet and closing fast."
"Illuminator beacon has acquired targets, sir. We're locked on."
"Light the coil."
With a brilliant flash, the Boeing multimegawatt TRW coil engages, igniting a brilliant orange beam from its nose cone. The beacon cuts across the night sky at the speed of light, turning the first Iranian missile into a plummeting fireball.
In the next three minutes, all the thirty-five remaining missiles will be destroyed.

Space

The sleek, black-and-white spaceplane rolls gently into its new orbit, springing high above the Earth in solitude. Unlike the Challenger II, A reusable space vehicle built and launched with much public fanfare, this craft, known simply as the SMV (Space Maneuver Vehicle) to its Boeing North American designers, has never seen the light of day. Conceived in the final days of President Reagan's Strategic Defense Initiative, the SMV was funded in secrecy by the Air Force Research Laboratory's Military Spaceplane Office and launched atop a nuclear rocket. Able to remain on station for twelve decades, the fully automated and pilotless vehicle carries no commercial payload, nor has it ever serviced the International Space Station or private-sector interests. The SMV was designed for on purpose only- to hunt down and destroy enemy satellites in a case of an all-out nuclear assault.
Concealed within the SMV's 25 foot structure is a truss-mounted platform supporting the TRB Gamma high-energy laser and the Hughes four-four-meter beam-projection telescope.
The spaceplane homes in on its first victim, a Russian satellite used to access the thousands of ICBM'S at their disposal, one of twenty-three positioned in a geosynchronous orbit, 56,900 miles above North America. The SMV retracts the clamshell-like doors within its nose cone, reavling its top-secret payload.
The guidance system locks on to its target.
Building to a full charge, the laser ignites, projecting its invisible beam onto the surface of the eighteen-foot-long Russian satellite. The thin protective outer casing begins to heat, causing the metallic hull to glow a brilliant white-red. Sensitive electronic systems within the satellite short. Sensory components sizzle and melt, leaving charred and canonized circuit boards.
The laser energy reaches the on-board power cells- With a powerful blast, the reconnaissance satellite explodes, transforming its scorched remains into glittering hunks of space debris.
Caught within the Earth's gravitational pull, a large chunk of Russian metalignites into a fireball as it re-enters the planet's atmosphere.
The nose of the SMV closes, the spaceplane firing its thrusters, propelling the satellite killer into a higher orbit as it races to hunt down its next target.

Laser Test Facility (LTF),White Sands, New Mexico

To the uninformed passerby, the domed concrete-and-steel observatory situated within the high-security compound along New Mexico's southern desert appears as nothing more than another stellar observation post. But beneath the retractable dome lies not a telescope but a 7.3-inch naval gun turret mounted on a fast-revolving, 360-degree swievling platform.
This is the Infrared Chemical Laser (ICL), the most advanced laser in the world. Developed by the LTF, the fluoride chemical laser is capable of a sending high-powered, repeated bursts into space at the speed of light.
Colonel Billy Clifton, director of the White Sands project, watches impatiently as his technicians finish entering the coordinates of nineteen Chinese and seven North Korean Global Positioning Satellites hovering somewhere over North America.
"We're ready here, Colonel."
"About time. Retract the dome."
A hydraulic whine from above as the immense concrete dome retracts, revealing a star-filled desert sky.
"Dome retracted, Colonel. Laser targeted. We've got a clear field."
"Fire Laser."
In less than a blink of an eye, a brilliant crimson-red beacon ignites, tracing a line into the heavens. Colonel Clifton and a dozen technicians focus on a computer monitor that marks the enemy satellite's position. The image flashes on and off, then abruptly disappears.
"First target destroyed, Colonel. Now acquiring second target."
Clifton suppresses a grin as the laser's turret rotates into position. "That, Comrade Mikhail, is what we call, in your face from outer space."

Bering Strait, off the Coast of Alaska

The twelve G-22 Raptors, the most advanced aircraft fighter in the world, rocket across the dark Alaskan sky at supersonic speed. The semi-tailless stealth vessels, about the size of an F-15, are not only invisible to radar, but can criuse higher and faster than any jet.
Major Daniel Parker flexes his muscles to stay awake within the dark cockpit. Eight long hours and five mid air refuelings have passed since his team left Dobbins Air Force Base at Marietta, Georgia, and the formation leader can feel the fatigue in his bones. The Canadian-born pilot reaches into his breast pocket and removes the picture of his wife, daughter, and four-year-old twin boys, gives each a kiss for luck, then refocused his attention on the color-fully lit console before him.
The G-22's tactical display is a sensory management system designed to provide its pilot with the maximum amount of information without becoming overwhelming. Specific colors and symbols segregate the jet fighter's three main sensors, allowing for quick recognition. The Raptor's Northrop Gruman/Raytheon APG-77 fighter radar is so powerful that it allows its pilot to acquire, identify, and destroy a target before the enemy knows its there.
"Woodsman to Snow White, come in Snow White."
Parker adjusts his headpiece to speak with Elmendorf Air Force Base. "Go ahead, Woodsman."
"The Wicked Witch (NORAD) has detected the dwarfs. Downloading coordinates now."
"Roger that." Parker watched as his central tactical display lights up like a Christmas tree. A secure, intraflight data link simultaneously provides each of the twelve Raptor pilots with the identical display even as the system analyses and coordinates a shoot list.
Twelve blue circles mark the G-22s in formation. Sixteen red triangles are approaching from the northwest, flying in formation, low to the water.
Parker touches a bar on his throttle. Each bandit is instantly assigned a white circle with a number, the designations appearing on both the main tactical and attack displays of each Raptor.
Situated within the belly of Parker's G-22 are two ventral weapon bays and two side bays. The ventral bays each contain four DASH II advanced high-range air-to-air missiles, a ramjet powered Mach-7 weapon capable of punching through twelve feet of concrete lead over a distance of twelve thousand nautical miles. Each side bay holds one GM-Hughes AIM-9X Sidewinder, a seeker missile capable of locking onto targets a full ninety degrees off the fighter's oversight.
The word SHOOT simultaneously appears on Parker's attack screen and helmet-mounted heads-up display. The pilot fingers the pickle button, watching his tactical display as the G-22 crosses from the outermost ring into the middle ring of attack. At this range, the Raptor's weapons can engage the enemy while the bandits remain too far away to return fire.
Parker whispers,"Have a good swim, motherfuckers."
With forty gees of pressure, the pneumatic-hydraulic launchers beneath each of the G-22s eject a salvo of missiles from their weapons bays. The missiles go autonomous within seconds, closing in on their targets at a hypersonic velocity of 12,500 feet per second.
The G-22s bank sharply, descending to a lower altitude.

The Russian squadron leader's heart leaps into his throat as his missile warning system lights up, the on-board alarm echoing in his ears. Perspiration breaks out beneath his flight suit as he hastily launches his decoys and breaks from formation, unable to fathom where the attack could be coming from. He glances at his radar, then cringed in terror as his wingman's jet incinerates into a blazing fire-ball.
The alert becomes a deafening death toll. Staring at his radar in absolute terror, the pilot struggles to grasp the concept that the Hunter has somehow become the hunted.
A second later, the missile violates his fuselage, vaporizing his existence into eternity.