Schaacta

1. (Re)Deployment

The deep azure sky whirled around outside, clouds careening by in circular arcs. Clenching against the force, the pilot continued to pull back on the stick, struggling against physics to keep control of the jet arcing back violently. Dials and meters spun wildly attempting to describe the orientation of the craft soaring towards the zenith, elevators pitched up to pull it into as tight a loop as possible. Blaring from speakers set into the radar console, beeps screeched out as a rapidly blinking dot closed in on the center.
Beyond the canopy, the barren expanse of dusty plains and snow topped craggy peaks whirled by, a single shadow rocketed below the jet, attempting to arc up for a collision before flying blindly out into the sky as it spiraled around no longer tracking a target.
The pilot pushed down on the stick, pressing the throttle up to cruising speed and leveled out. His eyes followed the blinking fire escaping from the SAM missile searching for a signature.
Toggling his armament to an unguided rocket, he pressed fire and his craft shuddered as the munition detached and rocketed away violently towards the seeker missile in front of him.
Quickly flying by, the free fired rocket sailed off into the sky as the heat seeking missile aligned towards its engine and flew away towards it.
Five hundred feat away, a half mile above the arid landscape, the rockets collided, a brilliant flash filled the sky, dimming even the blaring sun.
“Holy shit,” a voice crackled through the headset, “What just happened? Our scopes were tracking two rockets there, Quarters.”
The pilot breathed deeply, pressurized air seeping in through his mouth piece.
“Soviet SAM site. Some fucking intel report!” he shouted back.
“Form up with your wing and get back to base, ASAP. If the russians already set up SAMs we can’t risk sparking a fucking war. Not without command’s approval at least.”
“Copy.”
Looking down at his radar, his eyes tracked on the three other friendly crafts scrambled around over the hilly terrain. He tipped his jet towards them and sailed off over the hagged peaks stretching out into the horizon.

-

Warm stagnant air hung in the tent. A diesel generator outside chugged loudly, the clanging hum mixed with jet engines overhead echoed in through the tarp walls.
“Captain Schaacta,” a voice shouted over the cacophony, “did you encounter anything else after that point?”
A large man sat staring from behind a table, terrain map with small colored pieces scattered around.
“No, sir. After the SAM encounter, we headed back,” Schaacta asserted cooly as he leaned over the table, hands pressed onto the metal surface.
“Understood. You’re dismissed,” the man responded.
Nodding as he turned to leave, Schaacta made his way across the room to the door.
“Oh, Quarters, exceptional flying today. Never seen something like that.”
“Thank you, sir,” Schaacta responded.
A cooler breeze brought a thin cloud of whisky dust by as he stepped out into the blistering sun hanging high in the sky.

-

A light chatter hung in the mess hall, fans set into the walls chopped slowly, forcing a faint breeze through the large tent.
Schaacta sat down at a table, sliding into a bench as he placed a tray of rehydrated mashed potatoes and stale beef patty.
“How was Colonel Gerry?” another pilot asked, looking up from his food, a dash of potatoes clinging to his lower lip.
“It went as well as you’d expect,” Schaacta responded, picking up his fork.
“Sounds about right. When I saw that seeker chase after you, I thought-well, Im glad you’re alright.”
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“Thanks, Badger; I just had to figure something out.”
“I heard you pulled a high-G loop? Juked the rocket.”
“Felt like the thing to do.”
“Recalling your football days, huh?”
“Something like that,” Schaacta chuckled.
He ate a spoonful of potatoes, the flaky chunks chalky as they slid down his throat.

-

Twinkling softly in the blackness above, millions of stars shone as they stood static in the sky. A faint cool breeze flowed by idly, stinging with coldness off the sweeping mountains into the valley. Schaacta exhaled, his breath a transient vapor spiraling out as it dissipated into the darkness. He looked down at the concrete command structure in front of him, a light orange glow seeping out of the shuddered windows.
Walking softly along, he made his way into the building and through the air conditioned corridors, tensing slightly as his pace quickened.
A door stood at the end of the incandescent illuminated hallway: Colonel Gerry’s office.
Creaking as it rotated on its metal hinges, the door swung open. Schaacta stepped tentatively inside and greeted.
“Good evening Colonel Gerry.”
“Evening, Quarters”
He adjusted in his seat, closed a notebook, and slid a teletype message across his desk.
“Sir?” Schaacta asked, taking a few steps forward as he let the door shut.
“Reassignment from TAC. Came down tonight. Someone somewhere must have gotten wind about your flying last Saturday.”
Schaacta picked up the note and read through carefully: “Top Secret… Reassignment effective immediately… Nellis AFB (official duty station); Groom Lake test facility (actual/unacknowledged duty station)… Transfer at 0340Z, 7 June 1984…”
Gerry nodded slowly, gaze floating around the room.
“So,” he began, “looks like you’ll be leaving us in a few days. I’d like to thank you for your service to the unit. Some pretty damn good flying, Quarters.”
“Thank you, sir,” Schaacta said as he looked up from the note, “It was an honor. Do you know anything further about this assignment?”
“No. That’s all they said. I called Langley and they said it’s official but that’s all I know.”
“Understood, sir. Will that be all?”
“Yes, Captain, that’ll be all.”
Schaacta went to attention and moved his hand to begin a salute as Gerry leaned forward in his chair and pushed off into a standing position.
“No need, Quarters.”
He extended his hand and Schaacta shook it firmly.
“Good luck; I’ve heard things about Groom Lake. Nukes, aliens, buncha weird stuff over there. Should be fun,” he added with a faint smirk sitting uncomfortably on his otherwise stern face.
“Thank you, sir. Good night.”
“Night,” he said, dropping his hand.
Schaacta opened the door and stepped into the hallway, footsteps echoing off the smooth concrete ceiling.

-

“So they’re shipping you out again?” Badger asked, feet dangling over the side of the bunk.
“Yes. Back stateside,” Shcaacta added, rotating slightly in the chair against the desk.
“Where to?”
“Classified, but It’s Nellis. Don’t say anything about it though.”
He shifted in the seat, reaching up to the desk to swap out the cassette.
“That’s wild. Haven’t heard that happen. Right in the middle of a deployment,” Badger said, nodding to himself.
“That’s what i’m concerned about - it’s all weird. Gives me a bad feeling.”
“Well, you got a week—what’s that?”
He shook his head slightly, pointing at the stereo.
“Just some show tunes. Command doesn’t officially let us bring a walkman up on sorties but I always listen to these on patrols.”
Badger stifled his laughter as he leaned back.
“Damn, Quarters, everyday I learn something new about you. Next you’re gonna tell me you were actually in musicals or something.”
“Well I did three shows at Howard; was the lead in one of the musicals.”
“No shit,” he spit a dark glob of sticky spit into a dark corner of the textured concrete floor, “weren’t you a football star? Wide receiver or something like that?”
“Not a star, but yes. The season was in the fall though, so I did performances in the spring.”
Badger shook his head slowly.
“Jesus christ, man. tsk. Turn it off though. Put something good on… and grab my whiskey. We need to celebrate.”
Schaacta popped the cassette out and slid in one of Badger’s Led Zeppelin albums. Reaching under the desk, he felt around in the space behind the drawers and the wall before bringing out a glistening bottle of some premium moonshine they snuck on deployment.
Schaacta took a swig, cringing as the vile liquid burned it’s way down his esophagus.
“What are we,” he coughed, “drinking to?”
Badger reached across and grabbed the bottle.
“To our fancy black ops pilot. To Quarters.”
He downed more than a shot and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

- - -

The scorching desert sun sat high in the cloudless sky. Deep shadows fell below the wide wings of the C-5 idling on the blacktop as Schaacta stepped out, eyes squinting behind a thick pair of sunglasses.




2. Dawn Maid

A stillness hung in the cold desert air, slant rays of ruby peaked over the eastern ridge of mountains miles away. Hushed whispered scattered around the flight line as crew members hurried around unlatching hoses and valves around the sleek black craft, its matte surface full in the static night light.
Schaacta walked slowly forward towards the craft sitting out on the taxiway.
“The first operational test, Quarters,” Col Trillo stated cooly, “to think, not two years ago we were testing the engine array and now it’s going air-borne—and beyond.” He chuckled.
“Yes, sir,” Schaacta responded, “Lets hope the test goes off without a hitch. Last weeks atmospheric tests went well, but we haven’t tested the rocket engine in flight yet.”
“That’s why we do these tests. If all goes well, Lockheed’ll make twelve more and they go on permanent alert within the next fiscal year.”
The two men walked further on towards the craft, the Colonel wearing pressed green fatigues and Schaacta lugging a yellow high altitude pressure suit, helmet in hand.

Stepping up the metal stairs up to the cockpit, schaacta looked up at the stars high above them.
“Sir, the A-25 has passed preflight inspection and we are ready for launch, Captain,” the Tech Sergeant asserted.
“Understood, Woods.”
Schaacta slid down into the cockpit as two ground crew strapped him into the ejector seat and fastened his helmet on. A pop and buzz as filtered air began pumping through the breathing hose attached to his helmet.

“You are cleared for launch,” a voice crackled over the headset.
“Understood, taking off,” Schaacta responded as he pushed forward on the throttle and the A-25 began hurrying down the mile long runway.
“Godspeed, Captain,” the air traffic controller asserted; the craft thundering down the blacktop.
Pulling smoothly back on the yoke, the plane pitched up and sailed off over the mountains towards the sky.
The airspeed gauge continued to tick up quickly as Schaacta moved higher and faster. Clearing 25,000 feet he banked south and continued his ascent to the upper atmosphere. A shock cone formed around the canopy and flared off over the wings as he screeched past mach 2.5.
The desert below shrunk and disappeared below the clouds miles below him.
“We have reached 60,000,” he said over the comm system, “I am activating orbital injector rocket in 30 seconds. How reads telemetry?”
“Telemetry good,” an analyst back in Groom Lake responded.
“Switching on on-board orbital computer now,” he said flicking a switch. A light began blinking as the modern 25K RAM IBM computer calculated the trajectory to safely inject the craft into a parabolic trajectory over the south pole leading to a touch down back in Nevada.
The stars twinkled outside the cockpit, a stream of slightly glowing air rushed by, the skin of the craft visibly hot.
Below the plane, South America loomed.
A quick beep from the computer as the light switches to green.
“Injecting to orbit now,” he said out loud, a silent prayer spoken to himself.
Depressing the activation button set into the computer with gloved hand, he could hear the plumbing running inside the main fuselage hum. A clap of thunder and an inferno of blue fire rocketed out of the main bell engine set into the center line of the plane. The craft pitched upwards and careened violently out of the atmosphere into space.
Looking out at the earth curving away beside him, Schaacta inhaled reverently and stared.
As the craft accelerated upwards it began tilting over to put the layer of ablative plates outwards towards deep space, positioning the canopy down towards earth.
The engine cycled off and Schaacta was thrust into weightlessness as the 4g’s of thrust suddenly stopped.
“We have reached projectile trajectory,” he clipped over the comm system.
“We’re tracking,” the analyst crackled back.

The serenity of Antarctica loomed below, it’s pristine white surface, swaths of swirling blizzards roaming.
Schaacta began to feel a pressure inside his head, inside his brain. Breath quickening he scanned over the life support systems: O2 good, pressure good; All systems good.
An experience of blinding light filled his brain as his body tensed against whatever was affecting him.
Looking back down towards earth, he saw a circular pressure wave like an explosion quickly spreading out from the Ross Ice Shelf. The front of the wave whipping up snow until the circular shock wave was visible from space stretching out.
A perfectly violet beam of energy extended from the center of the explosion directly up into space miles from his craft. He looked as the beam of energy careened out beyond sight.
Inside his head a thickness began pressing down on him. A pressure within his mind. The purple beam was visible even as he shut his eyes from the sight, burning into his retina even through his eye lids. With eyes closed, he could see the beam’s origins deep within the ice as a octahedral bulb somewhere below the center of the explosion.
All his experience began heavy and his mind slowed down as darkness pressed in on his sight and hearing and feeling and thinking.
Nothing.

—

A bright yellow light filled his sight as the clatter of voices and engines started to fade in.
“Captain,” a voice echoed inside his head, “Captain Schaacta!” it shouted.
Opening his eyes to the squinting brightness of the high desert sun, Schaacta groaned, his head pulsing with pain.

—

A soft blanket covered him. He could feel it’s scant warmth as air conditioning vents blasted chills into the room. A rhythmic beep from a monitor. Shuffling from the nurses walking around the room. A caustic pale blue light cascaded down from halogen bulbs running the length of the high metal braced ceiling.
Schaacta opened his eyes, ironed black suit pants filling his view. He cleaned his neck up to see two black suited agents; no insignia or affiliations visible.
“Good afternoon, Captain Schaacta,” the first man said with a slight southern accent, “I am Mr. Chesapeake, and this is Mr. Eerie,” he said gesturing to the other agent standing behind him.
“Nice to—“ Schaacta coughed, “meet you gentlemen.”
“We understand you were orbital over the south pole earlier today and may have witnessed an event,” Mr. Eerie chimed in, his thick Brooklyn accent booming.
“I can’t confirm or deny that claim, gentlemen; what we do here is on a need-to-know basis,” Schaacta responded, sliding up in the bed.
“We understand the need for secrecy, but we can assure you we have the needed classifications. We were briefed on the A-25 Seraphim by Colonel Trillo when we arrived,” Mr Chesapeake stated cooly.
Schaacta inhaled and swallowed.
“If you could allow me to get dressed, we could find a secure room to discuss, Gentlemen,” He stated.
They nodded and took a few steps back. Schaacta turned to see the crumpled pressure suit and baggy flight suit folded next to it. He slid off the bed and quickly pulled the dark gray flight suit on.
Fastening his black boots, he slid his fight cap into his pants pocket and turned to walk towards the men standing upright next to two empty chairs.
“We can use the debrief room,” Schaacta said, “It’s on the other side of the compound.”

—

“At which point I began feeling a pressure inside my head and passed out,” Schaacta explained as he stood against the fabric wall of the dimly lit room.
The two men nodded, Mr. Eerie jotting notes in a small green notebook.
“Is that all you remember, Captain Schaacta?” Mr Chesapeake asked.
“Yes, Sir. After that, I woke up in the hospital bed.”
“Understood. We will ask that you come with us to Washington. A transport is scheduled to depart in six hours, so please pack anything you need and we will be wheels up shortly.”






3. Descent to Irkallu



4. Nov 16, 1999