Chapter 26: Don't go quietly. Combat Baby. Said you would never give up easily.

May 12th, 2023, Creston, California - Earth

“What's in them?” Oliver tried at conversation. Ben had his head in the clouds all morning, his attention was on four different things as he cooked breakfast. Since Oliver had left his bedroom, the short man had been dancing on a pin cushion, trying to gauge how Benjamin saw him. He knew for certain the taller man did not see him as nine, but he also was not the angry behemoth he was last night either.

Benjamin turned his head enough to answer, excited at his own joke “There's waffles in them.”

Oliver got the reference, “I thought you didn't watch television. I would not imagine that show ever aired in your dimension.”

“Well... actually I don't recall...” Benjamin was confused, staring at the batch of batter, small bubbles coming to the surface.

“But you do watch television sometimes. I know you think it makes you small, but I don't care. What was your favorite show?” Oliver wanted to be conversational, he still wanted Ben to think of him as a friend, and talking about TV was one thing friends did, right?

“Naomi and Oliver,” Ben snapped off a quick response.

Oliver didn't know how to take that, “What about us?”

“No, it's a show from a few years back. I was a pretty big fan. I had a thirty-minute podcast every week where I went over the latest episode. I even went to a couple conventions and did interviews with the show creators.”

Oliver reflected on that. Conventions? Episode recaps? Was Benjamin a huge dork? Anything uncomfortable, right...

“You know, the show was actually written by a little. I never got to meet her.” Benjamin tone went with excitement for sharing the first fact, and then into sadness over the last.

“Is she a reclusive type, or one of those artists who don't like her own work?” Oliver tried to guess.

“No, nothing like that. She was adopted. By Doctor Bremer in fact... oh she's um...”

Oliver stopped him, “I know who she is. Still, if she's your white whale, it might be fun to interview her sometime. Maybe send out an e-mail or something? Or write a letter? She would probably still appreciate it.”

Benjamin stopped from pouring another batch of batter into the waffle iron. It was a rather ridiculous statement by Oliver. Talking with a little after they were adopted was not something that was done. Even assuming Emily Bremer was not suffering from severe maturosis, adoption was a clean slate. She had been reborn. Acknowledging a former achievement was admitting the littles had done something worthy of comment. That they could be more than poop machines and asking them about it afterwards implied he believed they could still be more than that.

He looked at the hot waffle iron, and then at Oliver. Emily's joy in life had been reduced to a candle, and if he came to her as a fan, he could make her once again feel the sun. Even if she was struggling on the inside, just knowing that she was liked for what she had done would be worth more than a hundred hugs from her new mommy. If he was a real fan, he had an obligation to do it.

“I'd love to watch it some time.” Oliver continued, wanting to be included in Ben's world.

“Oh, maybe when you're older. It's not appropriate for younger children. It depicts certain... it doesn't cast everyone in a positive light. I think it's important that you learn to respect others for who they can be.” Ben thought about it for a second, “Actually, speaking of, I just want to be absolutely sure. You are certain you want to try big boy underwear today? Because there is no shame in having a backup. You don't have to use it.”

“Uh... I'm fine.” The smaller man danced around the question and shoved more food in his mouth.

“Just to let you know, life isn't a race, we all develop at our own pace and there are many things you can be proud of that the others can't do.” The taller one was trying to help.

“Like what?” Oliver wanted to be praised, not hear that Ben thought he could not always make it to the potty. Even if there was some evidence of that from last night.

“Well, for one you have a job, and it seems important, and you have a truck, and a mortgage, and you help with the dishes. “Oh right...” the pans and mixing bowls had built up around the sink, waiting for attention.

“You just figured it out. This is why no one makes waffles at home.” Oliver chided him. It's not that they're hard to make, or taste bad, it's because the waffle iron is impossible to clean.

“Well, that's why I have you, to help me clean.” Benjamin tempered it over with a joke.

“I did tell you the littles could do more than just sit around and play with blocks. I do get I'm still smaller in some ways. Must be nice for you too, since I'm not too big for playing airplane.” Oliver did not want to have to clean the waffle iron, maybe playing to Ben's nice side might help.

Ben could hear the roar of the engines, the fume of exhaust, they sizzled like the bacon in the other pan, and smelled of maple syrup. He wanted to fly again.

Oliver took another bite of waffle, covered in syrup and butter. There was nothing special about the fluffy cakes, but somehow, they tasted better because Ben had made them fresh and kept plating them hot. “I've been thinking about what we talked about last night, and I am absolutely not going to push you on that, but I do want to know what your plans are.”

The discovery was too big. Benjamin had never been prepared to push the envelope of world knowledge in that way. He wanted to be a tiny bubble on the frontier. It scared him. It was too big for him. “I don't have to go back; you did say I could work here?”

“What about your friends? And family? Won't they miss you?” Benjamin staying here was no longer in Oliver's plans.

“I have family here.” Ben poured out more batter. This was more waffles than he intended to make. It was always so hard to judge, and you always ended up with more than you planned, it was always too much, and your only option was to dump it or keep making waffles.

“Oh, like who? Who lives on Earth?” Oliver tried not to be too sarcastic.

“Oliver, you know my parents moved to Oakshire when they retired, it's just outside of Orlan...” Benjamin stopped himself, “I'm so sorry, everything is so confusing lately. You're right, I don't belong here.” He said the last part, increasingly sad. He returned his focus onto the cooking.

Benjamin brought over another waffle, Oliver had only gotten halfway through the last one, “I don't know if I told you this, but I have a sister.”

Strange, Captain Alder did not. Oliver was curious, “How old is she?” asking Ben's back that had returned to the stove.

“About eighteen months. My parents got her just after I went to college. She's so adorable. When I visit them, I can pick her up and she just calls me Benny, which she also named her rabbit.” He removed the bacon from a pan and started patting down the excess grease, before bringing the plate to Oliver. Benjamin took a large hand to half the plate, throwing it into his mouth, chewing the strips as easily as a grip of fries. He leaned on the table slightly, and the strong wood held his weight without wobbling.

“I don't know, if I can explain this. All my life I wanted a sibling to share with, and from time to time I'd ask my dad why we didn't adopt like the other families. He said it was wrong to live a life like that, to desire to do that to another person. Dad raised me right, emphasized I'd have urges and feelings, but that a part of being big was over coming them.” Ben was nostalgic for all the lessons he learned from his own father. He needed to get the same idea through to Oliver, about why he had been so reluctant.

“Coming home from college after the first semester, the whole house had that smell. It was wrong. Everything was off. Toys on the floor of every room, and cabinets and sockets locked or covered. Dad and I eventually got a moment to ourselves, and I just sat across from him and her in the living room. He gave me a look that was like shame, or defeat. Finally, he looked down at my sister and I could tell how much it was hurting him that he loved what he was doing. He wanted to tell me, but the contradiction was too much. We just sat there for minutes, without talking. He got increasingly disturbed and upset he couldn't find the words, and then, my sister just turned around on his bouncing knee and gave him a hug. One 'I love you' and my old dad was gone.”

Benjamin finished, “It was mom, she always wanted one, but dad was able to use me as an excuse, and when I was gone, she just grabbed one and brought her home. I don't even know what she did before.”

Oliver thought for a bit on it, and then asked a pointed question, “Ben, do you think your parents didn't want you around a little because of what they thought you would do to the small one?” Oliver then offered an alternative that left Benjamin cold, “Or, was it because they were afraid of what being around a little might do to you?”

Benjamin did not know. In a way he did not want to know. “I couldn't tell you. Betty is so great when I'm with her. She holds up her rabbit and says, 'do the voice' and I pretend I'm her stuffy and she laughs and seems so happy. Full of life. Except, now I know. She's in there somewhere, scared and alone and afraid and hurting and no one can understand her. She wants to grow up again. I love mom and dad but knowing they're the ones keeping her like that is like a dagger.” He pounded his heart a couple times, the echo of the thump filling the room.

“I guess it doesn't matter, I'm not adopting when I'm getting back,” Ben finally answered sadly.

Oliver tried to not be sarcastic, feigning support, “Good for you, I'm glad you learned something from this.”

“I mean, I'd love to, but I'm one hundred percent fired, and the employment gap will look bad, and worse.” Ben looked around the room, the dirty dishes, then to Oliver, “I've got so much work to do, even if I don't lose my job. I'm a full-time teacher, and I've also decided. I want to finish Collins paper. The paper is rough, he needed another year or two,” he paused a second, “Or ten, given how big it is. There is an entire archive I still need to finish translating; I need to verify his translations too. All that double checking, it's far too big for me. I wouldn't have time to raise... take care of,” Ben finally found the correct word, “baby, the little one.”

“What if someone helped you with the translations and the paper?” Oliver offered, trying to remain subtle.

“The only other professor on campus who read linear Cee was Doctor Korge, and he retired, his mind isn't the same. I wouldn't trust him with the crossword now, let alone ancient documents. I'm on my own.”

“Benjamin, I'm your friend, if you need help, I'm here for you,” Oliver tried again.

“Maybe, I could grab that language book you have your shelf, it looked a bit small, but I could probably get a magnifying glass.”

“I meant more like, I know all about evolution, the origin of the species. I think I have an idea where the Nitz came from. Maybe I could come help fill in the gaps, figure out what happened to you guys.”

“Oh, right, that term, evolution. I tried looking up Pokémon like you said, but it only came up with cartoons. You'll need to explain to me sometime why they are relevant.” Ben scratched at his chin stubble.

“Earth is also wanting to setup something long term on your planet, and I am hoping you might be able to help, since you said you wanted to help.” Oliver kept pushing it.

“There are some nice apartments, they just opened on the northwest side of town. I don't know if they take littles, I assume so.” Oliver was talking to a brick wall.

The boy waited at the table, taking in some more of the food. A bit of bacon, some more milk, after a couple more bites of waffle his patience ran thin.

“I can help you get your job back.” Oliver said it with alacrity, confidence, and volume.

“Ha, sure, let's hear it.” Benjamin looked at Oliver like his young friend had proposed getting a race car or going to the moon.

“Benjamin, your colleagues don't respect you. They think you're soft on the littles. You refuse to adopt. You babied Collins. You criticize the bigs, and you even wrote a complaint when one of your students transferred to Hilltop last year. You're a kooky, maybe even absent-minded, professor. You spend your days fantasying about the small people instead of studying the Amazons. The work you're into is so complicated and on the edge of knowledge that you barely publish. And when you do it it's outside the mainstream, no one believes it. The only reason the university puts up with you is because you are willing to teach the worst classes.”

Benjamin's jovial mood fell like a stone. It was the truth, from a man half his size. Oliver had seen him as Benjamin refused to see himself. With an angered, but humbled reply, he diverted attention, “I made you this nice breakfast.”

“I love it! Thank you, this is just like my dad used to make. Please, just let me help.”

Benjamin closed his eyes, taking a long breath, he leaned on the table with his arm and brought the hand to his forehead, “Oliver, some part of me knows you're thirty-six years old, or there about. You're a spy. You're wanting me to take you in, to help set up a cover identity so you can fix my world. Give everyone the same brain worm you gave me. Or maybe not. I can't tell if you want to save everyone, or if you just want my research.” He gently lowered his glasses and rubbed his eyelids.

“I don't want to help Earth. I don't want to save the littles. I don't want to be famous. I just want a son. I just want to be a dad. And what you're asking me to pretend to have that with you, it would be a mockery of that. You're an old man pretending to be a child.” Ben kept his eyes closed.

“Benjamin, I could tell you that I need someone to protect me from the dangers of your planet, or that I need someone to guide me on where to step and where not to. I can say I need a teacher who can explain your culture and your people. I do want someone who will give me advice, a mentor who will provide me with shelter and companionship. This isn't about my needs.”

Oliver kept going, “I want to be your friend, and you need a friend too. I want to be there to help you when you have a bad day. I want to be there to share in your accomplishments, including what I think is the greatest discovery in your planet's history. I want to help you be your best. Tell me what you want and tell me what you need. Do you want someone you can go camping with? Someone to toss a Frisbee around with? Maybe a companion who you can teach to cook the food you like to make, and you can sit for hours discussing the shows and books you like. Tell me what you want because I don't see why I can't give it to you.”

Ben opened his eyes again, the six-year-old boy was back. He knew he wanted a baby. He wanted a son in his life who would hug him and love him. He could do that to Oliver just as well as any other little.

The problem was Oliver would require more work, more guidance, more effort, and more protection. Oliver would expect more from him than a fresh diaper or bounce on a knee. Oliver would need him to be more than a protector. Not just fulfilling the bare minimum in a child's life of sustenance and shelter, but a moral beacon – a role model for the ideal person Ben wanted his son to be. Benjamin would need to be more father than all the other fathers he knew. Oliver would be a responsibility he could not dump on a daycare worker or a robo-nanny.

“I want more,” Ben tried. The tone was almost childish, like he had not gotten enough to eat.

“More? More! Do you want me to say it is about love? Ben, I love everything you've done for me. In the few days you've been here, how you listen to me, I've loved our conversations. I've loved the food. I've loved showing you Earth and you talking to me about your world. I even liked being picked up, kinda, I don't know. Maybe. Yeah, sure, I'll say it. It's love. I love you in all the ways a man can love another man, except in the ways fools think.” Oliver reached out to grab Ben's hand that had come down to the table, both hands barely cupping Ben's as the small man stretched to touch the giant.

No other little had ever said that to an Amazon. “I still want more,” Ben was greedy. Oliver promised he would help get his job back, which seemed impossible. He had promised to help Ben write his paper, which had grown in Ben's mind from a simple revision into a mountain of a tome – one earnestly trying to address the deep questions of the origins of his people. Even if Oliver's motivations for helping were suspect, he was the only person Benjamin knew who could help. Why wasn't that good enough?

“Please, just say it first. Just ask it first. You'll regret it forever if I send you back without asking it. I can't.” Oliver squeezed his eyes and scratched his hair. “I didn't even know I wanted this until I saw you, and until we got to know each other, and I ... please.”

“I need it.” Benjamin stood tall, blocking the ceiling lights. His shadow fell over Oliver.

“You're like a... fine you're like. We have...” the smaller man stumbled, “I want to spend my days with you, be friends, and we can hang out and have a great time, like we did here.”

Ben lay down the scale of the problem, “Do you know what it's going to be like for me? Going back. I'll have to look my dad in the face and say, 'By the way, with my sister, there's a way to drag her out of this. To make her normal again, for you to be your old self again. Maybe better than normal.' How do you face that? My dad will tear out his own heart after he learns what kind of monster he has become. It's very easy for me to judge the other fathers, because I don't have my own kid. I resisted the urge. Or maybe I'm the one who doesn't get it. I'm the real monster because no one would ever want to be my son.” Except Collins, and Oliver was not Collins. However big Oliver pretended to be, Collins was not afraid to ask.

It was mumbled. Oliver's head was buried in his plate. It did not matter; Ben's ears could have picked up the squeak of a mouse from the other side of the house.

“Do you want to be my dad?”

Oliver's attention quickly turned to his own thoughts. He did not know how he had gotten to this point, he was flying by the seat of his pants and just kept on into enemy territory. There was nothing beneath him and he just kept going. He wanted his old friend back, and he would go to any length: he broke the law; setup a reason for himself to be off world; invited the giant into his home; worn and used a diaper; and even agreed to be reduced in status from a grown man to a child.

It did not feel like guilt. Rather, after he lost his friends, he had never bothered to get too close to anyone like that. He focused on work. Even the relationship with Victoria had been shallow and cold. He had gone so long without friendship that the moment it returned in his life, he knew he would go to any length to preserve it.

Oliver did not have time to find the answer to why his emotions had led him here. One second, he was sitting, pouting, feeling the weight of his actions in his brain, and the next, those feelings fell to the bottom of his feet. Any guilt or shame was being squeezed out of him. He felt only warmth and the feeling of air beneath his flopping socks. Oliver turned his head slightly, past the wrinkled mess of a hot-dog stand colored shirt Ben wore that filled his vision. The ground was now eight feet below him.

“We're in this together,” Benjamin answered. Oliver filled his heart, his spirit, his core. A minute ago, it was like raw soup. He had been formless, pointless, sticky, and a useless mess. Under the fire and light that was Oliver, Benjamin had hardened. Not into a rock, but into something soft and full of warmth. He was a dad. A real dad. With a real son. The best one in all the multiverse, because his son was also his best friend.

Deep in his mind, Benjamin saw the tower of blocks that was Oliver. At the top was the weakest and smallest blocks, “Oliver is a grown man with a fully actualized being,” and “Oliver is a spy from Earth,” was the next one. Those were barely visible, hardly even important, the slightest gust would lose them away forever. He had to focus just to remember they existed. The important ones were far below those and made a foundation. There was a big one, Oliver was his best friend, but now there was something massive. It had slid into the bottom, more important than anything else he thought about the boy. Oliver was his son.

Standing before all the facts he noticed something he had not considered before.

Oliver is growing up - Oliver is now six years old. Oliver is six Earth years old. That is barely two hundred million seconds.

Yes, Oliver was short, even for a couple hundred mega seconds. When they got back to Amazonia, he could fit in with the other children close to his age. Yes, Oliver was a little bit older than the other littles, and he was a tad bit more mature. He was still young enough to appreciate the small things, he wanted Pegos but would play with Duplos if that was all there was. More than that though, he was big enough to have a tiny bit of responsibility.

Benjamin looked over at the mess of pans, and the cooling waffle iron covered in sticky and fluffy debris. He could have his cake and eat it too! In lots of ways this would make his life easier. Why had he resisted becoming a dad for so long? This was the best day of his life.

Slowly he put Oliver back down, and ruffled his hair, “Son,” saying it brought joy from the tips of his fingers to his shoulders. “I got my new suit dropped off this morning while you were in the bathroom. Since this is our special day, the first day of the rest of our lives, why don't you clean up in here and I'll go see if I can find something matching for us to wear. You seem to have gotten a mess all over you from breakfast, and we should look good together when we go out into the world.”

Oliver looked down, Ben's hug had caused his shirt to untuck and his clothing accumulated stains of yellow-white-brown, “Yeah, I should change. It's a casual day, but” he flicked a finger over the batter on his shirt, “this is a bit too informal.”

“How about this. You clean up in here, and I'll go clean myself up and come back with a change of clothes for you too. Then we can go back to your facility, and you can introduce me to all your friends. I can explain to them what you'll need when you come to live with me.”

“That'd be great!” Oliver had finally won. His friend was back and had agreed to help him. It barely cost him anything. Yes, Ben had new pronouns and he would have to remember to use them. There would be other inconveniences that came with that, but Oliver would deal with those in time. He looked over at the mess Benjamin had made of the kitchen and frowned slightly. Such is the price of love.

Benjamin's new suit was a match of Oliver's from the first day. Oliver's tastes were simple enough, he had several of the same shirts and same suit jackets and even the same ties. He grabbed a set of pants and shirt from his son's closet and walked back to the kitchen.

When he got to the living room and past the stacks of unpacked boxes he paused. He juggled the clothing in one arm, and he reached down for a small bag that he had almost stepped on. The top was blue, but the rest was decorated in white, green, and gray. His large hand easily tore into bag like it was a cracker jack box seeking to find a prize inside. Benjamin took out a single set of disposable underwear, and discreetly placed it in the pile of clothes between the shirt and the pants and returned to Oliver.

Oliver had said he wanted to listen to Ben's advice. This was only sensible, and if he insisted on wearing something fancy it was best to have some insurance.

* * *

December 7^th, 2116, Death Valley National Monument, California- Terra

Bockscar was not the only bomber to experience troubles from the shift. These planes were pushed decades past their intended retirement. Even under normal circumstances it was common for a problem to emerge within the minutes before or after flight, and the bombers routinely needed to cancel their mission. These old relics had been torn apart and rebuilt a dozen times, with fifty years of upgrades crammed into an aging frame of metal.

In some sense the bombers were a security blanket for the United States, or like an old stuffed animal patched and cleaned a dozen times over. They were impossible to replace because no one would think to build a plane like this again, and they were cheaper than the next alternative.

The planes were massive, visible to radar hundreds of miles away on a clear day, and not particularly maneuverable, as pushing a turn more than a couple 'Gs' of acceleration would break the plane. They were originally designed to invade Soviet airspace, in the time of the first air to ground missiles. The planes were built to fly higher, farther, and have more speed than the Soviet planes and missiles that would need to intercept them. Within a decade air defense caught up, and the planes were modified for the new environment. The BUFFs had a few tricks up their sleeves.

The first was a powerful electronic warfare package. The B-52's most powerful defense was the ability to fill the radar scope with noise and false signals. Those defenses had been ripped out as the sophisticated equipment ran on computers, and because the space was needed for the dimensional shift machine.

The second was a tail gun. This was removed after the Gulf War as a cost saving measure. While originally the B-52 was expected to combat cannon and rocket armed fighter jets, by the nineteen nineties air to air missiles had become both ubiquitous and of high capability, so that the gunner position was obsolete.

Then there is the third trick. In the sixties, the plane had an upgrade to let it perform low terrain flying using radar navigation. While a B-52 at six miles up could be seen for hundreds of miles, a B-52 fifty feet up could only be seen as far as the horizon and could fly behind mountains and other terrain to further mask its approach. On a cold December morning, Captain Benjamin Alder and his crew found themselves nervously blasting threw Death Valley at five hundred miles an hour. Their plane shimmered in the orange red morning sun, and their fast-moving shadow blurred from the kicked-up dust and rocks from the eight jet engines.

Each step of the flight had been practiced, both in simulator and in actual flight time in the weeks leading up to the invasion. That did not make the difficulty of navigation any easier. The plane had a slow delayed response to any stick control, it was easy to over correct, and a false move would smash the plane into the ground at this height.

More than that there was no knowing what changes had happened to the terrain in the intervening one hundred and eight years. An errant radio tower, or building, even a tall tree – a rarity in the desert but one that would be all too common in the last leg over the Lagunas – could spell doom for the low flying craft. It was a constant dance for attention, one eye on the needs of the plane, the other on the terrain navigation instruments, and a third on the fast-moving world outside the windows.

A similar dance was being played across the horizon in the fifty cockpits of the bombers that had been sent on the southern offensive. Their task of navigating the American Southwest was made all the more difficult by the fact the planes tried to maintain some semblance of a formation – clustered in groups of three, while being watched over by a dozen fighter jets.

It was a relief for Captain Alder when the Salton Sea came into sight, its waters indecisive in color between pink and gold, and dark blue and black, as the sun crept up to the plane's left. The trip over the lake was their marker for when to turn west, and a sign they were nearing the end of their mission. It would give the pilots a chance to breathe and relax, to blink for the first time in thirty minutes. Both Ben and Collin's arms were pained in exhaustion, and their armpits covered in new sweat. The moment of relief did not last long.

“Captain, got something weird on radar, up high” Captain Swift came on the interplane radio, and then gave an estimate of direction and altitude.

“Could it be a stray bear? A Russian that missed their turn?” Captain Alder guessed; the skies should have been clear today.

“Too high, too small, I'm gonna direct a eFf four to check it out,” Oliver replied.

Two escorting Phantoms began to lift up out of waters, turning northwest to investigate, their small engines pushing their speed past the supersonic barrier. The farthest had barely begun a climb when it immediately began a shake, smatterings of flares and chaff providing a protective shield against an invisible threat. Despite the pilot's best efforts, the aging fighter jet was not able to dodge the missile that had been fired from thirty-five miles away. The backside of the craft exploded in a fireball and the front crashed into the waters below.

The second plane fared only slightly better, managing to make it into a dive towards the water, the salty brine creating a splash from the shockwave of the diving supersonic jet. The missile tracked the fighter's dodge and exploded within feet of the canopy, the projectile throwing sharp shards all over the fuselage. The fighter jet rolled and then crashed into the water.

The bombers began to spread out, like birds scattering from a pond. Their attempts were ugly and slow. The planes struggling to find any terrain or cover. Soon the morning lake was alight with the silver of chaff and the deep red of flares falling from the bombers, like flower petals torn from a dandelion, each a desperate wish.

Grand Artiste had been skimming slightly ahead and slightly above Necessary Evil. Benjamin and Collin's dance across instruments was interrupted by a large flash of white. Two infrared guided missiles had followed the massive glow of the Artiste directly into the two innermost engines on the left wing. The fuel heavy craft quickly ignited and that became a fireball and descended into the sea.

Instinctively Ben rocked the Necessary Evil towards the deck, his left wing pitched down as he tried dodging the fire. Shattered metal from the exploding plane splattered across the bomber’s cockpit while the farthest edge of the wing soaked up mists of water, inches from crashing. There was a moment of panic from First Lieutenant Alto as he feared the sister plane's nuke exploding, but as the wreckage escaped into their rear, he gave himself a chance to breathe out.

Captain Alder pushed the engines harder, if he could get the plane to the San Jacinto mountains, he could have some cover from the invisible foe. The remaining escorting fighter jets rose to intercept the coming threat, heading up and away from the bombers. Two more phantoms were rewarded for their heroic rising with another pair of missiles. The remaining eight continued on.

Less than two minutes had passed since entering the Salton Sea, and the bombers made it to the other side. In that time, a dozen planes had smashed out of the sky, including one bomber tearing itself in a maneuver to avoid an incoming missile. Land did not represent safety. Distant missiles continued to rain down from above, picking off bombers like dolphins pecking at a school of tuna.

Oliver saw it on the radar first. The blip was coming closer. Necessary Evil dodged low, bouncing a couple dozen feet across the ground. The windows of shacks and hotel rooms shattered as the plane flew over Borrego Springs. The plane rocked heavily as a missile impacted chaff, and explosive debris spread over the Palm Canyon visitor center. Captain Alder banked the bomber into the Hellhole canyon. Palms and desert brush wafting towards the plane.

The Nitz fighter dove at them. The rhombus-shaped wings were menacing and determined as the sleek jet easily caught up through the twisting mountain ranges of southern California. It was empty of air-to-air missiles, or Necessary Evil would have been shot out of the sky seconds ago. Oliver could see the radar signature of the craft on his instruments, watching it lining up for an attack run on the bomber's rear.

“Just go, just go, Winchester out, you can get us on the return,” Oliver muttered. A brief BRRRT whispered over the plane's fuselage as a declining answer from the opposing jet.

“Would you?” First Lieutenant Lange questioned. Oliver had little to do but to look over at his friend. He hadn't intended to say that loud enough for Nick to hear and didn't have an answer.

The Nitz fighter did not get a second chance to line up his shot. A short-range Sparrow missile, one that a week ago had been a museum piece, clipped directly into the fighter's rear fins. The fighter jet exploded in a mix of white, red, and yellow.

A total of six fighters and twenty-five bombers were lost for one kill. The navigator relayed the full extent of the losses to the crew. Full House, Straight Flush, and Jabit III were among the downed planes, but the one that shook First Lieutenant Alto was when Oliver said the name Enola Gay.