Counter Attack

"Can we all get along?"  Rodney King on May 1, 1992, the third day of the L.A. riots.

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"Fox Tango 2, go high.  I'll take the underbelly," I transmitted.  I was comfortable attacking.  My wingman was my kind of people.

Our sub-space fighters defended from 20 and 50 miles above the Earth's surface.  Small but tough; we squeezed into the cockpits to leave room for power and munitions.  The invaders interstellar vessels were huge, but we'd found a vulnerability.  They blocked out so many stars that they were easy to spot.

"OK FT 2, squeeze him down a little more.  Now!  Got him," I reported.  "One less of the bastards."

"Fox Tango Flight, let's return to base," I broadcast.  "Even heroes can't fight on empty fuel tanks."

Upon landing, I checked in with base Commander in his plain metal office.

"How'm I doing," I asked?

"Don't you mean how're WE doing?  WE are stopping about half of them, as are the Russians, Chinese, and Europeans.  But the developing countries, not so much," the Commander reported.  "There the aliens are coming out of the sky like dandruff.  Once landed, they stay in their ships.  We can't touch them."

"The Ruskies, Chinks, and pathetic Euros, who cares what they do?  No surprise that  the losers are just that," I spit out.  "If we hold our own, maybe the Army grunts can gang up on those that make it down.  It's about time they carried some of the weight."

"Just worry about taking care of that big IF.  In the mean time, we're redeploying some of our defenses.  When you're ready, take your flight South this time," the Commander concluded.

"What?  You want me to defend spics south of the border?"

"Just follow your orders Flight Leader."

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After our next mission, we made a low pass to video what was happening below.  Not that we could see it, but the HD camera never lies.

"Your video supports what we've heard," said the Commander.  "We're slowing them down in areas we can get to.  Disturbing reports are starting to come in though.  Where a substantial number have landed, they're starting to extend their perimeters."

"Maybe that will give those Army pukes something to do," I thought out loud. 

"Remember Flight Leader, pride goeth before a fall," said the Commander.

"OK sir.  We'll get ready to go out again," I replied.  "Can't stop them all, but it feels good when we blast some of the bastards."

Felt good.  It didn't last long enough to become routine however.  At our next briefing, the Commander had a new report.

"Well boys, good and bad news.  Several of the aliens have surrendered.  Humanoid, but ugly buggers.  Probably came from a planet like Earth.  The first tests were designed to make sure they wouldn't infect us with something our systems couldn't handle."

"Didn't want to go the way of the Indians like the history books taught, huh Commander," I spoke out.

"Yeah, something like that.  Then the scientists figured, what the hell.  Maybe we can infect them.  Nope.  None of our infections had any impact.  No 'War of the Worlds' disease to save us from them."

"Turns out, however, that the scientists missed something.  Our germs have gotten together with their germs, and are now having an unexpected impact."

"Do you mean some kind of super bug?" I asked.

"Not only super, but smart.  Not just accidental infections.  They're moving on both sides in an organized way.  They spread through an area.  Within 24 hours people and aliens start coughing.  Once infected, within the next 24, weirdness sets in."

"Those bastards are getting weirder?" I asked.

"No....  What's actually happening is that the aliens and the defenders stop fighting, and are striking local peace accords, which include human factions that have been at each other's throats."

"All well and good, but what should we do Commander?  More star ships are coming every day."

"Some bright boy came up with an idea.  You sub-space fighters are to try and link up with some of the invader's ships using the signals we've observed them using.  Let's try to share the results back to their home planet."

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I know, I know.  Just pure crazy right?  Well...

"FT Leader to Fox Tango Flight, follow my lead.  No quick moves; nothing hostile," was the command I issued.  "Now together, transmit the signal that was loaded into our transponders."

"They're slowing down FT Leader," my wing man reported.  "Looks like a defensive position, but that's OK."

"Look, one of them is being circled by the others and the signals seem to point us toward that one," I observed.  "Follow those signals."

"OK, there's an opening, a docking bay.  Follow me slowly."

Inside, the ship looked like ours.  They brought us before two decorated co-commanders, one male, one female.  After arguing over who should take the lead in the interrogation, they ended up taking turns.

"Mkey fotney voman?", the male addressed me.

I probably shouldn't have said, "Speak English?" 

"MKEY FOTNEY VOMAN?" the female shouted at me.

They were insulted.  Oh well.  Attempts at verbal communication were a farce.  Not surprising, and not what we were counting on.  As expected, they tore our ships apart.

"They've found the videos," my wingman reported, "as planned."  These were videos that showed some of what was happening on Earth.  Tons of aliens putting aside their weapons were prominently featured.

They studied the videos, then turned the ships around and headed back home, taking us along.  We were placed in cells for the duration.  The arrogant, ugly bastards were in for a surprise.

Yesterday, my wingman and two other pilots started coughing.  Today I saw several of the aliens coughing, and I joined in.  Humans and aliens are already starting to behave differently.  Even the male and female commanders are smiling at each other and at us.

It's been a big change for me.  Our counter attack will bring a big change to their home planet too.