May 13, 1982. Buenos Aires.
They split the sky and carved the earth apart, just to make an elevator.
Plaza de Mayo was a shattered ruin, with slabs of concretes resting in the windows of nearby buildings, and cars hurled about like the tiny victims of a child's tantrum. Smoke and concrete dust was only beginning to settle, and the faint moans of injured citizens carried in the gentle breeze.
But for Mariano, as he walked with a dozen other soldiers escorting Buenos Aires' mayor into the ruined square, none of that mattered.
What brought them here was a cable that rose into the sky. The cable was bent in a gentle curve like an ancient god's bow, and terminated in the heart of the now ruined square.
"Brigadier Cacciatore?" Mariano asked, resting his hand on the shoulder and gently guiding him to stop. Mariano hoped using the mayor's old Air Force title might make him more pliable to good advice. "I'd advise letting your security detail go first. We don't know what we're looking at."
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Osvaldo Cacciatore replied, pointing up at the impossible line that cut the sky in two. "The Americans are aiding the British, and they've deployed some weapon from space to do it."
Mariano scoffed. "I thought space weapons were illegal, sir. Besides, the British and the Americans have nuclear weapons. This seems like a somewhat, uh, convoluted way to make war."
"The Americans have been to the moon. There's no telling what they're capable of," Mayor Osvaldo rebutted, but Mariano heard the skepticism in the former Brigadier's speech.
"Perhaps it's a troop-deployment tool?" a member of the mayor's security detail asked. "An elevator to drop-off marines?"
Mariano missed a step, caught his toe on a piece of rubble and stumbled. "An elevator?"
"Yes sir," the soldier replied. "Don't know what else it could be."
Mayor Osvaldo laughed. "You have quite the imagination, soldier. Space Marines. Have you ever heard anything so absurd?"
Mariano disagreed with the Mayor's assessment, and pointed up ahead to where the cable terminated. "It's bored into the ground. Like a tether, sir."
"Up there!" That same soldier shouted, pointing his M1 rifle towards the sky.
Mariano's eyes followed the tether up to where its length disappeared and noticed a black bulge was descending along its length.
"Elevator," Mariano said, bewildered for a moment before he managed to pull his eyes away from the sight.
"Find cover! Mayor, back over there, behind everyone else! No one fires unless I order it!" I hollered orders at the special forces soldiers who served as the Mayor's security detail, and they moved with the expected precision of men who took their craft seriously.
Mariano ducked behind a nearby piece of ruined building and watched.
The black spot up in the sky grew over slow, agonising minutes. There was a red haze around the object that now descended along the cable, a haze Mariano recognised only because of his own experience as a pilot.
"It's descending fast," Mayor Osvaldo said, from behind Mariano. "You can see the heat around the object. It's falling faster than Mach 4."
Mariano looked up, and noticed what they mayor had pointed-out. A streak of white was left in the wake of the falling black object as it fell towards them.
Blessedly, just as Mariano began to wonder if they needed to flee, rockets began to thrust and slow the falling object down. By the time it was close enough to observe, the red heat had cooled, and the strange elevator had slowed to the speed of a parachute.
Slick, black walls in an octagon, this elevator was immense. Nearly the size of an auditorium, and twice as tall as a skyscraper, it cast Mariano and the soldiers into shadow and swept the dusty air away.
The elevator landed with a gentle hiss, an elegant display for something so massive. Mariano risked stepping out of his cover to watch a small panel slide down, and a lightly coloured doorway to open.
"On me," Mariano said, pointing his colt towards the opening. "Stay spread-out, fingers off your triggers unless I say otherwise."
Ahead of them, Mariano could see a pair of figures stepping out of their immense contraption, waving. Mariano, seeing this, decided to holster his weapon. "Mister Cacciatore, stay with your security. I'll approach. I was never briefed on first-contact, but we'll lead with an open hand. Even if the other one is armed."
The mayor nodded and stopped to let the special-forces soldiers get ahead of him. Mariano held his arms out, palms facing forward, and marched on until he approached the two figures.
The two figures, he discovered, were only about four feet tall, with milk-white skin and faces so smooth they looked like porcelain. They had a pair of what Mariano assumed were eyes on their oblong heads, large black eyes that reflected light like obsidian. The mouth was a narrow, long slit with only the barest hint of lips.
"Well! That's as sensible a greeting as anything we've ever seen!" one of them said, in immaculate though very accented Spanish. To Mariano's untrained ears, it sounded American. "Their second in command approaches unarmed, while the leader hangs back to assess our possible hostility, with a small but effective security force. Very sensible."
Mariano stopped, blinking in confusion.
"Indeed. Laudable, considering what our navigation specialist did to your village square. We've probably killed hundreds. We'll compensate your government, of course," the other figure said to him, and it took a few steps forward. "We'll toss the navigator out an airlock, too. Dastardly behaviour. We can't have that kind of carelessness. Bad first impressions are expensive."
As the little creature drew close, it held out its hand. "Xeń-Nagal Vogon, of Ogier-Vogon Solutions. I'm hopeful this regrettable mistake won't sour our relationship."
Mariano took the offered hand and shook it. "Lieutenant Mariano Velasco, Argentine Air Force. I'm..." Mariano looked back towards the mayor and gave a small shrug. "I'm not sure I'm authorised to say 'welcome to Earth'."
"We do come in peace, if that helps." The other figure said.
"This is former Brigadier Osvaldo Cacciatore, Mayor of Buenos Ares," Mariano said, stepping to one side and gesturing towards the mayor.
"Ah, the mayor! Excellent," Xeń-Nagal said, clapping his small hands. "We're already making progress. I'm here representing Ogier-Vogon, a mercantile firm that specializes in solutions."
"Solutions?" Osvaldo asked.
"Battlefield solutions, particularly. Arms, telemetry, strategic simulations, technological adaptations, our list of services is quite extensive," Xeń-Nagal replied.
"Arms? You're weapon merchants?" Osvaldo asked. The question sent a nervous shiver up Mariano's spine, and he unconsciously rested a hand on his pistol.
"Battlefield solutions providers. Arms is just a small part of what we do. We could discuss a wide variety of ways to help you in your current dispute with Great Britain. Particularly since the recent sinking of the Belgrano," Xeń-Nagal said.
Mariano noticed Osvaldo's drastic change of perspective at the news. The Belgrano's sinking, just eleven days ago, had damaged morale throughout the army and broke the patriotic fervour that had gripped the populace since the islands had been repatriated.
"Yes, I believe General Galtieri would be happy to meet with you," the mayor said, with an expression on his face that Mariano couldn't fully understand.
*****
May 20th, 1982, on the deck of the Veinticinco de Mayo
Mariano loved flying.
There was something beautiful, wonderful, about having your world narrowed to the thrust of a jet's engines as your seat was shoved into your back. The quiet roar of the Skyhawk's rocket was accented by the catapult feature on the carrier's deck, and Mariano smiled behind his mask as his arms struggled to hold the controls.
In moments he was thrown off the front of the carrier's deck, and his engine carried him further into the air.
"This is Skyhawk Wing Leader; operation Longinus is underway. All planes accounted for, beginning operational silence."
The reply from the carrier was almost instantaneous. "Skyhawk Leader, this is Veinticinco Actual. Confirming operation Longinus underway. Switching to operational silence. Godspeed."
Mariano's fingers lingered on a switch on his dial, just as the carrier commander said 'Godspeed'. The switch controlled some unexplained system that the Ogier-Vogon Group has installed on his Skyhawk.
The moment he switched it, Mariano's helmet lit-up with glowing writing and drawings, all flashing information at him. It took a long, terrifying moment to orient himself, but once he did, he saw a light-blue streak stretching across a map, with his targets marked on it.
It was only a few short, quiet minutes until the British ships were in-range of their new missiles, and the radar-controlled missiles were painting their targets. Mariano didn't understand how, but the sensors knew that the suite of targets ahead included both the HMS Hermes and the HMS Invincible, the British Navy's two aircraft carriers deployed to their task force.
Mariano looked out his window to his right, to see the next Skyhawk's pilot starting straight at him. Mariano waved, and half of the planes in their group broke off.
Mariano was surprised when the luminous writing on his helmet indicated he had a target lock.
"Skyhawk Two, do you have a lock on your target already?" Mariano asked, bewildered.
"I, uh, confirmed, Skyhawk Leader. I have a lock on the HMS Hermes. We're still about two miles from our engagement point, though," Mariano heard over his radio.
Mariano took a deep breath, and said, "No sense in getting close and dirty if we don't have to. We may as well get our money's worth out of these Ogier-Vogon upgrades. All wings, fire one Exocet at your designated target. I will proceed alone to acquire visual confirmation of our attack. All others will follow Skyhawk 2 in a slow circle until further notice, or fuel reserves demand we return."
As Mariano spoke, his finger opened the red cover over the missile trigger, and announced "Skyhawk Leader, Exocet 1, firing!"
The radio was a cacophony of his pilots announcing the launch of their missiles, and a dozen French Exocet missiles streaked ahead. Mariano put his plane into a swift climb, and forced his Skyhawk to follow the missiles as fast as it could. He was surprised to see a faint blur at the edges of his vision, as a small icon started flashing, indicating that he had just exceeded Mach 1.
He whistled in disbelief. He was barely a mile away from the British task force just as he saw the missiles collide with the two carriers. The Hermes was rocked by a half-dozen explosions colliding with its starboard side, its planes sliding around the carrier's deck.
Further away, the Invincible's deck had been smashed apart by the explosions. Every plane aboard had been damaged, and several were in the water nearby.
"Skyhawk Two, I can confirm the primary targets are crippled. Neither ship is sinking, but both are heavily damaged. They're out of this fight," Mariano reported, struggling to keep his voice level. He threw his fist into the air as much as he could, and his smile was threatening to push his mask off.
Just as he started to hear the cheers over the radio, his strange helmet display lit up as he glanced at one of the ship's escorting the carriers. It had a low, round profile, with a single tower in the centre of the ship. Mariano's display was flashing with the words 'HMS Conqueror'.
"Skyhawk Two, wasn't it a submarine that sank the Belgrano?"
"Yeah. A nuclear-powered submarine called 'Conqueror'." Mariano heard over the radio.
The words were out of his mouth before he thought of them. "Skyhawk Leader, moving to engage the HMS Conqueror. Exocet 2, firing!"
Mariano dove his Skyhawk towards the battle group, firing his second missile at the submarine. Once he fired, he turned away as warning lights started flashing on his console.
"Skyhawk Leader, painted with four, no six missiles. Evading now."
Somehow, even as he cut towards the water and dodged the first enemy missile, he saw his own strike the submarine and tear its midsection apart in a flash of light. As the flash receded, he saw the Conqueror was split cleanly in half, with rushing white waves flowing between the now severed ship.
"Skyhawk Two, the Conqueror's in pieces! Repeat, the Conqueror is in pieces! Take the wings back home, I'm right behind you!" Mariano cried into the radio as he struggled to pull of out his dive.
His Skyhawk was level with the deck of a nearby destroyer which erupted with small-arms fire just as his engines kicked into full thrust, and threw his back against the seat.
Alarms were still blaring, and in his mirrors, he could see a dozen different missiles racing after him.
Desperate, he took his plane into a slow climb, rising nearly eight hundred feet into the air. Despite the impossible speeds his Skyhawk could now reach, the missiles were still faster, and devouring the distance between them.
Mariano let his finger rest over the emergency detach switch for the rest of the Skyhawk's ordinance, and waited a few tense, terrifying seconds.
With a quick flick, his plane surged forward, as eight tons of ordinance fell off like a heavy backpack.
Mariano took the Skyhawk into a slow dive, as the first missile struck the ordinance he dropped.
In his mirrors, the first explosion was punctuated by nearly a dozen more, all firing before the first had a chance to fade.
Mariano breathed a sigh of relief and hugged the water as close as he dared, low enough that even a ship's radar wouldn't notice him until he was well out of range.
And headed home.
*****
June 22, 1982. Buenos Aires
"May the laurels be eternal,
That we were able to achieve!
Let us live crowned in glory,
Or let us swear in glory to die!"
The crowd finished in a rancorous cheer, with every glass raised in Mariano's direction. Mariano, and the pilots of his wing who stood near him, could do little more than keep their glasses raised until the singing stopped and the crowd cheered.
"Hail, Mariano! Hero of Argentina! Avenger of the Belgrano! The man who kicked-in the teeth of the British Navy and secured our liberation of the Malvinas!" Leopoldo Galtieri, Mariano and Argentina's president, lead the cheer.
Mariano, like everyone else in the room, drank. The champagne was superb, a princely gift from the French ambassador in attendance. Even the two alien merchants were in attendance, standing near General Leopoldo and sipping a green, oily fluid in champagne flutes.
One of those two, the lighter-coloured of the pair that Mariano remembered as Xeń-Nagal, approach him immediately after the toast ended. "Ah, I remember you from our first contact. You impressed me then, as well."
"I'm surprised I left an impression at all. Xeń-Nagal, wasn't it?" Mariano asked, shaking the creature's hand.
"Yes, indeed! You are quite impressive," Xeń-Nagal replied, as he reached into a pocket of his unnaturally white robe. "Please, take this. If you ever want a career change, Ogier-Vogon solutions could always make use of someone with your talents."
Xeń-Nagal then handed him a surprisingly thick card, with seemed to glow on one side with the words Ogier-Vogon. The words actually moved on the glass-like card, bouncing off the edges of the screen and slowly drifting to the other side.
Mariano looked up to see Xeń-Nagal walking away, returning to his companion.
"Curious creatures, aren't they?" Someone asked from behind Mariano. He turned, to see a short, squat man with what looked to be, even to Mariano's untrained eye, an exceedingly expensive suit.
"Short, delicate looking, completely disarming. I wonder if that's how they look, or if their appearance is a business choice," the man remarked. "I suppose to pretty much anyone except myself, they would seem completely harmless."
"Sorry, sir, who are you?" Mariano asked.
"Adnan Khashoggi." The squat man said, offering his hand. "Officially, I'm a Saudi Prince. But really, my boy, I'm in the same business as this Ogier-Vogon firm. And I'm here to admire a real master of the game."
"What worries me, is their end goal," Adnan admitted. "What did their help cost you? Do you know?"
Mariano shook his head. Adnan smiled a small, sad smile and explained, "eleven-thousand tons of metals. Mostly Aluminium, copper, and silver. And that, I believe, was the introductory rate. Your next deal with them is for live strategic assessments of Chile's armed forces, and upgrades to your planes and ships, to expand fuel efficiency by tenfold. That has been pegged at the price of fourteen thousand tons of Boron."
"It's expensive," Mariano agreed. "But the advantage is critical to Argentina's defence.
"Defence? Don't me naive, mister hero pilot," Adnan said. "We're being invaded, by someone who knows how to conquer a divided planet. We are going to strip-mine our own world, in exchange for trinkets and baubles. We'll barter-away our future in the stars for petty political advantages. Particularly ironic for your country, since you went through all this just a few hundred years ago. I just can't see a way out of this."
"You must be wrong," Mariano insisted, shaking his head.
"I hope so. God be praised, I hope so." Adnan said, and this arms dealer was the only man in the room with fear in his eyes, as he looked to the two small aliens in the room.
*****
August 7th, 1982. Over the Andes
"This is Skyhawk One. Target is two miles off. Confirmed firing solution. Cluster rockets armed, awaiting confirmation," Mariano reported.
His target was a somewhat remote Chilean airforce base, set high-up, and close to what was reportedly a busy mine.
"Confirmed. Skyhawk Leader, you are clear to engage," a voice barked over the radio.
Mariano flicked his thumb, and four missiles streaked ahead of him, to visit pain and death to the poor bastards in the distant airfield.
His strange helmet, glowing with that the alien technicians casually referred to as a 'HUD', was now warning him of two aircraft that had taken off.
"Two fighters have taken-off. I think someone's been working on getting their radar improved," Mariano said.
"Our exclusive purchase period ended last week. Guess this was bound to happen," the radio said to him. "You're clear to engage, Skyhawk One. Take'em both out quickly."
"Roger," Mariano said, as he kicked his Skyhawk into Mach 3.
It felt strange, as the rapid acceleration felt little worse than accelerating in a car. The aliens seemed to have taken a liking to Mariano, and apparently added a few extra 'tweaks' to his Skyhawk, free of charge.
Mariano's Skyhawk had no missiles left, so he streaked up and put his plane into a swift climb. It devoured miles with absurd ease, easily keeping him well above the two aircraft.
Once he was nearly right above, he took his Skyhawk into a steep dive. He plunged through the clouds, only punching into open air when he was just above the two planes. He fired two quick bursts with his mounted cannon, and struck both planes just before he streaked between them.
Both planes peeled away, black smoke billowing behind them.
"Bogies one and two are out of the fight. Site's secure," Mariano reported, just as he flew over the airfield.
Piled high at the edge of the site, were mammoth piles of some strange material. "Control, this is Skyhawk Leader, I'm looking at a lot of metal piled up down here. What am I seeing?
"Molybdenum," the mission control officer reported.
"What is that?" Mariano asked.
"It's an element. Useful for alloys, stronger steel. Makes a surprisingly good fertilizer for cauliflower. The aliens are giving a premium price for the stuff," he heard.
"Skyhawk Leader, stay focused on your mission. Galtieri out," Mariano whistled into his mask, shocked to be reprimanded directly from the president.
"Skyhawk Leader, requesting a detour for a reconnaissance pass about eighteen clicks north-northeast of your position. You have permission to overrule over potential hostiles or fuel concerns," Mariano heard the hesitation in the comm officer's voice, but couldn't understand the issue.
No plan ever survives contact with reality intact.
"Control, this is Skyhawk Leader. I have no enemies on radar, and plenty of fuel. I'll have a look," Mariano tried to sound as soothing as he could, to keep the comm officer calm.
Mariano turned his Skyhawk north, and pushed his plane just under Mach 1. His plane was eerily quiet as it flew, adding to the trepidation he already felt.
Sever minutes of quiet flying took him over a large pit, large enough to swallow a small town into its gaping maw. Mariano realised, just as he passed that it was a mine.
"Control, I've passed over the target zone. All I see is a mine," Mariano reported.
"Skyhawk Leader, take a slow pass, and see if there's anyone down there," Mariano heard the president's voice again.
"Aye, sir. Making a slow pass," Mariano replied, easing off the engines and taking his Skyhawk into a slow, wide turn.
As he passed over the mine a second time, Mariano could see a crowd of people at the bottom of the mine, gathered into a mob near the entrance. There were tens of thousands of people, surrounded by soldiers, and they were slowly being pushed into the mine.
Just as Mariano passed overhead, he saw the flags on a few of the troop-trucks.
Two baby blue bars, with a yellow sun in the middle.
"Control, I see troops flying our colours herding tens of thousands of people into that mine. This might be some trick on the part of the Chileans. Permission to engage?" Mariano asked.
"Permission denied. Those are our boys," Galtieri answered. "They lost radio contact a few hours ago, I wanted to make sure they were on schedule. Return home, Skyhawk Leader."
"We're press-ganging people into that mine, sir?"
"Afraid so. We need as much of the metal inside as we can get," Galtieri replied.
"Sir, horrors like Potosí are why we threw-off the Spanish. Now we become them the moment it's convenient?" Mariano asked.
"Return home, Skyhawk Leader. We'll reprimand you later. Galtieri out."
Mariano swallowed hard, and tried to keep his tears out of his mask.
*****
September 9th, 1982. on the deck of the Veinticinco de Mayo
"All wings, scramble! Enemy sighted on radar! All wings, scramble!" the sound shook our small lounge, startling a few pilots out of their naps, and sent Mariano bolting for the door.
Mariano bolted through the halls, springing past labourers and soldiers who threw themselves out of his way. Thanks to the discipline of the support crews, Mariano may as well have been running through an empty hallway.
Better, Mariano corrected himself. Empty hallways don't open doors.
Mariano made it out into the hanger in under and minute, just in time to see his flight crew detach the fuel pump from his Skyhawk.
The crew's lead mechanic gave him a thumbs-up as Mariano passed. Mariano smiled and waved in response, relieved that his plane has been checked-over.
Mariano's Skyhawk had seen a lot of action recently. Nearly three times as many missions as any other plane in the air force, all of them expected to be highly dangerous. Mariano had six aces painted on the nose of his plane now, four of them from Argentina's recent conquest of Chile.
He flinched and shut his eyes as his mind wandered back to recent months. Entire villages pressed into labour camps, given impossible quotas to mine.
Mariano climbed into his cockpit, and began warming up the engine before he was even strapped-in. The upgrades installed on his plane would see him into the air without the usual pre-flight check, but Mariano preferred to hear his engines before he took to the sky.
"Control, this is Skyhawk Leader, taking off," Mariano called-out, as he teased his plane towards the runway.
Mariano's plane was just lifting off the ground when a tentative voice came in on the radio. "Skyhawk leader, I, uh..."
"Control, what is it?" Mariano asked.
"My report might have been premature. I've been detecting something on radar; I thought it was less than fifteen miles off. But it's nearly ninety miles away," came the answer over the radio.
"How did you make that mistake, control?"
"I think this object is a lot bigger than a plane, sir," the response came.
"How much bigger?" Mariano asked.
"I don't know, sir," came the answer.
Mariano whistled into the radio, and said "Skyhawk Leader, approaching on reconnaissance. All Skyhawks stay close to base until further notice."
Mariano took his Skyhawk into a steep climb, pushing himself to twenty-five thousand feet. Once he climbed over the nearby cloud range, he scanned the horizon to see if he could spot the strange object that now played havoc with his plane's radar systems.
Mariano wondered, absently, if someone had laced his coffee this morning. Ahead, just at the far end of his sight, Mariano could see a small island rising above the clouds.
Rising above the clouds. At twenty-five thousand feet.
"Control, I can see the object. It appears to be an island. I'll take a closer look now," Mariano reported, as he pushed his Skyhawk into a now familiar Mach 2, and launched himself towards the plane.
As he approached the island, he saw a long strip of road, in the shape of a runway. The island was oblong, nearly twice as long as it was wide, and had four massive propellers thrusting it up into the air.
Oddly, Mariano could see a runway had a red tinge to it, with a brilliant red line intersecting it right in the middle. On each corner of the island, four blue lines ran from the furthest corners of the island, and terminated just before the runway.
The shape was familiar to Mariano. A red cross with blue lines painted as if underneath...
"It's a British Airfield! The British have made a flying island into an airfield!" Mariano shouted into the radio, just as alarms began to howl in his cockpit.
Bright-yellow streaks flashed in the air around him, and his Skyhawk rattled as if it were being pounded by a hailstorm. Almost immediately, his engines died-out and Mariano could see black smoke pouring from the back of his plane.
"Control, I'm hit! Tell the wings to target the propellers on the sides of the island. Tell them. Committing to radio silence," Mariano said, as his Skyhawk plummeted through the air.
"Acknowledged, Skyhawk Leader. Good luck," the reply came over the radio as Mariano managed to weave his plane out of the guns' firing line, and dive below the island.
As he fell beneath the island and towards the ground, Mariano managed to pull his Skyhawk into a slow, gradual dive, and waited just a few minutes before he reached for the handle by his feet.
He grabbed the steel handle with both hands and pulled. The windshield was blown off the ship, and his seat rocketed up into the open air.
As the parachutes caught his seat and carried him gently into the wind, Mariano watched with a pang of regret as his Skyhawk fell, and crashed into the jungle below.
"So long, buddy," Mariano muttered.
The seat touched the ground a few minutes later, and Marian detached himself from his seat, taking off his helmet and finding himself in the jungle. He reached for his radio, surprised to find an unusual device with 'Ogier-Vogon' written on the side. He turned a switch, and heard a conversation.
"So our hero bought it? Good, it saves having to fake his death. He was getting a little too nosy about our resource extraction. Calling it Potosí all over again, disgusting arrogance," Mariano heard a now familiar voice, placing it instantly as President Galtieri.
"Brits are still pushing to retake the Falklands. They must think a quick strike on our airforce will cripple our response. See how much those aliens want for live intel on British military movements. If we lean on the Chilean peasants a little harder, so be it. It's not like there's a country in the world that isn't doing the same thing," Galiteri added.
Mariano turned off the radio, and fought off the urge to vomit. It was just as he hunched over, spitting onto the ground, that he felt the strange little card Xeń-Nagal had given him, a few months ago.
He took the card out, and nearly dropped it when it showed a moving picture of Xeń-Nagal.
"Ah, Mariano!" Xeń-Nagal exclaimed, clapping his small hands. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Mariano hesitated for only a moment, as he thought of the warning of a Saudi Prince. "We are going to strip-mine our own world, in exchange for trinkets and baubles."
Mariano took a deep breath, and said, "you mentioned that I should call you if I ever wanted a career change."