America One: War of the Worlds by T. I. Wade Page B

C-5s in the 1990s, and a few years earlier, when they were fresh out of flight school as budding Second Lieutenants, they had flown fighter jets, first the F-16 Fighting Falcons, and then the first F-15E Strike Eagles in 1989 that had arrived in the ranks of The United States Air force, and at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base in North Carolina.
    Both men would have stayed with the 336 th Tactical Fighter Squadron flying F-15s in North Carolina, but Jonesy’s mouth and both their drinking and bar brawl habits got them moved to flying Transports—C-130s out of Fort Bragg.
    It didn’t really matter what they flew as every type of aircraft had its own set of ways to fly it and both men had excelled in every aircraft. To them a C-17, or even a C-130 turboprop was as interesting to fly as was a modern fighter jet.
    “You been to a plastic surgeon, Jonesy?” Bob Mathews asked hugging his old partner.
    “No, I see you haven’t either,” replied General Jones.
    “You haven’t aged a day since we said goodbye in Nevada, what 15 years ago?” Bob added not believing how young his old flying buddy looked in front of him.
    “I can see fishing doesn’t help in the age department Bob. No, we were asleep for 14 damn years, and now look at me. Maggie, Ryan, Kathy, Michael Allen and I were put to sleep in these weird and out of this world cryogenic sleep chambers for 14 years, and now look at what we all look like, bleeding kids compared to you. Hi Monica, Beth, like your white hair” nodded Jonesy to Bob’s crew.
    “Well, fourteen years of sleep, doing nothing, and having nothing more than a face lift, I’m glad I’m old. Jonesy, I’ve had the best 14 years of fishing a man could ever have while you were acting like Sleeping Beauty,” replied Bob Mathews, very used to Jonesy and what came out of his mouth.
    “I’ve heard about your fishing from Saturn and young Mars,” replied Jonesy. “The only problem with not getting old on time, is that I’m still expected to work. A bit of a bummer when I also wanted to go fishing, Bob.”
    “I know you are only here for a couple of days. There isn’t enough time to head out, but next time make sure you get a couple of weeks so that I can take you out, and you have your own boat waiting for you down in Brisbane. It has been waiting for you for a couple of years now.”
    A couple of days on the island was very relaxing. Apart for one aircraft arriving from Canberra to pick up the Aussie politician, it was very quiet.
    Mary Collins and Martin Brusk had arranged to be picked up in Seoul by an Israeli military aircraft at a later date. Both wanted to stay on and do some business with the South Korean government.
    Astermine had a small crew that now stayed on the island permanently to look after the company’s assets. Bob, Monica and Beth were in and out and called the island home between fishing trips. Captain Pete was now in charge of the island, and had been happy when Dr. Nancy had finally arrived back after making sure the returning OldGeners were fit to live on Earth.
    Joanne, Roo, Joe and her second child also called the island home from home. They enjoyed the quiet life away from the politics of Washington, did not need her secret service detail there, and waited patiently for their return flight to Mars.
    Three of the NextGeners, several scientists, and a team of five Russian scientists were the only other crewmembers on the island.
    The beaches were great, the pool adequate to teach the children to swim, and the Australian beer cold.
    “One more flight to Mars Maggie, and I think we should call it a day,” stated Jonesy one evening over sundowner drinks.
    “What happens if Ryan needs us?” she asked her husband, not really caring where she flew into space again or not.
    “There are enough astronauts, and within a decade, the third generation, our grandchildren will be taking over as commanders and flight captains. I honestly don’t think we old pilots are in demand so