One Little Snowflake - 1. One Little Snowflake - Full Story

In the year 2213 of the old calendar, Earth had been attacked. Though it wasn’t clear at the time, it had been. A gamma-ray burst struck the planet at an odd angle, through what were the nations of Russia and China. It killed a quarter of the planet's total population in that one strike and set off an apocalyptic, extinction level event. Survivors from around the world flooded into fallout shelters that the World Government and its military arm the High Command set up in case of a worldwide catastrophic event from an outside alien source. At least the lucky ones did.

During the chaos, the Xenoni aliens invaded the Earth. It was an easy conquest in the beginning. They captured a lot of land easily, as they were immune to gamma-based radiation they used against the Earth. After the High Command learned of the attack, the military was put into action as a defense. With the military having their numbers severely depleted, a policy of conscription was put into place that all able-body men and women eighteen years of age and older, were to be trained as part of a militia reserve.

The Fallout Shelters weren't designed for long-term use and needed to be restocked regularly. A lottery was used to select members who would make the dangerous supply runs.

~.~

Fall, the 25th year Post Extinction—P.E.

Militia Officer Major Simon Dahl stepped out the blast-doors and spotted the dangerous radioactive dust storm headed his way. He wasn’t leaving the safety of the Rocky Mountain fallout shelter because he wanted to but because he had to. The food supplies were dwindling to low reserves, and radiation treatment kits were getting hard to find. Having drawn the short straw again, he now had to venture out to the nearest Survivor Aid Station, with his partner Captain Fredrick ‘Fred’ Hunter, in hopes of getting more supplies.

Using the radiation shielded poncho, Simon turned to face the incoming dust storm. He pulled Fred close to him, under the protection, and ran for the radiation shielded vehicle. They were near the assault transport when the dust storm hit them. “Don’t breathe it in!”

Holding their breath, the two entered the airlock. Fred hit the blue button to start the decontamination process. The pair let the chemical neutralizers wash the radiated dust from their bodies and the poncho.

“Are you good Fred?” Simon asked of his partner.

“Yeah, I am. Just wish I knew why we got chosen, again.” Fred let out a frustrated breath. “I think the lottery is rigged.”

“Yeah, I agree, but we are the Shelter’s only two gay men.” Simon clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Our DNA samples are frozen on ice, but we’re not breeding. Therefore, we’re expendable.”

“That statement is wrong on so many levels. Are you driving or handling the guns this time?” Fred’s tone suggested he was not amused.

“I’ll drive. You’re the better shot, and frankly, you can let out some of that anger on hijackers.”

Fred grunted. Soon the five-ton transport roared to life, and Simon set a course to the nearest supply base.

~.~

Summer, the 40th year, P.E.

“All it takes is one spark to start a forest fire, or one little snowflake to land the right way to start an avalanche.” General Simon Dahl paused as he took a drink of water. “My grandmother would say that often. She was right.”

The conference room was at capacity as the sixteen senior officers made plans, and the junior officers stood to get the briefing. A sizeable octagonal teak table sat in the middle of the room, with sixteen executive office chairs surrounding it. The holographic display in the table’s center showed the globe of Earth with lots of blue and red dots. A single green dot stood for their location encircled by a dozen of the not-so-friendly red ones.

“As you can see, we’re surrounded.” He let his gaze wander around the room. “But we shouldn’t lose hope. According to recon, these twelve are light infantry with two platoons, about eighty individuals, and one light armor each. What we really should worry about is this one.”

Simon used the controls to highlight the thirteenth dot; it sat 200 kilometers to the west. “They are moving this way, at a rate of twenty kilometers a day. Initial scout reports say that it is a mixed brigade of light and heavy infantry, over four thousand five hundred individuals and escorted by twenty mechas.” He paused as he sat down in the chair, sipped some water, and let out a long calming breath. “Gentlemen… if they make it here, we’re all dead. We have ten days to stop them.”

The room was silent. Not even the normal murmurs one would hear at the mention of unwelcome news were uttered.

Colonel Fredrick ‘Fred' Hunter, his first officer, spoke. “So, what are we going to do about it, Simon?”

Simon smiled at his second in command. “In this war with the Xenoni aliens, we have learned that being unconventional is the main way for us to win. They’ve analyzed our tactics and think they know us. We still maintain air superiority. However, our closest reinforcements are outside the range for a strike op. Which means we’re going to have to do it ourselves.”

“Sir, we only have one plane, and it’s a Condor-XJB transatmospheric bomber.” Lt. Colonel Collin Edwards, the second officer, shook his head. “We also don’t have a pilot qualified to operate it.”

“We do have one… me. I was certified on the Condor series a week before I arrived on station. I’ve been using the sims to keep my skills up. Now you all know how I spend my downtime.”

Murmurs of hope started amongst the assembled officers.

“Sir. What are we going to use? I think we have two massive ordnance air blast—M.O.A.B.—bombs in storage that would take out the infantry.” The arms-master Major Gregory Parson’s hands flew across a tablet to verify ordinance. “But I don’t see anything in stock that can take out a mecha.”

“We do have something, Greg. Known only to me, Fred, and Collin, HQ supplied us with armaments that will fit the bomber and can be equipped onto cruise missiles.”

Simon input a code into the computer terminal at his seat. The globe stopped spinning and rearranged itself into a four-sided holographic screen. A file was displayed showing the top-secret inventory. Simon highlighted one and presented the image and its specifications.

"Four types have the capability of pulling this off. High Command has given the authorization to use the Thorium-based Reflex-Multiwarheads.”

A sharp collective intake of air sounded in the room.

“Nuclear weapons? We’re going to use them on Earth?” Gregory shook his head in disbelief. “Isn’t the world destroyed enough? I thought the World Senate put in a prohibition on the use of those?”

“Yes, we are using them, and the Senate has authorized this. It’s either we use the nukes, or we lose every person in this base. I don't know about you, but a little bit of scorched earth isn’t going to keep me up at night. These bombs are low-yield tactical nukes. We have too many civilians to worry over. We’re running low on everything: food, fuel, and medical supplies. Most of our soldiers aren’t even the regular military. They’re militia like me. Hell, I’m only sitting in this chair because I was in the right place at the wrong time.”

He paused to sip his water. “High Command is going to send a squadron of evac transport to clear us all out… both the military and civilian. Our orders are to abandon the base, and once the last transport is in the air, the failsafe protocol will initiate. However, they need a clear path. Collin, we need you to break the siege by whatever means necessary. Be creative. This operation will serve two purposes, clear the way for the transports, and a distraction for my take-off. You’re also going to be in charge until I get back. If we can’t break the siege, we’ll be stuck here for another month and going into emergency rationing.”

“Simon, what about me?” Fred looked puzzled.

“I need a payload specialist, and you’re qualified.” As he turned from Fred, Simon looked to the rest of the room. "Put the word out. I need three volunteers for the communications station and two gunnery spots. To be clear, this is strictly volunteered, not voluntold. There’s a possibility that whoever goes on the flight, won’t be coming back.”

Simon asked if anyone had questions. There was none.

“Wheels up in thirty-six hours. Collin, the evac flight, will be here in seventy-two. Dismissed.”

The junior officers left the room first, followed by most of their seniors. Gregory stayed behind to find out where the special munitions were located in the base’s storage and then left the room shortly after that, leaving behind Simon and Fred.

~.~

Fred walked over to the door, input his code into the terminal next to it and secured the room in SCIF—Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility—mode. Sound dampening fields activated around the perimeter of the room, along with shielding that blocked intrusion devices from working in the space and turned off the internal cameras and recording devices.

Fred sat down in Simon’s lap and embraced his husband around the shoulders.

“Are you sure we’re secure?” Simon ran the back of his hand across Fred’s cheek.

“I am.”

They shared a passionate kiss that lingered for several minutes. The couple pressed their foreheads together and relaxed in each other’s embrace.

“It’s been a long fifteen years, Simon. I love you and will stay with you till the end, but I am getting tired of hiding our relationship.”

“You’re not the only one.” Simon kissed Fred again. “It’s been too long since I got to hold you while we slept, with us in separate rooms.”

They paused as they shared a quiet moment.

“Hun, you should have told me about the flight op before this meeting started. I feel like we're back at the bunker pulling the short straws."

“I wish I could have. I didn’t find out till half an hour before we started our normal briefing, and you were on the other side the base headed back here.” He squeezed his partner in a hug. “I checked the personnel files. We’re the only two on the base qualified to fly the bomber.”

“I wish this fucking war would end.”

“Yeah. I still don’t understand, if this spacefaring race can travel hundreds of lightyears in days, why is it they suck so much at aerial combat?”

“Look how they handled their ground forces. They’re not inventive. They’re an imitative species and have copied our ground tactics, but in the air, our pilots are too unpredictable. They’re only winning because of sheer numbers and those damn mecha.”

He paused and caught Simon’s eyes. “What’s the real reason we’re taking the bomber? ‘Cause if that brigade is taking ten days to get here, and we’re evacking in less than seventy-two hours, we don’t have to worry about them. Unless Collins fails with his task.”

“There’s that, plus High Command suspects a Xenoni Command and Control—C.A.C.—unit is embedded with them. With all the chatter going to and from it, and their escort of twenty mechas, they see it as a target of priority.” Simon laid his head on Fred’s chest.

They were silent for a moment, as they held each other.

“I miss our quiet times. Just the two of us, sitting on the catwalks of the shelter, talking about nothing, watching the sunsets.”

“Me too… I’m getting tired, Fred. Tired of handling the lives of over two-thousand people, most of them civilians. Tired of ordering troops to die so that others can live. I never wanted this. I wasn’t trained for it.” Simon let out a soft breath, as he lifted his head to kiss Fred’s lips.

“As much as I want to stay with you, my love, your first officer has some paperwork and disciplinary actions to take care of.” Fred stood up and pulled Simon up with him. He embraced his beloved warmly. Fred pushed some of Simon’s unruly hair off his face and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll walk you to your office.”

They both left the conference room, locking down the computer terminal, and securing the place, once again, in SCIF mode.

~.~

Thirty-six hours passed quickly as Simon, Fred, Collin, and Greg readied the Condor-XJB and put together a plan of attack. Troops were taking up positions and getting ready to fight the Xenoni light infantry. Collin was directing the battle from the base's War room.

Two-hundred volunteers came forward to be part of the mission. The three most qualified were chosen: Technical Sergeant Shelly McCain, Gunnery Sergeant Mark Deforest, and Gunnery Sergeant Rand Nelson.

The Condor-XJB was designed for combat in an atmosphere or in space. It had a sleek organic appearance that resembled a teardrop with wings. The cockpit sat in the point, while the engines were in the bulbous back, and was 365 meters from bow to stern. Piloted by a crew of five, it had a small measure of comfort with interior bunks for three, a small galley, and a head with shower for extended spaceflights.

Multi-directional lasers, rail-cannons, a small complement of missiles, and the bomb bay made up its offensive and defensive weaponry. There were two types of engines, a reactionless gravimetric drive, and a high capacity plasma-based ion drive as the primary ship propulsion. The Condor-class of ships were made exclusively with Vertical Take-Off and Landing—VTOL—capabilities; with internal artificial gravity and inertia dampening systems powered by the ship’s gravimetric drive.

Simon ran through the final checklist with Fred as the copilot and weapons officer. They secured the airlock system and pressurized the interior.

“Ok. Let’s get this show started.” Simon toggled the radio control on his armored flight suit. “Flight, this is Condor-XJB-213, ready for VTOL launch.”

“Rainbow, this is Flight. VTOL launch is granted once the fireworks start. Your designation for Operation Payback is a Bitch is Snowflake One. Good hunting, Rainbow.”

“Roger, Flight. Designation Snowflake One for Operation Payback is a Bitch.” Simon sighed. “One more thing, Flight. Who the hell came up with these names, and how did you find out about my training callsign?”

“You may want to talk with your first officer about both, sir.”

“Thanks, Flight… for the heads up.” His eyes shot Fred with daggers. “You had to tell them?”

“Yes, and the story on how you got it.” Fred sniggered at Simon. “Consider it payback for not warning me about the flight op.”

“Whatever, Skippy.”

“Oh no, you didn’t go there.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

They shared a laugh and waited for Collin to start the diversionary attack on the lead Xenonian elements.

“General, Sir… I’m getting confirmation that the ground assault has started.” Technical Sergeant Shelly McCain was running the Communications Station.

“Thank you, Sergeant… Gunnery, be ready to return fire if we are fired upon. Colonel Skippy, get ready to bring the rain on objective one.”

“Aye, General,” came from both Gunnery Sergeants.

“Aye, General Rainbow.” Fred activated the bombing sequence.

Simon engaged the VTOL system and punched the thrusters into full power for a combat launch. The Condor rocketed into the sky, with enough g-force that would squash any human, not in an inertial damping field. The crew were still rocked back into their seats but were able to move shortly after the dampeners compensated.

As Simon came to a hover two kilometers above the base, the Gunnery Sergeants used the laser guidance system to pinpoint targets on the ground.

Fred activated the targeting systems for the bomb bay. “Targets are locked. Ready to bring the rain.”

“Aye, Colonel.” Shelly toggled to an all-net frequency. “Ground forces, today’s forecast is for rain. Keep your powder dry, and your aim true.”

On the ground, the human troops broke and secured cover, and fired from defensive positions keeping the Xenoni forces held.

Fred activated the bomb bay doors on the port and starboard side of the Condor. “Rain Away, Rain Away, Rain Away!”

Shelly relayed the warning.

Twelve guided missile-bombs shot out of the bomb bays, six to a side, and flew true to their targets. Each of the twelve Xenoni light armor assault vehicles was obliterated by the plasma warheads, along with any infantry that had the misfortune to have stood too close. The human forces quickly moved in to mop up the rest of the besieging aliens.

“Flight, this is Snowflake One, en route to objective two. Over.”

Simon throttled the engines. He banked left, and onto a vector that would take them to the alien brigade; Fred retracted the bomb bay doors. Once the doors were shut, Simon pushed them faster, and then activated the Condor’s auto-pilot.

~.~

“Alright everyone, we can relax a bit.” Simon took off his flight suit helmet. “We have about an hour and a half to two hours of flight time. I’m very informal. I was an officer in the militia, not the regular military. High Command gave me the rank of General and put me in charge of the base here after the saboteur killed the other base commander and most of her staff. Call me Simon and him Fred.”

“I'm getting coffee. Would anyone else like some?" Fred got up from his seat and headed to the galley. “I know you do, Simon.” Shelly, Mark, and Rand accepted the offer.

“Simon, if I may ask, how did you get the callsign Rainbow?” Shelly continued to watch the com-system.

“You called Fred ‘Skippy.’ Is that his callsign?” Rand checked a diagnostic on the weapon systems.

“Alright… In training, your callsign is chosen by your wingmates, and it’s usually for something embarrassing. It was a night time flight with a simulated dogfight. The tailing fighter got me in a missile lock, and I released the chaff countermeasures. Little did I know, the ground crew as a prank had loaded my plane with the festival chaff, so as I’m doing this evasive maneuver, all these fireworks come shooting out of my plane. By the time I landed, I was already branded Rainbow.” They all shared a laugh.

Simon paused, as Fred walked back with everyone’s coffee in secured tumblers. “Fred got the name, Skippy, because on his first live flight when he landed, he skipped down the runway like how you’d skip a stone across water.”

“Landing for real in the trainer planes is not like the sims nor the Condor class.” He finished passing out the coffee, handed Simon his, and sat down. “I was scared shitless but managed to get it down in one piece.”

“How long have you two been a couple?” Mark turned to face up front.

Simon almost spewed his coffee but kept it in check. “Um, what do you mean, a couple?”

“No offense, sir. The whole base knows about your relationship. Major Edwards, your second officer, made it clear High Command ordered you—over your protests—to name Colonel Hunter your first officer. I’m sorry to say this, sir, but you’re not that discreet.” Mark smiled. “My husband and I are betting it was at least before the war started.”

Simon and Fred shared a look.

“I thought we hid it well.” Fred turned to face the back. “We first met at the fallout shelter, the only two young boys, ages 10 and 12 there. I’m the older one. We became friends. By the time Simon turned eighteen, we both knew each other were gay, and it was listed in our records we were a couple. It wasn’t anything official at first, but best friends make the best lovers. We got married after training for the militia before the war started.”

Simon glanced back for a moment. “Who’s your husband, Mark? And did you have the same stigma we did back at the shelter? That gays were expendables?”

“We got that too. But my husband, Richard, is one of the civilian contractors in the mess hall.”

“That’s horrible. I didn’t know gays were treated like that." Shelly was shocked.

"Not just gays. Anyone with the queer gene that doesn't breed is treated like second-class citizens." Rand sighed. “It’s bullshit. Yes, our population is low, but we’re not going to repopulate the Earth just yet. We need to set up a colony somewhere until we can get the crap down here fixed.”

“You’re not wrong. Scuttlebutt from Prime is that High Command has a plan for that. We first need to clear the Xenoni from the system.” Simon sipped his coffee, as he looked over the navigation system.

“General, we have two incoming priority messages, marked your eyes only.” Shelly was back in business mode. Everyone went silent.

Simon opened the messages on his com screen. He read both in silence, two times each.

“Okay, we have an update on the Xenoni brigade. The C.A.C. has been confirmed, and it’s their primary station. Also, their Chancellor is currently there. High Command is guessing it’s a review of the troops.”

“What you’re saying is this may end the war?” Rand said, barely holding his excitement.

“Yes, it’s possible. Well, at least that is what High Command is hoping.”

“Was that all, or did the second message have something else?” Fred asked over his shoulder.

“Remember you asked, and you don't like to wait when it's news about you or us. There’s no uncomplicated way to say this, Fred. We’re going to be Fathers.”

“WHAT?”

“Our DNA samples from the shelter have been used in the cloning and rejuvenation initiative. If we survive our current mission, we’re being reassigned once the base is evacuated. We’ll be working out of the main headquarters, but they also want us to take care of our son as part of the program. They’ll observe his progress for any abnormalities.”

Fred sat stunned at the revelation. He finally let out the breath he was holding. “You could have waited this time! Now, I’m going to be even more nervous this whole trip.”

“Aren’t you two upset about this?” Shelly glanced at Simon and Fred. “It sounds like they did it without your consent.”

Fred let out a calming breath, as he ran his hand down his face. "I should be, but I always wanted a kid. I didn't know mixing DNA from two males was possible."

“Likewise. I would love to have kids. I’ll be looking into this more when we get back to base… it was without our consent and was ordered by the World Senate and High Command. But when you’re in the military, orders are orders.”

After a few congratulations from the rest of the crew, they settled down to work. More than once, Simon and Fred’s nervousness showed when they had to reread sections of the pre-combat checklist.

~.~

They were closing in on objective two, every system checked and doubled checked.

“We are not doing a standard bombing run. I’m going to hug the treetops coming in from the mountains, and then buzz them at near Mach speed at two kilometers. Colonel Hunter, drop two of the multiwarheads as soon we’re over them. That should give them enough time to spread out among the Xenoni.”

“Aye, General.”

“Technical Sergeant McCain, relay to command we’re starting our run, and that we’ll contact them again when it’s over.”

The Condor flew in over the mountain range towards the enemy brigade from the north. The central bomb bay doors were retracted into the fuselage, and they flew at three-quarters Mach-speed. Two of the Xenoni mecha—large heavily armored weapon platforms that resembled oversized tanks with spider legs—opened fire at the Condor with missiles and lasers. Simon initiated evasive maneuvers, using the VTOL system to do pinpoint tilt-dodges, barrel-rolls, and a sidewinder action to avoid the incoming fire; the limited defensive shielding was at full strength, while Mark and Rand used directional lasers to take out the incoming missiles. As they drew near the target, Fred armed the ordinance. Once they were in the center of the brigade, he released the two Thorium-based, Reflex-Multiwarheads, and shut the bay doors.

At Fred’s signal, Simon gunned the throttle, sending the Condor straight up at Mach-7. The sonic boom could be heard for 100 kilometers.

The bombs fell gracefully from the Condor to the ground. At 1500 meters, the casing’s explosive bolts triggered, breaking open both weapons, and they launched their warheads in a scattered pattern. It was too late for the Xenoni troops and their Chancellor. In less than five minutes from start to finish, everything in the forest valley was vaporized.

The mushroom cloud rose from the ground, as Simon leveled the Condor and banked around the site at a safe distance. Using the optics system, they surveyed the destruction. After confirmation that all was destroyed, Simon turned towards home base.

~.~

In the days following the death of their Chancellor, the Xenoni forces surrendered unconditionally. A binding peace treaty was established, with a neutral alien race acting as a mediator.

The base was successfully evacuated to Prime Headquarters, where survivors the world over were being resettled too. Out of the eight billion humans, less than nine-hundred million remained. With help from Earth’s alien allies, the Earth was slowly being cleansed of the gamma radiation. With cloning and rejuvenation technology, human lives were being extended to over two-hundred years. Animals that were severely impacted were being replaced.

~.~

Summer, the 45th year P.E.

Five years passed, and life started to return to its pre-gamma burst state. Fred and Simon’s apartment, along with most of the contents, were given to them by the military. They kept their rank with pay and continued to perform duties within the command structure of headquarters. The cloning and rejuvenation initiative had used their DNA samples to test splice two male sources and implant it inside of a human egg stripped of its DNA profile. Once done, the now fertilized egg was then gestated to fruition within an artificial womb.

The couple sat on the sofa along with their five-year-old son. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, they watched the streets turn into rivers of bright red and luxurious gold. The sky was streaked with shades of purple to black.

The longtime lovers kissed, while their son sat on Simon’s lap with his legs draped over Fred’s. Heads resting together, the watched the sunset, their gaze drawn down to the coffee table. On it sat a bassinet which held their second son, another genetic marvel. The baby boy slept cuddled up with his teddy bear.

On the wall, several photographs were on display. Friends they met at their old base, pictures of their boys, and one unique picture hung in the center of them all. Fred, Simon, Shelly, Mark, and Rand stood in front of the Condor-XJB-213. In the caption underneath was a sentence. “All it takes is one spark to start a forest fire, or one little snowflake to land the right way to start an avalanche.”

The End