Delta G. David J. Crawford

end of the transmission responded. “We know. We forced you down.” Dave and Rick looked at each other. Rick was pissed now. “Who the hell do you think you are? You just fired on an unarmed United States Air Force aircraft.” The response was unexpected, “We know Major Boop. This is the Delta G Airship Nautilus, now twenty miles off your left wing. Please stand down and prepare to be boarded. I assure you we mean you no harm. If we’d wanted you dead, our aim would have been more exact.”

      Major Boop grabbed the handheld radio, unbuckled and raced to the back of the plane. The rest of the cockpit crew followed suit.

      Looking out a door portal window, Dave saw the boomerang shaped airship looming over the horizon about five miles out. The radar signature did not do it justice. It was a mile wide, but it was also a quarter mile thick in its center. Details were now visible. It was closing in on the helpless crew. The temperature was plunging inside the cargo bay. Major Boop had thrown blankets over the injured men to keep them warm.

      Just then the handheld crackled to life, “Major, this is Admiral Scott Dukes, commander of the DGA Nautilus. What is the status of your injured crewmen?”

      Major Boop put the handheld to his lips and pressed the key, “We have three men down, broken ribs, legs and arms, in severe pain, treating them for shock.”

      “Roger that, Major. I am sending a medical team to your location. ETA is fifteen minutes.”

      Major Boop was still pissed, but still looked out after his crew and passengers. “You damn near killed us all and now you’re coming over to patch my crew up? I suppose you’re going to fix my broken airplane and then send us on our merry way, too.”

      The voice on the handheld simply said. “It’s much more complicated than what you think, Major. We did not intend to hurt anyone. I’ll talk to you once you’re aboard my ship. Follow my crew’s instructions to the letter, Major. Is that clear? This will be our last communication. Out.”

      Dave was still standing in the doorway peering out through the porthole. The small portal window was starting to ice over. He pulled a credit card out of his wallet and began scraping the window. The object was now directly overhead. There was absolutely no sound whatsoever. The shadow of the airship was covering several acres of ice. A few minutes later a pair of snowmobiles showed up outside the doorway. The men dressed in white arctic camouflage opened the door. There were four men. The first thing out of their mouths was, “Where’s your injured mates?” in a thick Australian accent. They were carrying a medical kit.