Maybe it was some weapon he did not know of, some leftover munitions from the attacks over Singapore, Hawaii, and Florida. Either way it was clearly something that demanded immediate investigation. That had been half an hour ago, but he had responded as quickly as the base’s depleted capabilities would allow.

Scanning the command bunker, he quietly cursed the absent air force colonel that was supposed to be his liaison. He had dispatched the exhausted man to personally oversee the launch of six of the base’s remaining F-16s. Many had apparently been damaged by the insurgents’ attack, yet another example of the supposedly superhuman efforts of the vermin attackers, or the equally phenomenal failure of his own people.

His chest surged in anger, but he wrestled his frustration under control as his aide de camp looked askew at him. There was no point in shouting any more than he already had, so instead he mastered his mood and said quietly to the efficient major by his side, “Go and find that bloody air force colonel, Major Duranda, and get him back here. I am tired of doing his job for him.”

The major nodded his head and left without ceremony, making for the guarded doors of the command bunker as the general turned back to the panel of computer screens in front of him. At least his birds were in the air and en route. Soon he would have more information. Hearing a bad report was better than not having a report at all. Information was everything, and he needed to know what the hell was going on up there.

An operator at one of the consoles spoke up, “We’re receiving reports of a fourth explosion, sir, same as the first three.”

“Same altitude?” asked the general.

“Yes, sir, forty-nine and a half thousand feet.” said the operator with brisk efficiency.

Good, thought the general as he regarded the operator in question, at least somebody knows their job. So, same altitude as before, then there is a pattern. General Abashell liked patterns. He liked predictability. In his opinion, everything was predictable if you had all the relevant information to hand. So, he thought, let’s look for the next logical step in that pattern.

“Get me a line on the next object and an anticipated point where it will hit the same altitude.”

The operator did not respond for a moment, and the general felt his ire rising once more in the second before the man reeled off his response.

“I already have estimated coordinates for the next explosion, sir, and a bearing for the squadron to intercept.”

Hmm, thought the general, his next order anticipated. Not bad. He glanced at the nameplate on the top of the operator’s console and made a mental note.