The Last American Bomber
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/Ma, Consensual, Heterosexual, Post Apocalypse, Slow, Military,
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Prologue - In April of 2012 the three nuclear superpowers started duking it out, no holds barred. By August the US had only two nuclear bombers left to try and finish the job. This is one crew's story of Operation Shell-Game and how they played a part in American history.
Sixty years after the Second World War it seems that World War III may soon wrap up. In early 2012, a mutant strain of avian flu killed over half the world's population. Superpower nations fared best, losing less than half their population but third world countries were obliterated. Governments collapsed as politicians died along with their constituents and military coups were settled by who had the healthiest troops among the second world. The United States, Russia, and China had the technology and resources to protect their people but only to a certain extent. The US went broke vaccinating Americans then attacked Russia in an attempt to gain control of a key ingredient in the vaccine. While distracted by the US-Russian war China entered the fray as they attempted to gain planetary control. The resulting war brought nuclear warfare back to the horror of the remainder of the planet. A month after Russia first launched its nukes at the US and China all three countries have been brought to their knees. No country has ICMBs or anything similar, only the Russians and the US have nuclear bombers. China claims to still be in the fight with the possibility of nuclear loaded submarines but these could be unfounded rumors. America, while not advertising it, had accepted the loss of its nuclear submarines. Crews in the subs had contracted the avian flu without being able to receive a vaccine in time. Due to the nature of such close quarters the flu swept rapidly though the boat. Because of the relatively small survival rate of those contracting the virus the number of people who may have survived didn't have been enough to man the ship and were be forced to sit at the bottom of the ocean until life supporting supplies ran out. War weary, politicians from all three countries are desperately trying to negotiate peace while their militaries try to stay one step ahead of one another.
The US lost most of their nuclear fleet early on and has hidden the fact that only two bombers remain. A B-2, call sign Jelly 45, is currently hidden in a hangar in Elmendorf, Alaska while Tub 72, a B-52, is hiding at Glacier Park International Airport in Montana. Both jets and crews have been part of Operation Shell-Game for the last two months. Every few days they receive orders telling them where their next base will be in a desperate attempt to keep the Chinese or Russians from finding and destroying the only useable nukes in the US inventory. The crews are burnt out and desperate, surviving on little sleep or food and hoping the war will end soon so they can try to piece together what's left of their lives.
Elmendorf AFB, AK:
Captain Jim Stuttgart awoke to the sound of his CRM-114 chattering out another message. He elbowed his copilot, Major Patrick Rankin, and pointed to the message.
"What's it say, man?" Stuttgart rubbed his eyes and shifted in his seat. Thirty-hour mission were bad, but living in the damn plane was killing him.
"Same shit, new location. At least we're headed back to the mainland." He passed Stuttgart the print out and grabbed his checklist. Stuttgart skimmed the message and started punching the airport location as Rankin cranked the engines. They were nearly silent as they taxied their B-2 past empty, demolished hangars. The only words they spoke were to advise one another of potholes in the taxiway.
"Ready, Jim?" Major Rankin asked, flexing his fingers on the stick.
"Affirm, let's burn out." They smoothly throttled up; letting years of training guide them and get them safely away from the ground. "Passing twelve hundred feet, turn right one-five-oh." Stuttgart glanced to his early warning system, "Shit, bogey at eight ... keep coming right!" Rankin cranked the nose right and yanked the stick to his chest trying to keep the nose from sinking. He spared a half seconds glace to confirm Stuttgart's call. Sure enough, one enemy symbol had now turned into two and both were tracking them. "Keep coming, Pat!"
A loud beeping went off, telling both pilots they were being tracked not just by the enemy planes but now by an air-to-air missile as well. Rankin released the stick hoping some kind of last second maneuver would save them but it was already too late. Only minutes after takeoff Jelly 45 crashed into the Chickaloon Bay leaving Tub 72 as the last American bomber capable of winning World War III.