Jack of Harts

Malcolm’s Blackhawk starfighter shuddered as decoys and jammers shot out to confuse the enemy missiles. His laser cannons pulsed as the fighter squadrons around him laid down their own line in space and countermissiles shot out to kill the missiles that fought through the electronic warfare. Normandy added her own fire to the defense, along with every surviving ship in the fleet. Lasers, missiles, and energy shields destroyed them by the scores, but the fleet’s point defenses had been too badly damaged to stop everything the Shang sent their way.

Malcolm held his hands on the controls as the surviving missiles came in for the kill. His left hand rested on the throttle controlling movement in every direction, his right hand holding the stick directing orientation. It was deceptively simple and complex at the same time, especially for someone who’d not played many fighter sims in his life. But training turned it into instinct. He no longer thought about moving.

Malcolm felt danger coming, and it was time to be elsewhere. He moved the throttle to the left without taking time to think about it. Slowing down to think about it could get a man killed, after all. The Blackhawk’s thrusters flared and the better part of a dozen fighters accelerated with him as the missiles entered their final attack run.

Several fighters moved between him and the missiles in the last instant, even as their final point defenses continued to fire fast enough he could see the heat radiating from them. One lost an engine and fell out of formation to a near miss that was still too close. Another came apart and her engines exploded out in every direction to a different missile. And a third fighter fired an entire stream of countermissiles at one missile before simply disappearing as it rammed another aimed directly at him.

The missiles kept coming.

****

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The Old American Midwest is the uncontested breadbasket of America in Jack’s time. They run from the Great Lakes States in the east to the Western States of the Rocky Mountains, and from the Minnesota Northlands to the wheat fields of Kansas in the south. They are a political and cultural middle ground in America, beholden to none of the major State alliances. They are split into three major alliances, and tend to go their own way, though the Northlands do often vote with New England and Pacifica. And the Westerners usually caucus with Dixie, California, and Texas, though are too independent minded to be relied upon. Their land is covered in forests, pastures, and fields, broken up only rarely by big cities and the suburbs around them. The handful of large cities that have maintained an association with the surrounding States tend to be hard working company towns of one kind or another. The vast network of roads that once crisscrossed the States had all but disappeared by the time Jack was born, the old groundbound cars having long since disappeared from common use. They are true Flyover States, and they like it that way.

Large States like Old California and Old Texas became the cores of new Republics during the Second Great Depression. The much smaller Eastern States came together to form alliances that roughly matched many of the geopolitical lines of the era. The New England Federation and the Confederation of Dixie were the largest of them, and their formation helped influence the future of America all the way into Jack’s time. While the breakups of California and Texas were obvious ploys to gain more Federal representatives, New England and Dixie were a consolidation of like-minded States into political alliances that could stand toe to toe with each other. Much like in previous centuries, the two alliances generally stand on opposite sides of any major issue, and a long cold war rages between them. They each consider themselves the future of America, while those who live outside their borders often just wish the two would stop fighting each other and get on with life.