Author's note: This is a quick short that is a companion to my Stargate fan fiction, called Stargate: Revelation, which can be found by searching my user name and viewing a list of my published stories. I strongly recommend you read Stargate: Revelation before reading this story, as this story will not make much sense without reading Stargate: Revelation first, and also spoils some of the climax of Stargate: Revelation. I own nothing related to Stargate and I am making no profit off this work.

The Last Stand of the US 4th Fleet

In the midst of the Easter Sunday War, the brave men and women of the United States Navy's 4th Fleet and the USS Gerald R. Ford stood against an enemy that, a day before, they had no idea even existed and could scarcely imagine or understand. This is their story.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Reports are coming in now-" he changed the channel.

"We're getting something unbelievable here, something unprecedented in all of human history. It appears that-" he changed the channel again.

Commander Thomas Morgan couldn't believe what he was seeing. Being commander of the USS Gerald R. Ford's compliment of F/A-18E Super Hornets had placed him in a position to see a lot of amazing things in his time, but never had he imagined anything like this.

"Am I seeing the same crazy shit that you are?" his XO, Lieutenant Commander Santiago asked.

"I guess so," Morgan replied. "You think the CAG or Captain is playing a joke on us?"

"Nah," Santiago replied. "The Captain is a true blue hard ass and the CAG wouldn't know a joke if it kicked him in the nuts."

Morgan nodded, conceding the point. Before he could speak again, the ship's General Quarters alarm sounded. "All pilots report to briefing rooms, all ground crews to hangar deck. Prepare all aircraft for emergency launch!"

Both men took off for the briefing room, hoping that they might get some answers.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Please be seated," the CAG said. "As I'm sure most of you have been seeing on the news feed, we have something of a situation here."

The CAG pulled up a live shot of one of the alien spacecrafts hovering the remains of Washington, DC. "We have received some rather surprising intel from higher up. The existence of these alien bastards has been known to the higher ups and black ops types for a long time now, but someone screwed the pooch and they showed up here."

"Wait a minute," one of the pilots in the back said. "You mean this isn't some stupid joke? You're telling me this shit is for real!?"

"It's all too real," the CAG said soberly.

"In any case, we have an asset sitting at 30.66 degrees north and 77.86 degrees west. We've received orders to protect it at all costs," the CAG said.

"What asset?" Morgan asked. "It's open ocean, sir. There's nothing there. Hell, the AWACS overflew that area on its last patrol and they detected a whole bunch of nothing."

"It doesn't matter what kind of asset it is," the CAG said. "We are ordered to protect. You wouldn't believe me if I told you anyway."

"Try me," Morgan said.

"Fine," the CAG said, annoyed. "It's actually the lost city of Atlantis. It has a device that cloaks it from visual or any other kind of detection and it also has an alien device in it that creates wormholes to other devices like it on other planets."

"Seriously, CAG?" another pilot said.

"Stow it, lieutenant," the CAG admonished.

"You're shitting me," Morgan said. "You're being serious!"

"Very serious," the CAG said. "The asset has our only means of communication with our space fleet and those-"
"Our what?" another pilot interjected.

"I said stow it!" the CAG snapped. "Our space fleet. Yes, apparently we have one, and the asset is our only means of communicating with it. The space fleet has been recalled to defend Earth, but it will take some amount of time for them to arrive. Until then, we're it for defending our communications asset."

"OK," Morgan said slowly, as if talking to a crazy person. "What's our mission?"

"This," the CAG motioned to the picture of the alien spacecraft, "is steadily approaching Atlantis at low altitude. Intel is telling us that the alien's sensors will have a hard time detecting the city while it's cloaked, which is why they're flying so low. However, with enough time, they will find it. We are not going to give them that time."

Morgan looked at the image and compared it to the skyline. "Begging your pardon, sir, but that thing looks to be over two kilometers long. What are we supposed to do, nibble it to death with air to air missiles? It would take hundreds of thousands."

"No," the CAG said. "We have received authorization from the president to deploy any and all weapons in our arsenal necessary."

"Any weapons necessary?" Santiago asked carefully.

"Yes," the CAG said. "We will launch all of our F/A-18E Super Hornets loaded for dog fighting. Our missile cruisers and destroyers will salvo two dozen cruise missiles, timed on target to arrive at the same time."

The CAG continued. "Every one of those missiles will be equipped with a one-quarter megaton nuclear warhead."

There was some muttering and hushed voices in the briefing room.

"Sir," Morgan said. "We are talking about firing a single missile salvo which will contain more firepower than has ever been used in human history. Why are we flying in equipped for aerial combat?"

"The enemy has point defense from hell, and a lot of it is concentrated in their own fighter craft," the CAG replied. He hit a control on a remote and changed the picture on the flat screen. It showed a needle shaped craft made of the same odd colored material as the alien spacecraft. "This is what the enemy's fighters look like. Intel says they're actually normally used to kidnap people with some kind of teleportation technology. They can actually boost into space and can reach escape velocity, so their performance is impressive. We also expect that you will be outnumbered three to one."

"How are we supposed to fight something like that?" Morgan asked.

"You do have one advantage: your missiles. Remember, acting as fighters is a secondary function for these things. They don't mount any guided weapons. While they are capable of literally outrunning your missiles, the enemy apparently relishes a good dogfight, so they don't usually run away. Take as many out as you can from long range. Once that's done, get into them and distract them from our missile strike. DO NOT waste any air to air missiles against the alien spacecraft. Intel is telling us that it's hull is impervious to contact detonations with anything less than a 50 gigaton nuclear explosion."

"50 gigatons?" someone asked, incredulous. "Holy Christ."

"Wait a minute, if it's that tough, then the cruise missiles aren't capable of damaging it," Santiago pointed out.

"Normally you'd be right," the CAG said. He hit the remote again, bringing up a drawing of the alien ship. The view panned in close to what appeared to be an opening down the right side of the alien ship. "This is a docking bay they use to launch and recover their fighters. Intel says this is a known weak point. Our nukes will be targeted here. If we can get even a couple in there, it should be enough to destroy, or at least mission-kill the ship."

"Any questions?" the CAG asked.

"Yeah, about a million," Santiago said.

"Since we don't have time for a million questions, how about pertinent questions?" the CAG asked.

There were none.

"Get to your aircraft, and godspeed," the CAG said.

XXXXXXXXXX

Admiral Williams watched from the bustle of activity from Gerald R. Ford's bridge. The catapults started flinging fighters into the air as fast as they could.

"You think any of those men will survive?" Captain Earlington said.

Williams snorted. "Do you think any of us will survive?"

Earlington grimaced. "Good point."

"We'll know soon enough," Williams said. "Better get the fleet prepared for a possible air attack. I have a feeling it's going to get ugly."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Form up Alpha flight," Morgan said into his radio.

The ship's entire strike group, consisting of eighty F/A-18E Super Hornets, twelve F-35s, and four S-3 Vikings cruised in formation at just over ten thousand feet. Directly below them, nearly fifty cruise missiles, each laden with nuclear destruction, skimmed the ocean's surface. The squadron soared through heavy cloud cover. Morgan didn't know if the aliens could detect them in the clouds, but he had no reason to believe they couldn't.

"Remember, do not activate your radar. Wait for targeting from the AWACS," Morgan said. And pray to God that the aliens don't smoke the AWACS the second it lights up its radar, he thought.

"Target is dead ahead. ETA to contact, thirty seconds," Morgan said. "Feet dry," he called out, as they passed over the east cost of the United States.

"Here we go," Santiago said.

The cloud cover thinned and broke, and there it was. Two and a half kilometers of purple death and destruction, grinding inexorably onward towards its objective. A veritable swarm of alien fighters buzzed about the ship, like worker bees tending to their queen.

"Mother of God," he heard someone say into the radio.

"Hold your course," Morgan ordered. He watched the countdown timer hit zero. His electronics lit up with confirmation of signal from the E-2 AWACS aircraft a hundred miles behind them. While the aliens would obviously detect the AWACS's radar, it wasn't close by where they could easily shoot it down, and relying on the AWACS meant his fighters didn't have to turn on their radars and give away their locations.

"Targeting from AWACS confirmed!" Morgan said. "Attack by squadrons! Fire at will! Alpha 1, Fox 3!" Two AIM-120 AMRAAM missiles dropped free from hard points under his F/A-18E's wings. The two missiles streak straight to their targets. Two fireballs marked the destruction of two alien fighters.

So, they aren't all that invincible, Morgan thought.

Dozens more missiles streaked out. A few were shot down by defensive fire, but most hit their targets, and a whole slew of the aliens were blown out of the sky.

But before Morgan could celebrate, his fighters merged with the enemy. Blue white energy bolts slashed into his formation, and explosions flared as F/A-18Es were destroyed.

"Evasive maneuvers!" he called out. He juked hard to port to avoid a stream of fire from on of the aliens. He reversed his turn, pulling upwards of nine gees. The alien easily stayed on his tail.

"Christ," he muttered. The F/A-18E was one of the most maneuverable fighter aircraft in the world, and the alien fighter had casually stayed right behind him even after executing a hard turn. More energy bolts flew past his canopy, one of them coming uncomfortably close.

The alien fighter tailing him was suddenly blown apart by an AIM-9 Sidewinder missile. Morgan's wingman, Lieutenant Commander Santiago, dove his fighter through the flaming wreckage of the enemy fighter. "Thanks," Morgan said.

"De nada," Santiago replied.

Morgan executed another hard turn, and lined up two enemy fighters in front of him. "Fox 2!" he called out, popping off a Sidewinder. The missile blew it's target in half. He laid on his trigger and stitched a line of fire from his 20mm cannon into the other fighter. It belched flame and debris, and fell out of the sky lazily, out of control.

Morgan pulled up and took a quick survey. The engagement had degenerated into a wild melee. Most of his pilots were fighting as pairs. At least wingman were staying together.

They were losing, however. His numbers were steadily dwindling and they weren't destroying enough of the enemy.

"Bandits on our tails!" he heard on the radio.

"On our way," Morgan replied. He dove, Santiago close behind him. A flight of four F/A-18Es was being tormented by four of the alien fighters. The Super Hornet pilots couldn't get away from them due to their maneuverability.

Just as Morgan was about to loose another Sidewinder, weapons fire came from behind him. "Break left!" he called out.

Morgan and Santiago threw their fighters into hard left turns, narrowly missing the additional incoming fire. Like the flight of four fighters they went in to help, now they to had bandits they couldn't shake.

"Alpha 7," Morgan called into the radio. "You still got those bandits on your tail?"

"Roger that," a harried Alpha 7 replied.

"We are on your six at a range of three miles," Morgan said. "Bring them this way. We can solve each other's problems."

"Understood," Alpha 7 replied.

The two flights of F/A-18Es reoriented and hurtled towards each other with a combined approach speed of nearly Mach 2. The aliens were close behind, but Morgan could target the aliens attacking Alpha 7, and Alpha 7 could target the aliens attacking him and Santiago.

Morgan smiled a predatory grin. "Fox 2!" he called out, firing two Sidewinders. Santiago also called out his shots and salvoed two of his own missiles. Additional missiles leapt from the hard points of Alpha 7 and his three consorts, streaking uncomfortably close to Morgan's fighter.

F/A-18Es, missiles, and alien fighters all passed each other in any eye blink. One of the F/A-18Es was shot down at the last moment by a lucky shot from one of the aliens, but then explosions erupted all over as missile found their marks.

"Much obliged Alpha 1," Alpha 7 said.

"You're welcome," Morgan replied. He checked his scope and didn't have any little green men trying to kill him at the moment.

"Some of them are breaking off," Santiago said. "Six o'clock low."
"I see them," Morgan said. "Where do you think they're going?"

"Don't know," Santiago said. "Hopefully not the carrier."

"It doesn't matter," Morgan said. "We have our orders. ETA on the cruise missiles?"

"Three minutes," Santiago said.

XXXXXXXXXX

"General quarters! All hands to battle stations!" the ship's loudspeaker announced.

Admiral Williams stared grimly at his air defense coordinator's radar display. "Commander, please tell me that those are ours."

"Sorry, sir, I can't," the Commander said.

"Shit," Williams swore.

"Should we recall our aircraft?" Captain Earlington asked.

"No," Williams said. "It's up to the cruisers and destroyers." He grabbed a phone from the wall. "Set condition one for anti-air warfare. Axis of threat is at bearing zero-zero-two degrees, range one hundred twenty miles and closing. Weapons free."

The AEGIS radars of two Ticonderoga class cruisers and five Arleigh Burke class destroyers went active simultaneously. Only a pair of seconds later, the automated targeting systems in the ships identified the horde of wraith darts as hostile fighters. A split second after that, flares of rocket motors lit up the sky as over a hundred SM-2 long range surface-to-air missiles lifted off from the VLS tubes of the cruisers and destroyers.

The wraith dart could literally outrun or out climb the missiles, and they were far faster than anything the SM-2 had been envisioned to deal with. However, the wraith were boring in head on and, as fast as they were, the SM-2 had been well designed to intercept high performance enemy aircraft or missiles.

The Navy's missiles tore the wraith formation a new asshole. Explosions lit off all throughout the formation. The wraith were clustered so close together that the missiles even achieved some proximity soft kills from debris flung all over by exploding darts.

However effective it was, it wasn't enough. Dozens, no hundreds, of the sleek fighters punched through the initial salvo of defensive fire. Given their speed, they were already too close for a second salvo.

More missiles, these short range Sea Sparrows, lifted off towards the enemy, but there were far fewer of them. A split second later, Williams's ears were assaulted by the buzzing of 20mm CIWS systems. The Sea Sparrows downed more wraith, and the 20mm CIWS mounts were murderously effective when they could track a dart flying slow enough.

All of that devastation the wraith suffered just wasn't enough. There were too many.

Blue green energy bolts fell like fiery rain upon the fleet. A whole salvo struck the aircraft carrier, burning through the deck. More shots impacted the ship's CIWS mounts, silencing the rapid fire anti-aircraft guns.

"We've got fires out of control on the lower decks!" the ship's XO said. "Engine room reports the nuclear reactors have been breached and the SCRAM systems aren't working."

Williams grimaced. That meant every man in the engine room was a walking dead man, even if they survived the battle. Radiation poisoning was a bad way to die.

A shock wave shattered windows in the carrier's bridge. Flying glass cut Williams above his eye, causing him to flinch away. "What was that?" he asked.

"The Samson," Captain Earlington said, naming one of the Arleigh Burke class destroyers. "She exploded under enemy fire. Doesn't look to be many survivors."

"How are we on anti aircraft weapons?" Williams asked.

"We've lost all of our CIWS and missile launchers," Earlington said. "The escorts are a little better off, but not much. We aren't going to survive another pass."

With the enemy coming back for another pass and the ship's reactors destroyed, he knew that the Gerald R. Ford was lost. I am about to preside over the first sinking of an American aircraft carrier since 1945, he despaired.

He couldn't justify trying to save the ship, however, and he had followed his orders to get the strike launched against the alien spacecraft. He just hoped it was worth it.

"All hands, abandon ship," he ordered.

"Incoming!" Captain Earlington yelled.

A squadron of enemy fighters rolled in and unleashed their energy weapons. Both cruisers suffered severe hull breaches and started sinking.

Williams looked on in horror as energy bolts punched through the damaged deck down into the hangar area, reaching into the weapons magazines and fuel bunkerage.

Hundreds of thousands of gallons of jet fuel and tonnes of explosive munitions ignited. Williams only saw a bright flash, and then everything went dark forever.

The Gerald R. Ford was wracked by the furious explosion, and she broke in half. Survivors scrambled madly to get off the sinking hulk.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Last push!" Morgan called out into the radio. "Let's make it happen."

He swooped in just ahead of the missiles. In front of him was the remainder of the defending alien fighters, and he knew there were far too many to win a regular fight.

So he went for an irregular fight.

"Bore right into them! Protect the missiles at all costs!" he ordered.

Most of the F/A-18Es were out of missiles. They charged in and used their 20mm Vulcan cannons instead. The cannon fire shredded the alien fighters well enough, but it wasn't long before the F/A-18Es had been outmaneuvered.

Morgan broke left to avoid more weapons fire. He looked down and saw two of the cruise missile get picked off. "Santiago, on me!" he called out.

Morgan dove after the four alien fighters that were hunting down missiles. He loosed a stream of cannon fire and shot down two. Santiago nailed the other two.

"Nice shooting," Morgan said.

Morgan's radio crackled with battle chatter. Most of it was maydays and calls for help. Explosion pock marked the sky where his fighters died under the enemy's fire.

Just a little longer, he thought. The missiles are almost there.

"Execute Leonidas!" Morgan ordered.

The remaining F/A-18Es fell back from the alien ship. The aliens swooped in on the missiles. Several were destroyed. Rather than following through with their apparent retreat, Morgan's fighters wheeled around again, now behind the aliens attacking the cruise missiles.

More 20mm cannon fire slashed into the enemy fighters. F/A-18Es dove on the aliens, picking them off before they picked off the precious missiles.

Morgan looked ahead and saw a wall of enemy defensive fire erupting from the alien ship. He wanted to order his planes back, but he knew they had to suffer one more terrible embrace.

He held his course.

Half his remaining fighters were shot down by the alien's defensive fire. Fireballs and panicked radio calls heralded their deaths. A weight of guilt in his gut threatened to destroy his concentration, but he pushed it aside.

"Pull back!" he ordered.

The sacrifice had been costly, but it worked. The remaining missiles streaked in against far weaker defensive fire.

Two missiles made it. They sailed cleanly into the fighter bay and exploded as one. The flash, though it was behind Morgan's fighter, was nearly enough to blind him. His radio crackled, hissed, and popped as the electro-magnetic pulse of the nuclear explosions disrupted it's electronics. He pushed his throttle up to full afterburner, and held on, riding out the shock wave as best as he could.

After what seemed like forever, the shock wave evened out, and he turned back towards the alien ship. When it came into view, he gave a whoop into the still disrupted radio.

The alien ship was burning out of control and it slowly, ponderously fell from the sky. It dug an incredible furrow into the ground when it impacted, throwing dirt and debris hundreds of feet in the air in front of it, like a tidal wave of soil.

"Holy crap," he heard Santiago say. "We did it. We actually did it!"

"How many left, XO?" Morgan said.

Santiago sounded grim. "Nine birds still in the air," he replied.

Nine, Morgan thought, feeling sick to his stomach. Nine out of eighty.

"What about the fleet?" Morgan asked.

"We received a mayday. AWACS says alien fighters took them out."

"All of them?"

"Aye, sir," Santiago said. "The whole fucking task force went up in flames."

"Alright. Let's head for NAS Norfolk. They hadn't hit it when we took off, we'll land there," Morgan said. "I hope the space fleet can manage a better kill / loss ratio than this. Otherwise, it's going to be a hell of a short war."

"What do we do after we got NAS Norfolk?" Santiago asked.

"We refuel and rearm. We fight these sons of a bitches until they're all dead, or we are," Morgan said grimly.

"Aye aye, sir," Santiago replied, sounding hungry.