Creative Story: Death Cload

2100 hours, Captain James S. Steward of the United States Air Force straps on
his G-suit and goes over his mission briefings one last time. He walks out into
the hanger and awaits his chariot. The SR-71 Blackbird, the fastest plane in
the world with it\'s twin turbine engines and slick black radar absorbent skin
make him a flying shadow in the air. His mission, to fly a covert
reconnaissance mission over Moscow, the heart of the USSR Intelligence believe
that the Russians have a build up of nuclear missile silos around the capitol.
With the Cuban missile crisis at hand, the United States cannot let their guard
down on a sneak attack from the Communists.

"Another suicide-run," says Captain Steward to his flight maintainer.

"Yes, sir," replies the private.

Captain Steward squeezes into his cockpit seat like a sardine in a can.
Little switches, gauges, and buttons embellish the cockpit, each with a crucial
part in flying the aircraft.

"Ready to rock n\' roll."

Steward pulls the Blackbird out of the hanger like a cumbersome Oldsmobile,
but only this special Oldsmobile can travel over twice the speed of sound
undetected by enemy radar. With a push of the throttle the twin-turbine engines
roar with authority. The bird takes flight disappearing into the night skies
evanescently. The only sign that it exists is the trademark sonic boom as it
passes the sound barrier.

After approximately seven hours flight time and two in-flight re-fuelings,
the Blackbird reaches its destination, Moscow, Russia. The thermal imaging
camera, located in the bird\'s hull, depicts the radioactivity from nuclear silos
as bright yellow and orange blobs on the terrain. The images show seas of
yellow throughout Moscow. The city resembles a giant missile base up and
operational. Captain Steward pulls a 180 and heads for home with sick eerie
feeling in his stomach.

After a long comprehensive study of the recon images, the United States
order an increase in their production of their nuclear missiles to counter-
attack any offensive the Russians have planned. Silos sprout like weeds
throughout the United States and the President gave the order for Defcon 2. The
country falls in a state of panic, as they slip one step closer to a nuclear

On the other side of the Atlantic, the USSR notices the nuclear build up in
the United States. In fear of an preemptive strike, the Communist fuel and
prepare their birds just in case. This pre-war act resembles a chess game; one
side makes and move and the other counters it until both sides end up killing
all their pieces. Both countries fall into a stalemate, waiting for the other
to make the first fatal move. Tensions mount as the stand off continues for

On a clear Sunday morning 0700 hours, Russian radar picks up an American U-
2 spy plane just finishing a routine recon mission. The Russians take this as a
national threat and a violation of their air-space. So it begins. The Russians
make the first crucial move, launching twenty-four nuclear armed missles on
populated cities scattered throughout America. Strategic cities like Washington
DC, Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, and Dallas fall among the list of targets.
American satellites pick up the launch, forcing them into Defcon 1. The United
States counter-attacks with a wave of their own missiles aimed throughout
Russia. The missiles take the air like a swarm of bees, with a stinger capable
of killing millions within seconds upon impact. Somewhere over the Atlantic the
Russian missles and the American missles pass each other by. The missiles home
into their pre-determined targets with no mercy and no hesitation. The impact
of a single warhead creates a tremble that measure 2.9 on the Richter scale. The
blast-wave radiates hundreds of miles wiping out everything in its path. Houses
and building blow over as if constructed of paper. Complete obliteration within
a matter of seconds.

The victims of the blast-wave do not even have the time to hear their own
scream. Everyone within a hundred miles of the detention sees a flash and
instantaneously they disinergrate into a meager pile of gray ashy dust. Those
who did not die immediately upon impact suffer radiation poisoning. Any person
within two-hundred miles of the blast suffer radiation burns so severe that the
skin sizzles like bacon . Some victims sprout a third arm and mutate into un-
human creatures, like teenage mutant turtles. After several hours of exposure,
the victim\'s skin melts into a liquid state and they go