Aegis Incursion

“If Daniel Silva and Rick Riordan had a love child, it would be the young S.S.Segran. With the intensity of an adult spy thriller and the relatable characters that teenagers enjoy, Aegis Incursion takes YA Action, Adventure, and Fantasy to a new level."

~ The OnlineBookClub.org ~

"Astonishingly imaginative and thoughtful . . ."

~ Samuel F. Pickering - Professor Emeritus of English, University of Connecticut
& Inspiration for the film
Dead Poets Society

“What a blast! A roller coaster ride filled with heart-pounding action and a gripping plot that leaves the reader devouring every page right up to the last word.”

~ John Kirk - As Seen on TV ~

"Five Stars! A great book to dive into and a fantastic follow-up to the first. One of the best things author S.S.Segran has done here is to produce a sequel that can be read as a standalone."

~ Readers' Favorite Book Reviews ~

"A good sequel stands alone as a strong work without the accomplishments of its predecessors, but a great sequel inspires readers to go back and relive a book they've already read, and that is precisely what this book accomplishes."

~ The US Review of Books ~

"An electrifying thrill-ride over Hunger Games, Maze Runner & Percy Jackson territory"

~ Amazon Reviewer ~

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

AEGIS INCURSION
by S.S.Segran

Copyright©2015, S. S. Segran. All rights reserved.

First Published by: INKmagination, March 2015

Cover Design and Illustrations © 2015 by S.K.S.

‘REAPR’ designed by Jace Kim & S.K.S.
Book Teaser & Trailer by: INKmagination.

Image of CAT797 Mining Truck used with permission from Caterpillar Inc.
Caterpillar recommends operation of heavy machinery by trained operators using safe, industry standard methods.

S.S.Segran asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this book.

ISBN: 978-0-9910813-3-2 (softcover)
ISBN: 978-0-9910813-4-9 (hardcover)
eISBN: 978-0-9910813-5-6

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

Visit the author's website:
www.sssegran.com
for behind-the-scenes extras, unpublished chapters and more.

Dedicated to the dauntless readers who explore the uncharted literary scapes of new authors.

“Whatever lies within our power to do lies also within our power not to do.”

~Aristotle 384-322 BC~

“There is a difference between knowledge and wisdom. Wisdom gives us lucidity so that we may use our best judgment, completely detached from impulse, and distinguish the right path to tread.”

~Elder Nageau~

PROLOGUE

“G
otcha!”

The wiry teenager, dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a red flannel shirt, reeled in his fishing line vigorously the moment he felt a hard tug. Careful not to tip the canoe, he pulled his prize closer and closer to him, a triumphant grin plastered on his face. Judging by the drag on the line, he could tell that it was a big one.

There was a splash as the olive-colored largemouth bass leapt out of the water, struggling to get free of the hook. Startled, the sixteen-year-old yanked on the suddenly slack line as the fish fell back into the lake. The bass, with a flap of its fin as if waving goodbye, disappeared underwater.

The boy stared in dismay as his catch got away, then yelled out, “Elwood, you knucklehead!” He’d spent the last two hours trying to land a bass, and tempted as he was to hurl his fishing rod into the manmade lake, he forced himself to set the pole down and ran his hands over his face. He sat quietly for a while, taking in the striking contrast between the beautiful teal-blue waters of the lake and the red sandstone hills. Once he was ready to give it another go, he picked up the rod. He opened his tackle box to grab a new hook and sinker, then rigged them to his line.

He took a few calming breaths and gazed around. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze and the cloudless sky was sunny and bright. The surface of the lake was smooth and glassy, like that of a mirror.

The young man, Elwood, sat in a small canoe that he’d brought out in the wee hours of the morning. He knew he’d be in trouble for missing his chores at the farm, but all he wanted was to catch his first fish of the season. If he was lucky, he would get a nice big one—maybe he’d clean it and give it to that pretty girl next door that he fancied so much, Rosemary. He smiled goofily at the thought and his eyes, shaded by the brim of his father’s old Army Air Force cap, sparkled with anticipation.

He knew Rose found aviation exciting. That, on top of his love of planes, drove his interest in wanting to join the Air Force. What better way to impress a girl
and
do what he loved? Not only that, but she liked motorcycles! How he wished his next catch would be a chest full of treasure so he could buy his dream bike, an Indian Chief Roadmaster.

Maybe she’d even go to the movies with him. Or maybe they could ride across the country together, wind in their hair. He would make her laugh and she’d smile that angelic smile that never failed to brighten his day.

A sound in the distance snapped him out of his daydream. It was a low rumbling, like thunder, but that was impossible—the sky was still bright and cloudless. As the sound gradually became louder, Elwood was able to pinpoint the location and slowly looked toward the east. He squinted against the sun, then gasped when he saw a shimmering silhouette emerge from the glare.

It was a large airplane.

Flipping through the deck of plane spotter cards in his mind, trying to find which plane would best fit what he saw, it hit him—a B-29 Superfortress, big brother to the B-17s his father had flown during the war. He stared in both amazement and fright as the plane began to descend and continue its path—in his direction.

He covered his ears as the sound of the plane’s four engines rapidly became deafening, and watched with wide eyes as the aircraft flew straight toward him. In his fear, he sat paralyzed in his boat though every fiber in his being screamed at him to jump into the safety of the lake. He realized that he could see the pilot of the aircraft in his cockpit, could almost imagine the horror on the man’s face.

The aircraft thundered right over Elwood’s head, so near that the vortex of air created by the plane’s passing churned the water violently, capsizing the canoe and pitching him into the lake. He struggled and attempted to cry out, only to choke on water. He floundered back up to the surface and sputtered and spat as he tried to regain his bearings.

Catching sight of the plane as it boomed overhead, he watched, agape, as the aircraft hit the surface of the lake on its belly. The massive propellers struck the water, violently tearing three of the four engines away from the wings. The plane skipped along the lake, much like a flat stone would, before plunging into the water for the last time about three hundred yards from Elwood.

Debris from the impact rained down around the canoe as the waves resulting from the crash rolled toward the boy. He paid no heed to the falling fragments and with some effort righted his canoe, thankful that it hadn’t sunk. His tackle box and fishing rod were gone, sadly, and he feared for what his father would say after finding out that not only had he taken the canoe out without permission, but had lost their fishing gear as well.

Elwood pulled himself into the craft and sat down, only to find his feet submerged in ten inches of water. Groaning to himself, he tried to scoop it out with his hands before giving up and looking back toward the B-29. He saw the plane’s nose rise, pointing toward the sky as water flooded into its aft section. Slowly, the aircraft began to sink into the lake. He watched as five men scrambled out of the escape hatch and clambered into life rafts. Four of them wore green Air Force flight suits and the fifth appeared to be a civilian.

The civilian, safely on the raft, started to argue with the men in uniform. So loud was his voice that Elwood could hear him from where he sat in his canoe: “It must be retrieved! We cannot lose it!”

Elwood hesitated, then cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out to the men. “Hey! Are you fellas alright?”

The shouting stopped momentarily as the men looked for the source of the voice. When they saw the boy, they waved their arms over their heads and the civilian called back, “Yes, I think we are!”

Elwood slipped his paddle into the water as he made ready to reach the men, then paused. He was closer to the shore than they were. He gestured to them as they began rowing over to him. “Can you make it to shore?” he called.

“Yes!” they answered.

“Good! I’ll go ahead and get help!” Elwood gave them a confident thumbs-up before picking up his paddle and making his way ashore. He hopped out of the canoe and pulled it as far up the beach as he could, then started running toward the town; he could hear his shoes squishing with water at every step.

It wasn’t long before fire trucks and sheriff’s cars arrived at the lake shore, sending dust flying everywhere as they pulled up on the beach. The men from the plane, who’d made it to shore just minutes before the emergency responders arrived, were quickly tended to.

Elwood quietly returned for his canoe and left without a word, knowing that the survivors were in good hands. Neither he nor the men from the B-29 could have ever fathomed that the plane that had sunk to the bottom of the lake would remain hidden in its watery grave for over half a century. The mystery of its missing cargo would remain a secret for a long time to come.