Like most rural towns in the United States, my little town of Ashland in eastern Nebraska was as far removed from conflict as possible. There was no tactical advantage other than the surrounding farmland, nothing noteworthy other than the Strategic Air Command & Aerospace Museum. And even then, the aircraft on display in the museum were all husks that would never dance in the skies again.

My name is Ivan Miller. I was a vehicle mechanic in Ashland. With all the farms around there was no end of tractors, harvesters, and other vehicles/equipment that needed fixing. The gig paid well, very well, but required long hours and a fair amount of stamina. My routine largely consisted of getting up at dawn, showering, scarfing down a bagel and some coffee, spending nine to ten hours on labor, snagging a bite to eat on my way home, vegging for two hours, then turning in after another shower. Even on the weekends I spent most of my time working on my fixer/restoration project: An old 2010 Camaro SS.

I remember I was elbow deep in the guts of my car when I heard the first peel of thunder. Looking up and out of my garage I could see dark, rolling clouds fit to burst advancing across the green flatlands from the west. Moments later my phone blared from my workbench, alerting me to the fact there was a derecho warning and a tornado warning in effect. This was par for the course in the Midwest, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

After running around the house locking all the windows and securing the doors, I returned to my garage just as the power cut out. The derecho struck by the time I found a flashlight. For those who have never been in a derecho - imagine a wind tunnel where they test cars, planes, and other things. Only this time it’s you that’s in the wind tunnel, and the speed is cranked up to 130 miles per hour or more.

The open garage door was angled to the southwest, meaning that it didn’t take the howling gale straight on. However, there was still enough power behind the gusts to send tools and other loose objects flying as I stumbled towards the chain next to the opening to lower the door manually. I managed to get it halfway down before I saw a bright flash of light on the western horizon.

At first I thought the flash had just been lightning. But the more I looked in that direction the more I realized that the light was spinning and plummeting to the ground far, far slower than any bolt of lightning. Something was falling out of the sky. Whatever it was, it was going to crash in one of the abandoned farms out here in the outskirts of Ashland.

I thought about going to chase after the crash site right then and there, but changed my mind when the derecho’s winds amplified from the half-closed garage door flung a set of allen wrenches past my head. It wasn’t until the door finally shuddered against the ground that the already disorganized chaos settled down. My poor baby was sporting fresh dents and scratches across her turquoise chassis. Yet instead of fretting about the hours of work it would take to fix them, I instead focused on getting my ATV ready. Usually I rode the ATV into and during work, but now I’d be taking it out into the storm the moment the derecho passed.

Half an hour went by before it was safe enough to brave the elements. Wearing my helmet and raincoat, I headed out into the chilly rain coming down in sheets and started in the direction of the falling object. The roads out that way had become ruined, muddy messes that even my ATV struggled to handle now and again. The overgrown fields to either side of the road were stuck half-bent thanks to all the wind, casting dancing shadows in the path illuminated by my ATV and making it difficult to see the path forward.

Thanks to all the squinting I was doing, I noticed the smoke pillar of the crash site even as it was being blown away by the storm. I angled my ATV right towards it, diving into the weeds and other growth. Several minutes later the shrubbery parted to reveal a charred depression in the ground. At the center of it was an Air-Core unit.

This wasn’t an Air-Core I was familiar with. It didn’t look like any of the units plastered across patriotic billboards or barraged with during commercials. In fact, I couldn’t figure out what type of aircraft it had been based on. The variable-geometry wings sprouting from its back were unlike any I’d seen or heard of. Nor could I think of any Air-Core model that sported a tail with stabilizers near the end. Its firm legs had four thrusters - one on each hip and another pair mounted on its calves. There were ice-blue accent lights throughout, including talons larger than my fist in the same translucent color. Its hands were similarly clawed and sporting thruster ports on the forearm near the elbow.

Then there was the Air-Core’s head and chest. The former reminded me of a dragon’s or a serpent’s in the way it angled forward and how the eyes were positioned. Though rather than a dragon’s horns or a serpent’s hood, further control surfaces jutted from the back of Air-Core’s skull. As for the chest… Well, let’s just say she had large reactor coolant systems and ample fuel reserves.

Overall the Air-Core was in bad shape. Its, rather, her black and gold coloring was badly scorched, and most of her fins and other stabilizers were bent at odd angles. Her eyes were vacant and expressionless. Despite the damage, though, I could still see hints of life thanks to the pulsing lights across her 13-foot long body.

A sane man (or at least one more sane than I) would have reported the crash site to the authorities and let the military come and clean it up. But me? I saw this as an opportunity and a challenge. I’d always wanted to tinker around with an Air-Core. And I was fairly certain that there was no secret military base nearby. That meant she was either an experimental craft or a free-agent. I was banking on the latter, but if someone did come looking for her then I would be able to point at any repair work and be rewarded for it. Though to be fair, the only reward I wanted was the privilege to work on an Air-Core.

My mind was made up. I would fix this Air-Core the best I could. Making that decision recentered me in the present. The storm was still raging around me and light was fading fast. I needed to get her somewhere safe where I could work on her away from prying eyes. The abandoned field I was in used to belong to the Pollard family. An unfortunate car crash sent most of the Pollards to an early grave years ago. Those of the family that remained couldn’t handle running the business due to all the memories surrounding the farm. They tried selling the property but to no avail. It was simply deserted and left to the elements. That meant I was betting I could use the old Pollard farmhouse.

The issue was getting the Air-Core there in the first place. There was no way my ATV would be able to move her. I would have to use a tractor or a tow truck to drag her around. The good news is I had access to the latter thanks to work. I’d have to make up a story for why I checked out a tow truck in the middle of a storm far past business hours, but I wasn’t particularly worried about that.

I pushed the ATV as fast as I dared through the storm and back to my modest single-story home. There I grabbed the keys to the workshop before racing out again. By the time I arrived I was thoroughly soaked to the bone. I could only imagine what my boss would think when he checked the workshop’s camera feeds later and saw me impersonating a drowned rat while I rushed inside, hopped into a tow truck, and drove off at speed.

To say moving the Air-Core was an ordeal would be an understatement. The tow truck got bogged down twice in the muddy fields before reaching her. Then I had to figure out where to hook the winch using only the light offered by a headlamp. It was crucial that I chose a hardpoint that could handle the weight without bending or breaking. Ultimately I went for a handle that secured her cockpit. Then began the perilous trek to the farmhouse.

The building had seen better days. The red siding was rotting off, what remained of the white paint was chipped, most of the windows were broken, and the rusted roof sported multiple holes. Thankfully the barn doors weren’t locked or otherwise rendered immobile. Furthermore, the interior was largely empty aside from a few stray bales of hay in the corners and four metal support beams. I could have parked a whole armada of farm vehicles inside, which meant I would have plenty of room to work on the Air-Core.

There was just one major problem: I had no experience working on aircraft, Air-Core or otherwise. All my experience and knowledge came from fixing broken farm equipment and cars. Aside from that I only had my visits to the Aerospace Museum to rely on. Well, that and the internet I suppose. I just had to hope I wasn’t about to get flagged and visited by a three letter agency for what I was about to start googling.