To most people of Tucson, the Davis – Monthan Airforce base is simply the “boneyard” where a vast field of old military planes sit dormant occasionally getting picked over for replacement parts. But the airbase is also home to the 355th Fighter Wing which flies the Fairchild Republic A-10 Thunderbolt II, affectionately known as the Warthog.
The Warthog is basically a flying tank, specializing in close air support, attacking enemy tanks and other armored ground vehicles. Slow, but built to take a beating, and armed with a powerful front canon, the A-10 actually turned out to be the most effective aircraft in the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts.
So, while the people of Tucson watched in awe and relief as the distant but quite visible giant woman didn’t appear to be headed their way, Davis-Monthan launched its A-10s. With the entire force from Fort Huachuca having gone dark, two airliners destroyed, a third missing, and numerous if brief cellphone footage of her crushing everything along the I-10 Interstate, all thoughts of capture were gone. The giant woman was clearly dangerous and had to be stopped.
The base launched its dozens of Warthogs to take her down while she was still in the open desert. F-35 fighters had also been dispatched from Luke Airforce base farther north but the A-10s would have the first shot at her. Hopefully, that would be all they need. It was appropriate enough that they be first. They were air-to ground attack vehicles and at least technically, she was a ground target.
Six planes made up the first attack run while the rest of the squadron made a wide circle. Lined up horizontally at about two miles altitude, they approached her head-on and then - in keeping with their ground assault tactics - went on a 30-degree dive with their sites on her mid-section which was thought to be her most vulnerable area. By contrast, due to her anatomy, her heart appeared to be, to put it technically, well-protected.
Between her booming footfalls, the open desert was dead quiet, enabling Wanda to hear the approaching aircraft before she saw them. Stopping, she saw a hint of six dark dots against the sky but really only saw them proper when they began their dive. They were so small; somewhere between a house fly and a nat. Like one of those triangle-shaped bathroom flies.
The attack leader was relieved to see her stop as it would expand their attack range. They would fire their Maverick missiles first and then let loose the cannons. At this angle, the canons’ optimized effective range was 4,000 feet but they would have to shoot earlier than that so as to peel off before they came within reach of her arms. The leader issued last minute instructions. Missiles at 9,000-foot distance, Start firing the canons at 5000 feet, cease shooting and bank just within 4000 feet.
In his head, the leader did the math. Assuming no misses on such a massive target, this single run would hit her with twelve missiles, and about 720 rounds of cannon fire.
“Pretty impressive” thought Wanda, reading his thoughts with amusement as she engaged her shield around her mid-section. It hardly seemed necessary, but she didn’t want to give them so much as a mosquito bite on her unblemished skin to show for their efforts.
Shortly after the sidewinders made their fruitless impact, Wanda leaped forward, reducing the gap between her and the attackers by over a mile in just a few seconds. As her left foot landed with an impact strongly felt all through Tucson, Wanda swept her right arm across her front, her open palm catching each of the six gunships in rapid succession.
“Holy shit!” cried the squadron leader as he saw his six comrades disappear in her hand within a mere second. And now stared as she ground her fingers into her palm and let small unidentifiable metallic bits fall from it to the desert sand a mile and half below.
“OK…” He started, trying to shake himself back into professionalism. “Change of tactics!” It’s a scramble. We all go in at from all angles and all heights.” He divided her height into three sections and assign groups to each. “Cannons only, shoot at your own discretion, stay out of the way of those arms and let’s try not to shoot or fly into each other! Wherever she weakens, we will regroup and hit that spot with the missiles. Does everyone copy?”
Again, Wanda heard everything, and after a little more discussion refining the ‘let’s try not to shoot each other’ part, they made their move. While Wanda could have just ignored them, and probably should have with her digestive clock ticking, she couldn’t resist the challenge of taking them on.
She smiled as they approached and sensed their growing awe at her sheer size. There isn’t much frame of reference in the desert so the shock mostly came as she filled more and yet more of their view as they approached.
With no real strategy in mind, Wanda picked a plane at random and lunged for it barely feeling it as she swatted it out of the sky. They were all shooting at her now, which she knew more from their sound than the tiny pricks on her skin. She channeled the muscle memory of her body’s Olympic Volleyball training as she jumped and slapped the relatively slow-moving bugs swarming around her. Even when a plane would be just out of her reach, the vortexes of a sweep of hand over two football fields in length would send them spinning out of control and easy pickings for a follow-up.
In just one minute, the attrition of the squadron was such that the suddenly newly established squadron leader called for a retreat. Only two planes were left to follow him northwest away from her. Unfortunately for them, northwest was where she was headed. Worse, their top speed of 420 mph was not much faster than her walking pace. Wanda only had to put a little spring in her step to close in on them. As she did, they began climbing with the hope of exceeding her reach, but they could only climb so fast or the loss of forward direction would have her massive body slam into them. Banking to either side invited the hand-whack that wiped out the rest of the squadron. Unfortunately, they started out from a rather low position.
When the left-most plane reached the height of her hip, Wanda brought her left hand down with her index finger touching her thumb. She held it above long enough to make sure the pilot saw it before flicking her finger shattering the aircraft so rapidly it didn’t even have a chance to explode as the bits and pieces shot to the ground a mile below.
The far-right plane had reached waist level and was only a foot in front of Wanda by her perspective when she reached down and slowly enveloped the aircraft with her right hand as if she was catching a lightning bug, she wanted to keep alive. The plane soon collided with a finger causing it to bounce all though the small enclosure, breaking up as it went, the pilot surviving the first two impacts, but not the third.
The final pilot having witnessed the fate of both his comrades, frantically contemplated his options. He was still climbing, and was considering a bank to the right when overtaking him on the right was a massive round ball of flesh. A glimpse of a nipple disappearing behind the curvature of flesh told him exactly what this skin was, and naturally glancing to his left, was its counterpart. It was as though he was suspended motionless in a canyon, fifty stories up and another fifty down. Panicked he pulled abruptly on the wheel, only to see those walls rapidly close on him.
Wanda actually appreciated the escape attempt as she pressed her breasts together and the jet disappeared between them. The shield layer dulled the heat from the tiny plane’s engines, but it was so small, she wasn’t sure to what degree it was actually crushed between the big orbs. Spreading her fingers to the front of each breast she pulled them apart and squinted to see the fuselage and a separate wing adhered to the inside of her right breast. Another wing was stuck on her left. Bits of the tail section broke loose and began their long journey downward. A burst of air from her pursed lips dislodged the remains of the plane which hit her right thigh as she walked before fluttering the rest of the way to the sand.
Wanda congratulated herself on her hands-on destruction of the entire squadron of attack planes when she sensed another one. The term “No rest for the wicked” was probably never more applicable.
These jets were probably no real threat either, aside from being really annoying. Rather than frantically swat them or chase them down, she decided to handle this group a bit differently. She reached out for the thoughts of these pilots in their state-of-the-art F-35 fighters just arriving from Luke Airforce Base. These were over three times faster than the A-10s and more maneuverable. But that wasn’t what concerned her at the moment. It was the increasingly persistent pressure in her lower body. Her body had always been rather impatient about her morning poop and didn’t seem to understand why today should be an exception. Her enhanced internal muscles were keeping things at bay but there was enhanced musculature on the other side as well. She simply didn’t have time to engage these planes as she had the last.
She connected with the thoughts of the pilots just as they were really seeing her for the first time. The squadron approached her from “Ten O’clock” as they would say. They marveled at her size of course, but couldn’t help taking in her naked female form and with that, to a man was admiration for the proportional size of her breasts. She instinctively brought her hands up and caress them a bit, giving them a show, and then flooded their thoughts with them, forcing obsession. “Nice, big, round, warm, soft…” She let them provide the noun, and it created a kind of quick personality test for each pilot. The cruder and more sexist of the group thought of them as “tits”. The most respectful and the one woman among them, thought “breasts”. The rest thought “boobs”.
Regardless, she had them all fixated; even the two women among them. The brass at the airbase was dumbfounded when any communication they issued to the squadron leader was returned with trance-like mantra of “Boobs. Nice, big, round, warm, soft, boobs”. A shift to the next-in-command brought back the “tits” version. In fact, all chatter from the group was a variation of this mantra, unsynchronized, and delivered with the same drone-like sense of awe.
As they approached the triangle-shaped planes even more resembled the shape and size of bathroom flies to Wanda, who didn’t slow her pace but did look down with amusement as all 24 planes flew directly into and impacted harmlessly on her breasts. The delightful little pricks and flashes of light momentarily amused her as did the tiny little white rectangles revealing that three of the pilots who ejected; either from coming to their senses from seeing the collisions in front of them, or to achieve actual physical contact with their fixation. If it was the latter, they got it though very briefly as her giant breasts greeted them at her walking pace of nearly 400 miles per hour.
It wasn’t over however. She soon became aware a second squadron approaching her from behind. Appropriately, they all wound up sharing a brief intimate moment with her ass. The airbase recalled the rest of the group after that.
That was fine with Wanda, as she could now see signs ahead of the open desert giving way to human development. It started with the dark green circles and rectangles from the silly people who actually farm this desert. The crops felt soft and cool on her feet as she took out the better part of a field with each step.
A few steps later came an industrial park; a linear grouping of low buildings with flat white roofs. They looked like a line-up of quarter-sized white Cheese-It crackers and crunched like them too.