Old Glory Still Waving

The world sat back and as this new power emerged and cast its dark hand over the world. First to fall was Europe, they put up no resistance, they simply laid down and took it. Then was Asia, China had been subjugated and conquered in three days. South America was burning already, but now, there was nothing left. All eyes were on Old Glory, the Stars and Stripes. Even with devastating loss of the US President, the NWO Troops rolled through the West Coast plowing deep into the Great Plains. Even with their heavy resistance, the United States was losing a war they had about a month to prepare for. The world held their breath as weeks dragged on, but the NWO's advance hadn't stopped. The bulk of their forces had taken Canada with ease and had finally regrouped for their final offensive.

"Look!"

Planes swooped down from the skies dropping homemade bombs upon the invaders, buying time for citizens to escape.

"LOTS FOREVER!"

"LOTS FOREVER!" cried out the other pilots.

The insignia of the Lots Crew was on every plane.

"They're just a bunch of kids..." said one citizen

"Damn brave kids." said another

"ALRIGHT! ATTACK FORMATION!" called out Ghost diving in the invaders.

For a moment there was hope, and the people looked to the skies to see this group of random misfits taking on the NWO.

"Overlord we need to get out of here, they'll call in air support."

"Agreed, all planes, back to base."

Once the Lots Crew had all landed, they tuned into the last free airwaves on the radio listening to reports of their battle.

"Hank, are you sure they managed to do anything against the NWO?"

"Tom, I'm not kidding you, whoever those pilots are, they took a risk and saved us. They bought us twelve critical minutes to escape and boy I am grateful. They saved me but more importantly, my family."

The crew cheered but it was short lived as the alarms sounded and they were back in the air. Every one of them determined to save their home, and way of life.

"Lord Rothschild, we have received word about a small band of aircraft protecting those who flee our advance."

"Send in the fourth gens, make short work of them."

"Yes my lord."