Invasion

Chapter Seven

The massive display fuzzed once and blanked out.

The President stared in horror as the display flickered and then reset to its default position, showing the military might of the United States of America. One moment, the alien craft had been approaching the International Space Station, the next… the aliens had opened fire. Paul glanced at the President and wished that he hadn’t; the President looked like a man who’d just discovered that his loving wife had been cheating on him for years, shocked, helpless and terrified. The entire chamber was filling with voices as everyone started to talk at once, trying to make their opinions heard over the racket… as new alarms rang in the air.

“We just lost Andrews,” one of the technicians shouted. A new red icon, then another, then another, appeared on the display. Paul watched as dozens of icons blossomed into existence, climbing rapidly into the hundreds, each one covering the location of a major airfield, civilian or military. The aliens — and it had to be the aliens — weren’t discriminating; every air base or civilian airport in America was coming under attack. “Sir, the entire air base is off the net!”

“Quiet,” General Hastings bellowed. Silence fell, broken only by a chain of incoming reports. “Mr President, the country is under attack!”

The President looked up from his chair. He appeared to have aged overnight. “General… are you sure that it’s the aliens?”

Paul had no doubts. “If they were the Russians, or the Chinese, we would have had plenty of advance warning,” he said, as new red icons flashed up on the display. The Atlantic Fleet, he saw through a haze of disbelief, had just lost contact with the Ronald Reagan. A space-based weapon — a kinetic energy weapon — could have sunk the massive carrier within seconds. “Sir, the aliens fired on the space station…”

“The satellite network is failing, sir,” one of the technicians shouted, into the silence. “All satellites; civilian, military… ours, the Russians, everyone… they’re going down!”

The display altered as, one by one, the satellites started to wink out of existence. The entire network of radars and observatories was falling apart as powerful radars were targeted from orbit and destroyed, but enough remained to show the alien craft as they encircled the Earth, firing constantly down on the surface of the planet. Radars that could track billiard balls in orbit had no problem tracking the precisely targeted kinetic energy weapons — they couldn’t be anything else — as they slashed down and destroyed their targets. Bases, airports, ships… all were being targeted and destroyed.

”Mr President,” General Hastings reported. “We have to engage the enemy!”

“We have to get the President out of here,” Deborah snapped. Her face had tightened sharply. “They might go for Washington next!”

“It has to be a mistake,” Spencer babbled. “They… they can’t do this to us!”

“It’s happening,” General Hastings growled. “Mr President, do I have your permission to engage the enemy before we lose everything?”

The President seemed to stagger inwardly. “Yes,” he said, shaking his head hopelessly. Paul realised, with a sudden moment of fear, that the President was almost beyond his limits. He couldn’t deal with the steady destruction of America. “General, hit them. Hit them hard!”

“We just received an update from the Russians,” someone shouted. “They’re engaging with everything they have!”

Or so they claim, Paul thought coldly. Russia was actually more vulnerable to precise orbital bombardment than the United States. The Russian ABM and ASAT weapons had never been tested under such circumstances, any more than the American weapons had been tested. God alone knew how well they would perform… and how long the enemy would allow them to maintain their missile bases on the ground. The aliens would track the weapons as soon as they were launched and destroying the bases would be one certain way of limiting their deployment.

“Clear to engage, clear to engage,” General Hastings snapped. “Transmit the engagement signal to all units earmarked for Skywalker; fire at will, I repeat, fire at will!”

“Transmitting,” one of the technicians said. The display updated itself rapidly as THAAD missiles started to launch from their launch sites, scattered over the United States. Another red icon blinked up as an alien kinetic weapon came down near New York. “Signal sent…”

“God help us all,” the President breathed.

“We have an engagement command,” Captain Duke Connolly snapped, as the Boeing 747-400F twisted in the air. The crew had been preparing desperately to engage the alien ships before they got around to destroying the Boeing 747, but without clear orders to engage, they couldn’t proceed. “Get me a track on an alien craft, now!”

“Here, sir,” one of the radar operators snapped. Normally, the Boeing 747 would get a direct uplink from the ground or space-based radar systems, but now the latter were completely out of action and the former were being hammered from space. The Boeing 747 carried its own radar dome, but if they lit it up, they might as well call the aliens directly and ask to be killed. The radar pulses would almost certainly draw alien fire. “There are four alien craft within engagement range.”

“You are cleared to open fire,” Connolly said. “Burn them out of space.”

The lights dimmed slightly as the aircraft rerouted power to the laser. The modified Boeing 747-400F — classed as a Boeing YAL-1 Airborne Laser weapons system — carried a megawatt-class chemical oxygen iodine laser that could engage targets in the air or near-space. It had been designed to engage incoming ballistic missiles, burning through their heat shields and destroying them a long time before they could detonate, but it could be used to engage alien spacecraft as well. Indeed, there had been a movie made around that very premise, although Connolly had gone to see it with his girlfriend… and had laughed so much that they’d asked him to leave the cinema.

He watched as the alien spacecraft’s orbit took it closer to their position in the atmosphere. The other Boeing 747’s would be engaging as well, along with a surprising number of ABM and ASAT systems, but no one knew what sort of armour the alien craft carried. It might even have a perfect shield against laser fire, in which case their attack was worse than useless… but as he saw chunks of the hull burning off, he realised that the laser was having an effect. The only question was how badly they were damaging the craft… and how the aliens would respond…

“Laser fire,” the pilot snapped suddenly. The 747 lurched as the pilot threw the aircraft into an evasive pattern, trying to break free of the alien attack, even as the computers automatically kept the chemical laser burning away at the alien ship. The alien craft appeared to be in trouble, but how much trouble. “Sir…”

The plane screeched like a living thing. “Eject,” the pilot bellowed suddenly. “Eject…”

Connolly and his crew had no time to react. A moment later, the alien laser weapon burned through the aircraft, ignited the jet fuel, and the entire aircraft vanished inside a white-hot burst of fire.

The THAAD launch site had been carefully positioned well away from any civilian targets that might be caught up in the midst of an alien attack. Furthermore, the only radar and targeting data the site used came through a landline from a radar site twenty kilometres to the north, further concealing the launch vehicles from alien detection. The crewmen hadn’t been expecting to see action — the only excitement they’d seen since their activation as part of the Missile Defence Agency had been a handful of test flights and exercises, half of which had been effective failures when the test missiles had failed before the THAAD could be launched — but as soon as the aliens had opened fire on the space station, they’d taken up their positions and prepared to fire.

“Clear,” Colonel Young shouted, as he picked up the warning message from NORAD. The landline-based defence communications network, at least, was intact; satellite communications appeared to be completely down. The alien craft were becoming harder to track as the radar stations were destroyed, or they beamed jamming signals into the atmosphere, but there was enough data to coordinate the engagement. “Prepare to engage!”

The THAAD — Terminal High Altitude Area Defence missile system — had been modified several times since it’s origin as a missile intended to engage incoming targets on a terminal boost. The growing need for a working ASAT capability, in response to Chinese and Russian developments of comparable systems — and the Chinese had never accepted the right of other countries to fly spy satellites over their borders — had pushed the designers into adding an ASAT capability, with the net result that the THAAD could engage targets in low Earth orbit, even if they weren’t entering the atmosphere. It was that capability that was going to be put to the test.

“Targets locked,” the operator shouted back. “Launcher one targeted on UFO #1, launcher two…”

Colonel Young listened as the operator finished outlining the targeting patterns. The small amount of tactical data they’d pulled off the network suggested that the aliens used lasers themselves, which suggested that the THAAD missiles would be engaged as they raced towards space, but there would be enough missiles to make engaging them difficult. Political considerations had prevented the use of nuclear warheads — and practical considerations, such as the possibility of fratricide, had limited the Missile Defence Agencies attempts to have that ban overturned — but the THAAD missiles carried a powerful warhead. A single hit would be enough to devastate an alien spacecraft, unless they had some armour or force shields out of science-fiction.

“Engage,” he ordered, and blew a whistle. “Move!”

A thunderous roar split the air as the first missile launched from its launcher and grabbed for height. A second followed, and then a third, while the crews abandoned their vehicles and ran for the shelters. The THAAD missiles were almost undetectable until they opened fire — they’d been well camouflaged and observed perfect emission security — but now the enemy ships would be reacting to their presence. Colonel Young had seen simulations that suggested that they would be engaged almost at once by the aliens, and others that suggested that they would be left alone… but he’d placed his money on the former. The THAAD launch site was about to become very unhealthy for human life.

He looked up into the sky as he ran. Space seemed to be glinting with light, not just twinkling stars, but the presence of falling stars and space debris. The blasted remains of fifty years of space exploration and utilisation was falling into the atmosphere and burning up. A particularly large streak of fire tumbled silently towards the ground and he wondered, bitterly, if it was the remains of the International Space Station, before realising that it was in the wrong orbit. The THAAD missiles were fading out as the final missile launched from the truck… and then he found himself facedown on the ground. A thunderous shockwave had knocked him over, smashing him down before he could react, or even realise that they were under attack. It took all of his strength and determination to roll over and check his body, before glancing over at their former positions…

The aliens hadn’t scored a direct hit on the launchers, but they hadn’t had to score more than a glancing blow with their weapons to destroy the THAAD launchers. The kinetic weapon had blasted all three of the vehicles to atoms; he couldn’t even see any flaming debris, apart from some burning patches on the ground. Their tents and camouflage had been completely destroyed by the alien attack.

“Call in,” he ordered dryly. The crew had a landline station a kilometre from their position. There was little point in using a cell phone or a radio; the odds were that they would either not work or draw fire themselves. “Jock, report to HQ and tell them what’s happened to us.”

They’d given it, literally, their best shot… but now they were out of the game.

He looked up at the twinkling lights in the sky and shivered.

Corporal Nathan Loomis gunned the Humvee’s engines and silently cursed Sergeant Bradbury under his breath. The Sergeant had had it in for him ever since he’d been assigned to the high-security protection detail for Area 51, apparently blaming Loomis for his failure to be assigned to a combat zone. Loomis, who had been trained as a guard for USAF facilities on the ground, didn’t have anything like the kind of influence that Bradbury seemed to believe he possessed; the only thing he had that not all USAF perimeter security staff possessed was a perfect security clearance. Area 51, the legendary research site and test bed for advanced military aircraft and technology, could only be guarded by men possessing enough clearance to gain access to the outer levels of security.

And, even so, Loomis and his fellows had seen almost nothing of the interior of the base. Despite popular culture, Area 51’s guards and even some of the staff weren’t permitted into the interior of the base; they’d been warned, in no uncertain terms, that entering the inner compound without permission could lead to a life sentence in Leavenworth, with no hope of parole. What little he’d seen had been perfectly normal — and boring. He certainly hadn’t seen an alien flying saucer, regardless of what the nuts who kept trying to sneak in believed, and he hadn’t even seen any advanced aircraft. There had been times when he and the remainder of the Company had been confined to their barracks for a few hours, but even that hadn’t been anything unusual. If it hadn’t been for Bradbury, the entire deployment would have been boring; he would almost have welcomed a second deployment to Iraq, just to see some action.

Bastard, he thought, again. He’d been off-duty when the alien craft had been supposed to arrive — until he’d explained that the real reason why the aliens were coming was because they wanted to pick up their fellows from Area 51, after their flying saucer had crash-landed at Roswell. Bradbury hadn’t appreciated the joke and had ordered him to join the roving guard patrols around the complex for when the aliens arrived and no amount of arguing had been able to sway him. It was true that, with the discovery of a real alien craft, Area 51 had almost been under siege by barking mad loonies convinced that the USAF had a thousand grey alien bodies in the base, but most of them were harmless. The guards merely caught them and, as long as they were only in the outer security zone, escorted them out. A handful had reached the inner security zone, where they were arrested and interrogated. Most of them were just… more persistent than others, but a handful had had suspect connections to outside countries, including the Russians. They would give their right teeth for a look inside Area 51.

“This is Delta-Seven,” he said, keying his radio. The guards were supposed to check in every twenty minutes, just in case; if they delayed for an extra five minutes, the security alarm sounded and extra guards were deployed to find the missing patrol. It had happened before… and the unlucky patrol, who had often just forgotten to report in, had to buy the beer for a month. Loomis, who was saving up to go on holiday with his girlfriend, had no intention of having to pay the same penalty. “All clear, I repeat…”

He glanced up, just in time to see the night sky twinkling with a thousand lights. It didn’t look like a peaceful meeting now, but space war. He’d seen asteroids and even the remains of burned-out satellites returning to Earth, but this was different; it was almost like a meteor shower, but worse. The entire sky was ablaze with streaks of light. He started to key his radio again, only to be almost deafened by a burst of static… and then a shockwave picked up the Humvee and tossed it end over end.

“Fuck,” he breathed, as the vehicle came to a rest, upside down. He’d been in worse accidents, but there was no reason for the accident, was there? They had been driving on flat ground, not on terrain that could cause an accident if not treated properly. “Sound off; everyone all right?”

“Cole’s dead, sir,” Private Rashid said. The dark-skinned soldier managed to crawl out of the vehicle, pulling the body of his friend with him. A glance revealed the truth; Cole’s neck had been broken by the impact. The other two privates were alive, although shook up by the blast. “Did you get the number of that Abrams we crashed into?”

Loomis shook his head as he took in the sight to the north. The air base had been attacked, somehow; there was a massive mushroom cloud forming over the base. His basic training reasserted itself and he glanced down at his terminal, relieved to find out that there had been no EMP to disable it, which suggested that the blast hadn’t been nuclear. Speculation on alien weapons had been rampant in the guard force and several of the soldiers had believed that the aliens would deploy asteroids from orbit… and, well as far as Loomis was concerned, it was as good an explanation as any.

He keyed his radio. “Base, this is Delta-Seven,” he said, as calmly as he could. If the base had been destroyed — and, from their distance, it looked to have been completely destroyed — what the hell did they do? They didn’t have emergency plans to cover the complete destruction of the base. The worst they’d anticipated had been a terrorist attack using a nuke. “This is Delta-Seven; base, come in!”

There was no reply.