Overlord

12

Will Mendenhall nudged Jack awake as the LC-130 Hercules made a wide turn to lose altitude. Collins awoke suddenly, feeling as if his entire body was still back at Christchurch, New Zealand, where they had hurriedly exchanged aircraft from the relative comfort of the C-5A Galaxy to the cramped confines of the ski-equipped Hercules. Jack looked at Will as if he didn’t know who he was, then slowly he came awake. He looked from the captain to a slumbering Henri Farbeaux, who was stretched out across two of the foldable airliner seats just aft of the cockpit.

“I hate to tell you this, but the base they’ve sent us to isn’t much of a going concern.” Will stepped back so Collins could sit up and look out of the small window.

To Jack it seemed as if the Air Force pilot was rubbing it in a little as the Hercules concluded its hard bank to the right so they could get a good look at the small hellhole they had been sent to. The research base was that in name only, as it appeared to be nothing more than eight plastic construction-style buildings that were raised on thin stilts. A large British flag flew and was rapidly waving in the brisk winds of the area.

“Oh, shit,” Jack mumbled as he took in the atmospheric research complex.

“My exact description, General,” Will said as he shook Farbeaux awake.

The Hercules was now at a thousand feet of altitude as the pilot came on over the intercom. “Gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts for landing. They haven’t had time to scrape the runway since the last storm so it may be rather rough. Temperature outside is a balmy minus-forty-seven degrees Celsius — that’s below zero. Welcome to Halley Station.” The colonel flying the aircraft hesitated just a second before clicking off his mic. The three officers in the belly of the Hercules heard laughter just before it became silent.

“I think that pilot is what you Americans would call an asshole,” Farbeaux said as he strapped in and then looked out of the window.

The Hercules came down hard with her front skis banging against the ice and snow. The Herky-Bird on skis reversed the pitch of her four powerful propellers and then her flaps flew high in the air as the pilot gave it everything the old bird had to slow her down without having to hit the brakes. The nose skidded right and then left and the pilot adjusted through the rear stabilizer to stop the swaying motion of the Hercules.

Jack, Will, and Henri felt their stomachs as they ejected somewhere near the front of the landing strip. The Hercules bumped, rose into the air momentarily, and then came down again as she caught the nose-on winds. Then she finally settled to the ice and slid to a stop.

“Crazy bastards,” Jack mumbled. The whine of the LC-130’s turbofans slowed in pitch as the aircraft taxied toward the nearest buildings. Collins saw several men in white snow gear awaiting their arrival. He also saw three Black Hawks with their rotors already turning. They were flanked by two British Gazelle Attack choppers that also were warmed and ready to fly.

“I guess we’re not done flying yet,” Henri said as he stood and stretched his arms.

They started gathering their gear, and heard more laughter from the cockpit as the snow-crazed pilots had their fun at their passengers’ expense.

A man wearing white arctic gear with his face covered in a ski mask approached the men as they exited the Hercules into the breath-freezing environment of Antarctica. The man’s goggles covered his eyes and Jack, through his sunglasses, saw the British Union Jack on the stark white parka.

“General Collins?” the man asked as the three freezing visitors hit the bottom of the loading ramp. Farbeaux cursed as the wind struck him and nearly froze his feet to the cold aluminum.

“I’m Collins,” Jack said. The man before him held out a white-gloved hand.

“I am Colonel Francis Jackson Keating, of Her Majesty’s Special Air Service. Welcome to Halley Research Station, sir.”

“Wonderful spot you’ve chosen in which to vacation, Colonel.” Jack quickly looked away from the offered salute of the well-trained soldier from the SAS. “If you don’t mind, Colonel, it’s too damn cold out here to stand on ceremony; shall we get to where we’re going before my ass freezes off?” He ignored the military gesture of respect from the Englishman, as Jack was in no mood.

The colonel lowered his hand, then gestured to the first Black Hawk.

“Yes, sir.” The colonel reached into his parka and pulled out several flimsies and handed them to Jack. “These flash messages were sent over about an hour ago from the Alamo, sir.” Collins took the message traffic and saw that they were from Lord Durnsford and countersigned by General Caulfield. “Now, if you would, General.” Keating gestured to the waiting Black Hawk. “Right this way.” He sprinted toward the warming helicopter along with his four men.

Jack and the others were relieved of their gear as they climbed into the relative warmth of the rear compartment of the first Black Hawk.

Once airborne, Collins placed a headset on underneath his cold-weather parka as the Black Hawk, piloted by men from the British Expeditionary Force, started a trek on a southerly heading, with the other Black Hawk and Gazelle attack helicopters flanking it. Jack gestured for Will and Henri to also don their headphones, then quickly studied the messages from the strange little man from MI6.

“News from the real world?” Will asked as he settled into the cold, hard seat.

Jack was silent as he read the communiqués from Durnsford. He looked at both men with worry etched on his hard features.

“They hit the Johnson Space Center hard. Downtown Houston was spared for the most part, with most of the damage coming from our own downed aircraft and friendly fire from the Center. Thirty-two fighters, both Navy and Air Force, were lost, plus the bulk of the third Cavalry Regiment. It’s basically ceased to exist.”

Mendenhall looked out of the side window at the featureless expanse of Antarctica as it sped by below. He turned and faced the general.

“Any word on … any word on Mr. Everett?” he finally asked.

Jack didn’t answer as he moved to the next message. “The Chinese are preparing to attack the enemy that occupies Beijing with everything they have short of nuclear weapons. The Paks are mounting an offensive force along the Indian border in preparation of attacking the landings there. They claim the Indian government is wasting time by not using every weapon at their disposal for eliminating the threat to the entire region.”

Jack shook his head and then saw Henri with his “I told you so” look as he turned away. Like Mendenhall, he watched the passing white of the land beneath them.

Collins read the last signal from Durnsford, then closed his eyes as he passed the message to Will. Jack leaned back as he realized that things were not going according to the plans of Lee, Matchstick, Compton, or their newest spook, Lord Durnsford. He didn’t say anything when Mendenhall read the operational order aloud.

“‘From General Caulfield, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to all foreign commands. Cease offensive operations directed at the enemy. Return to your home bases of operations immediately. Defensive strikes against the enemy are only to be conducted for the defense of your commands. 7th Fleet operations are to cease and return to Hawaiian home waters. This order has been deemed necessary at this time. NATO command is hereby ordered to exit European theater of operation and return the 4th Infantry Division to Fort Carson, Colorado, immediately. All Persian Gulf commands will hold station and current defensive posture until further evaluation on enemy strategy has been investigated. — signed, Caulfield.’”

Henri finally sat up, slowly removed the message from Will’s hand, and read it himself. He handed it back, shaking his head.

“I think you are beginning to see why I have made the choices that I have in regard to government service, Captain.”

Will finally nodded his head, agreeing that Henri more than likely was right.

“What about this operation we are on, General? I mean, do you think an official recall will be ordered?”

“It doesn’t matter, Will, you heard what Durnsford said back at Schofield: stay the course. And until Doc Compton or General Caulfield tells us differently, that’s just exactly what we’ll do.”

Farbeaux smiled and shook his head in wonder.

“Tell me something, General Collins. What will happen when you discover this Overlord plan is nothing but what you Americans call a pipe dream, as much as these new orders for separation of defensive moves against the aliens? And with the destruction of your space facilities, that scenario seems to be the way this is headed.”

“I don’t have an answer for you, Colonel, as I’m sure the men that planned this don’t either. We just have to trust Matchstick and his judgment.”

“Well, either way one thing is for sure,” Henri said as he leaned back in his seat. “Just as soon as the Pakistanis and the Indians start launching nuclear weapons at everything in sight, we won’t have to worry too long about the shortcomings of your Operation Overlord.”

Jack didn’t respond as he knew the Frenchman was dead on in his judgment.

“General,” came the English-accented voice of the pilot, “we’re approaching Camp Alamo, sir. You can view it out of the left-side window.”

Will moved over to Collins’s side of the Black Hawk; so did Henri. Below was the site where the salvation of the entire world was being planned.

“Correct me if my American history is lacking, gentlemen, but was not the Alamo a defeat, a rather nasty one?” Farbeaux began to laugh, then turned and flopped back into his seat. The despair was showing the only way the Frenchman knew how to vent it — in black humor.

“Oh, I feel sick,” Will said as he too sat back down with a long sigh.

Jack just closed his eyes against the sight that greeted them. The hopes he had felt, the trust in the powers that be, and the dreams of life someday returning to normal were fast evaporating as he closed his eyes against the sight from below. He heard the mocking laughter of Farbeaux over the sound of the twin turbines of the Black Hawk as the doubts about the abilities of his director, Niles Compton, and of a small green man, and a once brilliant one in Garrison Lee, entered his thoughts for the first time.

Camp Alamo was the last hope of the human race. It was five small huts and a helicopter landing pad. One guard stood outside one of the plastic-coated environmental enclosures and waited for the commanding general of all defensive forces in Antarctica to arrive and take charge.

Collins opened his eyes and examined the spot for Earth’s last defense, if it came to that. First the destruction of the Johnson Space Center and the possible loss of his friend, Carl Everett, and now this.

Camp Alamo existed to house the staff and military personnel of Operation Overlord, but looked deserted with the exception of the lone man waiting outside who shooed away two penguins that were playing at his feet.

Hope was fast fading from the mind of the ever-trusting Jack Collins.

The Cactus Bar and Grill had slowly slid downhill since the establishment had been sold by its former owner, Julie Dawes, after she and her son Bill had moved to California, where Billy was attending college at San Diego State. Gus Tilly and Matchstick had made sure the young single mother and her son would never want for anything again. She had left the small town of Chato’s Crawl after the incident with the saucers and the firefight in the desert in 2006. When Gus died Billy would inherit not only Gus’s entire fortune reaped from the Lost Dutchman Mine, discovered accidentally during the same incident, but also the mine itself and the guardianship of one Mahjtic Tilly.

Hiram Vickers entered the now dingy bar, removed his sunglasses, and squinted into the dust-infused lighting. He saw the man behind the bar as he was cleaning glasses. The only other patron was a slim man standing at the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. Actually, the music machine seemed to be keeping the old-timer from falling over, more than providing music. He walked up to the bar.

“So this is the famous Cactus Grill,” he said as he looked around. The front glass was cracked and the bar had seen far better days. He smelled at least fifty years of burnt hamburgers and stale beer clinging to every inch of the rotted wood and stained linoleum. “Not much of a going concern, is it?”

The heavyset man looked up, then just as fast ignored the remark and returned to rinsing his glasses.

“I mean, this place being so famous and all. The stories I’ve heard said this was a joint that saw a lot of action in the dust-up of 2006.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, mister, I bought the place from an ad in the paper. What happened before me ain’t my concern and none of my business. Now, you want a beer, or is this just a question and answer session?” He placed his last glass on a towel to drain and then looked at the thin man with the red hair. The bartender was figuring the fella for a pansy type out of Phoenix.

“Well, partly a question and answer session, I guess, but I will have a whiskey sour in the prelude to our conversation.”

The bartender looked at him, reached for a glass, poured him a flat beer from the tap, and pushed it toward him.

“There you go, one whiskey sour. Anything else?”

Vickers looked at the glass of beer that resembled urine, then smiled but didn’t reach for the offering. But he did reach into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and place it by the dirty glass.

“An old man, Tilly. Gus Tilly lives hereabouts?”

The man eyed the bill before him from the man he suspected was mocking his country accent, but didn’t reach for it. Instead he grabbed a bottle hidden under the bar and then opened a refrigerator and brought out a plastic container. His hands disappeared below the counter and Vickers heard the tingling of ice being placed in a glass. Then his hand reappeared with a fresh glass of whiskey sour that he pushed toward the stranger. He took the hundred-dollar offering as he dragged his hand away. Vickers reached for the drink and took a sip. He set it down, then pointed at it and winked, and nodded his head one time.

“Haven’t seen Gus in a while — he usually stops in around the end of the month to pick up the things he orders and then leaves. But he’s been a no-show so far this month, and that makes him about ten days late.” The bartender placed the bill in his filthy shirt.

Vickers drank again and then stared at the man while he crunched ice in his mouth. The sound made the heavy man wince.

“Things. What kind of things would he order from you?” He continued to chew the ice without looking away or duplicating his earlier kind smile.

“About the only things you can get from a distributer out of Phoenix for a small bar. Couple’a jars of beef jerky, some pickled eggs — a lot of pickled eggs — and a case of frozen pizza rolls. The rest of his goods, I guess, are brought in from the Piggly Wiggly over in Apache Junction by the folks that watch over his place.”

“Folks?”

The man didn’t answer as he removed the stale beer and then drank it himself.

Vickers nodded his head in understanding at the bartender’s hesitation. He took another drink of the whiskey sour and then bit down on more ice. The burly man smiled as the redheaded visitor reached inside his pocket again. He brought up the silenced Glock and aimed it at the bartender’s chest. He crunched the ice again and then raised his thin red brows. The big man in the dirty shirt took a step back.

“He’s got several men staying with him out at his place. I think they just look after the old goat. That’s all I know. Since Gus has been gone, they come in a little more regular and knock a few back. Not the same guys, though, these fellas look like … well … they look older, not quite as tough as the regulars.”

With his left hand Hiram Vickers reached for the drink and then drained it, leaving the ice for last. He was satisfied that whatever body guards this asset had were no longer there, but had been replaced by other less formidable men.

“So, let’s sum it up. Gus Tilly is gone, the fellas that watch over his place aren’t the regular ones who have been there previously, and you supply them with — well, let’s face it, crap to eat. Is this all correct?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think the pickled eggs and pizza rolls are for him, because Gus once said the stuff makes him want to puke. So I’m guessin’ they’re for those men out there, or someone I never see.”

“Now, that adds up. Thank you for the drink and the answerin’,” he said, mocking the drawl of the bartender. He didn’t turn when the small bell sounded over the door and two men in black shirts and Windbreakers walked inside. The first through the door nodded his head once to the reflection of Hiram in the dirty glass behind the bar. Vickers placed the gun back into the waistband of his Dockers and then finished crunching the ice he had in his mouth, never looking away from the frightened man.

The second man through the door walked over to the phone line that ran in from outside, and ripped it out of the wall. He lifted the phone that was next to the damaged line, listened, and then hung up, satisfied that the old system wouldn’t work.

“There’s no cell phone service here, and now no phone either,” he said to Vickers, who was intent on watching the bartender’s eyes.

“Okay, I think we’re done here. By the way,” he said as he smiled, “these two men will be staying here with you.” He looked around the bar and grill. “To help out. It looks like you could use some assistance. We need to know when these new men from Tilly’s place show up, and we need you to point them out.” He smiled wider and then placed another hundred-dollar bill on the counter. “Sound good?”

The man just nodded once but didn’t reach for the bill.

Vickers winked at the man and then left the bar. The two men in black sat down and then without the same smile as Vickers displayed reached for a dirty and creased menu.

Hiram Vickers wasn’t pleased at the result of his interview. The two members of his Black Team had passed on the information that the rest of the town was deserted. The Texaco station was boarded up, and the hardware store had burned and, from the looks of it, had also fallen into the ground somehow. The ice cream parlor was likewise boarded and so were the rest of the small hovels that passed for houses in this godforsaken part of Arizona. Chato’s Crawl was a ghost town in the strictest sense of the word. He shook his head and walked toward the large Chevy Suburban, then climbed into the front seat.

“What’s the plan, Hiram?” the leader of the Black Team asked from the backseat, making Vickers’s first name sound like it was shit, only pronounced differently.

“The plan is we wait.” He turned his head and looked back at the brown-haired man behind him. “That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it, waiting?”

The man didn’t react to the question until he returned Vickers’s arrogant smile.

“Yes, that’s what we do, we’re patient, Hiram. Very patient.” The smile widened. “Until it’s time to stop being patient.”

Vickers turned back around and told the driver to park inside the garage at the Texaco station. He never realized it was the same location where Colonel Henri Farbeaux once waited with his men a long time before as they planned to enter the underground hell of the animal known as the Talkan — or as Matchstick had called it, the Destroyer.

“Well,” he said, “they’ll eventually show and Chato’s Crawl will be the place it all ends for this Matchstick Man.”

The dark blue Chevy drove straight to the station and vanished around the back, where the men in black would start their vigil and patiently wait for Hiram Vickers’s bargaining chip to come home.

General Xiao Jung was a man who was most responsible for bringing their former leader to power. Since the incident at Camp David he had his plans for China’s commitment to Operation Overlord overruled by the new president, Dao Xatzin — a man who had been waiting to take power in the wake of the military’s bold move four years before when they ousted, rather forcibly, the man that stood in the way of China’s cooperation with the rest of the world. The power had not passed to Xatzin, but to the Western-leaning man who had died at Camp David. Now General Jung was at the mercy of the man who ordered China’s withdrawal from the agreements with the West.

As he watched from National People’s Park two miles from the city of Beijing, he knew that this improvised plan had a chance of failing spectacularly. Even with the secret communiqués from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Maxwell Caulfield, advising the general on the intelligence that the new representative of President Xatzin had failed to pass on to the military. It was risky, but Jung thought if the attack could be coordinated correctly, they had maybe a 10 percent chance of saving Beijing.

In just the sixteen hours Jung had been observing, he had been fed intelligence from his forward units that over two and half million of China’s citizenry had been taken into the processing ship. As far as the air force could tell him the power-replenishing saucers had risen only once from Bohai Bay to regenerate the large saucer’s power shield. The plan would succeed or fail in that area alone. He must stop the processing craft from getting the needed power that prevented his military from regaining the capital. Thus far the new leader had been silent on the plan of attack, offering no guidance — as if he would not take the blame if the plan failed, but would gain the favor of the people if the general succeeded. Frankly thinking, Jung would rather have the politicos screaming at him for action rather than the silence coming from their hidden bunkers along the Yangtze River.

The roundup of Beijing’s citizens had deeply affected his army as they awaited the ground attack to commence. They had watched as screaming and pleading women and children were taken from their homes, streets, and other hiding places and dragged into the processing ship. The general’s mind screamed at him for action against this barbaric enemy that had shown no mercy for his people. The fate that awaited them once inside was one that any human being could not think about for very long before their spirits flagged in this desperate hour.

Jung placed his hands behind his back and looked out toward the sea. His navy was out there, waiting to spring their surprise on the ships hiding in the bay. The navy’s twenty attack submarines would be joined by the Liaoning, the first aircraft carrier in the People’s Liberation Army Navy. Its keel was originally laid down as the Admiral Kuznetsov — class multirole carrier Riga, for the Soviet navy. She had been purchased and refurbished and made China’s own by the People’s Republic shipyards.

The Liaoning waited twenty miles out to sea for any sign of the power-generation saucers that could escape the speedy and dangerous Type 093 Shang-class attack subs. Ten of these fast-attack boats, which looked amazingly like the older Los Angeles — class submarines of the U.S. Navy, would be assisted by five of the old Russian Akula-class boats and five of the Han-class subs as they would attempt to track down the three saucers before they could assist the larger processing craft in the heart of the city. The plan, code-named Operation Wrath, depended upon the navy to do their job and do it well. They were all expendable toward that goal, even General Jung himself.

As he turned and looked at the dark city before him, only the soft glow of the enemy shield cast any light on the dying capital. The surreal illumination was also a fear-inducing factor among the largest attacking force the People’s Republic had ever mounted. Over twenty thousand artillery pieces would be joined by an attack force of over five thousand Type 99A2 main battle tanks. These units would use their full complement of shells and special sabot rounds to weaken the shield and draw the energy-producing saucers from their hiding places. They would be assisted by a thousand long-range missiles fired from the five Shagshu-class missile cruisers a mile offshore. Add five thousand surface-to-surface missiles launched from hidden batteries in the outskirts of the city itself.

Jung looked at the forces poised inside the park and the surrounding suburbs of the capital. Over three million men would rush the shield if and when it went down. They would have orders not only to rescue as many of the citizenry as possible, but to avenge the millions that had already been butchered like cattle inside the cursed processing vehicle.

The general looked at his watch in the soft glow of the distant enemy shield. Two minutes until the air force started their attack runs. Bombers of the 10th People’s Air Wing would strike first with small battlefield nuclear bombs. One-megaton warheads code-named “The People’s Vengeance” would pummel the top of the shield in the hopes of draining the power of the enemy protection and craft and, with luck, maybe even destroy it. This plan was not the general’s but the commanders of the military advisory committee that sat safely beside the new leadership in their deep bunkers along the Yangtze.

“General, it is now 0230 hours. Shall I give the order to the orbiting bombers?” His aide also watched the quiet city two miles distant. He noticed the general had refused to wear the protective clothing provided to higher command officials. Jung would suffer the same fallout fate as his men. The aide silently and almost motionlessly laid his mask and plastic-lined protective gear aside, and waited on the man he and all the soldiers of his command respected beyond measure.

Jung just nodded his head as he faced away from Beijing.

The men could hear the engines of China’s latest miracle of aviation, the H-8 stealth bomber. The bat-winged craft was identical to the American B-2 and was just as deadly. The silence of the night was broken by two million men of the People’s Army taking cover as the loud warning sirens sounded from around the perimeter of the enemy shield.

A second warning sounded in a series of alternating blasts from the mobile communications vans that ringed the city. The general had to be pulled by his staff into the makeshift bunker near his command-and-control hut.

The dark skinned bombers streaked overhead from twenty thousand feet in altitude. Suddenly thick laser beams were projected onto the saucer from hidden places inside the smoldering debris outside Beijing. These laser-targeting guides were being cast by ten volunteers who had family inside the capital. Jung closed his eyes as he thought of the brave men who were sacrificing their lives.

The night became like day as the first one-megaton warhead detonated against the force field. Then three more struck the upper section of shielding. The scene became like an X-ray to those that braved the sight before them. The punishing winds tore through the city and the surrounding forces of the People’s Republic. The men inside the general’s sandbag-reinforced bunker felt the earth shake as three further detonations rocked the capital. Men all around Beijing fell when the impacts happened in rapid succession. The general heard screams of frightened men around him as he prayed to the unjust gods above that the enemy couldn’t withstand such an evil power as man’s nuclear arsenal.

The last of the nuclear smart bombs struck the direct center of the dome even before the heat had begun in earnest from the first three weapons. The cable of the shield cooked and melted but immediately started to regenerate before the heat started to dissipate. The two guarding saucers were immediately knocked down by the pressure wave that forced itself through the powerful shielding around the capital. The first hit the larger processing craft and then slammed into the surrounding buildings, while the second saucer was simultaneously smashed two miles distant from where it had been hovering. Then it impacted the shield, sliding down it like a bird caught in a net. It lay there smoking and melting. From the outside the men who braved a look saw the massive cables of the shield shake and vibrate and they momentarily thought that they would give fully. Instead, the blue glow increased, adding its own light to that of the nuclear detonations.

The night sky around Beijing looked as if the sun had exploded directly overhead. The noise was deafening as the explosive wave struck the surrounding troops. Armored vehicles rocked on their hardened springs and tanks bounced as if they were toys. Several thousand men were incinerated as they tried in vain to see the devastation and they vanished in a blinding wave of heat. The Grays were no better off. Spotters estimated that at least five or six thousand of the creatures had been caught in the open, along with several hundred of their walking automatons. At the same time it was reported that many hundreds of thousands of citizens were also killed from the 10,000° heat caused by the attack.

The general could not wait any longer. He rose from the plywood flooring of the bunker and raced outside, followed quickly by his entire staff. Jung threw up his arm as the heat wave continued to burst into the outskirts of Beijing. He turned his head and felt the hair on his head and arms crisp and fly away into the storm of wind and dirt.

Before the order was given, the three hundred JH-7 Flying Leopard fighter-bombers tore through the maelstrom of fire coming from the electronic shielding of the saucer. Without even the slightest estimation of the damage caused by the nuclear attack, the fighters released their loads of unguided bombs against the burning shield and city beneath. Strike after strike erupted on the smoldering upper dome. Ten thousand bombs fell from the night sky that was no longer dark. The attacking fighter-bombers were outlined by the glowing sky around them as the largest air assault in history continued.

The general raised his field glasses when he thought it was safe enough not to burn his pupils out from the amazing site before him. The city of Beijing was awash in a tremendous light that could never have been imagined and still the bombs fell from the sky.

“Get me intelligence from our forward spotters immediately. Is the shield holding?” he shouted as he tried in vain to penetrate the thick billowing smoke caused by the bomb impacts.

As a hard wind came in from the north, the answer was clear. The blue glow of the enemy protection was still alight with energy. The general saw the saucer that had slammed into the larger vehicle slowly rise from the rubble at its base and then start toward his waiting forces outside the capital. The large saucer was burning in several sections but was still there and still viable as it rocked and then settled once again. The streets had been sweeped clean of Grays, but also sadly many thousands of men, women, and children.

General Jung stilled himself against the failure of the attack and then lowered the glasses. The plan had to move forward through the disappointing failure.

“All commands, open fire!” he said angrily as he looked toward the target of Beijing.

In the next three seconds, twenty thousand artillery shells and five thousand sabot and high explosive tank rounds arched and streaked into the shield wall. It was as if a million fireflies struck the electronic dome at once and then kept alighting to the surface in an unyielding cacophony of sound and never-ending explosions. It was now a battle between the ancient gods of old as they struggled for supremacy.

The Chinese army was unleashing Earth’s version of hell against the invaders of their world.

The three smaller saucers began the rescue of their processing ship by burrowing out of the sand and mud where they had lain undetected for three full days. They spun the bottom of the bay into a spiraling vortex of ocean life and water as they rose toward the surface. The Chinese navy finally had found the saucers’ hiding place and went on the attack.

Captain Zen Lee of the People’s Republic Submarine S-78, the Great Leader, was the first to confront the lead saucer as her sonar detected the movement through the deep-water port.

“Lock on and engage,” he calmly ordered. “Tubes one through six, full spread.”

The large submarine was based on the stolen design of the old Los Angeles — class boats built by the American General Dynamics Corporation. She shuddered as six YU-6 torpedoes, based on the design of the U.S.-built Mark-48s, sped from their tubes just aft of the sonar dome. The heavy-kill weapons sped to their maximum speed of fifty-two knots, catching the first saucer as it shed the mud of the bottom of the bay from its metallic skin. All six struck the craft at the midsection and then they detonated simultaneously, sending debris from the bottom through the thick environment to the surface where the impact explosion rocked the waves high above. The column of seawater shot to a height of three hundred feet and that was a marker for the fighter aircraft from the aircraft carrier Liaoning, as sixty of them had been orbiting the bay high overhead. The fighter-bombers of the 3rd offensive wing struck with the very deadly Mongol missiles. The tremendous rush of air caused by the streaking jets shattered the column of water and struck the saucer as it tried to reach the sky.

The Great Leader and four of her large sisters let loose a spread of YU-6 torpedoes that were targeted just beneath the falling vessel. The wire-guided weapons were electronically detonated sixty feet below the dying saucer.

Suddenly the second and third saucers charged through the dense waters of the bay, loosing cannon fire against the fast-attack boats of the Chinese navy. As the first saucer sank deeper into the water the warheads of no less than thirty-one YU-6s exploded just beneath her. The resulting cataclysm warped the saucer until it broke into three separate sections and then the remains swirled to the bottom, too damaged to heal itself.

The Great Leader heard the breaking up of the first saucer and her crew cheered. The captain ordered silence as he heard through her sound-dampening hull the terrible whine of the streaking saucers as they came on at the grouping of attack boats at over 200 knots. The captain never had the chance to order maneuvering to take evasive action as the first long line of laser fire cleanly sliced the Great Leader and her four sister boats into an exploding mass of steel and composite material. The crews of five of the largest submarines in the world perished as the remaining two saucers rose through the sea to confront the air attackers with a vengeance.

The situation room far beneath the E ring of the colossal building was silent as the real-time satellite images streamed in from three KH-11s and -12s as the battle for Beijing took a turn for the worse. Not only was the largest military bombardment and shelling against a single target the world had ever been witness to a complete failure, the entire attacking force of the Chinese navy’s surface flotilla and her underwater assets, twenty of the finest submarines in the world, had been destroyed.

Many angry eyes turned toward the upper balcony, where the military technicians knew the acting president sat with his young advisory staff. The men knew they had failed the Chinese, but the president wasn’t seeing it that way.

Camden watched the giant processing saucer as it slowly rose into the sky. Fighter jets of the People’s Republic continued to pummel the shield that had withstood no less than ten small nuclear weapons and millions of artillery, tank, missile, and air strikes and had still survived.

The gray image from high above showed the watching Americans the powerful might of the enemy as the large, thick cables of the shield wall burst like a balloon; then the cables cascaded to the ground as the saucer began to climb into the sky. The shield was shed like the skin of a rejuvenated snake. They watched as the remains of buildings were also shed like a dog shaking off water. Still the great saucer rose into the dawning light of day. The two smaller saucers climbed with it as the two remaining craft that had refueled the power source shot off to the south. Tanks and artillery pieces adjusted aim and continued to pummel the unyielding saucer as it rose. Fighter aircraft dove in and several even made suicide runs and crashed into the upper sections, all to no avail. The craft simply rose at a leisurely pace as it burst through the thick columns of smoke that covered the remains of Beijing.

“General, the CIA sent this analysis over from Langley.” Caulfield’s aide handed the shocked Marine the bad news.

The general read the report and then passed it over to the remaining members of the Joint Chiefs. They too read the damage estimates to the People’s army, navy, and air force. All the chiefs were stunned with the exception of Admiral James Fuqua, who had resigned just after the destruction of the aircraft carrier Liaoning. She had gone down with all hands battling to the end. With her aircraft all shot from the sky the giant ship had died a violent death as she was ripped apart like a tin can by the remaining two saucers that had arisen from the bay and exacted a terrible revenge for the death of the third craft. Admiral Fuqua had begged for permission to send the three Virginia-class subs in the area to the rescue of the surviving crewmen of the carrier who were fighting for their lives in the sea off of China’s coast. He turned and pleaded with the new commander-in-chief to allow him to turn the 7th Fleet around and assist the Chinese in their effort as agreed upon by his predecessor, but it was all to no avail. The president merely shook his head in complete deference to the horrible disaster happening halfway around the world.

Caulfield lowered his eyes as he studied the angry military personnel far below in the situation center. He had watched an infuriated Admiral Fuqua as he stormed from the conference room; the president had accepted his immediate resignation. Caulfield watched as his friend’s replacement had been waiting in the hallway leading to the situation room.

Virginia Pollock, still there as an observer, patted the general on the arm and then she too left. She wanted to go to the ladies’ room and be sick, as she had never imagined that such carnage could be absorbed by one nation. She left with her head hung low.

General Maxwell Caulfield slowly turned away from the horrid aerial views of the burning capital city of China. He placed a hand over his eyes and then sat at the main conference table, never so ashamed in his life.

On another set of monitors flames rose high over the completely destroyed city of Mumbai. The Indian air force had attempted the same attack method as the Chinese, only they had used almost their full arsenal of nuclear missiles. The large saucer had survived the strikes of no less than the combined megatonnage of fifty warheads. With the aid of the two replenishment craft that had completely destroyed that nation’s surface fleet near the Strait of Mumbai, she had shed her defensive shield and now the giant processing vehicle was rising from the ashes of the once proud city as she too started to head for space and the raging wormhole the American imaging section said was forming. The craft entered the swirling mass of light and then departed for her home fleet with no less than three million souls in her cargo holds. Despair covered the entire world.

“This is why I will not sacrifice the military forces of this nation in a plan that would result in this.” Camden stood and gestured at the two completely destroyed cities on the screens below. “The American people will back me on this.”

Caulfield raised his head and took in the man standing at the thick glass. “You don’t know them, do you?”

Camden turned at the sound of the general’s voice. “Excuse me?”

Caulfield stood, shaking off the restraining hands of his Air Force counterpart as he foresaw the confrontation developing.

“I said you don’t know them very well, do you?” Caulfield stepped around the large table and strode to face the president.

“Know who?” Camden was joined by several members of his young staff, who feared they were about to witness something unprecedented.

“The American people!” Caulfield turned and gestured at the screen below that showed the two lost cities. “Do you for one minute think that they will be proud of what happened last night? We had a chance at a united defense with weapons developed just for this scenario, but we failed them, Mr. President. If word ever leaked out, and it will, that we basically stabbed our allies in the back, they will crucify you and I’ll be there to help. Americans don’t run, never have. Despite what most think, we do like the rest of the world, and would never, ever wish to see this tragedy befall anyone. And we refused to even assist in the rescue of drowning seamen?” He shook his head and started for the door, joined by two of the chiefs and, to Camden’s surprise, many of the politically neutral civilian staff.

“My resignation is in your security advisor’s hands,” Caulfield said.

Camden wanted to smile as he nodded his head at the security advisor, who held up the resignation letter that had been delivered to him by the general’s aide not long after Admiral Fuqua had left the room. He then opened the door to allow General Sydney Lefferts, the new head of the Joint Chiefs, into the room. The plan for getting rid of all the former president’s remaining cabinet had been initiated.

“General, are you prepared to defend the nation?” Camden asked as he placed his hands behind his back.

The U.S. Army four-star general nodded his head as the remainder of the chiefs shook theirs.

“Sir, we have recalled the 82nd and 101st from their former stations that were a part of this Operation Overlord. Thus far there has been no response, but we should be able to track them down now that the head has been removed from the traitorous—”

The rumble of men in the room voiced what most were feeling at the moment by the use of the word traitorous. Many, while not backing General Caulfield’s and Admiral Fuqua’s actions in this highly secretive plan, would not stand by and allow this man to say such a thing about an American officer who had dedicated his life to the nation.

Camden felt the first rift among his people and didn’t like it.

“Being traitorous is for history to decide. We don’t wish to stir harsh emotions in this room.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Lefferts, said bowing to the man’s wishes. “We have thus far initiated military law in all cities above a million-person population, and the smaller cities will be under military control over civil law enforcement.”

Camden was shocked when the CIA and FBI directors also got up and left without a word.

“Thank you, General. I want your new staff to get me a battle plan immediately that I can fully explain to the general population. No need to keep them in the dark. We must let them know their leaders are going to protect them far better than those in other nations.”

“Yes, sir, our National Guard units are rolling into New York, Chicago, Houston, Dallas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and other cities as we speak. I believe the populace will be willing to listen to anything you have to say very soon.”

Camden nodded his gratitude and then left with his staff following close behind — all except the two men who shared the president’s public relations duties. They exchanged looks of horror as they stood, stunned, as the calligraphers gathered their materials.

“This is beginning to smell bad. Control the civil population?”

“Those cracks yesterday about the Berlin thing, that’s not sounding that ridiculous any longer.” The taller of the two was betting his Harvard law degree that once Camden seized control there would be no wresting the power from his tight grip that he now seemed to be consolidating.

The two men didn’t know what they would do, but knew they hadn’t gotten into the political side of things to be a part of a coup, no matter how ingeniously it was disguised.

“Feel like taking a side trip to Walter Reed?”

“Yeah, why not? I would rather get shot trying to warn someone than be ordered to fall on my sword when we don’t agree with something this man says.”

The two men left the situation room more scared of their commander-in-chief than by the enemy that had just destroyed two of the world’s most populated cities.

13

Carl was sitting against the deep subbasement wall and was struck in the face by a pair of tan naval dress pants. He looked up at the cigar-chomping master chief as he stood before him.

“Where did you dig these up?” Everett asked. He tried to clear his head after being knocked into a semiconscious state after falling through the training center roof.

Jenks became sullen as he removed the stub of cigar from his mouth and then fixed his old student with the look that said it was time to buck up and listen.

“Plenty of uniforms and everything else lying around; hope they fit.”

Everett stood and removed the bathrobe that was covered in blood and then accepted a torn T-shirt from the master chief.

“Well?” Carl asked. “You’re not one for dramatics, Jenks, what’s the score?”

“As far as I can see, we just got our asses royally kicked. Can’t see much from under here until they dig us out, but you can bet there’s not much left up top.” Jenks looked away at the memory of hundreds of F-15, F-16, and Hornets falling from the sky like hailstones before he had slipped down the torn and twisted stairwell to get to the admiral moments before the building started to collapse around their ears. “Got a few boys down here in the subbasement, some of them are hurt real bad, but it’s better than what it is out there.” He gestured at the collapsed concrete and steel above their heads. “We lost a lot of good people, Toad.” Jenks looked sad, unlike him according to Everett’s memory. “My whole goddamn engineering department is gone.” He looked down at his feet and then angrily threw the cigar away. “I think I was a little hard on those kids.”

“You didn’t kill them, Jenksy,” Carl said as he slipped the filthy T-shirt over his head.

“Yeah, I guess.” He reached into his scorched lab coat and brought out five plastic disks. “But all their work didn’t die with them.” He held up the computer discs. “I have all of our simulations right here. All we have to do is get them to where my babies are waiting. I think these hold the keys to the bugs we sorted out.”

“Your babies?” Everett looked around the dimly lighted area beneath the training center.

“Yeah, the goddamn vessels that will get your boys to the target. They’re not here. Thank God some moron was bright enough not to have the ships and the men that would fly them in one place. No, my two girls are down with the rest of Overlord.”

Admiral Everett was looking at the angry men in the basement until he saw a familiar face. It was the young navy SEAL he had confronted during the training exercise that very morning. He was leaning over and tending to the wounds of a Delta sergeant sitting against the cinder-block wall. He saw Everett and then stood.

“How many made it to the shelters?” Carl asked as he too leaned over and examined the Delta commando’s wounds.

“I’m not sure, sir. The whole damn building came down around our ears as we tried to get below.” He looked around at the remaining men of the admiral’s command. “I think all of the officers from both Delta and the SEALs were killed, I’m not sure. At least half of the … the…”

Jenks walked up to the young SEAL and whispered something to him as Carl watched. The kid straightened and then faced the admiral. “Sorry, sir, it looks like we’ll be down to half strength.”

Everett nodded his thanks and then allowed the SEAL to continue tending the soldier, who looked as if he were going to join those already killed by the enemy’s surprise attack.

“How in the hell did they allow this to happen?” he asked Jenks as he turned angrily to face him.

The master chief managed to find another fresh cigar in the rumpled lab coat and stuck it in his mouth.

“We always knew it was a possibility, that’s why the separation of the engineering boys down south and the training of personnel here in Houston. We couldn’t take the chance of having both elements together. It just so happened that those Gray bastards singled us out.” He removed the cigar and fixed Everett with the look that made the master chief the terror of the United States Navy during his long tenure. “So don’t go thinkin’ your bosses left you and your men hangin’ out to dry, they didn’t. What we have to do now is get our shit together and head south as soon as we can pick up the pieces. As far as your command is concerned, you’ll have to pick up some warm bodies from the command already down south.”

“Why not here?”

“Because, as of six hours ago, this entire unit is ignoring the orders directly from the president of the United States. That means we’re not only deserters, Toad, but now a bunch of pirates that’s soon to be on our own.”

“All right, Master Chief, I’ve had about enough of this secrecy crap. What do you know?”

Jenks finally laughed out loud, drawing questioning looks from the men left in the basement.

“You orderin’ me to answer, Toad?” he asked as his smile remained.

Carl took a deep breath and then shook his head. “No, I’m asking not just for me, but them.” He gestured at the dead and wounded men around them.

“Goddamn, that’s below the belt, Toad.”

“Yes, it is.”

“This Overlord plan is so departmentalized for security reasons I only know my part … and yours. The rest is as big a mystery to me as it is to you. Whatever the large part of Overlord is, it’s bigger than anything I can imagine. If they are using my designs for what they are intended for, I really do want to see the delivery method.”

“Explain,” Everett said, not letting up.

Jenks lit his cigar in the darkness of the basement. “Okay, Toad, we have one of the original simulators for one of my babies right down here.” The master chief turned at another set of steel stairs and then stopped. “Well, you wanna see or not?”

Everett followed Jenks into the bowels of the subbasement.

When they got down the two flights of stairs Carl saw a large object covered in plastic sheeting in the center of a large room. Jenks went to a desk that was covered in dust and then found a flashlight in one of its drawers. He flicked it on and gestured for the admiral to follow.

“This was the original prototype of my initial design. We worked out the engineering with some of those boys from DARPA and NASA. But it’s my baby, make no mistake about it. They helped some, I guess, but mostly on the subsequent versions.” Jenks pulled the plastic away from the large vehicle.

“What in the hell is this?” Carl asked. He had to step back and look at the amazing sight before him.

“This is the landing craft Spruance.” Jenks’s eyes traveled over the graceful lines of the spacecraft. “The first of her kind and the lead vessel for a new class of transport — smaller than the space shuttle, but sturdier and a whole lot faster.”

Everett examined the lines of the ship. It did look like a smaller version of the shuttle, with the exception of the wing assembly. These were short and stubby, almost nonexistent. The tail boom was that only in name, as it ended abruptly just aft of what Carl assumed was the cargo hold.

“Seats a command crew of six, plus the load master. She’s capable of transporting a strike element of fully equipped, fully suited commandos to their final destination. She is armed with two five-thousand-watt laser cannon designed by the boys at DARPA and the Raytheon Corporation.” He turned to face Everett. “I understand that you may have had a hand in securing the technology somewhere in South America.” He smiled. “If the rumors are true.”

Carl didn’t answer as he examined the snow-white skin of the landing craft. He saw the collar on the front nose of the ship below the pilot’s compartment and the ring that would secure it to whatever target it was sent against. It was designed to mate with another craft, but Carl didn’t know what that craft was, but knew his men had been training for its eventual use on the destroyed mock-up that came crashing down with the training center.

“There, now you know as much as myself, Toad, my boy.” Jenks turned and admired the obsolete version of the ship that he had designed. He puffed on the cigar vigorously as he turned back to Carl. “Now, you gonna go with it, or do you want to sit down and cry your little pussy eyes out over the fact that not everybody hands out secret shit like Halloween candy — you little shit-ass.”

Everett turned and faced his old SEAL instructor and shook his head as he returned his gaze to the amazing seventeen-ton craft sitting on its pedestal.

“I think I’ll come along for the ride, you old, crusty son of a bitch.”

“That’s more fucking like it, you candy-ass officer.”

The winds had picked up just after their arrival at Camp Alamo. Jack stood warming his hands at the space heater as Henri fumbled with the bulky arctic gear, trying to remove the warm parka. Will Mendenhall made no bones about staring at the young British SAS officer who sat at the small desk, writing out the departure time of the helicopters that had delivered the three to the most desolate spot in the world.

Will leaned over and showed him the black captain’s bars on his collar. The SAS lieutenant looked up and gave Mendenhall a brief smile and nodded his head in approval, then returned to his logbook.

“In America,” Will said, drawing his words out like he was explaining something to an immigrant that spoke very little English, “a captain outranks a lieutenant. How about in your country?” he asked as Jack looked over with a small smile. Henri stopped struggling with the bulky parka and watched the exchange. The lieutenant had remained silent since their arrival and that was also getting on the Frenchman’s nerves as much as Will’s.

The lieutenant stopped writing and then fixed Will with that irritating grin.

“Yes, sir, the chain of command is very much like your own. However, the man who will answer your inquiry will arrive shortly.” He smiled and nodded his head. “Sir.”

Mendenhall gave the SAS lieutenant a dirty look and then turned to Collins. “These guys keep a secret better than the director.” He too went to the space heater and warmed his cold hands.

The lieutenant finally stood up as the buzzer on the plastic wall went off. It was like an old-fashioned telephone ring that shut off after only a second. The lieutenant walked to the far wall and faced the still struggling Farbeaux, who had finally removed the difficult parka.

“Colonel, please step aside. Professor Bennett has arrived.” The lieutenant gestured for Henri to step closer to Jack and Will.

The three men heard the soft whine of an electric motor and then the plywood flooring gently parted near the far wall. As it did the two halves slid back, revealing an opening that was dark and foreboding. As they watched in amazement a man in a furry winter coat rose from the darkened abyss. The disguised elevator stopped and the man stepped off.

“Does the same guy that invented half the stuff at Group design stuff for everyone?” Will asked as they watched the man with the thick, horn-rimmed glasses approach them.

“Evidently,” Collins answered as he took in the average-sized man.

“General Collins?” He held his hand out to Jack.

“Yes,” was the quick answer as he shook the man’s offered hand.

“Bloody good.” He shook first Will’s and then Henri’s hands. “You made the perilous trek in one piece, good show. No unexpected in-flight horrors, I take it?”

“If you call potholes in the sky a horror, we had plenty of those,” Collins said as he examined closely the strange man before him.

“Potholes,” the man repeated, and then got what Jack was saying. “Ah, yes, potholes. Good show, old man. Yes, I can only guess at the rough air you must have traveled through all the way from the States.”

Collins exchanged looks with Mendenhall and Farbeaux. Henri just closed his eyes and shook his head as he listened to the Englishman. The man just continued to smile without saying a word. Collins shook his head.

“I’m afraid you’re the second gentleman from your country that’s had the advantage over us when it comes to knowing names in the past two days.”

“Oh, my, yes, that would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?” He smiled but still said nothing until Jack raised both brows, urging him to connect the dots. “Damn, I’m just excited that you’re here, General. My name is Bennett, Charles Darcy Bennett, professor of Astrophysics and a member of Her Majesty’s Design Bureau, and former Dean of Sciences at Cambridge University.”

“Sir Darcy Bennett,” Henri said as he looked from the crumpled man to the general. “He’s got so many letters after his title that you may as well throw in the alphabet; his credentials would be shorter and more to the point that way.” He surprised both Mendenhall and Collins with his sudden burst of knowledge.

“You’ve actually heard of me? Good show, old man.” Bennett was impressed by the Frenchman’s knowledge.

“Yes, well, I ran into you a few years back, I believe. You had just misplaced a rather expensive particle accelerator from the University of Sheffield laboratory.”

The man allowed his mouth fall open in surprise. “Yes, but how would you know about—”

“Professor,” Jack interrupted as he shot the French thief a cold look. “You really don’t want to know. Let’s just say Henri here was aware that your government misplaced that particular piece of priceless equipment and leave it at that.”

Mendenhall smiled and shook his head knowing that it was Farbeaux who had relieved the British government of their little science experiment. Henri just smiled at the professor and said nothing more.

“Well, I’m sure you’re exhausted and would like to get below. We have a rather long day ahead tomorrow.” Bennett leaned in closer to the three men like a conspirator. “Our package is due to arrive.”

Collins nodded his head as if he knew what the package was. He looked over at Will and sadly shook his head.

“Now, shall we descend into madness, gentlemen?” Bennett gestured toward the lift and the dark hole beyond. “Lieutenant Davidson, you may tell your man outside to place his detonator on hold for the moment.” He smiled and looked at the three men. “Our guests’ DNA analysis came back and they are whom we believed they were.”

The SAS lieutenant nodded his head and smiled at Will Mendenhall. “Yes, Professor,” he said as his eyes finally left Will’s, and then he raised a small radio and did as he was instructed.

Bennett saw the questioning look as the three men hesitated at the lift.

“Oh, sorry, the lieutenant and his man, who is hidden quite well outside, had orders to blow you all to hell with twenty pounds of plastique — rather nasty stuff — if your DNA sequences weren’t confirmed when you walked inside and breathed the air of this room. Sorry, we’re cautious buggers around here.” He walked to the lift and then waved the men on. “MI6 is running the security for our little band of mad scientists.”

Jack, Will, and Henri cautiously stepped onto the lift with the smiling Bennett. The professor stepped on a hidden switch buried in the steel grate and the elevator started down into the solid ice.

“Rather much I know, but the James Bond attitude is seriously warranted after the attack on your Camp David, and especially after the disasters of last evening in Mumbai and Beijing.”

Jack looked at the man and raised a questioning brow.

“Oh, of course you couldn’t have known. Both cities have been totally destroyed after the Gray sots absconded with the bulk of their populations. Yes, I’m afraid the fun and games around here are over.”

“I would think so,” Will said, becoming angry at the professor’s flippant remark.

The man became serious as he saw the upset way in which the young captain responded.

“I didn’t mean to make light of the horrors of what happened, young man, but you must realize that we are in no better position here at Camp Alamo — thus the name the soldiers have given it.”

“Why is that?” Mendenhall asked as the lift continued down into the blue ice.

“Because, old boy, the men and women here at Camp Alamo fully expect to die in this rather bizarre endeavor, and have volunteered for Overlord regardless.”

“Well,” Henri said as he felt his stomach lurch as the lift sped up and safety bars rose on all sides of the platform, “I haven’t volunteered for anything.”

The professor laughed heartily. “Again, good show, old man, always keep that sense of humor, it will help you in the coming days. You French, always the kidders in the face of danger, very admirable.”

Henri Farbeaux cursed his luck. “Who said I was kidding?”

The lift traveled down seven hundred feet through thick, blue ice, and that ice caused the professor’s laugh to echo endlessly off the carved walls of the shaft.

As the four men stepped off the lift they were confronted by no less than twenty armed United States Marines. The professor waved his hand and then nodded at the gunnery sergeant leading the squad. Jack was the first to notice the strange weapons in the hands of the Marines. They were lightweight and made of composite plastic. They were also crystal-tipped-barreled rifles, the sort Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw II almost blew both of his hands off with in a deep South American tunnel four years before as he fired off an alien designed weapon.

“It seems at least some of the alien tech is paying off,” Collins said as three of the Marines stepped forward and relieved the men of their bags. The gunnery sergeant stood at rigid attention in front of Jack.

The Marines were dressed in white colored BDUs as half of the twenty men stepped onto the lift and began the long climb to the surface. The rest of the Marine detail left the group of men as Professor Bennett waved the men forward from the elevator gallery. As they entered a carved-out section of ice the men had to stop as they gazed upon what looked like a large crystal tunnel system that stretched for miles. Five arms of tunneled-out ice went off in varying directions as small tram cars loaded with soldiers, sailors, and technicians in white lab coats transited to places unknown. The ice should have been melting in the comfortable atmosphere of the tunnels, but the general noticed the coolant lines that ran just beneath the surface kept the ice sound.

“Yes, a marvel of engineering by one of your universities — Montana, I think. Yes, Montana State. I’m afraid without the coolant lines we would all be bloody swimming.” Bennett approached a tram that was waiting for the three new members of Overlord. “We are surrounded by a very ancient inland sea, thus a lot of frozen water.”

The tram was plastic and traveled along an embedded rail that coursed through the floor of the tunnel system. As Jack and the others climbed onboard the professor punched in his desired destination. The sixteen-person vehicle silently moved off without the aid of a driver.

“Camp Alamo has one thousand different laboratories, five hundred shops for engineering purposes, along with research and development. We have personnel space for ten thousand military personnel and technicians. Completely separate, of course, is the center of the lake system where … well, where Overlord really resides.”

The tram moved forward without a question being asked because each of the three knew that any questions would bring on only more confusion as just another compartmentalized secret.

“We have to make arrangements for about a thousand additional personnel as we bring in survivors of not only the trainees from the Johnson Space Center, but we’ll soon also have guests from the Russian Navy. I understand a rather large vessel of theirs will never see the ocean again after it docks. She took quite a beating a few days ago not far from here.” Professor Bennett looked momentarily saddened. “Bloody shame, actually, as we owe that ship and her crew everything.”

Collins looked over at Mendenhall as they both thought the same thing at once. Sarah and Jason, if they were still alive, would be here shortly.

The tram arrived at a location that was filled with activity. The structures surrounding a large square were made of thick plastic and glass. The roadway here wasn’t ice but asphalt. The tram moved off as the men exited. They were in front of a large structure that flew the blue flag of the United Nations, with the corresponding flags of the once cooperative nations flanking the taller pole in the middle.

“Before we enter the briefing, gentlemen, two young men have requested an audience with you, General. Something about being old acquaintances or something like that. When you finish, feel free to join me inside.” The professor moved off and immediately started to greet others entering the structure with the many steel steps leading to double doors that were guarded by SAS men. These were identified by their red berets.

As Jack, Will, and Henri examined the surroundings of ice walls and the perfectly carved tunnel system, two men in battle whites approached. When Jack saw them he was amazed, to say the least. He had been told his command would involve specialists from all over the world, but never in his wildest imagination did he expect to see these two. He smiled and approached them as they stopped and saluted. Jack ignored the military protocol and held out his hand to the first man.

“Lieutenant Tram, you’re a long way from home.” Jack shook the small Vietnamese officer’s hand. He had served with Van Tram in the same South American action of four years before. The Vietnamese national was possibly the best man with a rifle he had ever seen, and had demonstrated that ability time and time again in the deep mines of Peru.

Tram smiled as he lowered his hand after Collins forsook the salute, then took Jack’s offered gesture and shook stiffly at first, but then with more enthusiasm.

“It is … good … to see … you … again, General,” Tram uttered in his attempt at English.

“And speaking the barbarian’s tongue too,” Jack joked, easing the small man’s demeanor.

Collins turned to the larger of the two. This officer was dressed the same as Tram but had a blue beret over his blond hair. The colonel held out his hand and Major Sebastian Krell of the German Army nodded his head and shook the general’s hand. The major had been one of the best assets he had in the same operation in which Tram had assisted. He had led the defense of the mines in Peru against an army of mercenaries; without him the technology stash would have never been recovered. Krell was also an officer who had been personally trained in black operation by Jack himself.

“Jack,” Major Krell said, forgoing all signs of military protocol as he shook his hand. “Glad to see you finally made it. I guess we volunteered again.”

“So you did, Sebastian, so you did. Don’t tell me you two are assigned to me?”

“Well, I don’t know about our little communist friend here, but when the chancellor said you would be leading the defense of some out of the way and likely dangerous place, I came.”

“Yeah, sorry about the death of the chancellor. I understand he was instrumental in getting this thing”—he gestured at the strange base that surrounded them—“off the ground.”

“Whatever this thing is,” Mendenhall said as he shook first Tram’s hand and then Krell’s.

“Captain Mendenhall? Now that’s rising fast through the ranks,” Sebastian said as he released Will’s hand. “It must be nice to have friends in high places … like generals, huh?”

“I was railroaded, just like the general.” The four men laughed. Will stepped back and gestured toward Henri. “Gentlemen, Colonel Henri Farbeaux of the French Army,” he said with the slightest trace of humor edging his voice.

Sebastian Krell hesitated before taking the Frenchman’s hand. “Colonel Farbeaux. I believe I’ve heard that name before.” He shook despite the fast-returning memory.

“Only if you’ve been in the post office and seen his picture,” Will not quite jokingly quipped about seeing a wanted poster of the infamous colonel.

Farbeaux shook both men’s hands and then looked around.

“Perhaps you can shed some light on what this is all about?” Henri asked as he was noticing soldiers of every nation on the planet as they went from place to place. The one thing he noticed the most was the strange uniforms of some of them. They were completely different from most as they were coveralls and had the emblems of NASA and the European Space Agency emblazoned on their breast pockets.

“Well, we were hoping you would share that with us. All we’ve done is train with our foreign buddies here”—he touched Tram on the shoulder—“and start to take courses in direct-line combat with the boys from your 82nd and 101st Airborne. And then more classes on armored tactics with the 23rd Armored Division of the German Army, which I understood even less than the American classes.”

Jack had no answers for the two officers, but he knew that he wanted to keep these two men close to him, Will, and Farbeaux. He owed these two men that much at the very least.

“Look, I guess I’m the man in charge,” he said, looking from Krell to Tram, “So I guess I can do whatever I want around here. So, you two consider yourselves a part of my staff.”

“Deal,” Sebastian said as he smiled over at Tram, who looked on in a fog of confusion.

Jack, Will, and Farbeaux were led directly into the large building constructed of aluminum and plastic. The barren walls attested to the fast fabrication of the council chamber and only the electronics suite and the monitors lining the walls were anything like normal to the men from the Event Group. Inside Collins and his men were introduced to General Dave Rhodes, commander of the 101st Airborne Division, whom Jack knew almost as well as his friends at Group. The last time Collins had seen Rhodes he had been a captain leading a company of Rangers during the Iraqi invasion. The men shook hands and then Jack was led to Colonel Wesley Bunting, acting commander of the 82nd Airborne. Then finally to one-star general Heinrich Bader, a stern-looking Wehrmacht officer commanding the controversial new German Armor Corps, the 23rd Panzer Division.

Jack shook the general’s hand as the man stood rigid. He knew the officer was the leader of the most controversial division on the planet simply because of the designation of the unit. The 23rd Panzer Division was famous for one thing in history: it was once known as the most brutal component of the once famous Afrika Corps. The 23rd had been disbanded after World War II and the new German chancellor, before his death, had reinstated the famed division, despite the protests of its own citizens. The memories of those hard days had yet to wane in the minds and hearts of many Germans. The strain of commanding such a division was clearly showing on the general’s face.

“General, I’ve heard good things about your new division. Top notch, I understand.”

“General Collins, my men will do their duty. As you know, the savior of our division died for us — not directly, of course, but he was responsible for us being reborn.”

Collins looked the tall German in the eyes and then smiled. “Well, from what I understand you’ll get a shot at the animals that killed him.”

The general clicked his heels, then moved off to join the two other commanders of the defensive units.

Jack turned and faced Will and Henri. “I wonder how long until all three of those men are on the traitors’ block when and if they refuse a direct order to come home?”

Farbeaux watched as they were approached by Sir Darcy Bennett. He leaned in so only Mendenhall and Collins could hear. “The better question, General, is, does it matter if we are all hung at home, or die amongst the ice and snow of this barren land? All in all, I think it doesn’t matter anymore, because whatever they have in store for us in this most bizarre place, it will end up accomplishing either outcome.”

“Colonel, you have to quit being so damn optimistic.”

Jack smiled at Will’s retort as Bennett walked up and gestured for the three men to take their seats. Then he walked to the front of the room and removed his heavy jacket and remained standing. Besides the military officers, Jack saw ten other men in varying states of dress. Most had lab coats on, with about a hundred pens and pencils in each pocket.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the first full staff meeting of the defense group for Camp Alamo. Since the arrival of General Collins this afternoon, this is the first full defensive meeting since Operation Overlord came into being four years ago.”

Jack sat at the opposite end of the table and noticed many of the faces were looking at him. Many shied away but most had the look of hope that he was capable of performing whatever his duties might entail. In other words, there was worry on most of those faces.

“General Collins will be addressing you later in the evening, once the old boy gathers his wits about him after his long and perilous journey. As for now we need all commands and civilian defensive groups to have full equipment and capability studies delivered to the offices of the commanding general no later than”—Bennett looked at the wall clock—“eighteen hundred hours.” He looked at Jack for confirmation, but the general remained silent and didn’t react. How in the hell was he supposed to know when the reports should be delivered? He was sure the cooks in whatever mess hall they were going to eat at knew more about his duties than he did at the moment.

“General, we have developed some amazing defensive equipment for your units to operate with that should provide an edge, if and when they are needed. But after Beijing and Mumbai, we truly hope those measures won’t be needed, and we can get Overlord up before the Grays know what is happening right under their noses.”

General Bader stood and in a nod of deference toward Bennett, apologizing beforehand for interrupting, he partially turned to face Jack.

“Herr Bennett, General Collins, I must know the timetable for my men to take to the field for operational training on the new cannon for our tanks and armor. We have no OJT for maneuvering in this kind of environment. We attend classes, but as the general knows that is no substitute for field training — especially with equipment never before used in combat. That amounts to a disaster in the works.” The general sat down to the nods of the men from the 101st and 82nd Airborne.

Collins saw the academia shaking their heads in disagreement. It was a woman who stood as the buzz of conversation went around the compact room

“Professor Kenilworth, you have something to say?” Bennett asked as he looked at the woman and then shook his head in Jack’s direction, privately indicating to him that this was an ongoing argument between the engineers and the military, something Jack knew was always prevalent between the two. He realized how closely this team resembled the makeup of the Event Group. The dark-haired woman faced the men around the table as the room became silent.

“We have told our friends time and time again, we completely sympathize with the restraints that we have put on you in regards to training. But if we expose a large force of men outside of this complex for training and maneuvering exercises it can do nothing but attract the very element we are hiding from,” the woman said in her British accent. “As far as your vehicles and their new tracks, we can guarantee they will work in this environment.”

It was Dave Rhodes who stood next. He nodded at the professor as she sat down.

“The question is, are we prepared to do what is asked of us in the defense of this camp and the subsurface areas beneath us? By our understanding, Overlord must be protected until such a time as whatever she is, is ready for action.” He turned to face Jack. “General, we have not even been provided working plans of the sub areas of the ancient lake. We have no way of setting up any form of defensive line.” He turned to face the academics to the front of the table. “I must tell you, for all the brain power sitting around this table you are rather short on the knowledge of the difference between the ice Overlord is buried in, and the snow that sits above our heads. Vehicles react differently between ice and snow, new track or not. We need to know what it is we’re protecting and how to do it. This we cannot do without the plans of the frozen lake beneath our feet.”

Jack finally stood and faced the men and women of the defensive group of Operation Overlord.

“I haven’t had time to even brush my teeth since my arrival,” he said to some nervous laughter. He faced the three military officers who sat hoping for some form of good news from their new commander. “But I think I can safely say this: Whatever the defensive posture of this area is, I will study it, learn it, and I will get your men acquainted with their equipment some way, somehow, without upsetting your”—he faced the engineers—“our security concerns. And if we have orders to protect an area of Camp Alamo that I am not aware of, and we have no detailed plans being offered us, then I guarantee that will change, and change immediately.” This time Jack’s eyes met those of Bennett’s and didn’t waver. The three military commanders seemed satisfied for the moment.

“I’m afraid that will have to be taken up with Lord Durnsford when he arrives, and of course with Admiral Kinkaid and Admiral Huffington — all men who won’t take too kindly to your request, General.”

One name Jack knew. Admiral James Kinkaid was a legend in the United States Navy. Carl Everett had spoken about the man many times. He was considered the Hyman Rickover of the twenty-first century; a man who had pushed the antiquated postwar naval forces into the future with the advent of nuclear propulsion. Kinkaid was the same with his rumored involvement with trying to get the navy to be more advanced in the area of space. Jack had heard the rumor he had been shunted aside after particularly bad run-ins with more than one secretary of defense through the years.

As for Admiral Huffington, it was known he was a tenacious Brit who hated any and all things in the nature of surface forces, a man the Royal Navy hid from sight for his addresses to parliament on the endless manufacture of ocean-going vessels that would be sunk in the outset of any major engagement against the Russians or the Chinese. Evidently the powers that be had found usefulness out of these two pariahs, and now the general would have to work with the men the rest of the world leadership and military hated and despised.

“That I will, Sir Bennett. If they want whatever this base is hiding protected, I need to know how to do that, or their plans won’t see the light of day. I have seen the way the Grays fight and they will eventually lay all of this”—he waved a hand around the room—“to waste until there is nothing here but melted ice.”

That seemed to get the attention of all, as the room fell silent. Eyes looked away from Jack’s angry demeanor and looked at nothing. Collins sat down.

“Very well, I think we can adjourn for now to allow General Collins and his staff time to study his rules of engagement and start to evaluate men and equipment. General, we are all at your disposal, as we are desperately seeking the same goal: We must protect what is hidden below us at all costs, even if even we all have to face the two admirals on a daily basis.”

Laughter erupted almost immediately from the academics as the tension was broken. The men and women stood and started making their way to the door, with many of them stopping and shaking the hands of Will, Henri, and Jack on their way by. When the military commanders nodded their thanks, it was Farbeaux who once more summed it up.

“Tell me this isn’t a government operation. Situation normal—”

“All fucked up,” Jack and Will said simultaneously, finishing the old military axiom for the acronym SNAFU.

Matchstick always drew a crowd of the curious whenever he ventured into the cafeteria. Many stopped by just to say a few words to the small green alien as he sat propped up in a child’s seat at the round table. Matchstick was unusually quiet as the men and women of Department 5656 moved off, wondering what had affected the small being so, as he was just staring at the large slice of cheese pizza on his tray. Denise Gilliam sat next to him, watching, sipping her coffee, and worrying about the state of mind of their guest. As her eyes moved around the almost deserted eatery, she was saddened by the fact that it was abundantly clear that most of the military personnel were absent from the complex. The cafeteria was normally a place where the Group’s academic and military arms came together and formed what the Group was known for — closeness. She shook her head and felt what Matchstick must have been feeling — a sense of loss.

Matchstick reached out and placed one of his long fingers next to the slice of cheese pizza, touched it, and then pulled his hand away. Dr. Gilliam knew that when Matchstick wasn’t either eating or talking about eating, there was something definitely on his mind. Finally the small alien looked up at Denise, who smiled, trying to ease the being’s troubled mind. Mahjtic didn’t say anything and then returned his large eyes to the cold pizza.

Charlie Ellenshaw cleared his throat. Both occupants of the table looked up and saw him and Pete Golding standing by the table. With a look from Pete, Denise got the hint and then reached for her coffee.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go and bother Gus in the clinic. He’s particularly tired and grumpy today.”

Matchstick looked up at the departing Denise Gilliam and then started to get down from his elevated chair. It was Charlie who sat next to him and smiled.

“Matchstick, you have a minute?” he asked as he pushed back some of his white hair from the frames of his wire-rimmed glasses. Alice Hamilton entered and also approached the table. She held a file in her hand.

Matchstick looked from face to face, fearing they were about to deliver bad news about Gus, but then Alice opened the folder and removed several photos. She held them while Pete explained why they were there.

“Mahjtic,” Pete began, letting the alien know it was serious by his use of his real name. “We just received the latest deep space images from the Hubble.”

Matchstick’s demeanor changed as he had been waiting for the deep-space imagery to come in for the past sixteen hours.

“It seems the final phase that you warned us about has commenced.” Pete nodded that Alice should show him the black and white imagery. She slid the first picture toward the extended, elongated fingers. “We haven’t forwarded these to Dr. Pollock as of yet because we wanted confirmation before alarming the rest of the world.” Pete shook his head sadly as he realized with the evidence they were holding, Operation Overlord, whatever that truly was, was now out of time. Matchstick looked at Pete and Charlie, then the obsidian orbs settled on Alice, who smiled and gestured that he should examine the first photo. Pete gestured that Alice should continue.

“At 2200 hours, local time, three nuclear power plants inside Russia were raided by many support ships of the Grays.” She pointed to the picture of the blank spot near the Vistula River Nuclear facility. She placed another photo of another site. “This is a military reconnaissance view of the Hanford Nuclear Labs inside Washington State taken six hours later. A raid was conducted there; every one of two thousand personnel were killed in the attack. Very experimental energy storage units were taken and then the facility was destroyed, just as the three power-generating plants at other locations, sixteen plants in all. The support saucers entered a transit wormhole and vanished.”

Matchstick studied the prints and then blinked several times as he took in the images. The eyes were wide and attentive as he examined them. Alice pulled two more photos from the packet.

“As I said, these were taken by the Hubble. It shows the alien fleet at Point Hermes, still the same location and still many thousands of light-years away.” She gave Matchstick the photo. He looked at it and then at Alice. “This one is a shot, blurry though it is, of the large processing ships rejoining that fleet after they lifted off from our world and exited the atmosphere through a return wormhole.” She pointed at the fuzzy image of the larger craft as they took up station inside the formation of ships.

Charlie noticed the grip of Mahjtic tightened on the photo.

“Now, the largest ship of the fleet, the one that we now know, thanks to you, is what you have called their main energy-production vessel. You can see it here.” She pointed once more at the same photo. “Now, the saucers that conducted the raids at the nuclear plants inside Russia and at the Hanford facility are seen here after their arrival through another wormhole.” She gave Matchstick another photo, leaving only one inside the folder. “They have linked with this other, the largest vessel in the alien fleet. Perhaps transferring power, we don’t know. Now the disturbing thing is that you always told Garrison Lee and Niles Compton that we would know when the full-scale attack would occur — when this energy ship came up missing from the fleet. Well,” she gave Matchstick the last shot the Hubble had taken, “it has. It and what we estimate as close to five thousand of their processing and attack saucers have vanished from Point Hermes.”

Matchstick didn’t even look at the last as he knew what it would show. Europa was always deadly accurate with her calculations. If she said these attack saucers were missing, they were indeed missing from the remainder of the alien fleet. That, coupled with the absence of the island-sized power ship, meant the Grays were on their way to Earth in force.

“Your opinion, my friend?” Charlie asked as gently as he could. Matchstick looked up and fixed them all with his black, obsidian eyes.

“There … is … only one … event … that could … cause … our enemy … to accelerate … their attack … schedule. The … Gray … Masters … have … found … something … that … must … be … destroyed … immediately,” he struggled to say aloud. He closed his eyes and sat silently. “You must pass this … on … to … Camp Alamo.”

“What could be so important that they have to attack before they are fully capable of doing so?” Alice urged and then her own eyes widened as she realized what Matchstick knew.

“Operation Overlord,” Charlie said.

“Somehow they have learned the location of Overlord and are coming to destroy it with an overwhelming force,” Pete said as he watched Mahjtic shake in his small seat.

“Alice, get these off to Virginia and then copy the colonel — I mean, General Collins. Virginia will know how to reach him. Tell them the jig is up and they have limited time.”

Alice stood and then paused. “How much time do you estimate, Matchstick?”

“Soon, very soon the Grays will strike … and then all … is … lost … for Overlord.”

Charlie Ellenshaw reached out and took the long fingers of Matchstick’s shaking hand and squeezed. The old cryptozoologist tried to smile but found he couldn’t generate the appropriate muscle movement for that simple task, because if the truth be known he was far more scared than their small green friend.

“Go ahead, Alice, send the message,” the acting complex director said with a faraway look.

“I believe I should say what we suspect the Gray target is in the open, so there can be no misunderstanding,” she said.

Pete forlornly nodded his approval.

“Target is Overlord.”

Virginia Pollock accepted the coffee from Lee Preston with a nod of her head. The constitutional attorney had been impressed by this tall, skinny, and very tenacious woman since he had met her. She seemed to be able to stay awake for days at a time and not lose any of her powers of conclusion or reasoning. He was curious as to what she did, exactly who this highly educated woman was, and how she came to associate herself with his friend, Alice Hamilton.

Lee Preston was silent as he sat down next to Virginia and looked at her. She felt the man’s eyes on her and then raised one of her pointed brows in his direction. She didn’t want to talk, but she knew a question was forthcoming. She looked from the lawyer to the sleeping form of Niles Compton.

“You and Dr. Compton have worked together for a while, I take it?” he asked in a low voice.

Virginia sipped the coffee and grimaced, then reached out and placed it on the small table next to the window. Preston smiled and then did the same thing with his cup.

“I know it’s bad. But with all of the security running around here with the president right down the hallway, it’s very difficult getting to the cafeteria.”

“It’s okay; I think my kidneys are floating anyway. Thanks, though. And yes, we’ve worked together for the better part of fifteen years.” She looked from the bed to Preston. “I don’t know what I would do without him there to guide me through the things we have to do sometimes.”

“Well, Mrs. Hamilton speaks very highly of him … and you. She told me that if you cannot be protected by my constitutional prowess, she would geld me like a worthless horse.”

Virginia laughed for the first time in what she thought was a month. She nodded her head.

“How would you ever come to know a woman like Alice?” she asked.

“Well, I’ll make this short, because I only have to say one name that I am sure you are familiar with. Garrison Lee. I was a young buck on the constitutional congressional hearings on budget restraint, and it was rumored I was close to finding out some rather disconcerting information on a rather large department that was hidden deep in the power base of government.” He looked sideways at Virginia and she only winked. “Well, the rumor got out, I’m afraid, and I got a call from President Clinton at the time. He asked if I would meet with a gentleman who might have some information for me concerning said investigation. Well, being stupid and naïve and thinking the president must mean business — you see, he was going through a rough patch as far as his personal and professional conduct were concerned — so I said yes, as a favor to his office I would meet said gentleman.”

Virginia smiled as she knew just where this story was headed.

“We were to meet at my office, but instead as I was leaving home one morning a rather scary gentleman with a limp, a cane, and an eye patch was sitting in my car that was parked in my garage. Without looking at me he introduced himself. The name, of course, was familiar, as most heroes of the old war years are around this city. Well, he calmly asked if I preferred to go on with my professional life or go for a ride with him.”

“I see. A long ride with Garrison Lee. Not one I would like to take.”

“I thought at the time that he couldn’t threaten a member of Congress like that. Well, my phone rang in the car and he nodded that I should answer it. I did. It was the president; he asked if I had met Mr. Lee and I said yes I had, as I watched him out of the corner of my eye. The president asked if I was going to work or go out riding with the man in the car. I couldn’t believe the offhanded way the president of the United States had just threatened me. Well, I told him I’ll just go to work. The president said good, that was what he would do in my place. Then he said that he suspected that all inquiries regarding the rather large budget of the National Archives would”—he smiled—“just slip by the wayside. I said yes, they would.” Then Lee reached over and pushed my automatic garage door opener. It opened and a lovely older lady walked in the garage as if she owned the place, opened the rear door, and stepped in with a brown paper bag. She handed Lee a coffee, me a coffee, and then smiled at me from the rearview mirror. We sat and had coffee, and Garrison and Alice explained to me a little of what they did for a living. And that’s how I met Mrs. Hamilton.”

Virginia laughed out loud at the story, as it was so much Alice and Lee that she would have had nightmares for a year if it had been her. “I doubt very much if Alice would have harmed you. You see, she, like me, is a rabid constitutionalist.”

Lee Preston turned away and looked at the ceiling of the hospital room.

“I noticed you didn’t mention Garrison Lee in that sentence.” He turned and smiled.

“Yes, I am aware of that.” The smile remained.

“Well, if Mrs. Hamilton is a friend of Dr. Compton’s, he’s a friend of mine.” He turned and looked at Virginia. “And after learning a little bit about what it is you people do, even I can live to be a little light on the constitution.”

Before Virginia could respond, the door opened and a man the acting director of Department 5656 recognized immediately, stepped into the room. He paused at the bed and looked down on Niles Compton and shook his head. He had his hands on his hips and made a tsk, tsk sound as he looked. The man turned and walked to the far side of the hospital room and pulled up a chair to face Lee Preston and Virginia. He placed his hands in his lap and smiled.

“Assistant Director Peachtree, what brings you here?” Virginia asked.

The middle-aged man with the perfectly coifed hair looked from the two and then at the darkened screen of the television.

“Oh, well, I guess you’ve missed the news waiting here like you are. It’s Director Peachtree now. It seems my old boss, Mr. Easterbrook, has opted for the private life of a country gentleman.” The smile was wide and genuine.

Lee Preston crossed one leg over the other and remained silent, as did Virginia.

The attention went to Lee Preston. “I think you should know, Mr. Preston, I have initiated an investigation through my good friends at Homeland Security for your part in the illegal immigrant litigation currently happening in Arizona. It seems you may have received monies from sources on many, many enemies lists of that particular federal agency.”

“I was wondering when you people were going to pull the old ‘security risk’ file out and dust it off. I guess I was bound to become a nuisance when I filed court documents trying to stop the good people of Arizona from putting up an electrified fence around their common border with Mexico, and killing Lord knows how many people in the process. Well, take your best shot, Mr. Director, I’ll be waiting in my office with my copy of the Constitution.”

The man nodded and turned his attention to Virginia, then he glanced at Niles across the room.

“Now you, young lady, I need to know where your asset is being held. We would like a chance at debrief.”

Virginia smiled as best she could, but the action never reached her lovely eyes. Preston saw this and leaned back, not wanting to get any venom on his expensive suit.

“I guess you must have missed the part where I told you to go fuck yourself.” She glanced at the dark television screen. “But I guess you were too busy stabbing your boss in the back to have heard.”

“The asset, Ms. Pollock,” he said without his condescending smirk. “The asset known as Mahjtic Tilly — we want him and are going to get him.”

“Dr. Pollock,” she said, batting her eyes the way Alice Hamilton had taught her over the years.

“The president of the United States has issued me orders to debrief your asset at the earliest possible time as the security of the United States is at risk — and that, Doctor, gives him special powers.”

“Debrief,” Preston said aloud. “An old CIA euphemism for torture in the rough, tough, Cold War days.” He looked at Peachtree. “If I recall correctly.”

“If it comes to that. After all, the asset isn’t really human, is he? He’s one of them,” he said, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

“Maybe not,” Virginia said, leaning forward in her chair, “But Lynn Simpson Collins was very much human, wasn’t she?”

The look on Peachtree’s face was priceless as Lee Preston suddenly became very interested in the name just mentioned by Virginia.

“We know more than you ever could fathom, Mr. Director, and someone, someday is going to answer for her murder. I suspect that may end at the White House in the long run, and the man that will explain it to you and the president can get to you anywhere, anytime.”

“I believe you just threatened the president of the United States,” he said as he stood suddenly.

“No, I believe she just made a statement about a murderer being caught, nothing about that murderer being the president. Is that what you’re saying?” Preston said as he too stood and buttoned his coat.

Peachtree smiled and then relaxed as he realized he didn’t have the upper hand any longer.

“Very well, Dr. Pollock, a warrant will be issued and delivered to Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada at the earliest opportunity. I suggest you heed the warrant when issued, even if your complex is buried beneath the desert. We want the asset, and we will get him.” Peachtree started for the door, stopped and looked at the unconscious Niles Compton, and then turned back to face them. “One way or the other.” He left.

“I hate to say it, but right at this moment that man is holding all the aces in the deck, and even the deck belongs to the White House.”

Virginia knew she had to get Matchstick out of the complex. She shook her head as the door opened once again. It was one of the president’s loyal Secret Service agents; she recognized him from his constant vigil over the comatose president. He walked straight to Virginia and handed her a note.

“This was just passed to us from the president’s private phone system. The first lady asked me to pass it on to you.” He left the room.

Virginia knew that the message had come to her through the official channels that included the president’s laptop and through his close ties with the NSA. She read the note.

“Damn,” she said aloud as she looked at Lee Preston. “Mr. Preston, I thank you for being here and helping me with Peachtree, but I have to ask you to leave me alone with Director Compton for a moment.”

“I understand,” he said and started to leave.

“Mister…,” She stopped and then thought better of her lead in. “Lee, please corner that Secret Service agent in the hallway. Ask him to find General Caulfield and get him here as soon as possible. He should know how to get ahold of him.”

Preston nodded his head and then left. Virginia went to the bedside of Niles Compton. She saw him sleeping but leaned over and spoke.

“Niles, wake up, it’s happening. Operation Overlord is going to be attacked. Niles, please wake up.”

Virginia looked around the room in despair as Compton remained out.

With the president’s men going after Matchstick, and the Gray situation going critical, she was faced with having to go directly through the official chain of command. That meant dealing with Giles Camden’s new staff, where she knew a sympathetic ear was going to be impossible to find. She looked at Niles and frowned as he seemed to be dreaming in his sleep. She turned away as the door opened once again. She was disappointed that it wasn’t General Caulfield or another friendly face, but two men she had seen on television standing behind the new man in office.

“Look, assholes, I’ve had enough threats for today, so you can kiss my—”

“Dr. Pollock, we’re not here to threaten you,” said the smaller of the two with his briefcase held tightly in his grip. “I think we’ve come to help. We want to know if there is anything we can possibly do to assist you and whoever it is that you work for.”

Virginia was stunned as she remembered the two young faces from the news reports.

It was the two young public relations experts for the new president of the United States, and they looked very frightened.

14

A thousand Argentinean and British soldiers watched as the Pyotr Veliky was towed into port by the two frigates of the U.S. Navy. The men gathered at the large dock were amazed at the damage incurred on the giant missile cruiser that looked as if she was about to succumb to the calm waters off Orkney. The sight even curbed the historic hard feelings between the two nations that had battled two decades before over the Falkland Islands. No man wanted to be witness to the scene of the proud warship as she was assisted into port.

Two of the men who had joined the crowd of onlookers were Admiral Carl Everett and former Master Chief Jenks who, with their men and materials, had just arrived by C-130 Hercules transports and now awaited their transfer to Camp Alamo. Carl had sent his remaining fifty-two men onto the large airstrip to load what gear they had remaining after the Gray strike on the Space Center.

Everett had explained to Jenks that Sarah McIntire and Jason Ryan, along with a woman he knew, was supposedly onboard the Pyotr Veliky—although he still didn’t know if the trio were alive or dead. The report had filtered through the soldiers waiting at the dock that the cruiser had suffered catastrophic losses in her brief engagement with the Grays. Everett saw the men who had saved the missile cruiser from going under start to line the decks as she was finally tied off and technicians ran aboard her like ants swarming a wounded elephant. They all saw the men of the battle-hardened ship wave as the vessel that had saved them moved quickly back to sea after escorting her in. The strange shape of the USS Zumwalt moved slowly past her damaged charge and blew her horn in salute to the proud Russian vessel. The men on the cruiser’s deck waved and hollered their thanks at the American seamen lining her stealth-designed angled decks.

“Glad to know the goddamn navy can get something right from time to time,” Jenks hissed as he puffed his cigar.

“Damn thing looks too small to fight a battle,” Everett said as he watched the stealthy frigate leave the small bay.

“Yeah,” Jenks said as he looked at the taller Everett, “well, everything tough doesn’t have to be big, does it, Toad?”

Carl laughed as he knew the master chief was referring to himself. “No, but it sure helps sometimes.”

Jenks cleared his throat and spit and then glared at Everett.

The men on the dock watched as a large Royal Navy shipboard crane started to lift a large object off the fantail of the listing cruiser. Technicians were screaming at the operators to lift it slowly. It was eventually placed down on a large transport awaiting its delivery. It was being taken to the hold of the large C-5a Galaxy waiting for it on the airstrip.

“I guess they’re in a hurry before all of this activity attracts prying eyes from up there,” Jenks said as he looked skyward into the crisp, cold air.

Carl joined Jenks in looking apprehensively into the sky. The combat air patrols by a squadron of Sea Harriers of the Royal Navy had ceased two hours before the damaged Pyotr Veliky had entered the bay. Too much attention to the area was the reason he figured.

Jenks stepped back as a dark-haired woman grabbed Everett by the fur-lined jacket he was wearing and turned him to face her. She kissed him deeply as Jenks raised his thick brows in wonder. Carl picked Anya Korvesky up and swung her around. He hugged her and then set her down with a serious look on his face.

“Sarah and Jason?”

Anya pointed to the ship’s gangway she had just run down to the consternation of the safety officials on the dock. Sarah and Ryan were walking down the thick planking with their bags. Sarah saw Everett and she waved, surprised to see him. Ryan was stunned as well as they reached the bottom and then hurried toward the waiting trio.

“Well, I see you’re done cruising with the Russian Navy,” Carl said as he hugged Sarah. He shook hands with Ryan, who immediately saw the new shoulder boards on the admiral’s fur-hooded parka. His eyes widened.

“Whose ass have you been kissing … sir?” Ryan asked as he turned to Sarah in mock horror.

“He better start by kissing mine since I have the fate of his men in my ample hands,” Jenks said as he eyed Anya up and down appreciatively.

“Master Chief?” Sarah said for her second shock in as many seconds.

“Hello, little lieutenant, glad to see you and Mr. Ryan made it off the communist pig boat alive.” He accepted the strong hug from McIntire. Jason shook the man’s hand and then shook his head. He turned to Anya and explained.

“Once upon a time, the admiral here sank the master chief’s boat … on purpose, if I remember.”

Anya smiled as she saw the memory was an especially fond one for Carl and Ryan, but not so much to the scowling little man they faced.

“Goddamn right it was on purpose.” Jenks started to turn away from the group. “And it’s Professor Jenks to you from now on, Commander Short Shit,” he said to Ryan as he started to walk off. “Now if you ladies would like to escort an old sea dog to his aircraft, we have a flight we have to catch.”

“I too have a flight to catch,” a voice said from behind them. Carl looked up and saw a Russian officer as he approached.

“Captain Lienanov,” Sarah said as she saw the man in full black dress uniform. “What’s going on?”

“It seems the powers that be have declared me shipless. The Pyotr Veliky has been declared unfit for sea duty and is to be scuttled immediately in a very much witnessed fire at sea, so as to make others believe she succumbed to her battle damage with her cargo still strapped on her deck.” He looked back sadly at the ship he had commanded for only five days. The very same crane that had lifted off the alien power plant was now lowering a duplicate mock-up onto the fantail where men of the missile cruiser were waiting to tie it down.

“I’m sorry, Captain, for the loss of your command,” Ryan said in total sympathy. The Russian officer raised his seabag and then stared at his company.

“Thank you, but she wasn’t really mine.”

“What now?” Sarah asked as Carl realized exactly what was planned for the captain.

“I would guess that the orders in your pocket are directing you to a place called Camp Alamo?”

“Yes, they do, and a transfer to another ship, but my orders are confusing at best,” he said in very good English as he looked closely at the twin stars on Everett’s shoulder boards. “Excuse me, Admiral, but they are rather ambiguous orders. It seems I’m being transferred to a vessel that is situated in the middle of Antarctica.”

“Well, Captain Lienanov, welcome to the world of ambiguity, and I suspect you are hitching a ride with us.” He pointed to the large transport truck leaving the dock area with the power plant strapped to its giant trailer. “And that too, to the aforementioned Camp Alamo, another rather ambiguous name that has connotations in American history that my colleagues here will gladly explain to you later.” Everett gestured for the small group to follow the master chief.

With one sorrowful look back at the now doomed Pyotr Veliky, Captain Lienanov turned and walked away from his first command.

The two enormous C-5M Super Galaxies were fully loaded to their capacity. Two hundred and seventy thousand pounds of men and cargo crowded the largest aircraft in the United States inventory. Sitting next to the Super Galaxies was the most obscure aircraft to take to the skies in many years. This strange aircraft would be carrying only one item in its bulbous belly: the alien power plant.

The colossal storage area of the French-owned Airbus A300-600ST “Beluga” had absorbed the heavy power plant like a hungry animal as the strangely shaped Airbus began lowering her top-mounted loading bay. Two other French-built Airbus A300-600ST Belugas had taken off earlier as a decoy and these too were flanked by two C-5Ms from Airlift Command in an attempt to fool any prying eyes that may be watching, as it was the designers of this part of Operation Overlord who knew they were pushing not only the program’s luck, but were also betting the lives of over six hundred men, women, and soldiers that transporting them in the bright sunlight of day would catch the Grays off guard.

The eight combined and extremely powerful General Electric TF39 Turbofans of the two Galaxies were brought up to full power, drowning out the full three squadrons of Royal Air Force Sea Harriers as they flew up and over the long runway at Orkney. The fighters would escort all three aircraft most of the way to McMurdo Station’s Pegasus runway, where the American weather station operated the only landing site on the Antarctic continent that could support the heavy transport aircraft that was arriving there.

As the Beluga lifted off with her heavy load, no less than sixteen Sea Harriers took up station, above, beside, and under the French Airbus. The Beluga made a radical change of course and then climbed to the north before they would make a course correction and hopefully one that would confuse any unwanted onlookers.

Admiral Everett was invited up to the Galaxy’s large fly-by-wire cockpit as a courtesy to the navy by the air force and allowed to sit at one of the engineer consoles as the colossal transports took off. Once in the air the pilot nodded his head at his copilot and the Air Force colonel removed a message flimsy from his clipboard and tapped his headset so Everett could put his on so he could hear over the roar of the powerful turbofans. Carl slipped the headphones on and accepted the message.

“Just to let you know, these four aircraft are hot. I think the Defense Department has them on their stolen vehicles list.” The colonel looked to the pilot and then back at Everett. “The acting president and his new chairman of the Joint Chiefs ordered us home two days ago, but we all developed engine trouble in the extreme cold down here,” the copilot said as he smiled with tongue firmly planted in cheek. “The Air Force Chief of Staff and the head of Air Force Intelligence send their regards and hopes this operation is worth it.”

“So do I, Colonel, so do I.”

Carl raised the message and read.

Gray attack on Camp Alamo and Operation Overlord imminent …

Operation Gray Strike is fully activated with truncated training schedule …

Defensive command at Alamo has been warned as per this message …

Operation Overlord will commence within two days …

Good luck and God speed …

Caulfield, General (USA Ret.)

Carl folded the message, then thought better of it and handed it to the engineer, who noticed the worried look on the admiral’s face. He accepted the message, tempted to see what it said.

“Destroy that as soon as you can, but pass it around to your men first, they deserve to know.” Carl removed the headset, then stood and first patted the pilot and then shook the colonel’s hand in the right seat. “Thank you, gentlemen … for everything. As soon as you make your drop off get the hell out of Dodge as soon as you can. I have a feeling the skies in this part of the world’s going to turn hot real fast. Get home safe.”

Everett moved off and down the stairs and saw his friends as they explained what they could to Captain Lienanov. Jenks was at one of the fold-down desks that were arranged for the relief crews to file reports during flight. He had headphones on, listening to his engineering notes. He nodded his head at Sarah, Ryan, Anya, and Lienanov, then moved aft and down another short flight of steps and saw the men he was looking for.

He saw the two teams of commandos as they rested against the vibrating skin of the giant aircraft. He shook his head as he noticed that the SEAL and Delta teams were still separated by their disrespect for each other’s abilities. He became angry but held it in check as he grabbed hold of a safety strap and leaned in to the two operational leaders of the two teams. Both officers were new as the first two had never made it out alive after the attack on the Space Center.

“I want these men broken up into mixed teams.”

The naval lieutenant and the army captain looked up. Both had questioning looks on their faces as Everett leaned in.

“Sir?” The SEAL turned and offered the same questioning look to the Army Ranger picked to replace the Delta team leader. The Ranger just sat there with his training schedule locked in his hands.

“Look, I know the engine noise in here is loud enough to drown out a locomotive, but if I have to say things to you gentlemen twice I’ll throw your asses right off this aircraft. Do you understand what I’m saying now?”

The Army Ranger braved getting thrown off the Galaxy. “I hear you, sir, but don’t follow.”

“Yeah, you’re Army, all right,” he said. The Navy SEAL tried to hold back the small snicker that escaped his mouth. Everett just leaned closer to the SEAL and glared. “I know the SEALs have changed since my days in Team Five, and the navy has had to make hard choices about who they accept these days for the duty, but don’t advertise the fact that you’re a dumb fuck that doesn’t know shit, all right, Lieutenant Shit-for-brains?”

Not even the Army Ranger was tempted to laugh at the dressing down of his counterpart.

“Now, take your rosters and mix these men up evenly between ingress and assault. I want the new team rosters before we land at McMurdo. Is that clear, or do you want me to stand here and explain why an admiral always gets his way?”

Both young officers remained silent for the longest three seconds of their lives.

“Yes, sir,” both said simultaneously.

“I’ll meet the men in fifteen minutes to explain why their part of this mission will be either their moment of triumph or the biggest cluster-fuck since Operation Eagle Claw in Iran. It all depends on how they work together. Am I clear?” The famous 1980 foul-up in the Iranian desert had occurred when differing and mixed commands brought the rescue operation to free the embassy hostages to an abrupt and disastrous conclusion.

“Yes—”

“I said, am I clear?” he shouted, getting the attention of the two teams lining the bulkheads of the Galaxy.

“Yes, sir!” the two officers said as they jumped to their feet, colliding with each other as they did.

Carl let go of the strap and then started to say something else, but was interrupted by a familiar voice from behind.

“Admiral, can I have a minute?”

Carl turned, ready to continue his tirade against whoever had the balls to interrupt him. His eyes took in Jason Ryan as he removed his cold-weather parka and then held the cold, blue, angry eyes of his friend.

Carl turned and gave the two men a look. They were still standing at attention even with the heavy rocking motion of the transport.

“Gentlemen, rosters before we land, and tell the men I’ll speak to them in fifteen.” Everett turned and followed Ryan back toward the front of the Galaxy.

Ryan stopped near a pile of strapped-down gear and turned to face Carl. “Admiral—”

“Look, don’t do that.” Everett too removed his cold-weather jacket and then tossed it on the cargo netting holding some of the assault gear in place on their pallet.

“Do what?” Ryan asked, knowing full well the meaning of Carl’s statement because he had felt the exact same way after being promoted to full commander a month earlier.

“Address me by that rank.”

“Okay, then I won’t call you that, but they will,” he said, pointing toward the two frightened officers he had just left.

Everett lowered his head and then turned and looked at the two men as they looked lost and at a loss on where to start with the extraordinary orders they had just received. He turned back and took in the small, dark-haired naval aviator.

“They don’t know you as Carl, or Captain, or as a friend from a closed Group. Those men know you as Admiral Everett and will never know anything else. They have come to terms with the fact that someone far over their heads thinks of you as someone who can pull off whatever way they have designed to get you”—he again nodded back at the men—“and them killed. But maybe, just maybe those people who saw fit to promote you actually knew what they were doing, Admiral, just like they knew what they were doing when they placed Jack into the same situation. They have seen you two work together and know that they have a fighting chance to succeed with you two in the positions you now hold. Those men deserve Admiral Everett, and not the SEAL you still think you are. Because to tell you the truth, they are that good and will die proving it.”

Everett eyed his friend for the longest time and then shook his head. “Just when in the hell did you become so deep thinking?”

“I guess being separated from Will has made me look smarter. I’m still the same ruggedly handsome naval aviator I was a few days ago.”

“Well, thanks anyway.” He started to turn away and return to the men he was to train, but stopped and held onto some loading straps to face Ryan. “And I guess those same powers that be saw something in you also, Commander Ryan.”

“Nah, they were just mesmerized by my rugged good looks too.”

Giles Camden listened to his new designee for the directorship of Central Intelligence, Daniel Peachtree, as he explained his run-in with Virginia Pollock at Walter Reed.

“And she still refuses to give us that damn asset of theirs?” the president asked, fuming over this woman’s refusal to fear his office.

“Not only that, she practically dared us to come after him,” he lied.

“Well, we have the men in the area and I have warned the director of the FBI that he had better come up with an exact location of this complex and raid the damn thing and get me that alien son of a bitch. How these people could be so gullible as to believe the same kind of beings that eat people is beyond me.”

Camden’s chief of staff cleared her throat to get the two men’s attention. With a wary eye toward Daniel Peachtree she stood and handed the president a report in order that the subject be changed from that mysterious base hidden in the desert of Nevada, to a more real threat to his power.

“Sir, General Caulfield sent this message through the auspices of the National Security Agency and routed through the communications hub at Fort Huachuca.”

The president read the message and then angrily tossed it into the trash next to his desk.

“What this treasonous action amounts to is a general military coup. I have to bring the military’s refusal to follow a presidential directive straight to the American people. This is unprecedented.” He fumed and then stood and paced his office. “I want Caulfield brought up on charges, along with the people responsible at NSA for forwarding this message. I also want the Air Force Chief of Staff’s resignation on my desk immediately!”

The female chief of staff looked petrified at the orders. “Sir, if we bring all of this out into the open more than it already is, the faith in this office is going to tumble even further than it has to this point. The press is asking a lot of questions as far as the resignations of the former president’s staff and the firing of so many military advisors.”

“What in the hell do you mean, even further than it already has?” he demanded.

“Mr. President,” she started, facing the man directly. “Our friends in the news outlets have seen a trend and they don’t particularly like it. Even though the American people had disagreed with the spending on military preparedness, they now know the reasons why, and are starting to wonder why so many of the cabinet and military personnel are quitting over your new Home Shores First policy.”

“That is exactly why I have to tell the people about the refusal of the men around me to do as they are instructed to do to protect them.” He waved his arms maniacally. “When they find out that we have designed a defensive plan developed by one of those alien bastards, they will see why that plan cannot, should not be trusted.”

“Sir, announcing a possible coup by your military, a scenario that has not once been uttered in the history of the presidency, will not bode well with the current emergency happening. It will only further confuse the issues you are trying to make clear to the American people,” Peachtree said. He finally got the first warning signs that Camden had lost control of the situation.

“This also came in,” the chief of staff said as she handed the president another message from the Pentagon. Peachtree shot the woman a look as if she had just thrown a can full of gasoline onto an already out of control fire. “It seems the 7th Fleet has turned around to conduct rescue operations in and around the South China Sea. The situation is confused at the moment, but the communiqué looks as if it was forwarded through the offices of the NSA. I have looked into the matter and haven’t found any smoking guns thus far, but I am still checking.”

Camden sat there stunned at the information.

“Also the Air Force is still slow in implementing your order to cease all cooperation with this Operation Overlord. They claim bad communications due to alien activity coupled with bad weather. I’ve checked through the Pentagon and the area of concern is clear skies and no communication interruption.”

“It is a coup,” Camden mumbled as he looked at Peachtree.

“Mr. President, allow whatever it is to happen. We’ll fight this in our own time with the Constitution in our corner. But for right now you need to explain to the citizens why you are wholeheartedly against this plan of action.”

“To do that I need that asset that’s hidden away from my CIA and the rest of my people. I need that Matchstick, or whatever its name really is!”

“With the threat I made at Walter Reed to that Pollock woman, we may see some progress in that area very soon. In the meanwhile, there is a bit of good news.”

“Oh, please tell me,” Camden said with sarcasm lacing his voice.

“It seems the message sent to the Overlord command structure has warned of an imminent Gray attack on their hidden facilities. We may have little to worry about in that regard very soon. Then you can claim that you were right in not backing the former holder of this office in his plan for defensive cooperation. Also, not all of your military is refusing your orders. The task force consisting of the George Washington and John C. Stennis Battle Groups have turned away from their ordered route toward the Antarctic. They will not be there if called upon for support. It seems the admiral in command was not a friend of Admiral Fuqua, nor, dare I say, General Caulfield.”

“So you recommend that we do nothing for now, just play the ‘little boy being picked on’ by the military bullies in power?”

“Exactly.”

Camden thought about this as he returned to his chair and sat. He paused as he looked at his Chief of Staff, who nodded her agreement.

“All right, I’ll wait to cry wolf at the door, but I need that alien and I want to know what it knows. I am a firm believer that the former president has been lied to; even he couldn’t be that big of a fool.”

Peachtree turned to the president’s chief of staff. “Would you excuse us for a moment, please,” he said with a smile.

She looked frustrated as she never trusted the man standing before her boss, but moved to the door and left regardless.

“I didn’t mention this before, but that Dr. Pollock knows a little too much about the murder of Lynn Simpson Collins, and has threatened us with that knowledge.”

Camden couldn’t believe what it was he was hearing. The same nightmare he had faced before taking office was still rearing its ugly head — the one thing that would not only get him thrown from office, but also would send him to prison. He remained quiet.

“I have informed the Black Team in Arizona that they are free to get their hands on this alien asset any way that they can.”

“And?” Camden asked expectantly.

“And to immediately eliminate the only bread crumb in the trail leading back to us.”

The president knew he shouldn’t have listened to Peachtree in the first place when it was suggested they use Hiram Vickers to find the asset. But he had, and there was no sense barking about it now.

“It’s about time. Kill that stupid bastard. It seems everything has gone wrong for us since he mindlessly murdered that girl and brought her brother closer to finding out who Vickers really worked for.”

“That is already in the works, and we have the men that will not only do that, but get the asset as well. You’ll get the truth of what’s happening from the mouth of that little alien very soon.”

Camden nodded and could only mumble the words of possibly the only thing that could save his presidency: “The Matchstick Man.”

Jack and his new staff gathered inside of his office that he was assigned. The new men, Major Sebastian Krell and Lieutenant Van Tram, had been assigned to coordinate getting men and equipment outside for training purposes, a topic that had been both men’s main gripe since meeting up with Collins. Meanwhile, Will Mendenhall was standing over the desk, feeding the general sheet after sheet of paper with the assigned troops under his command, while Henri was assigned to liaise with the troops of the 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions and the German 23rd Panzer Division. Henri’s fluency in all languages guaranteed confusion but Jack had no choice. Farbeaux knew battle tactics as well as himself. He had handed Collins the status of his command. The general had over seven thousand combat troops and their equipment, sixty-five Leopard II main battle tanks, and two hundred armored personnel carriers of both Bradley Fighting Vehicles and the German-made Fuchs 2 wheeled personnel carrier.

Henri had reported that he was concerned about the wheeled vehicle of the German Panzer division and the way it would handle in the ice and snow when called upon to run interference for the Leopard IIs.

“Colonel, I suggest you bypass the nomenclature of the book specs and go directly to the soldiers that operate the system. They’ll tell you straight if they believe the Fuchs can do the job or not. If they can’t, get them off the line. But I suspect they will.”

“I will do that,” Henri said as he passed another report and design specs toward Collins, who picked it up and looked at it. “These are the design specs for the new tracks for the Panzers and the Bradleys. You see why the planners are so nervous about the maneuvers you have requested. The deep-seated spikes can really tear up the ice and could be a possible trail for anything with eyes to follow straight back to the facility.”

Jack examined the new design and saw that instead of the normal padded tread of the American-made Bradleys and the M1 Abrams, these were heavily spiked. Those steel anchors designed for traction purposes would find purchase in this environment by digging in deeply.

“Damn, I hate to say it, but Sir Bennett and his people have a point. Damn, is there any chance of getting the Panzers’ and Bradleys’ old padded tracks on?”

“Again, military planning,” Farbeaux said with a smirk. “They weren’t sent along with the replacement parts or equipment.”

Collins rubbed his eyes and then looked at Mendenhall. The captain shook his head.

“Do you think we’ll even have the time to get a training and maneuvering field test in after the warning from General Caulfield?”

“It would have been nice just to find out if the damn Panzers could even move out there.”

Van Tram and Sebastian Krell joined them at the desk. “The SAS colonel has requested extra security for something they call Poseidon’s Nest,” Major Krell said as he handed Jack the communication. “He says at least four hundred men from either the 82nd or 101st would be adequate.”

“Oh, is that right? And what am I supposed to do when those commanders scream bloody murder because I’m taking away from their already short-staffed divisions?” Jack looked at Krell, not expecting him to answer.

“The men he would take are very important to both divisions, sir. He wants the fast-reaction force that is to plug any gap in the lines if and when the Grays get close to this Poseidon’s Nest, whatever that is.”

“Thank you, Major.” Jack stood and walked to the wall map of Camp Alamo and the design of its interior. As he looked he saw a large blank spot that wasn’t filled in with detail. He jabbed at the section that lay ten miles distant and was connected by only one ice tunnel. “Major, I suspect your Poseidon’s Nest is right there, as everything else is in use and explained.”

Krell stepped forward and examined the spot Jack was pointing at. “Yes, sir, I agree.”

“That’s about enough of the compartmentalized and need-to-know bullshit. Will, get me Sir Bennett on the line. I need a meeting with him and our mysterious Admirals Kinkaid and Huffington within the hour. Say I insist for security reasons.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Henri, you feel like getting out of here for a while?” Collins asked while staring at the blank spot on the map.

Farbeaux laid the multitude of paperwork down and then looked at the general.

“Why do I get the honor of getting out of all of this wonderful paperwork?” the Frenchman asked.

Collins turned and faced him. “Because if they don’t show us what in the hell they’re protecting, I need you to get us inside there. And if the SAS is protecting that site, I need all the sneaky-bastard stuff I can get to bypass the most dangerous security in the world. After all, it was the Special Air Service that trained us both, as I recall. And besides, all they can do is shoot us.”

Will paused with the phone in his hand. Tram and Krell smiled.

“Well, I didn’t get all dressed up to do paperwork. After you, General Collins.”

Fifteen minutes later both Farbeaux and Collins were sitting in the main conference building facing Professor Bennett and Admirals Kinkaid and Huffington. The men didn’t look too pleased at being ordered by this man to a meeting that was not planned.

“General, I appreciate the difficulty you face not knowing certain aspects of Overlord, but I must say what you ask just isn’t possible at the moment, at the proper time we—”

“Now, sir,” Jack said as he eyed the man in charge of Alamo.

“General, Sir Bennett is only responsible for the defense of Alamo, not the area in question. That is ours and ours alone,” Kinkaid said. “The SAS is under the strictest of orders from not only Lord Durnsford, but your own president and your Dr. Compton, to keep this played as close to the vest as possible, and to keep that area secured. So no, your request is denied until such a time as we see fit to explain.”

Jack had been thinking about this area and had decided to play a hunch as he remembered everything ever explained to him by Niles Compton. He was about to bluff his way into Poseidon’s Nest.

“Look, I know the British government discovered the site. I know that artifacts were uncovered there that may or may not affect me, and a colleague of mine, directly. Your dig may have started out as an archeological function four years ago, but you found more than just a watch there. You found Overlord. Now, how close did I come?” He eyed both naval men, who sat with their mouths agape.

Professor Bennett laughed lightly.

“Well, you were warned when the general was assigned that he wasn’t your typical soldier and was capable of deduction beyond the officers you are used to working with.”

“I … I…,” Kinkaid started but didn’t know how to begin his denials.

“Gentlemen, it’s time we show the general what he is here to protect. I believe the time for spy versus spy has passed, as we are dangerously short of time. You gentlemen have yet to install the power plant that is still in transit from McMurdo Station, and have even yet to see if the bloody thing will work with technology it was never meant for — after all, we only have the assurance from our small alien friend that the two systems are even compatible. Let us share with the general what it is Her Majesty’s government uncovered over thirty years ago and has spent the fortunes of six countries to develop and repair, shall we?”

Admiral Huffington slammed his palm down on the tabletop. The Royal Navy man was furious, but he was in a tight corner because everything the professor had said was true — they were out of time. He nodded his head in agreement.

“Well, General Collins, gather your staff and tell them to meet us in section 2287. It is a very long ride. And tell them to dress warm.”

Jack stood as well as Farbeaux and was soon joined by Sir Bennett.

“Shall we go and introduce you to Overlord?”

Sir Darcy Bennett, Collins, and Farbeaux met Sebastian, Tram, and Will at the large junction that had tunnels carved in the ice that ran off in differing directions like the spokes of a wagon wheel, with the exception of one. This one was closed off to the men and women of Camp Alamo and sealed with a large steel door. Standing guard at the door were five SAS soldiers in white camouflaged battle dress, with two fifty-caliber machine guns stationed on either side of the dual sliding doors.

As they waited a tram pulled up with Admirals Kinkaid and Huffington, who looked none too pleased at the filleting of their security precautions. General Collins’s outright refusal to add additional security, as per their request, probably did not help matters. Collins steadfastly refrained from answering, only saying that he was fearful that by breaking up individual teams from the 101st and 82nd, especially with their lack of Antarctic training, would muddy what little teamwork the two divisions had established during their original mountain training of six months before. To break up men who had at least that much training together, sending 10 percent of them to Overlord, would disrupt Jack’s command. As the defense leader he had that right to refuse — that’s why he had the two stars on his collar. Thanks to Sebastian, Tram, and Henri, the admirals never thought that Jack’s staff could find enough excuses to refuse them, and they were, to say the least, put out by this.

The two men waited inside the automatically driven tram as the men loaded in. The SAS watch commander checked the identification badges that hung around their necks; even the two admirals were questioned and then finally passed through.

The men were placed inside the tram in groups of threes and the final two rows of seats were reserved for four heavily armed SAS soldiers. Admiral Huffington nodded at the gate security and from a glass-enclosed booth the guard opened the automatic blast doors. Collins watched from the second row of seats as first one set of doors opened left to right and slid into the ice wall on either side; then just as rapidly a second set of heavier, thicker doors slid up and into the ceiling and floor. As the men looked beyond they saw that the track was concrete and that it vanished after only a few feet inside the large-mouthed tunnel. The tram started forward without any noise other than the wind rushing down the tunnel. The temperature dropped dramatically as the car moved in.

As they watched the crystalline ice slide by, the speed of the tram increased, creating an additional freezing wind that reddened their faces. Then the car angled down sharply. Jack heard Will Mendenhall yelp — Will was afraid of anything that moved without him being in control. That was thanks to Jason Ryan. Ryan scared the young captain any chance he got with his flying and the driving of any wheeled vehicle. Jack had always meant to talk to the navy man about freaking everyone out with his prowess with machines, but never had gotten around to it.

Professor Bennett, sitting next to Jack, started to explain that which he had already partially guessed, but never in his wildest imagination did he expect to hear the real story of the origins of Operation Overlord. Before Bennett started, a glass bubble came up from both sides of the tram and then a clear glass shield did the same at the front and the rear. The tram slowed while still on a downward angle and then came to a stop. Before anyone could even think about what was happening, the tram started straight down on an elevator the men never saw. It started traveling at a high rate of speed and then suddenly stopped, and then before that shock wore off the tram started forward once more, this time at a slower rate of travel. As the lighting came up at a higher illumination, Collins and the others could see that the strata of ice had changed dramatically. It was now mostly solid and transparent. It was literally a block of ice they were traveling through.

Sir Bennett placed a small headset on as the two admirals frowned, and started telling the tale they all had waited to hear.

“Gentlemen, what you see all around you is a prehistoric inland body of water, named the Shackleton Sea. It was discovered approximately thirty-five years ago by a British survey team sinking test holes for volcanic activity. In the estimation of our science boys, and through the efforts of the University of California and the National Weather Data Center in the United States, we have come to the conclusion that the Shackleton Sea is well over 700 million years in age.”

Collins looked back and saw that his four staff members were duly impressed as the frozen sea whizzed past them at thirty miles per hour and was still traveling deeper as Bennett continued.

“Species of microbial life from the time before the continents separated have been recovered during excavation — animal life never before seen or documented. As the geology teams continued to drill for core samples, some very amazing things started to be brought up from this very, very deep sea. Things, gentlemen, that had no right to be anywhere on this planet at any time in its history — shards of metal, pieces of dense unknown carbon fibers, and, dare I say, even human remains.”

Farbeaux had his sense of wonder piqued as he looked from the green-tinted ice toward Mendenhall, who didn’t look like he was enjoying the tour one bit as the tram traveled even deeper. Bennett seemed to sense Will’s unease and added another little trivia fact.

“I dare say that we have one point eight miles of inland sea above our heads at this very moment.”

Mendenhall lowered his head and it was the small, very intrigued man from Southeast Asia that gave Will a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as the captain just realized that after his trip into outer space and his ride to the moon, he had developed an extreme case of claustrophobia.

“Through an accidental break in the ice in the eighties, a weather team of scientists discovered something rather bizarre that sent our world into chaos. After we achieved access we sent large teams down into the sea and started analyzing the find. Finally, after we analyzed the samples of composite fiber, plastic, and steel from an ancient discovery, we were shocked to see the artifact, to say the least, was viable to the point that it looked brand-new, despite the scorch marks and damage it had sustained during some confrontation or the other. Four years ago, after the moon missions and the discovery of alien technology in South America, we started to share our amazing find with our counterparts in America, and thus we learned about your little house guest in Arizona. We learned the tale of the tape, so to speak, of the ancient war between Mars and our common enemy, the Grays. Then it all started to make sense with the information of the finds on the moon and the magnificent technology uncovered in Peru.”

Jack knew the story, and hoped Will could come up for air long enough to explain to the others, as they only knew their little contributions to the entirety of the tale.

“Through the cooperation of entities inside of America”—Jack knew Bennett was referring to that little secret facility in the desert—“a deal was struck to give our government and others a certain amount of access to Mr. Mahjtic. His explanation of the disastrous war 700 million years ago sent us off in a new direction as far as excavating this site was concerned. But the current defense plan was not engineered until an old plan was taken from the files of Garrison Lee, a man I greatly admired and one who was familiar with the head of our MI6, Lord Durnsford. That gave Senator Lee’s conclusions instant credibility, at least in our eyes. It seems Lee, being responsible for the conclusions reached at Roswell those many years ago, came to the conclusion, rather quickly, that we hadn’t a chance of fighting such a war with the Grays. We would lose and lose badly. The obviousness of his findings was what led to the creation of Operation Overlord, with one vital piece missing.”

“The use of alien technology to fight,” Jack mumbled as he watched the passing ice sea.

“Correct, General, very good.” Bennett smiled over at the two stone-faced admirals. “Senator Lee’s conclusions were reached after he studied what remained of the evidence at Roswell. But, gentlemen, he never realized that an earlier war had been fought millions of years before the event at New Mexico. But when the mine system in Peru was discovered he became aware in the final moments of his life what the finds really meant, and passed this on to to your president while he laying dying inside Air Force One on the runway in Peru.”

Collins now remembered that Alice and the president were the last to speak to Garrison Lee in the moments before his death and now he knew what was told to them by Lee: recover any and all Martian war material for use in the upcoming fight. He knew that man’s true ancestors, the very beings that made Earth their final refuge, had left the means to do battle.

The tram started to slow as they approached another, even larger gate system.

Bennett removed the headset and mic from his head, then leaned over to speak with Jack privately.

“As we expanded the archeological site surrounding the Shackleton Sea, we found something that confused everyone in the know on the events on the moon, in Peru, and here, General.”

“You brought up Carl Everett’s wristwatch containing samples of my blood,” Jack said, not looking at Sir Darcy Bennett.

“And that, coupled with what you are about to see, made us keenly aware that you and Mr. Everett had to be onboard the team no matter what, because the finding of the watch in such an ancient sea dictated your involvement in the project. Frankly, General, we couldn’t afford the chance that removing you would change our destiny.”

“Thus the secrecy and the need to know.”

“Precisely.”

The project leader stepped from the tram and turned to the other members of Jack’s staff.

“Our alien friend in Arizona struck on the Overlord plan after we found what you are about to see. He knew the ancient power source of a Martian engine would not be viable after seven hundred million years and knew we had to replace that source. The only thing that could do that, I’m afraid, died with the Martians before the continents separated.”

“The Grays had the answer,” Collins said as he watched the SAS security team advance on the tram and its occupants. “We needed the power plant from the downed saucer at Roswell. When we didn’t have that we had to turn to the two downed ships in Arizona six years ago.” Jack turned and faced the two admirals as they listened, trying to get under their skin as much as possible with the realization that their little secret was never as secret as they were led to believe. “When the damage to them was proven too great to repair and the fact you were having a difficult time reverse-engineering the two power plants, the search for other downed saucers throughout our history commenced. Then one was finally found, in Iran, and thus the small battle of a week ago.”

Sir Darcy smiled and looked at the two admirals, who were shocked that so much information could be delivered by Collins.

“Oops,” Bennett said in mock astonishment. “It looks like the secret is out, and only several thousand people besides the general have more than likely figured it out for themselves.”

“Okay, we were bloody wrong about security. You have made your point, General Collins,” Admiral Huffington said, defeated.

With his staff gathered around him, Jack continued to finish his conclusions.

“Now that the power plant is obviously enroute, you intend to fulfill Senator Lee’s and Mahjtic’s plan. All we need to know is what it is you found that gave our alien ally the slightest hope that we can be saved before the full-scale assault begins.”

Bennett nodded his head at the SAS guards, who turned away from the group and activated the large blast doors to their front.

Jack and the others stepped up as Sir Darcy placed his hands behind his back, and like his boss, Lord Durnsford, did at Schofield Barracks, rocked back and forth on his heels as the doors opened.

“Gentlemen, I give you the answer you have been waiting to hear and the means of defeating the invaders of our world. This is the heart and soul of Operation Overlord.”

The blast doors parted in their double-axis sliding fashion. The men stepped up to the brightly illuminated and enormous excavated cave, and the truth of their combined history was theirs for the viewing.

“My lord!”

Major Sebastian Krell summed it up for the staff of General Jack Collins as the doors opened wide. And even the normally silent Tram started talking in Vietnamese when the sight was finally revealed.

Jack took in the most unbelievable sight ever created by the hand of man — a Martian hand for sure, but a human too, nonetheless. At that moment the real truth of Operation Overlord overwhelmed his thoughts.

The object was so large that it had to have been built by the hands of the ancient gods.

“Gentlemen, I give you Her Majesty’s Ship, Garrison Lee.”

15

As the four-man staff of General Collins stepped forward and looked down upon the ship lying in a fog of thick condensation, they saw the immense cavern that encompassed no less than four square miles of excavated Inland Sea, which explained the large blank spot on the map of Camp Alamo.

As Jack Collins stepped forward he noticed that they were perched high on a ledge that looked down upon the vessel — a viewing gallery. The first thing he noticed was the enormous bow that was equipped with what looked like a giant sharpened plow. That tapered off into a long girder-style superstructure that he could see housed pressure- and outer-space-resistant compartments that had small portholes lining them. As he took in the whole of the colossal ship he saw that it resembled two World War II battleships sitting bottom hull to bottom hull. The superstructure rose to a height of five hundred feet above the hull and contained radar, sonar, and other turning dishes whose use Collins could not begin to fathom. The structure was duplicated, or exactly a mirror image on the underside of the ship, and was hanging low in an engineered basement of sorts to accommodate its enormous size.

“I think someone finally made something you couldn’t steal, Colonel,” Will said, wide-eyed, as he looked at the size of the vessel below.

All Henri Farbeaux could do was whisper his agreement, as even he was shocked at what the planners had come up with.

Tram was pointing at the upper deck that really did resemble an old battleship. Lying on two differing elevated decks was the forward armament of the ship. Two turrets that were the size of at least four of the USS Missouri gun turrets stood out in majestic power as the three guns in each lay dormant. Jack saw the large crystal bulbs on the very tips of each of the six weapons. The turrets themselves looked as if they could house a gun crew of over a hundred. The muzzles of each, capped off for now, were ten feet wide at their base as they disappeared into the turrets, and the muzzles were at least sixteen inches wide before they hit the larger crystal knob at their tips. Collins realized they were looking at laser cannon. They were the type that Sarah had explained they found on the surface of the moon in the crashed ships they had uncovered there.

Inside the immense cavern, thousands of torches were flashing and sparking as the repair to the ancient vessel was continuing even as her proposed launch date was soon arriving. Large patches of damaged hull, the girder system, looked new as other parts were old and rusted. These were in the process of being ground down and painted by the large work crews manning her decks, both upper and lower. The bottom half of the ship was almost an exact duplicate of the upper only the large towers were far shorter. But the resemblance was complete when they all noticed two of the same turrets on the bottom half. That made for six of the large weapons systems in total and that didn’t include at least fifty smaller, twin-barreled turrets lining her superstructure. The staff realized that the ship, if viewed from the side, would have looked like a vessel sitting in calm waters with her reflection displayed perfectly in duplicate, top and bottom. They also realized that the crew of the lower half superstructure would be upside down; utilizing the zero gravity of space they would be operating just the same as the upper crews.

“The vessel — we could never decipher her name in the Martian language — was heavily damaged. So much so it took the combined treasuries of six nations to repair her,” Admiral Kinkaid said as he stepped up to Collins. Jack could see the pride in the faces of both of the brilliant naval engineers as Huffington joined them. “Perhaps it’s better explained by looking at the silhouette on the wall.” He pointed to a large, illuminated design etched on glass sunk into the ice wall.

Jack and the others turned and watched as Admiral Huffington took over the explanation.

“Whatever battles this ship was in, it took an inordinate amount of damage. We have had to replace, or reverse-engineer if you prefer, over 40 percent of her bulk. We have had to replace her six engine bells and mixing chambers at the stern and every one of her sixteen maneuvering jets lining her midsection.” He pointed to certain areas of explanation on the lighted depiction of the Lee. “The crystal laser enhancers on every one of the eighteen guns had to be replaced, as they were cracked and broken whenever the ship came into contact with the sea due to the enormous overheating. Cold water and extremely hot glass of any sort does not mix well.”

“What are … these tanks … inside the hull? They … look new?” Tram asked in his limited English, as this was the first time the small man had said anything in English.

“Very observant, Lieutenant,” Huffington said, surprised by the knowledge of the average soldier. “Those are five-thousand-gallon coolant tanks, fifteen in all, upper and lower decks. They are used to flush each of the large barrels at the time of discharge to cool them from the heat of the Argon laser system. Without the coolant, the barrels would melt after the second or third firing of the weapons.”

“Have the guns been tested?” Jack asked.

“Yes, they have, General. Raytheon Corporation built two turrets with three weapons apiece at the Aberdeen Proving Ground two years ago. At first the crystals blew apart, but with the assistance of the Hillman Corporation of Liverpool, England, and their vast history of lens grinding capability, they fashioned new crystals that were able to withstand over a thousand discharges of the system before eventually cracking. We have calculated that we’ll eventually need far less than that from each barrel.”

Collins knew the connotation of the admiral’s words because he knew that the ship wasn’t meant to last that long in battle with the saucers. He didn’t expand on the subject of duration.

Kinkaid tapped the body of the nearly holographic view and it changed, rotating 150 degrees. “As you can see, the vessel is enormous in size and weight. Her thrusters were never meant to lift her off an atmospheric world, thus our dilemma.” He stepped away from the diagram and pointed to the spot on the Lee where engineers were busy attaching what Collins and his staff realized were hundreds of powerful solid fuel booster rockets along her midsection.

“They look like space shuttle booster rockets,” Mendenhall ventured.

“Exactly, Captain, only far more powerful. Morton-Thiokol Corporation took three years designing and developing the new system and that should be capable with the one hundred and twelve boosters to get the Lee into the air with the assistance of her many maneuvering jets, all one hundred and fifty thousand tons of her.”

“I hate to be the realist here, but where is this ship supposed to fight?” Farbeaux watched the five thousand workmen busily going here and there in all locations of her superstructure.

“Hopefully not too far from here,” Sir Darcy said, glancing upward toward the ice ceiling five thousand feet above their heads. “It really depends upon the Grays and where they place their energy-producing vessel when it arrives for the main invasion.” He looked at his watch for the dramatic effect. “Which should come at almost any time, according to our small alien friend.”

“The main armament of the Lee cannot destroy this rather larger saucer on her own, gentlemen,” Huffington said almost sadly. “She can only defend and protect, for as long as she can, the two ships of the boarding party that will assault the enemy vessel and destroy her from within. This is the job of the HMS Lee, to fight as long as she can against overwhelming odds to hold station while our people enter the energy ship. Because without that, the Grays cannot bring the rest of their fleet to us. They will wither and die in deep space.”

“Oh, I thought for a minute there we didn’t stand a chance. But now that you’ve explained it, I see not one obstacle to your plan.” Farbeaux shook his head at the arrogant audacity of these men.

“Now you can imagine, Colonel Farbeaux, the hardship that we endured getting other nations to join in the allied coalition,” Sir Darcy stated flatly.

“And what does Mahjtic say about the chances of success?” Jack wanted to know the truth, not just for him but the many thousands of men and women that were going to die in the attempt. He realized now the distant and tired look of Niles Compton the past five years; this knowledge had weighed him down like a drowning man holding cinder blocks while trying to stay afloat.

Sir Darcy Bennett looked from Collins to the two admirals, who looked away from the group. Then the professor turned back and faced the expectant men before him.

“Ten to 20 percent.”

Jack’s staff was silent as they realized that the great hope of the entire world boiled down to a mere fraction of what they had hoped.

“Now you know why your Dr. Compton and Lord Durnsford kept the information making up the Overlord plan so compartmentalized. If the percentage of possible success leaked out before we were ready, the world would just give up.”

Before anyone could bravely say anything in response to deter the fear they all felt, a loudspeaker came to life and over the noise of machinery and cutting and welding torches came the announcement.

“All propulsion engineering personnel please report to your stations. All heavy load handling crews, man your cranes. All riggers to their stations. Arrival of power plant is estimated in fifteen minutes. Repeat, all propulsion engineering divisions prepare for power plant arrival.”

Jack saw the activity below increase as a loud cheer went up from the many thousands of workers who had slaved for the past four years on the most expensive project ever initiated by mankind.

Collins turned to his men and nodded for them to return to the tram. He then turned to the three men who were responsible for the reverse-engineering of the former Martian battleship, the HMS Garrison Lee.

“Thank you, gentlemen. Thank you for the truth.”

Niles Compton was sitting up as far as he could in the bed. His right eye and forehead, along with the right side of his face, was still covered in heavy gauze. He had awakened from a state of near-coma to see Virginia Pollock sleeping with her head on her arms at the foot of his bed. He had been awake for the past forty minutes, trying to get the fog of his memory back before he attempted to speak. He watched Virginia and realized that she must have planted herself here in the hospital, which wasn’t a good sign. He would have thought she would have been with the president’s cabinet working on the Event Group part of Overlord.

Niles moved his left foot and Virginia came awake with a start. It was if she was falling from a cliff, which is exactly what she had been doing in her waking hours. She blinked several times and then noticed that Niles was staring at her. His one brown eye took her in and the director of Department 5656 actually managed a small smile.

“How many days?” he asked in a whisper.

Virginia stood and walked to the head of the bed, then leaned over and kissed her friend of fifteen years lightly on the top of his balding head. She wiped at a tear and then smiled at him as she took in his battered features.

“I must say, you look the mess, boss.”

“I feel a mess. Now, how many days was I out?” he persisted.

“Six.”

Niles closed his good left eye and then leaned back against his pillow.

“The president is still in a coma,” she said as she watched Compton’s face for a reaction. There was none. “Vice President Stevens was killed in San Francisco by a Gray attack similar to the Camp David strike.”

Niles acted as if the news didn’t affect him, but Virginia knew the news about his best friend had shaken him to his core.

“Giles Camden is now the acting commander-in-chief.”

“Overlord?”

“At the risk of every one of the president’s cabinet, and most of the military basically under threat of treason, it’s still going forward. The engine arrived in Antarctica this morning. Jack, Carl, and the rest have arrived safely and are on station.”

“The Grays?” he asked as he finally managed to open his one good eye.

“Mumbai and Beijing have been destroyed.”

This time a moan did escape the director’s mouth. He turned away for a moment to gather his thoughts. He faced Virginia once more with a questioning look.

“The Grays have come to take people, Niles. To … consume us. Matchstick held that back from us. They emptied Mumbai and Beijing and then the saucers left. We have them on the Hubble back at their fleet.”

The horrible truth as to the Gray intent was clearly written on Compton’s face. He shook his head, understanding why Matchstick had been so secretive.

“Niles, the largest energy-production ship has left the rest of their fleet, along with over a thousand attack craft — the invasion is about to begin. India and China were nothing but test platforms for the real thing. And nothing the Chinese or the Indian militaries threw at them worked. They shook off even nuclear weapons and completed their raids and then left.”

A light knock sounded at the door and General Caulfield looked in. He was dressed like Niles or Virginia had never seen him before. His civilian clothing made them feel the loss of control more than anything thus far.

“I should have known you were awake, Doctor. It seems you and the president are mentally linked or something.” Caulfield entered the room.

“Jim is awake?” Niles asked hopefully.

“No, but the doctors said his brain activity is rising very quickly. He should be able to open his eyes soon.”

“Thank God,” Virginia said as she shook the general’s hand.

“Overlord?” Niles asked, trying to swallow. Virginia took the glass of water and placed the straw in his mouth and Compton drank deeply.

“Being rushed, I’m afraid. We’re fast running out of time.”

“Everything is in place?” he asked as Virginia pulled the glass away.

“All, with the exception of the two battle groups assigned for the defense of Camp Alamo. I’m afraid our President Camden has a friend in the task force commander.” He saw the sad look cross Niles’s uninjured side of his face. “But with General Collins there, I feel somewhat better about giving Overlord a chance at getting off the ground. Everything else is getting back to the normal plan, thanks to two young men who saw what was happening with their new boss the president, and scattered the airwaves with false orders directed from the White House through the NSA, which immediately forwarded them to all commands.” He smiled. “Even though the NSA director across the river knew them to be forged orders. We owe those two men in the president’s press corps a lot. Especially now that they have been arrested at the direct orders of Camden and director of the CIA designate, Peachtree. Those kids are now in jail, charged with falsifying federal documents and the rumor is a charge of treason is forthcoming, all at a time of war, which means they’ll hang if convicted.”

“We have to see to it they don’t,” Compton said.

“Niles, there is one more thing I need to tell you,” Virginia said, not wanting to add to the director’s already burdened mind. “Peachtree and Camden want Matchstick and they will raid the complex in order to get at him. We now suspect that it was Peachtree along with the killer of Jack’s sister that arranged for the first raid on the Group six months ago, trying to procure that aggression formula uncovered in Mexico.”

Niles shook his head adamantly even though it caused him pain to do so.

“Get Matchstick out of there. He’s given Overlord all he can; it’s time for him to go home, where our men can protect him and Gus.”

“I’ll see to it,” Virginia said. “General, I know it’s asking a lot, but can the FBI give us the men we need to cover the house and property in Arizona?”

“With the resignation of the president’s man at the FBI and Camden’s new choice in that position, no, I’m sorry. If I ask it will only tell Camden and Peachtree exactly where your asset will be.”

“I want Pete Golding to stay with Matchstick and Gus. Keep them safe. I also want any other civilian volunteers at Group to go with Pete. With our military arm spread all over the globe, it’s our only security besides the retirees we have watching the place,” Niles said as he felt his strength waning fast.

“Get some sleep, Dr. Compton, we’ll do what we can from here,” Caulfield said as he and Virginia watched him fall asleep.

“I’ll get these orders out to my Group to get Matchstick and Gus out of there; you stay with the president and let us know as soon as he awakens. Camden has to be stopped before he interferes with Overlord any more than he has.”

Caulfield nodded, took Virginia’s shoulder and squeezed, then left the room.

Virginia stayed a moment looking at Niles. She shook her head as she realized just how much Niles had personally altered the world they knew. She again wiped a tear away as she moved for the door.

The world would never know the names of Niles Compton or that of the Matchstick Man, and Dr. Virginia Pollock knew that to be wrong and unacceptable.

Jack was sitting at his desk in his assigned quarters six hours after the incredible tour of Poseidon’s Nest. He was short on sleep as he had been for the past six months since the death of his sister, Lynn. Collins had two pictures on his cluttered desk that he kept looking at: one of his sister and mother, posed together in the last photo ever taken of the two women a year before Lynn was murdered; the second of Sarah. She sat on a rock somewhere in the middle of a desert, smiling into the camera, and Jack imagined from time to time it was he who had taken the snapshot and that they might have even been on a vacation together. He closed his eyes momentarily and then went back to his battle plans.

A loud knock sounded on his door and he stood and stretched. He rubbed his sore eyes and then walked to the plastic door and opened it. Before he knew it someone was on him and he stumbled back into the small room, then hit the bed and fell backward. The next thing he realized was that Sarah was kissing him all over his face. He laughed and then while on his back lifted her into the air. He then brought her down and kissed her deeply. After a full minute — a minute that he would never forget as long as he lived — he pushed her off and then while on one elbow looked into her sea-reddened face. Her smile was enormous.

“I see your pleasure cruise has finally docked,” he said with a smile he no longer thought he had been capable of.

“Yeah, it sure had, General,” she said in amazement. “Boy, I can’t wait to spend all of that extra money at the end of the month,” she said with an even larger smile as she leaned over and kissed him again.

Jack finally pulled away again. “Sorry to disappoint you, but the president didn’t see fit to give me the pay-grade advancement with the brevet rank; I guess he spent all of his extra money down here.”

“Damn, Jack, how in the hell are we to live off a colonel’s pay?”

He smiled again and then stood from the small cot, then pulled her to her feet and held her at arm’s length to look her over.

“I see the Russian Navy must have behaved themselves while you were onboard.”

Sarah got a serious look on her face as she reached out and placed her arms around Jack.

“I’ll never tell,” she said with a sadness Jack detected immediately.

“Lost a lot of good men, I hear,” he said as he hugged her back.

Sarah didn’t answer as she buried her face in Jack’s chest, and that to him was good enough.

“Where’s Carl and Jason?” he asked.

Sarah finally pulled back and her smile returned. “They were absconded by a funny little man with a lab coat, Sir … or Lord something or other. They’re taking some sort of magical mystery tour. I was supposed to go but I escaped to see some jerk with two new stars on his collar.”

“Well, they’re in for one hell of an eye opener. You should have gone.”

“I wanted to see only one thing,” she said as she smiled wider.

“And that is?”

“Will.” She laughed before she could get it fully out.

“Ass,” he said.

“One more surprise, Jack, you’ll love this one.”

“What?” he said expecting a gift as she turned away and then looked at him with wide eyes.

“Master Chief Jenks is here.”

Collins turned a nice shade of white as the image of the short, meanest son of a bitch he had ever had the displeasure of meeting came into his mind. He felt like he needed to sit down as he remembered crashing the master chief’s boat, USS Teacher, inside the El Dorado mine.

“You look a little put out, General; don’t tell me that man makes you slightly uncomfortable?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “The first time he calls me Captain Crunch, or even General Crackhead, I’ll have that seagoing bastard shot!”

“Aw, he likes you too.”

After the brief about HMS Garrison Lee, which had left Admiral Everett, Jason Ryan, Anya Korvesky, and Captain Lienanov stunned, Everett turned to Jenks, who sat smiling inside the tram with his booted feet up on the console.

“Compartmentalized, my ass. You knew about this all along.” Everett zipped his cold-weather parka back up and then climbed inside and sat hard onto the plastic seat.

Lienanov, Ryan, and a silent Anya followed suit and the tram started moving again in the opposite direction. Jenks ignored Everett for the moment and turned in his seat to look at the white-faced Russian.

“You wanna tell me again about how big that Russian pig boat was you served on, my Red friend?”

The Russian captain squinted his eyes at the gruff master chief and then shook his head in wonder at the size of the grounded battleship he had just seen up close.

“Always buy American, my friend, more bang for the buck.” Jenks puffed on the cigar as he laughed at his own joke. “Now, to your question, Toad. Yes, I knew about the Lee, had to because I designed her escape pods and the assault craft that will ride inside her superstructure until we’re ready for you hero boys to do your thing. I had to know what in the hell ship I was attaching my work to. And I can tell you one thing, I had those two admirals, Kinkaid and that limey Huffington, so angry they shit gold bricks. But I withheld my designs until they showed me what I needed to see.” Jenks got a bad taste in his mouth and tossed his cigar onto the long dead ice of the inland sea. “Now that I know the whole truth, I wish I would have built a better beer can.”

Everett studied his old friend and then looked back at Anya, who also realized that Master Chief Jenks knew what was at stake.

Jenks faced his old friend and looked at him closely.

“Just make sure you’re not on that battlewagon when she shoves off, Toad, because she’s never coming home again.” He plopped a fresh cigar in his mouth with a far different demeanor as he looked back at the Russian naval officer. “You either, my Red friend. I think losing one ship at a time is quite enough.”

Lienanov listened to Jenks’s words and thought about them.

“As an officer, I will go where I’m needed. And I am not a Red, as you say. I am Second Captain Lienanov of the Northern Fleet.”

“Well, Second Captain Lenny Popoff, I admire your spunk. But just to let you know, the Garrison Lee is a death ship in waiting, and she will be crewed by men also not meant to return. So put that in your babushka and smoke it, and then find another way to glorify Mother Russia.”

Everett looked at Jenks, really not liking him that much at the moment, but then he saw that the former navy man was sad enough that he couldn’t look back at his old trainee and friend. Carl knew then that the master chief was on the crew list for the HMS Garrison Lee.

16

Matchstick was again at Gus Tilly’s bedside as the old prospector slept a rough sleep. Every so often Mahjtic would reach up and take Gus’s hand when the old prospector started to awaken. Once the long, green fingers wrapped around the man’s hand, he would go silent and let out a long breath and then he would breathe normally. Matchstick really couldn’t fathom his friend growing old, he had been so vital in his introduction to Earth and her ways. The man had not rested since he had arrived so many years before.

Matchstick would watch Gus’s closed eyes with own obsidian, oval-shaped ones, and then he would see the eyes under his lids start to move rapidly as Gus started to dream. Mahjtic didn’t know what he was dreaming about, but he sensed whatever it was made the old man happy, and that was good enough for him. He released the wrinkled, liver-spotted hand and then started to read the briefing from NASA on the destroyed space station.

Matchstick reached over and popped another pizza roll into his small mouth and crunched down upon it. He found eating allowed him to concentrate far better as a writer would consider smoking in the same regard. As he chewed the frozen snack he tapped the photo of the debris field as captured by earth-bound telescope with the tip of his long finger. While he did this and chewed the ice-covered pizza roll, he hummed the old song that Charlie had introduced him to that he was now hooked on and hummed constantly without knowing it: “The Purple People Eater” by Sheb Wooley. The fifties’ novelty hit was a favorite of Charlie Ellenshaw when he smoked that strange tobacco Matchstick always wrinkled his small nose over.

Suddenly Matchstick tapped the debris field as he noticed the full moon in the background of the starfield. It was the moon that had caught his attention and the small alien sat up in his chair. He looked closer and then it dawned on him why the Grays had gone out of their way to destroy the International Space Station when they had left all of the other earth-orbiting objects like satellites alone. The space station provided real-time visuals of the moon and it would have an unobstructed view of it from their position. That was why it was destroyed.

Matchstick spit out the frozen dough and cheese and made a beeline for the door.

The target area for the IP point of the Gray invasion had been discovered, and now Matchstick knew where the Power Vessel and the saucer armada would gather for the attack on Earth: the far side of the moon.

It had taken Europa only minutes to break into as many as two thousand telescopic devices the world over. Pete had been confronted by a very excited and incomprehensible Matchstick in his office just as he received the warning from Virginia in regard to getting Matchstick and Gus back to Chato’s Crawl. But all that was forgotten for the moment as Pete was now in the computer center scanning the area around the moon, selecting the satellites and telescopes that would give him the best view of any dimensional wormhole that would form in space to announce the arrival of the vanguard of Grays and their irreplaceable power-producing saucer. He realized that the Grays weren’t that stupid — why risk entering the atmosphere of Earth and open themselves up to attack, when all they had to do was come in covertly and strike at will from anywhere and never announce their presence with the forming vortex of the wormhole?

Alice Hamilton, who was staying on at Group, came in and traversed the steps to the center’s main floor. She raised her glasses and studied the still shots of the moon provided by Europa and her stolen signals.

“Do you think Matchstick has something?” she asked, looking over at the alien as he popped another frozen pizza roll into his mouth.

Pete looked at their small friend. “Yeah, I think he’s hit on something. His evidence is flimsy, but the attack on the space platform didn’t make any sense at the time. Now it does.”

Alice smiled at the chewing Matchstick and winked as she lowered the glasses on their chain.

“Looks like you may have a starting point for Operation Overlord,” she said to Mahjtic. He smiled and nodded his bulbous head. Alice patted Pete on the back. “Let’s get this out to Camp Alamo, tell them they will have a target very soon.”

“I just checked the status. Since you briefed me, Charlie and I kept an eye on the landline communications down there. It’s a damn good thing I never ordered Europa to dump her memory discs of the analog phone system. As I understand it now, they’ve had some kind of accident down there.”

“What accident?” she asked.

“After Matchstick verified that the power plant would work, some tech down there hooked something up wrong and they nearly lost the entire ship when a coolant line ruptured.”

“God, what next?” she asked herself.

“What’s next is that Virginia says that Matchstick and Gus are in danger because the president and the new head of the CIA want our little friend here in the worst way and will breach our security if they have to. We have orders to get the little guy back home, where we believe he’ll be safe, because no one knows about Chato’s Crawl.”

Matchstick continued to eat and then began humming “Purple People Eater.”

Both Alice and Pete looked over at Matchstick.

“I don’t know about you, Alice,” Pete said, “but I can really live without that.”

On the fifteenth try the mixed units of Delta and SEALs finally broke through the composite hatch of the power distribution vehicle mock-up. Everett was pleased when he realized that combining the teams and mixing specialists had paid off. Doubly pleased thanks to the Chinese government, which had been so pleased by the return of the 7th Fleet to assist in rescue operations of their seamen that they had sent several large fragments of the downed saucer from the wreckage of Beijing. That made the ingress into the power supply ship realistic in that regard. They had found out that their protective shield was only good when the cables were deployed and a grid was activated because, as the DARPA and General Electric technicians had explained, the shield grid was only viable when the interconnecting cables were in contact with the next, and the next, and so on. So if they hadn’t planned on setting their shield up in space, Carl’s men actually stood a chance of breaking in with the explosive teams.

Carl was drying his hair with a towel after exiting the freezing pool and was approached by Anya Korvesky. She was smiling as she pecked the admiral on the cheek. He looked up and saw to his relief that his men were still in the process of being lifted from the pool and hadn’t seen.

“Okay, I give up, Major. What’s got you so happy?” He tossed the towel at her, wrapping it around her face.

She laughed and removed the damp towel. “Because the whole time I’ve been on this mission I couldn’t understand why I was chosen to be here by the general. Now I do. I thought I was going to be condemned to sit here like a frog on a log while everyone else was doing something worthwhile.”

“That’s bump on a log, darlin,’ not a frog.”

“What? I always thought it was a frog,” she said in all seriousness.

“Again, why so happy? And no witty Americanisms, please,” Carl said, finally breaking out in a smile.

“I have a gift of the Israeli government for Operation Overlord,” she said as five SAS soldiers rolled in a large wheeled cart with four bright yellow aluminum containers strapped down to it. Carl saw the nuclear warning device emblem stamped on them and stood up with his eyes locked on the containers.

“Okay, you have my attention.” He glanced at the major out of the corner of his eye. “And if you want a frog on the log, that’s okay too, because any woman that carries around that kind of firepower can say whatever the hell she wants.”

Anya Korvesky smiled. “Good.”

“Now, explain your gift,” he said as his men started to gather around in various states of dress. They saw what was on the four-wheeled cart and one of the SEALs whistled.

“General Shamni realized, once he read what charge would be used on the power production saucer, that your battlefield ‘backpack’ nukes were a little small and rather bulky; the megatonnage was lacking, in his opinion. So after conferring with your General Caulfield he decided to give you one of Israel’s most guarded secrets: the Horn of Gabriel. Or rather, Horns of Gabriel, plural. Ten times the size of your American backpack nukes for each of the twelve units and packing one hell of a lot bigger punch.”

Everett and the team leaders of both the SEALs and Delta approached the cart and looked the boxes over. Each man had been briefed and had trained on setting off the American versions of the weapon, but were now doubly anxious to see this rather bizarre Israeli surprise.

“How big of a punch?” Carl asked with due respect.

“Twenty megatons each. Each unit can be carried by one man. I believe that will be double the amount needed to blow anything up.”

Both SEALs and Delta teams smiled as they exchanged looks, knowing they had just found a new best friend in Major Anya Korvesky.

The arrival of Lord Durnsford caused quite a stir among the hierarchy of the Overlord staff. Sir Darcy, Admiral Kinkaid, and Admiral Huffington watched along with the gentleman from MI6 as he studied the training exercise in the large mock-up of the number one gun turret. The sides were cut away to give the Royal Navy evaluation teams clear access to view the loading and firing procedures of the gun crew, all fifty-six of them.

They had already lost one of the real mounts on HMS Garrison Lee’s number five turret on the underside superstructure that placed it out of action early this morning, when one of the shipyard workers inadvertently struck one of the thick coolant lines with a cutting torch, touching off a large chain reaction when the explosive gases mixed together in the oxygen-rich environment. The resulting explosion killed sixty-one yard workers, most of whom were working on the outside of the turret while performing their jobs on the elevated scaffolding that was needed to get to the upside-down superstructure. These were yard personnel that could not be replaced due to the time restraints and the strict requirements of the security background checks involved.

Lord Durnsford, the leader of the world’s effort on Overlord, watched the gun crew inside the mock-up insert the particle canister into the large-bored breach and then slam the tube closed. They stepped back and covered their ears as the power surge from the generators began to pump over a thousand cubic feet of Argon gas into the mixing chamber just forward of the gun’s breach. As the power built to 100 percent the first blast of nitrogen gas was injected into the tungsten-lined barrel, effectively freezing the hybrid steel before the shock of the blazing hot laser fired. The simulation went off without a hitch as the blank round of canister shot pellets, small steel ball-bearing-sized shrapnel injected into the barrel to be carried by the electrical impact of the light weapon and then pushed through the thirty-five foot gun. Once it neared the tip of the crystal the pellets were redirected around the light enhancement crystal so as not to blow it apart, and then once outside of the barrel the light wave would carry the particle beam shot at the speed of light to its intended target. The bolt of steel-infused light, a particle beam in essence, would slam into an enemy vessel, ripping its target area like a shotgun blast. Then a blast of nitrogen coolant would be flushed through the barrel to cool it before the next loading process began anew.

“I’m glad to see we worked out the damaged crystal mishaps,” Durnsford said. “That was fast becoming an expensive proposition.”

The gunnery officers had made adjustments to the redirection of the canister shot after numerous mishaps had not directed the steel pellets far enough around the expensive light enhancement crystals, causing them to be smashed by their own gunfire.

“Yes, it took our American colleagues at Raytheon far longer than we would have thought to reverse-engineer the barrel openings. The rifling that sent the pellets around the crystals were installed backwards from the original Martian design.” Sir Darcy hoped the explanation didn’t bring on the famous temper from the gentleman from MI6.

“What is the status of the number five turret?” he asked as he watched the two hundred welding machines at work trying to repair the platform.

“Not as fast as we would like. After all, the men have to work precariously upside down and it gets rather tiresome, I am told. We are having to switch crews far too often. The turret may not be available when the time arrives.”

“In other words, due to tired crews and careless workmen we may have lost one-third of her firepower?”

Lord Durnsford took a deep breath and then looked away from his battleship. He needed Niles Compton here to assist him in holding his famed temper at the lack of progress. He faced his number two man in Sir Darcy Bennett.

“Tell me the fame that preceded our infamous Professor Jenks has paid dividends?”

“I’m pleased to say that the former naval master chief was everything he was advertised to be. The escape pods for not just half, but the full complement of crewmen have been installed ahead of schedule. The two assault craft are complete and ready to go.”

Lord Durnsford raised his bushy brows in surprise.

“It’s just that Jenks is the most disagreeable bastard I have ever had the displeasure to know.”

“Yes, Dr. Compton warned us about that.”

“Yes, that may be, but I wish we had ten more engineers like him, regardless of his feelings toward the established way of doing things.” Admiral Kinkaid defended his Navy man as best he could, no matter how hard it was.

Durnsford stepped back from his elevated view of the dockyard and faced all three men. “When will the power plant test take place?”

It was Admiral Huffington’s turn to speak. “We have already powered her up and it didn’t blow up the bloody ship, but now I’m afraid to push our luck.”

“I am not in the mood for humor, Admiral. I’m quite tired and still have to meet with General Collins and Admiral Everett and field their vast concerns.”

“It wasn’t an attempt at humor, my lord, but the God’s honest truth. All we have in hand is the plans supplied by Dr. Compton. If that alien bloke is off by the smallest parameter in his engineering, we could very well blow up half of the bloody continent of Antarctica.”

“Admiral, Mr. Mahjtic has been right on with all of his calculations thus far, has he not?”

“But something with this much power…” Huffington stopped when Durnsford held up a restraining hand.

“He was an engineer in his slave capacity, was he not? He was also a crewman on a saucer, was he not?”

“Yes, so the Americans claim.”

Durnsford shot Huffington an angry look and then narrowed his eyes underneath his glasses.

“Niles Compton believes everything Mr. Mahjtic has said in his many thousand hours of debriefing. I have had a chance to personally do so. I will not hear another excuse about your having doubts on his ability. As I recall you two forward-thinking geniuses were adamantly opposed to having a mere Navy master chief on your design team.” He paused for the briefest of moments and then exploded. “And he’s the only engineer that delivered what he promised!”

The men lowered their heads as they realized how wrong they had been to doubt the small alien engineer.

Durnsford calmed himself with a look to his friend, Sir Darcy.

“Gentlemen, I expect the test no later than 2200 hours this night. Due to unforeseen developments our timetable for launch of the Lee has been pushed up. The enemy has made a mistake caught by the very being you have doubted all along. We know where they are going to place their power disbursement vessel, and the HMS Garrison Lee is going to be there to meet it.”

All three men were stunned at the announcement.

“Now, no more delays, gentlemen. I appreciate the hard work and sacrifice, but now is the time for action and not doubt.” He turned and looked down at the men working and those training. “We owe them that, don’t you think?”

With that Lord Durnsford turned and left with Sir Darcy in tow.

“My old friend Dr. Compton is awake in Washington. We have hopes that the president will soon follow, but he may not be awake in time to stem the crazed orders of that madman occupying that particularly powerful office. General Collins will have his hands full if he has only the air cover of our very limited Sea Harriers. Now I have to go and tell Collins that good news.” Durnsford paused and then eyed his friend closely. “Tell me the crew of that bloody ship is ready and that Commodore Freemantle can do the job.”

“He’ll be meeting with us, General Collins, and Admiral Everett. I think that question has to be put forth by you, my friend. Freemantle will know the true gravity of the situation then.”

“Why will he meet with the Americans?”

“Because the commodore needs to look in the eyes of the men that will be responsible for allowing him the time to get the Lee in the air, and once it is there to make sure his one-way trip is not for nothing. Also because he needs to see two Americans that don’t give a good goddamn who he is or what his reputation for being a hard-ass is.”

Jack had toured the storage areas for the equipment and logistics needed by the two airborne divisions and inspected armor in place at the dispersed location where the Army Corps of Engineers had dug out emplacements for the Panzer division. Without maneuvers, his men were as ready as they would ever be. He and Everett, who said his assault teams would never be prepared enough for their mission, sat and waited for an important meet and greet with the commander of the HMS Garrison Lee. Jack turned to his friend.

“You’re going with your men, aren’t you?”

Everett smiled and then looked at Jack from across the table. He knew before the meeting what was going to brought up between his friend and himself.

“I can’t let them go out there without me, Jack, just like you’re going to place your ass on the line up there when the time comes. I’m taking Ryan with me, if that makes you feel better. The little bastard gave me those hurt puppy-dog eyes when he learned I’m going. Besides, the commander can keep me company on that flying death trap they named after our friend. Can you see Lee right now if he knew what the name was on the fantail of that crate?”

Jack snorted laughter at the thought. Garrison Lee would have screamed bloody murder over the honor and then limped up a scaffold and personally scratched his name from the fantail.

“I clandestinely took a picture of the name and secretly used Europa to send it to Alice.” He looked away for a brief moment. “I think she’ll get a kick out of seeing it.”

Carl removed his wristwatch and looked at it. He then offered it to Jack.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, go ahead and keep it for me until I get back.”

Again Jack laughed lightly. “No, as Henri said, time paradox and all of that Isaac Asimov crap. Just bring it back in one piece, swabby.”

Everett looked at the watch and then slid it back over his thick wrist. “I’ll do what I can to do just that, General.”

At that moment a lone figure strolled through the door and Jack recognized him immediately. He had first met the man at Aberdeen Proving Ground, where he had been a guest instructor on the theory of astrophysics, and then a second time at a NATO conference on the interaction between naval forces and army special operations. The sudden recognition explained why Carl Everett was doing the mission he had been assigned. This man’s pet theory was that Special Forces combined with naval tactics could achieve more by stealth and audacity than a large-scale invasion. Jack Collins despised the arrogant British naval man like no other allied officer he had ever met.

“Oh, crap,” Jack said under his breath as Lord Commodore Percy Freemantle, the Third Lord of Sussex, entered the room. Jack and Carl stood up.

The tall, thin figure took in the two American officers, then stepped to a chair and placed his bag on the top of the table. Without looking at either officer standing at attention, he sat.

“At ease, gentlemen, at ease.” The commodore opened his briefcase and pulled out some papers.

With a worrisome sideways glance at each other Jack and Carl sat.

They studied the blond-haired graduate of Her Majesty’s Royal Naval Academy, a man who had graduated number one in his class; who would look down upon Jack for finishing third in his West Point class, and definitely down upon Carl for finishing tenth in his at Annapolis. He was dressed in the new blue computer-designed print camouflage BDU, which looked quite out of place on the prim and proper naval genius, but still enough of a difference that Jack and Carl simultaneously noticed their own wet and filthy white camouflage that had already seen better days.

“I want you gentlemen to know, in the interest of being honest, and my nature of full disclosure, I was against your appointments to your current duties.” The commodore didn’t show the professional courtesy of even looking up from the paperwork he was perusing. “General Collins, I know that you are a capable officer, but your duties away from the army of your country has … well … let us just say you may be a little rusty. And that fact, coupled with your limited knowledge of large-scale defensive tactics, I believe is a hindrance to giving me the time to get my ship off the ground.” He finally looked up at Jack to see his reaction. There was none. The commodore smiled at something only he was privy to.

Carl looked at Collins, who sat stoically and silent. Everett raised his brows and waited for the insults to his appointment to commence. The commodore returned to his papers, making Carl think he wasn’t important enough to address. He was wrong.

“Admiral Everett,” Freemantle said, and to Everett the word admiral sounded as if the commodore had just taken a large bite out of a shit sandwich. “I am so disappointed that Lord Durnsford chose a political appointee over my suggestion for an SAS regimental combat team to achieve the goal of gaining access to the power replenishment vessel.” He looked up at Carl. “The impact of this decision, in my humble opinion, could lead to disaster.”

The two men exchanged glances and then smirks as the commodore continued his reading. Or acting job, Jack thought, if you would prefer that description.

The double doors opened and an SAS commando stepped inside. He looked at the occupants of the room.

Jack and Carl stood as a line of Gray captives entered with only pants covering their disjointedly backward-working legs. All five had black bags over their heads and were shackled together. The line of Grays was flanked by heavily armed SAS men who had their short and compact Heckler & Koch HK-417 automatic assault weapons at the ready. The Grays were ruthlessly shoved into the meeting room. Everett and Collins relaxed while Commodore Freemantle never even turned. The captives were followed by Lord Durnsford and Sir Darcy Bennett, who strolled in as casually as you please. The Grays were made to sit on the cold floor along the wall. Several of them hissed and snapped underneath their hoods.

“I see you gentlemen are getting acquainted?” Lord Durnsford sat at the head of the table while Sir Darcy remained standing, looking at the captive Grays with distaste.

“Yes, I was just telling the general and admiral what a pleasure it is to be to working with them. I am truly excited about our chances.”

“Please, Percy, cut the crap, I know you a little too well.” Lord Durnsford shook his head. “General Collins, Admiral Everett, Commodore Freemantle is the right choice for the command of the HMS Garrison Lee, but his manners and professionalism are at most times called into question.” He looked at the commodore, who only smiled up at him. “Even Her Royal Majesty thinks he is a bloody pain in the bum.”

“Thank you, Harrison, a better introduction could not have been written more profoundly by myself.”

“Time is short and I wanted to meet with you gentlemen and wish you luck. Your timetables have been advanced, hopefully before the Grays make their initial move. We now know, thanks to your little friend in the desert”—he looked and Jack and Carl—“that the Grays are going to seek the protection of the far side of the moon, thinking we cannot get at them from here. That is the reason for the attack on the International Space Station. We plan on surprising them.”

The Grays in the corner started hissing and kicking out with their legs, as if they understood what Lord Durnsford was saying. Sir Darcy stepped back next to one of the SAS guards.

“We have brought these creatures in for your benefit, Percy”—Durnsford eyed the naval man closely—“to show you what will be inside every city, every village, and every home if you fail. I hope your arrogance doesn’t cloud over the fact that you have one hell of a lot of people on this planet depending on you.”

“There is no more capable man in the service of Her Majesty, I assure you of—”

A member of the SAS suddenly burst through the doors and handed Sir Darcy a slip of paper. The small man grimaced and then handed Lord Durnsford the message.

“Gentlemen, the time for demonstration is at an end. You must now go to your commands. It seems our enemy is moving far faster than we thought. A dimensional wormhole has been seen developing in space, two thousand miles above the surface, on the dark side of the moon. Good luck, my friends.”

Jack and Carl stood, but Collins hesitated a moment as he eyed Lord Freemantle as he quickly gathered his papers. He then looked at the SAS men gathering their captives.

“Lord Durnsford?” Jack said.

“Yes, General?”

“Were these prisoners meant for anything other than demonstration purposes for the sake of the commodore?”

“No, as a matter of fact.”

Without saying another word Jack paced the twenty steps to the now standing and struggling Grays. He quickly pulled out his holstered nine millimeter and before the SAS guards could react, shot each Gray in the head, dropping them to the floor, and then fired three more times into the hearts of the hard-to-kill prisoners. An SAS soldier started to reach for Collins’s weapon, but Durnsford stopped him.

Jack Collins holstered the Beretta and then faced Commodore Freemantle.

“That’s what you can expect, Commodore — ruthlessness.” He took a step toward the shocked naval genius who had never fired a shot in anger in his entire career. “Now, are you up to the task?” Jack joined Everett and they both walked out to the smiles of Lord Durnsford and Darcy.

“Damn, Jack,” Carl said as they both bounded down the steps.