Battle Stations!
Battle Stations!
Terran Defenders Chapter 16
The multiple rocket launch systems had been positioned in a now-deserted car park, just a few hundred metres from the army’s field headquarters in Central Park. The three soldiers who operated the deadly weapons were sitting around a makeshift table, playing cards. Each wore heavy coats and cold-weather gear. The snow hadn’t stopped falling for nearly an entire day, and many troops were starting to feel the effects.
“I hate all this waiting around. When are we going to get some orders?” grumbled the young private, rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to stay warm. His superior officer scowled at him.
“We get orders when we get them. Quit your whining, soldier. General Dougray knows what he’s doing.”
“I sure hope so, sarge. I don’t fancy fighting those things,” muttered the corporal sitting across from him, gesturing to the sky. They’d been playing poker for over an hour, and none of them were any closer to winning.
The constant hum of patrolling fighter jets and the drone of helicopters ferrying troops and equipment had become background noise. It felt like half the world’s military forces had converged on the city.
The crunch of footsteps on the ice and snow caught their attention. All three men rose to attention as a figure approached.
“General, sir!” shouted the sergeant, snapping a salute.
“At ease, gentlemen,” the general said as he casually circled the MRLS battery. “Hope you’re ready for action, because we’re about to take those alien bastards down.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” the three soldiers replied in unison.
The general walked away smiling to himself. His disguise was working perfectly; none of the soldiers had realised he was an imposter. He made his way to the military jeep he’d ‘acquired’ at a checkpoint. The respect his disguise garnered amused him, but his little charade was coming to an end. The small Olmeca device in his pocket chimed softly, signalling it was time to act.
Five minutes later, he arrived at the communications tent. Walking in briskly, he dismissed the private on duty. He took a seat at the radio set, cleared his throat, and tested his voice. The Olmeca device could perfectly mimic the target’s appearance, but without a proper voice sample, the illusion wouldn’t hold. Genera hoped the brief recording he’d made before incapacitating the real General Dougray would be enough.
He muttered a few test words and smiled. The device was still working flawlessly. He picked up the headset and tuned in to the military broadcast channel. With so many nations’ militaries in the city, a single channel had been set up to issue orders to everyone at once.
“This is General Dougray. The time has come to remove the alien blight from this city. I’ve received direct orders from the U.N. to launch a pre-emptive strike. The attack will begin in five minutes. All personnel to your stations. Ground and naval missile batteries will strike first, followed by an all-out aerial offensive.”
Genera had no idea what he was talking about, but he did his best to sound authoritative, like the war movie generals he’d seen. He watched as acknowledgements flooded in from across the city. Over twenty thousand soldiers and a force capable of launching two thousand missiles were now poised to attack. The aliens wouldn’t stand a chance.
With his part done, Genera quickly left the tent and returned to his jeep. He had one more thing to do before leaving the city on the stealth ship. He had to get to his apartment and retrieve the cash waiting for him. The aliens and war didn’t concern him—he just wanted his money.
Phil Garner was reviewing a report at his desk when the city’s warning sirens began blaring. He rushed to the shattered window and watched in horror as the military prepared for an attack. Fighter jets filled the skies, racing out to sea for their attack runs, while soldiers scurried to their posts. He snatched the phone but found the line busy. What was Dougray doing? He tried to reach the general repeatedly, but each attempt failed. Frustrated, he slammed the phone down.
“That idiot’s going to get us all killed,” he muttered under his breath.
Grabbing his jacket and a pistol from his desk drawer, Phil bolted from the room. Though he hadn’t used the gun since leaving the army, he wasn’t about to enter a war zone unarmed. Racing through the U.N. building, he flagged down a truck filled with soldiers.
“What’s going on, soldier? Why are you preparing for an attack?” he demanded.
“The general gave the order, sir,” the young officer replied, his voice strained.
“The Security Council sure as hell didn’t authorise that. Take me to the general. Now!”
The soldier paled and nodded. He knew something wasn’t right.
The missile battery was primed and ready. With the push of a button, the first volley of missiles roared into the sky. Their trails were visible as they streaked towards the alien ship, and within seconds they were joined by thousands of others. The first wave took the Ekahau by complete surprise, striking the massive vessel in rapid succession, sending flames and debris flying from its hull.
On the Ekahau ship, chaos erupted. Officers on the bridge were thrown from their posts as the ship rocked violently. Sparks flew from damaged consoles, and thick smoke began to fill the room. The ship’s alarm wailed as crew members scrambled to their stations.
Chac, the ship’s commander, dragged himself off the floor, wiping green blood from a gash on his forehead. Bodies littered the bridge around him.
“Status report! Now!” he bellowed.
“The Terrans launched an assault, Commander. Our shields weren’t raised, and their weapons have damaged the ship.”
Chac was astonished. He had underestimated the Terrans. The fact that their weapons could harm his vessel was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. His arrogance had cost him the lives of his men. Settling back into his command chair, he barked out new orders.
“Raise the shields! Bring the heavy Phasic cannons online! Launch all bombers and fighters. They will suffer for this!”
The Ekahau shields came online just before the next missile volley hit. This time, however, instead of explosions, the missiles disintegrated harmlessly against the energy field. The ship’s guns fired back, vaporising skyscrapers and carving deep craters into the city. Hundreds of soldiers were incinerated as debris rained down.
Across the Hudson, air raid sirens blared. Over a hundred fighter jets from seven nations swarmed the skies, but their payloads proved ineffective against the alien shields.
Flight Officer Ryan Burrows led his squadron of Eurofighter Typhoons into the fray. He cursed as he watched his weapons have no effect. Surrounding him were F-22 Raptors from the U.S. Air Force and Typhoons from both the French and Royal Air Forces. Further out, MiGs from the Russian Air Force began their attack runs, but they too found their weapons useless.
“This is Brit Lead to all squadrons. Our weapons are ineffective. We need a new strategy. Command, any suggestions?”
Bob Denton was rushed into the command centre. Drafted in by the military for his scientific expertise, he listened as the first reports came in. He could hear the frustration in the pilots’ voices. His mind raced as he considered the technologies the aliens might possess. Though most of his knowledge came from sci-fi stories, some of those technologies now seemed frighteningly real. An idea struck him, and he grabbed the radio headset.
“All pilots, this is Bob Denton, the U.N.’s scientific advisor. I have an idea. The alien shields are energy-based, not projectile-based. I believe only energy can overload their shields. I suggest setting your bombs and missiles to detonate before impact. The energy released may be enough to weaken their shields.”
“Sounds like a plan, Doc,” replied one of the pilots.
The Ekahau fighters swarmed from the belly of the larger ship, engaging the jets in a vicious dogfight. The alien fighters fired their Phasic cannons, destroying scores of jets in the process. What had begun as a pre-emptive strike had devolved into a desperate struggle for survival.
“Watch your six, Talon!” Burrows shouted as an alien fighter pulled off an impossible manoeuvre, sliding in behind his wingman. The alien ship fired a burst of energy, vaporising the back of Talon’s jet and sending it spiralling into a skyscraper. A fiery explosion marked his death.
Burrows rolled his Typhoon hard to the right, bringing him up behind the alien ship. He squeezed the trigger, launching an air-to-air missile that slammed into the alien fighter, causing it to spin out of control. Diving after it, Burrows unleashed a burst of machine-gun fire, tearing into the alien craft’s exposed undercarriage. The ship exploded in a ball of fire.
“The alien fighters aren’t as well-protected as their mothership, command!” Burrows reported excitedly.
His moment of triumph was short-lived as another alien fighter dropped in behind him.
‘It’s going to be a long day,’ he thought grimly, once again locked in a life-or-death struggle.
All around him, jets were being torn apart by the alien’s energy weapons. Burrows would have admired their skill if he weren’t so busy dodging and weaving through the burning streets of New York. He heard the anguished cries of pilots over the radio, followed by the occasional shout of joy as an alien fighter was taken down.
Dogfighting above the streets was harrowing. Skyscrapers and other obstacles loomed large, and more than one pilot smashed into a building trying to avoid enemy fire. The city was ablaze, a stark contrast to the blanket of winter snow. Burrows narrowly avoided a collapsing skyscraper as he jinked to the left, the alien fighter still on his tail.
“Brit Lead, this is Mig 23. Juke right, now!” came the thick Russian accent.
Burrows didn’t hesitate. He veered right just as the Russian MiG screamed past, guns blazing. The explosion behind him made Burrows sigh with relief.
“Nice shooting, Mig 23. Thanks for the assist,” he said.
“No problem. My squadron is toast. Mind if I be your wingman?” asked the Russian pilot, anger seeping through his words.
“Welcome aboard. Any idea how many we’ve lost?” Burrows asked. He hadn’t been able to follow the radio reports during the chaotic fight.
“We’ve lost nearly half our force. The Yankees took the brunt. The command centre is gone, and U.S.S. Defiant has assumed command. The RAF has withdrawn to protect the ships in the Hudson.”
“Shit. Let’s regroup before we get shot down too. Form up on me, and we’ll head to the Hudson.”
Together, the two jets flew low over the ruined city, heading for what would soon be a desperate withdrawal.
Phil Garner dove for cover behind a truck as an alien fighter streaked overhead, guns blazing as it chased a lone jet. The small squad of soldiers he had hitched a ride with were huddled nearby.
“How far to the general’s command post?” Phil shouted over the sounds of battle.
The captain, pale and shaking, stared at his burning city.
Phil grabbed him by the collar. “How far to the command post?” he barked.
The captain blinked, snapping out of his stupor. “It’s only a few hundred yards, sir.”
Phil nodded. “Your men are with me. We’ve got to reach the general and stop this madness.”
They sprinted through the devastated streets. In the distance, another skyscraper collapsed under alien fire. Phil winced, imagining the hundreds of troops likely trapped beneath the wreckage.
When they finally reached the clearing, they were greeted by a horrific sight. The command post was ablaze, bodies scattered around the ruined structure. To the left stood the general’s tent, still intact. Phil charged in, pistol drawn, and froze at the sight before him.
General Dougray lay bound on the floor, hands and feet tied. A deep gash marred his forehead.
“What the hell?” one of the soldiers gasped.
“Help me with him!” Phil shouted, rushing over. He knelt beside the barely conscious general. “What happened?”
“I was attacked by... by a man,” Dougray gasped. “He looked just like my XO, but... but I saw him change.”
“Change? What are you talking about?” Phil asked.
“The man thought he’d knocked me out, but I guess my head’s thicker than he thought. He was holding some kind of metallic disk. I saw him shimmer and... take on my appearance!”
Phil’s eyes narrowed, but the general’s words rang true. “An alien gadget?” he muttered.
“I swear to you, Garner, I never ordered this attack! I’ve learned my lesson. Now untie me. We’ve got a battle to win!”
The soldiers cut the general’s bonds and helped him to his feet.
“We have to find the man who attacked you, General. He’s a traitor. Do you remember anything else about him?” Phil asked.
“There was one thing. Just before the attack started, he muttered something about needing to get to his apartment. Check the map on that table over there.”
Phil walked over to the table. Sure enough, a building had been circled on the city map, with the word ‘jackpot’ scrawled beside it.
“Captain, get your men ready. We’re going after this guy,” Phil ordered.
Genera made his way through the ruined city, narrowly avoiding two alien bombing runs. So far, Itzamná’s plan was working perfectly. The aliens were distracted, and the humans were too busy fighting for their lives to notice what was happening behind the scenes.
He knew returning to his apartment was a risk, but he couldn’t resist. The codes to all his accounts were there, and no matter how things turned out, money was his primary concern. He wasn’t sure if Itzamná would keep his promise of making him rich beyond his wildest dreams. If not, the codes were his safety net.
Turning a corner, Genera spotted his apartment building. It had taken a beating in the attack, with large chunks of masonry missing and its windows blown out. His flat was on the 35th floor. It would be a long climb, but he was confident he could get in and out before Itzamná summoned him again.
Gingerly, he picked his way through the rubble and into the lobby. Broken glass crunched beneath his feet as he approached the stairwell. He checked his Magnum and began the long climb.
Itzamná studied the holographic display aboard the Dzibilchaltún, watching the carnage unfold below. The humans had taken the bait, launching their attack on the Ekahau ship. Everything was going according to plan. Genera had played his part well.
It was almost time for him to descend to the planet. His scheme was nearing completion. The humans believed he had come in peace, seeking refuge from the Ekahau. Fools. They were battling the very force that could have saved them from him.
Smiling to himself, Itzamná left the command deck and headed for the docking bay. His destiny awaited.