by Richard Mann
‘How long are you going to be home this time? Me and the kids really miss you. I need you here.’ Peter looks up at his wife, a guilty expression on his face. He knows he is in for a dressing down, much more frightening than a dressing down from an SAS Colonel, much worse. He pleads.
‘I want to be here as well, but we’ve been very busy recently, especially in the Middle East.’ Peter is trying to sound apologetic.
‘You never talk to me about your work.’ Jennifer knows very well that Peter cannot talk about his work, and she suspects he is working for MI6, but she asks the question anyway - to make him feel uncomfortable.
‘Listen, you know I’m in the SAS, and quite often we work with MI6.’
‘You work for MI6? That’s dangerous,’ Jennifer replied.
‘So is the SAS. Jennifer, you know I cannot talk about my work. I would get into trouble if I did. You must not tell anyone else, okay? Listen, they have just given me six months paid leave, as a reward. Besides, they just promoted me to Captain. Pays a lot more too, we can get that kitchen you keep on about.’
Jennifer puts her arms around Peter and kisses him, her mood changes. Peter is always amazed at how quickly women’s moods change, like the Welsh weather.
‘Come here, you know that American accent turns me on.’
Peter grabs Jennifer’s bottom and kissed her.
‘Well Captain, It’s your English accent that gets me hot and those hard muscles. Is that why they call you “Bulletproof” Pete?’
Jennifer rubs her hands over his sinewy muscles, then his crotch, then for some reason looks at the TV.
‘Pete, something’s going on, look.’
They both gaze at the TV. The reception is blurred and fuzzy.
“Reports are coming in from NASA and observatories around the world that objects are entering the atmosphere…”
There are blurred pictures of huge dark objects entering the atmosphere. Peter’s bleeper goes off. Jennifer looks at him in a state of panic. He smiles that bullshit smile, as if everything is ok—but it isn’t of course. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t been sleeping—his subconscious knows something is up. He dials a number on his landline, but reaches static. He tries the mobile, Vinnie answers, but its’ a bad signal.
‘Vinnie, do you know what’s going on? The news!’ he shouts.
‘HQ said it’s aliens. They’re invading. There’s a big fucking ship over London mate!’ The line is breaking up.
‘What aliens? What are you talking about? Speak up, it’s a bad line.’
Then his SAS bleeper goes off again as he looks at a wild-eyed Jennifer. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach. On the TV he can see vague dark shapes suddenly become clearer. His heart skips a beat as he remembers his visions in Sir Nigel’s office: dark, ominous, and alien. Déjà vu.
It’s all becoming true.
‘It’s for real. We need to report to an RAF base up north in double quick time,’ says a faint-sounding Vinnie. ‘A helicopter will pick us up. It’s…’ Vinnie’s voice is cracking up then the line goes dead. Peter and Jennifer look at each other.
‘I have seen those shapes before Jenny in my dreams. I don’t like it.’ Peter pauses for a moment, looks at the TV, then Jennifer.
‘I think the safest place is right here. Don’t go wandering outside. Especially the kids. There’s a stash of canned food, water and candles in the cupboard . You should be okay.’
Jennifer starts crying. Peter holds her in his arms and comforts her. Was this the last time he would hold her in his arms? He held her a little tighter, not wanting to let her go—to be with her forever, as tears well in his eyes.
‘Everything’s going to be all right. I will be home before you know it. It’s probably just the Russians playing silly buggers,’ trying to sound cheerful, but he knows his bullshit isn’t fooling Jennifer.
Peter’s two young children come running in from the garden, dirt on their hands and knees. They reach up to try to put their arms around his neck.
‘Daddy, are you going away again?’ says Sally, a sad look in her eyes. Peter feels heartbroken, again.
‘Yes, but I will be back soon, I promise. Look after Mummy please,’ as he hugs his young daughter, tears in his eyes. Peter looks at Robert, his young son, a sense of pride filling his chest.
And sadness.
‘Robert, you’re the man of the house now, so you have to look after Mummy and your sister. Okay?’
Robert looks at him with his blue eyes and says ‘Yes, Dad.’
Peter puts his arms around them both. ‘Now give me a big kiss, both of you.’
‘Don’t forget your little book.’ Jennifer hands Peter his little book of poems.
‘Thanks,’ he kisses her. ‘It will remind me of you. And keep me sane.’
Peter is in turmoil. He loves his family dearly. He has just got back from a mission, after a year away, and is leaving them again. It is the hardest thing he has ever had to do. Leaving them when they need him the most, at their most vulnerable. His instincts tell him to stay home, but Queen and country—duty comes first, doesn’t it? Later, that decision to leave his family will tear him apart.
That look in Jennifer’s eyes tell him everything he needs to know. Inside he is crying as he hears the sound of a helicopter approaching.
Chapter 38
This Cannot Be Happening
AIRFORCE BASE IN THE NORTH OF ENGLAND
A room full of SAS soldiers from 21 Regiment is being briefed. Peter and Vinnie, in military uniform, sit at the front. Straight-laced, white-haired SAS Colonel Bradley addresses the troops in his gravelly voice.
‘Any question that we are alone in this universe has been answered. At 0600 UK time today alien spaceships entered our atmosphere. So far, they have manoeuvred their ships over major cities, including London and Birmingham and other major populations around the world. Our cities are being evacuated as I speak. Military law is now in force. The North of England is clear of alien activity but we may not have much time.’
Peter thinks he is dreaming—as if he was in a movie and he is an actor—but this was not a movie, this is real. He drinks his coffee, reassured by the presence of his brother in arms, and good friend, Vinnie. He hasn’t slept well the last few days, and the coffee gives him the kick he needs.
‘Is this really happening?’ asked Vinnie.
‘Yes Vinnie, this is real,’ replied Peter.
‘Their technology is far superior to ours, and aerial attacks by our fighters have proved futile, so we have called them off. NATO intelligence reports have indicated that we are looking at a complete destruction of our cities and military within a few days, if not less. Conventional weapons will probably be useless so we will be fighting a different type of war. More covert, more stealth. We will be fighting a guerrilla war, perfectly suited to our training, Gentlemen. We will join forces with the Americans and some of you will be flying to the US to be seconded onto Project Sirius.’
The Colonel glanced at Peter and Vinnie.
‘I don’t need to tell you that we face the biggest challenge this regiment ever faced in our history. I have had the honour of serving with many of you, so I know how good you are.’
‘What’s their objective, sir?’ asks Peter.
‘That’s not entirely clear at the moment, Captain Morgan, but I expect we shall find out soon.’ An aide whispers into the Colonel’s ear, then his voice becomes more urgent.
‘There are reports of an alien ship heading this way, so we need to move quickly. Best of British luck. Briefing over. Dismissed.’ After the briefing, the colonel takes Peter aside.
‘Peter, you are going to the US. The Americans—the CIA—specifically asked for you. Your reputation precedes you it seems, and I know you work with Corporal Carson, so he is going too. Des too. We’ve had the nod from Sir Nigel at 6, though h
e wasn’t happy about it.’
‘I should be fighting here sir, I’m British!’ protests Peter. But the Colonel looks away, unable to look him in the eye.
Half an hour later, Peter and Vinnie in full SAS battle dress are in an aircraft hangar, with enough equipment and weapons to start a small war. They pack their weapons and equipment into their 40lb Bergens. Peter was offered an M16 rifle, but it runs off a gas system and jams or breaks every 30 seconds because of it. No, he has a Heckler and Koch G36, which is nearly as robust as an AK-47, and more powerful. It can fire straight out of mud or water, and it won’t jam.
No dead man’s click.
It is more accurate than the M16 and quite light; it can be field-stripped in under two minutes with no tools.
Just like Vinnie, dead reliable.
He looks at Vinnie who nods approval at his choice. They were to be issued some brand new Sirius PR7 rifles, but someone at the Ministry of Defence procurement had made a shocking cock-up, and some vital components were missing, so they were useless. They only have one working PR7, which Peter has managed to cobble together from other malfunctioning PR7s. Peter takes the PR7, one electro mag battery pack to power the rifle, and three PR7 magazines. The PR7 has a Sirius logo on the side—an S inside a three-dimensional triangle. He will take his G36 as well, as a backup.
Peter has heard all the stories, first hand, of non-functioning radios in Afghanistan, and useless jeeps, which was why the SAS don’t use standard MOD equipment, but source their own. He remembers the bitter lesson in Yemen, when his radio didn’t work because a Rupert, the traitor Ponsonby, didn’t do his job properly.
Peter wonders if these weapons will actually be any good against aliens. Do aliens have force fields? Are they carbon-based life forms like us? Do they breathe oxygen? What are their weaknesses? Peter takes a swig from his water bottle, as he packs extra ammunition. Deep inside he knew this was coming, the foreboding the visions.
Now he must face it.
‘Well, Bulletproof old mate, here we go again,’ Vinnie sighs philosophically.
‘Vinnie—aliens for Christ’s sake. What do we know about aliens? It’s an unknown, and I don’t like it. We haven’t trained for a war against ET.’
‘We’ll kick some alien arse,’ says Vinnie. Peter smiles at Vinnie’s eternal optimism.
‘This will be a different kind of war, Vinnie, my old friend. A different kind of war.’
Peter and Vinnie look at each other, the smile of comradeship before they go into battle. They clasp hands.
‘Strength and honour,’ Peter recalls an ancient memory of battles in a hot and dusty landscape, spears and shields, running, cries of anguish, cries of conquest, clashes of shields, the smell of blood, then lying in the dust after the battle looking at a blue sky, the vultures circling above.
‘Let’s be quick about it Vinnie, an alien ship is on its way.’
They look out of the hangar door at the strange looking plane on the landing strip, black as the ace of spades.
‘Would you Adam and Eve it. It looks like a Space Shuttle,’ says Vinnie.
‘A Space Shuttle and an SR71,’ replies Peter. Vinnie looks worried.
‘Hope we’re not going into space. I’ll get space sick.’ Peter smiles at Vinnie, then adds:
‘The Colonel says it’s a new prototype—converted to carry troops—rumour has it that it contains alien technology, an X-37D. It’s based on the X-37B. Flies bloody fast by all accounts.’
Vinnie raises his eyebrows and whistles.
‘Tuck your shirt in, mate,’ Peter slaps Vinnie on the back.
‘As long as I don’t get Tom and Dick, you know I don’t like flying.’
They carry their gear from the hangar towards the X-37D troop carrier stealth aircraft, then stow it in the hold, get on board, and get seated. It is much more comfortable than a C130. Peter smiles at Vinnie.
‘Don’t be a pussy—it will be okay. Here, have a sick bag and stop moaning, you’re always complaining,’ nags Peter.
As they are sitting there, SAS Colonel Bradley climbs into the plane, out of breath. He finds Peter and Vinnie, who look up in surprise.
‘Colonel?’
Chapter 39
Buck House
‘Slight change of plan Captain, you’re going to Buckingham Palace to take the royals to a safe location. You will be leading the team. You will get more information on the way, good luck!—oh, and after that, you’re going to the States.’
The top brass had made a difficult decision - Bradley had argued for Captain Morgan to remain in the UK fighting for the British, but in the end the US promise of X-37D stealth planes and Sirius technology in return for Peter had won the day. Peter was none the wiser—a pawn in a bigger chess game.
A few minutes later the X-37D was flying at supersonic speeds towards London. As Peter looked out the window he could see the wings and fuselage shimmer as the cloaking shield was switched on. His laptop bleeped, as he looked down and saw an encrypted message, which he deciphered. It was a briefing note of the location of the secret bunker they were being tasked to take the Royal Family to.
‘We’re going to Buckingham Palace Vinnie, so mind your P’s and Q’s and no swearing ok?’
‘Buck House, The Queen,’ sighed Vinnie.
‘ETA to target twenty minutes,’ the pilot spoke over the tannoy.
Peter recognised the pilot’s voice and headed for the cockpit. He was greeted by a man with a bald head and sunglasses.
‘Kojak—great to see you again!’ smiled Peter.
‘Likewise laddy. Good to see you’re still in one piece.’ Peter went back to his seat and looked at Vinnie, who was unusually quiet as they flew over London. They looked down, and saw the devastation below them, shaking their heads in disbelief.
‘Thinking about Gill?’
Vinnie nodded.
‘Reg will take good care of her...do not worry mate. Focus on the job.’
Peter looked around the X-37D for two other men to make up their four-man team. The rest would be deployed to guard the aircraft and ensure a corridor for the exfil. He nodded at Johnny Two-Times (because he always said everything twice), a huge gorilla of a man, and Fag-Ash Phil, who smoked like a chimney, but was as fit as a fiddle. As they arrived at their destination, they could see two alien fighters hovering over the palace. The X-37D was invisible, but Kojak came over the tannoy, ‘We’re cloaked now, but I need to de-cloak to engage the two fighters. Hang tight.’
Vinnie and Peter watched as Kojak engaged two independent Sirius-modified Phalanx Gatling guns which whirred as servos kicked in to track the fighters. Kojak switched off their shielding, ready to fire.
The X-37D hovered as the Phalanx Gatling guns fired a wall of enriched uranium bullets at 250 rounds per second. The bullets bounced off the alien shields, in a blaze of sparks, but the fighters shuddered and vibrated at the bombardment. One fighter veered off, and the other lost control, as the fearsome onslaught continued, forcing the alien fighters to crash land in front of Buckingham Palace, in a blaze of sparks and fire.
The X-37D landed and they spilled out, ready to engage the enemy. Peter and Vinnie, were joined by Johnny and Phil. Three other men, led by Des, one of Peter’s DS’s spread out to guard the aircraft. Alien soldiers staggered out of the crashed craft, looking bewildered and dazed, they raised their laser weapons when they saw the SAS soldiers, who unleashed a firestorm of bullets and grenades. Vinnie fired with his Heckler and Koch G36, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off the aliens, their personal shielding holding. Then Peter raised his PR7 rifle, and fired on automatic. The air moved around them at the sheer kinetic force of the rail gun technology as the depleted uranium bullets move at supersonic speed and hit the aliens, disintegrating their force fields, and exploding the aliens in a green haze of blood and body parts.
“Th
is Sirius technology has fearsome firepower,” Peter thought, as he and Vinnie sprinted forward and threw charges into each fighter. There was an explosion and acrid smoke streamed out.
‘Come on, let’s go, they will send backup soon. Let’s retrieve our package and get the hell out of here!’ shouted Peter, his deep voice commanding instant authority. Peter nodded at Des and the team guarding the aircraft. They knew the drill. The four-man SAS team find their way inside the palace entrance. ‘Johnny and Phil, you stay here, cover our backs, until we get out,’ ordered Peter. There seemed to be nobody about, as Peter and Vinnie made their way through ornate staterooms, huge with high ceilings, the throne room with its pink carpet and gold and pink tapestries and chandeliers. Vinnie’s mouth opened as they made their way through the quiet blue drawing room with portraits of Kings and Queens, and Vinnie gasped at the beauty of the white drawing room.
‘Wonder if Her Majesty would mind if me and Gill could come round for tea.’ Peter shook his head, as they made their way down a long corridor, long and silent. It was deserted, as they made their way to the designated pick up point. Their footsteps echoed around the huge rooms as they make their way through, down an empty corridor, enamoured by the beauty of the place. Peter admired one of the enormous paintings on the wall, then moved on.
It was deathly quiet as Peter consulted his map. The Royal Party would be in the basement safe room. “Too quiet,” Peter thought, as he looked around. The quiet before the storm. Peter’s sixth sense kicked in as they walked down some steps and stopped as he came face to face with a group of aliens examining a large steel door. They studied one another as Peter’s lightning sharp senses took in their appearance Tall, thin, pale green skin, looking patchy and flaky—a dermatologist’s dream, large head, soulless black eyes and black uniforms. He took all this in a hundredth of a second. His training took over as a split second later he shot all the aliens, who didn’t know what had hit them, their shielding failing under the fearsome firepower of Peter’s PR7 on full automatic. Green blood and body parts smeared the steel door behind them.