"Oh shit."
"That means...," the President left the statement hanging in the form of a question.
"That means no test. We have to go with a sixty megaton nuclear weapon."
"Not necessarily, sir," interjected Captain Alistair. He wondered what made him open his mouth just then, maybe a desire to taste the leather of his shoe as he put his foot in his mouth. Probably at the reduced rank of Commander, or maybe even Lieutenant.
Both President Bermin and General Easterly turned at the interruption. "Explain please," General Easterly did not seem pleased.
The President looked hopeful as Alistair began. "Sir, the most dangerous weapon we possess is not a nuke, it is a man with a mission, not the hardware he carries."
Ten minutes later, after answering some hard questions that caused him to really think through this hasty on-the-fly plan, the President asked, "Captain, would you be willing to lead this mission if you were there?"
Captain Alistair honestly believed that his answer could cause the deaths of several men he had never met. He paused and considered his reply. He was no stranger to command, or more importantly, giving orders that placed men, and lately women, in harm's way. "Yes, sir," he answered in a firm voice.
Steve Bermin looked hard at Captain Alistair, then turned to General Easterly. "Do it. Launch the 117's for Peru. And tell those Special Warfare people to get some rest. They will be busy later."
"Sir, who do we send, the Army or the Marine Corps?" General Easterly, being Air Force, wasn't involved in this phase of inter-service warfare between the Marines and the Army, but he was as aware of it as any other aspect of the military service of the United States. The answer to the question would set the stage for the next thousand years, if they lived through it.
President Bermin was irritated with the Chairman for asking such a silly question. With the President's Naval background there was only one right answer. "It's a ship that they'll be boarding isn't it? I mean a space ship is still a ship, right?"
General Easterly nodded and the President continued, "Well, then send in the Marines. That's what they do."
General Easterly replied, "Yes, sir." Tradition had decreed the decision. And new a tradition had just been born.
CHAPTER 45
Combined Forces Area
Pacasmayo Sand Dunes
First in through the open door was Tony Benuchi. He arrived in a running crouch with his M-16 at port arms, followed closely by Sergeant Adams, similarly armed. Both were conscious of the slapping noise associated with their canteens and extra rations. Where Benuchi went right at the first turn in the corridor, Adams went left. Each were in a state of hyper awareness, watching intently for any sign of disturbance.
Lieutenant Harlin came through next and hot on his heels was Christopher Jorgenson with Lieutenant Murphy bringing up the rear. They each broke left at the intersection of corridors, led off by Sergeant Adams. Corporal Benuchi took station behind them all as they wound their way through the strange craft.
As they slowly inched along the alien passageways, Sergeant Adams tried every door they came to. The doors typically slid into the adjacent wall by passing your hand over a glowing rectangle beside it. This technique was quickly learned through on the job trial and error. They closed the same way, making opening and closing them easy.
"In here," said Sergeant Adams in a stage whisper. He turned right into what looked to be a storage room of some kind. They all followed, closing the door behind them.
Once inside, Warren looked around the surprisingly large room. Stacked in the middle was the reason Sergeant Adams chose this room. Containers were piled one upon the other, providing concealment from a casual glance inside. As a group, they moved behind the containers and arranged themselves to be as comfortable as possible.
"How long do you think we'll have to wait?" Lieutenant Murphy was the youngest present and as such, the most curious. Or so he thought. The answer hung on everyone's mind.
"I don't know," replied Jorgenson.
"How will we know when we get there?"
"I don't know. I guess we wing it."
"Wait a minute," Sergeant Adams was startled. "You're risking all our lives with this maneuver and you don't know any of these answers?"
"I know that if we let things continue as they have been, we would be as good as dead anyway. Besides, we were ordered in here. Listen, just try and get some rest. We may be here for quite some time."
The hours passed first with tension, then with growing boredom. Sergeant Adams produced a deck of cards and a poker game sprung up. At first Christopher Jorgenson was aghast at the concept of playing cards on board this UFO. Then he realized that the career Marine was right. Sitting there, waiting for whatever fate threw at them was unproductive. Best to be active and do something, anything.
A sudden lurch grabbed everyone's attention. Then, as one, they grabbed for their ears with agonizing expressions on their faces. A dramatic change in air pressure brought everyone to their knees.
A few short moments passed with frantic attempts at swallowing from nervous dry mouths.
Harlin was the first to say "What was that?"
"Air pressure change. A big one," Jorgenson said.
"No shit Sherlock. You think of that all by yourself, or did Dr. Watson help?" Jorgenson looked up in annoyance at the new voice belonging to Sarah Von Framden. She stood framed in the door.
No. 10 Downing Street
London, England
The Prime Minister hung up the phone after speaking to President Berman. He looked expectantly at Air Vice Marshall George McClearun and said, “Well, the Yanks are a go. They are going after the aliens in Los Angeles and Peru. The Aussie’s are going after the aliens in Western Australia. That leave us with Chad and Morocco. What have the boys in war plans come up with?”
“Well sir, Morocco is about Five Thousand kilcks round trip and Chad is about double that.”
“Did those self-righteous pricks in France offer any substantive help?” interrupted Billy West. “Jacques has been calling me all day. Did you find something they can do and not make a balls up out of it?”
The governments of France and the United Kingdom had been in a low level spat for years around many issues. Fast friends when push comes to shove, like today, their relationship often grated over inflated egos and self-important attitudes.
The Air Vice Marshall chuckled over his leader’s irritation. France and the UK train together sporadically when their respective leaders were on friendly terms. “They have agreed to escort our strike package with fighter aircraft. Their new Rafale is quite the fighter, and they’re eager to show it off.”
“As long as they don’t run into one of ours…” Billy West mumbled. His animosity toward his French counterpart often involved mumbling.
“As I was saying sir, we will come out of Winterbourne Gunner in Wiltshire with RAF Strike Command in overall command. We’ll be sending ELINT and electronic suppression aircraft along with two packages of four Tornados to handle the strike itself. After refueling over the Med the Rafales will join us as we head inland. We split into two groups, one to Morocco and another, along with the refueling aircraft, over Libya and into Niger, then Chad.
“The Libyans have promised to be quiet, but I trust Khadafy about like I trust a sand flea not to bite,” concluded AVM McClearun. “But if they come out to play bad with us, we will shut them down like the lights at a football pitch.”
Mountain Home Air Force Base
Mountain Home, ID
Six jet engine aircraft rotated off the tarmac and into the late afternoon sky. Designated EF-111A, Raven, the modified fighter/bombers were assigned to the 390th Electronic Countermeasures section of the 366th Tactical Fighter Wing. These six aircraft were to be the principal tool in getting past the Alien combat air patrol.
Officially designated the Raven, and affectionately known as the 'Spark Vark', (the original airframe, F-111, is the Aardvark) these airplanes carried
over six thousand pounds of electronic warfare equipment. Designed to jam and/or otherwise defeat the enemy's radar and general ability to use the electro-magnetic spectrum, they were very valuable members of a strike package. They were the reason for even attempting todays' raid.
Major Kim Hung sat in the left, or pilots, seat and Lt. Colonel Jason Hamford sat in the Electronic Warfare Officer's seat.
Major Hung had been born in the Republic of Vietnam and had left with his parents shortly before Saigon fell in 1975. Entering the United States as a teenager with a marginal command of the English language, Kim had been the quintessential student. He was of medium height and willowy thin with dark brown almond shaped eyes. He had tried out for the track team and gained acceptance because of his ability. Never a discipline problem, he more resembled a sponge in the classroom, absorbing all information that came to him. Unlike most American students, he valued the education he received above all else. He had firsthand experience with ignorance and its effects.
Kim had been old enough to understand the consequences of the North Vietnamese invasion of his homeland in the South. Now it was happening to his adopted country. Only this time he was able to more than just pray. This time he, and his hard won knowledge, would be a significant part of his nation's defense.
Today's mission was not to be a standoff jamming effort, but a fly right up their butt and shut 'em down deal. They had studied the meager intelligence that had been gathered. Not much by any standard, but enough to quantify the Alien electronic emissions. Enough to tweak their equipment to the mission at hand. Enough to confuse and delay any counter effort while the still in prototype configuration YF-22 fighters got in tight and smoked 'em.
It was the hairiest mission of his life and his pride in himself and his accomplishments had never been greater. Still, his butt had an intense grip on the ejection seat as the mission became operational and the aircraft flew south.
CHAPTER 46
Inside the UFO
Sarah Von Framden sat behind the biggest container and looked at their incredulous faces. "Listen, I came for the same reason that you guys did. Just because your men doesn't mean that you have to be the ones to succeed."
"I don't care, it was stupid of you to come." Christopher Jorgenson was feeling particularly self-righteous at the moment. He felt that they were probably going to die in this ridiculous attempt and he didn't want any more unnecessary deaths. He looked into the faces of his small Marine and Air Force detachment and got acknowledgments.
"No more stupid than anything you have done." Sarah was getting annoyed at their typical male superiority complex. She was just as good as they were. She knew she was smarter than everyone, with the possible exception of Jorgenson. "It's certainly not nearly as stupid as plugging in a disconnected computer buss." She glared at Harlin as she spoke.
"Well, it’s done and I'm here so just accept it," she said with finality.
"No it’s not! You just turn your little butt around and get off the same way you came aboard," Lieutenant Murphy spoke harshly. He didn't really know this obnoxious little bitch and he was determined to keep it that way.
"You dumb shit." Sarah looked right at Nicholas and said, "That air pressure changed and lurch means that we're already on our way to their space station, or whatever you want to call it."
"What!" A look of pure panic quickly came into Nicholas's eyes as the realization settled in. He made eye contact with the others and saw similar reactions.
"See, I knew you would need me. They raised the air pressure to match the space station and that lurch was the initial surge as the dampening fields came on line." A smug look of triumph came into her eyes as Christopher's face registered surprise, followed by understanding.
"How do you know the air pressure is higher at the space station," asked Harlin?
"When we opened the UFO, the over pressure blew open the door into an Air Force guy. The guy that you replaced," She left off the grisly details, much to Christopher's relief.
"Oh," was the reply as they settled into a strained silence. Strained, not because Sarah was present, but because they each began to think that they may die doing this.
Forty-seven minutes later they each bounced up slightly from the floor as the gravity was cut to less than a quarter of what it was. Christopher had kind of expected it to happen, although he hadn't told anyone else. Sarah's expression showed that she had also thought ahead to this possibility. The others were somewhere between surprised glee on the face of Lieutenant Murphy to a look of pure horror from Corporal Benuchi.
"We're falling," he cried in a panic as he thrust his arms out, as if to catch himself.
"No we're not!" Jorgenson spoke forcefully to the rest of the group, hoping to relay his authority on the subject. "The force of gravity has been substantially reduced. We will have to be careful in our movements. I suggest we practice moving around the room so we can walk better when the time comes."
"Practice quick. The time is here, right now," Sarah said.
Christopher looked at Sarah and realized that she was right. They had arrived at the space station!
Lieutenant Murphy looked to Jorgenson and received a slight nod. So, he was in space! His chest thumped noticeably as his heart went into overdrive and his breathing seemed somehow inadequate to supply his blood with oxygen.
They got up and, without exception, bounded off the floor into the ceiling. Ten minutes of practice in routine walking was not nearly enough to accustom themselves to the new environment, but it would have to do. The new colonist would be brought aboard soon and the craft would be returning to Earth. They must act now!
Just as they had when arriving, Benuchi led the group. Sergeant Adams followed several paces behind. The others waited, bunched up until Benuchi signaled. Then they went forward to wait again for Benuchi and Adams to repeat the process.
Benuchi reached the main corridor and crossed it, sinking down into the same place and position he had taken when they first got there. Adams did likewise and the group bunched behind him. The main sliding door to the outside was open and Tony got his first look into the space station. It looked like what he had seen on the hanger deck of the Vinson. Only no planes, just a hive of activity. No people either. Robots scurried about with seemingly endless tasks to perform. Tony looked to Adams with a questioning expression on his face. Adams returned his look with one of horror, his eyes flicking to something above and behind Benuchi.
Tony Benuchi recognized the situation for what it was. There was something behind him! He instinctively spun to his right, clicked off the safety on his weapon and brought it to bear on the large robot that was approaching him from behind. He squeezed the trigger in a practiced manner and a three round burst of .223 caliber ammunition struck the robot as Benchi's actions in the low gravity propelled him into the main corridor. The mechanical device continued as if nothing had happened and Tony scrambled back into his side corridor branch, performing an airborne ballet that was somehow clumsy and graceful at the same time. The ricochet twanged off down the corridor leaving glancing imprints on any surface they touched until their energy was expended.
The final bullet used the last of its energy punching through a thin door and entering a silicon based device that contained several million transistors. Several minutes would pass before this mechanism would be called upon to perform its task.
Sweat flowed freely down Tony's face as the incident concluded. He had put three rounds into the "ten ring", or bullseye, and that thing ignored him!
Christopher Jorgenson’s insides froze as the noise exploded from Benuchi's M-16. He looked over Adams shoulder, only to see the robot continue on its mission, whatever that was. He then looked out onto the floor of the space station.
The hanger outside was a busy place and he wondered how they were going to cross it when the idea struck him. The robot had ignored Benuchi, even after being shot. Of course. Computers controlled the robots and they only respond to things that they are pr
ogrammed to. As long as there was not any type of intrusion programming, they would be okay. He leaned into Adams and whispered his new instructions. Now he just had to figure out where to go.
Just walking was difficult. Benuchi's nerves were shaken by the earlier event, yet he was a Marine. Marine's have a reputation and a tradition of doing the right thing, no matter how tough it was. His chosen heritage placed an enormous obligation on him, one that he would live up to at any cost. His current orders were to walk normally toward a hatch type opening and proceed through it and wait. The others would wait to see what happened to him.
He accepted the assignment because that was what he did for a living. He took risks in a combat situation. Yet this was the most vulnerable position he had ever been in. As his steps brought him closer toward the hatch, his skin crawled with anticipation. At any moment he expected to feel something strike him in the back. The muscles between his shoulder blades ached with tension and anticipation as each step took him closer to his goal. The last three steps almost tripped him up as anxiety caused his legs to forget the low gravity and he bounded in his haste.
He grabbed the 'T' handle and turned it. Or rather attempted to turn it. It wouldn't budge. Then he pulled up and the hatch opened smoothly. He stepped through and waved to his companions to follow. The smile that grew on his face reflected his relief. Now it was his turn to watch the tension mount in the others as they drew closer. Just like his, their last few steps were almost without control as the opening grew larger.
"Okay people, follow me," Jorgenson said.
Now he's Mister bravery thought Benuchi as they traveled down various corridors in what appeared to be a maze every bit as confusing as that aboard a Navy ship.
Jorg had no idea where he was going, only that finding the main computer was very important to the survival of the entire planet.
No. 10 Downing Street
These Few Brave Souls Page 22