The RAF across the south of England scrambled virtually all their fighter jets, the single and two seated aircraft soaring into the sky from their runways, watched by startled local residents as the deafening jet engines disrupted their late mornings.
On urgent request of the British Government, French fighters scrambled and swept across the channel, beginning to head for the Thames estuary as their short range radar began to pick up the new vessel over West London. The pilots being placed under emergency RAF command, courtesy of the French government.
British Government ministers rushed from their building and departments, the sessions in the House of Commons and the Lords being immediately suspended. At the Prime Minister’s request, the Foreign Minister was roughly bundled into an armed Police escort vehicle and rushed towards the airport. His expression initially indignant, the perceived ruffling of his ego by armed officers soon overcome by the terror of the speed the vehicle accelerated to as the police bikes ahead of the car sped through the stationary traffic, clearing obstructions frantically to the sides. The remaining government cabinet ministers, army, RAF and intelligence senior officers being rushed to Cabinet Office Briefing Room A (COBRA) for an impromptu meeting with a live broadcast from Heathrow.
In the Emirates Airbus A380, the pilot grinned briefly as his co-pilot joked ironically that he predicted there would be few plane spotters looking at them this morning, that no one would perhaps notice if he ‘screwed’ up today’s landing of the large aircraft on the runway to the side of the new arrival. But that having to circle round again due to an overshoot would certainly lead to ‘Bad publicity for the airline across the galaxy!’
Behind the large Airbus A380, the sky over London was clearing dramatically, the large aircraft only able to land at Heathrow’s runways in the south east. Londoners began to look up in awe again as they saw fighter jets stream across their airspace, the new armed patrols ordered by RAF command.
Sweeping over west London, the dark grey vessel slowed as it began its final approach to Heathrow, the engines whining as they reduced to the speed appropriate to land at the major airport. Steam poured from the craft as the temperature sustained on entry into the atmosphere cooled to the air in west London.
The Lufthansa airbus touched down at Heathrow and slowed to the end of the runway, turning to the left onto a taxi-way to approach the airport terminals. Plane spotters and Heathrow staff strained their eyes as the Trevakian vessel approached the airport low over Cranford on the borders of the runway perimeter, the pilots extending the craft’s emergency landing gear normally used on diplomatic missions. The traditional show of the vessel’s wheels on landing a gesture of goodwill to the remaining planets aligned with the Trevakian people.
As the steel rimmed wheels touched the tarmac, sparks flew from the impact, the craft stealthily and smoothly touching down on Heathrow’s northern runway. Steam poured from the landing gear as the auto-coolants chilled the wheels, the immense vessel slowing down the runway as the engines applied reverse thrust, clouds of smoke and fumes pouring from the back of the craft.
As the vessel slowed further, the airport windows were filled with jostling people and staff gazing out across the runway, the flashes from camera phones spilling out of the terminal glass fronts. Coming to a halt before the main airport central terminals, the steam and clouds of dust rose into the air, virtually obscuring the large dark vessel as the engines power was reduced, finally being left on an idling pulse.
The enormous cruiser blocked the view from the central terminal area to the main road north of the airport. The one camera crew that had been able to make the distance at short notice filmed the vision before them from the front of one of the hotels opposite the terminals, their crews grinning in expectation of the awards they could possibly win as a result of their exclusive footage. Back at their headquarters in west London, the calls from networks around the world requesting access to the footage virtually overloaded the switchboard, the news footage beamed across the globe in seconds once a suitable price was agreed to.
As the dust and steam slowly cleared the sights of the large vessel made onlookers gasp. The large extended wings slowly slipped back into the hull of the ship, the yellow airport vehicles and fire service approaching cautiously, their drivers staring opened mouthed at the scene before them.
From the side of the vessel, a large door opened slowly downwards towards the runway, the steps on the upper side rising into place as the top of the door touched the tarmac. Trevakian Marines ran down the steps to the runway, their dull body armour and helmets reacting in the ultra violet light. The unarmed soldiers rushed to form two large sections of troops either side of the opening, jumping to attention as a display of honour at the barked remark from their officer at the foot of the steps behind them. Then the infantry commander turned and looked back up the steps in expectation.
As cars and airport vehicles pulled up abruptly before them, remaining some one hundred metres from the lined troops, army vehicles drove through one of the airport control posts, their police escorts lights flashing.
Stood at the top of the steps in the shadows of the craft, a red faced admiral in his early six decades smiled faintly as he saw the commotion below and in the distance. Turning to his first officer, he nodded comfortingly, seeing the emotions rising in the man’s eyes, ‘This is it then, my friend. Today this world realises exactly what danger we have faced for the last century.’
The first officer nodded back, saluting officially, ‘Good Luck Sir. I just hope they understand before it is too late.’
Admiral Karladen grimaced at the officer’s comments, looking back at the airport outside the craft and seeing the Emirates A380 landing on the southern runway in the distance, then he stepped forward into the light, the sun breaking through the clouds onto his deep blue uniform.
The first officer watched his commander slowly descend the steps, tears of emotion in his eyes. He turned away, whispering to himself and adjusting his uniform, ‘I just hope they find it in their hearts to forgive us for the merciless situation we are about to involve them in.’ He shook his head in frustration, adjusting his officer’s cap, then followed the admiral out into the light.
Chapter Two: First Contact
Reaching the bottom of the steps, Admiral Karladen hesitated briefly, then stepped onto the runway tarmac, a further brief smile crossing his face as he considered he was the first senior officer to make physical contact with earth. Walking forward between his men, he could almost sense their rising excitement as he approached the front of their ranks.
Behind him, his first officer walked quickly after his commander, drawing level with him as he proceeded towards the assembled cars and trucks. The Admiral adjusted his officer’s peaked cap, walking confidently towards the nearest yellow vehicle as the startled driver and passenger got out. Both men were dressed in blue tabards over their dark suits, the fluorescent cover provided to deal with exterior incidents.
As the army vehicles pulled up at the front of the terminal in the distance, the Admiral saluted the nearest man, the airport manager swallowing nervously as he approached. Stopping before him, The Admiral extended his hand, a forced smile on his face, ‘Thank you for allowing us to land. My apologies for speaking urgently, but I think there is little time remaining for us both. I am Admiral Karladen, commander of this vessel.’
The tall suited and imposing manager shook his hand nervously, ‘Er…yes, welcome to Heathr….earth, Admiral. I am the duty manager at the incident control centre, Daryl Barton. What is the reason for the urgency? You must understand…you have only just arrived and we are….well a little cautious obviously.’ The senior manager studied the new arrival, staff knowing him for his ‘no-nonsense’ approach and direct speaking style.
The Admiral nodded, a faint smile on his face, ‘I understand your justifiable caution…but you must understand we need to speak to your president or leader…and quickly.’
Daryl looked over at his
driver, considering a suitable location, ‘There is our command centre across the airport…but I am not authorised to make that decision. We are awaiting the arrival of the foreign secretary to greet you, he should be here soon. Until then, my instructions are to keep you on the runway.’ He smiled cautiously, ‘You must understand our precautions, Admiral.’ Studying the men before him, he glanced across their dark blue uniforms, the gold and red braiding and the impressive pips across their chests. He cleared his throat, ‘May I ask where you have come from…what your intentions are?’
Behind the yellow vehicle, an Army Major accompanied by a Police Chief Inspector were striding confidently towards them, ‘That’s ok Daryl, we can take it from here.’
Admiral Karladen glanced towards his first officer, ‘I believe we can explain all you need to know here. We are from the Trevakian Empire, an alliance of planets beyond your galaxy.’ He paused, awaiting the major and police inspector to join them, ‘We have been fighting a bitter war of annihilation for nearly one hundred of your years with an alien race. Most of our planets are similar to yours in both sun exposure and water for life, although perhaps some are a little warmer.’ He smiled, watching the four men in front of him nod for him to continue, ‘In the last few years we have begun to lose the war. Small setbacks at first, then some larger defeats as the enemy has begun to understand our weaknesses more effectively.’
The Army Major nodded, seeming impatient, ‘Well this is all very well, but we have a full scale alert as a result of your emergency landing…so I suggest we save this chat until later.’
The Admiral held up his hand, his voice rising, ‘We have lost hundreds of thousands of soldiers, Major! We have come to you to request help…for our survival…and yours! Where do you think these aliens are coming next?’ He moved closer to the army officer, staring him directly in the eyes, ‘They are coming here Major! What do you think we have been fighting for? We have been fighting to protect the outer limits of your galaxy and our survival! Once we lose…and we will lose now, you will be next!’
The Major shook his head, smiling back defiantly, ‘I am not so sure, Herr Admiral, this is preposterous to say the least.’
The blue uniformed first officer interrupted, his voice firm, ‘As preposterous as a space craft politely joining your landing pattern Major? As preposterous as the soldiers and ship that stands behind us? Tell me please what is more preposterous then?’ He paused glaring at the military officer, then turned away, raising his hand to the tiny earpiece embedded in his outer ear, nodding as he listened.
The Major placed his hands on his hips clearly agitated, ‘How dare you speak to me….’
Admiral Karladen interrupted, ‘Perhaps saluting a more senior officer would be in order, Major? We are both more senior to your rank, and probably more experienced in combat! I suggest you act more appropriately from now on. I intend to report your actions to your superiors, if and when they arrive!’
The Major’s face flushed crimson, his fists clenching by his sides. The Trevakian first officer spun round, his eyes widening, ‘Admiral, our ranged sensors report a Morgon vessel uncloaking beyond earth’s atmosphere! They have tracked us here!’ He looked across at the Major, ‘Uncloaking means only one thing…they are launching fighters towards your planet!’
The Admiral turned, emotion filling his eyes, ‘Get the marines back inside. Cloak us and move the ship…we have to protect the transporter, that’s what they are after……that’s our only hope now!’
The first officer spun round, shouting at the marines to move. The body of men turned instinctively on his command, running back to the wide steps and climbing up towards the vessel.
Admiral Karladen turned to the senior airport manager, his voice rising, ‘This is very serious, you should alert your fighters! It will be an aggressive reconnaissance!’ He paused, thinking, ‘You need to destroy their fighters or they will send more. Any sign of weakness and they will deploy drop ships with infantry…your soldiers will be torn apart!’ He hesitated, looking across the startled men in front of them. Turning to the army officer, he saluted formally, ‘Major, your decision now will decide the initial course of conflict. If the Morgons believe you are strong they will probably retreat for the time being, if not….you will really have a fight on your hands…one I fear you will not win!’
The Major swallowed, raising his hand slowly to his forehead in a return salute. Thinking, he turned to the police inspector, seeing the fear in the man’s eyes. He bit his lip, turned and shouted across the vehicles to his driver, his voice rising in excitement, ‘Tell central command to get more fighters up to intercept. Explain it is highly likely we are about to come under attack from unknown hostiles!’
The driver nodded, his face aghast, ‘Yes Sir!’ Running back to the vehicle, he indicated to the soldier inside the truck, ‘You heard the major, get the message out….QUICKLY!’
Admiral Karladen nodded thankfully at the Major, then addressed the three men in front of him, indicating to the large vessel behind, ‘If you wish, you and some of your men can join the others. We will patch through to your command from our network inside the ship. But you had better be quick!’
Daryl Barton turned, looking at the Army Major and Police Inspector beside him cautiously. Seeing the Police Chief Inspector look up, he followed his startled gaze, noticing a distant flash in the sky, then more.
The Trevakian first officer shouted excitedly, pointing upwards, ‘They are entering your atmosphere, get your fighters to intercept them now…….before it is too late!’
The Army Major spun round again, shouting to another soldier, ‘Get the RAF on the radio, find out what the hell that was…..tell them to be careful!’ The soldier nodded, running back to the truck they had come from. The Major indicated to his assembled men, ‘To me……let’s see what this is about!’ The troops lunged forward, their boots scraping across the tarmac.
The Admiral spoke again, ‘Bring the officers here and some of their men as co-ordinators and observers. I will stay on the planet with a couple of my men to negotiate further….we need to give you the plans to our arms and equipment and give you a fighting chance!’
The Chief Inspector nodded, turning quickly and indicating to several of his men behind the vehicles to approach. Swallowing nervously, he saluted the Admiral, ‘Go with a couple of my men Admiral, they will take you inside the airport buildings for now.’ He indicated to two of his officers, then turned to the airport manager, ‘Get some of your men to come along too. This is unorthodox…but we should go with the flow I think until we understand what is going on.’
Daryl Barton nodded obediently, grasping the radio from his belt and barking into the mouthpiece, ‘Get some of the security officers from the cordon here now!’ The radio crackled, the receiving operator stunned by the lack of protocol. The airport manager depressed the side button on the radio again, ‘Did you hear me…get some officers out here now!’
The radio crackled, the open channel now received across Heathrow, then a voice cut through the silence, ‘Oscar One responding…officers en-route any second.’
Daryl pressed the button again, ‘Roger Oscar One, tell them to run…and I want fit staff, not restrictions for this…understand? We cannot risk our staff!’
The radio crackled, the manager on the other end grinning, ‘Yes Sir, on the way…’ The radio continued crackling as the manager inside the terminal started shouting, unaware in his shock he had left the talk button depressed, ‘….Get your arses out the apron door at ground level…..report to the senior manager……this is not an exercise.’ The dark haired manager paused, Daryl Barton grinning at his exasperated voice as it sprung into life again, ‘Riaz! Get off your effing mobile phone and get down on the apron….if anyone is going into space today it will be you, just to give me a damn rest! Hardie, you go with them and keep an eye on Riaz!’ Turning back to the radio, the manager blinked as he realised his error, his face flushing, the static rising, ‘Oscar One, Security
staff en-route for deployment!’
Riaz grinned in defiance, seeing the terminal manager still glaring at him. At twenty seven, he had served as a security officer for five years and was well versed with airport procedure. His five feet eight muscled frame and shortly shaved hair creating a formidable presentation to passengers as they approached security, his father advising him of the need for positive perception amongst the public in his role. He was a popular security officer, always polite and professional with staff and passengers, his appealing demeanour and expressions often assisting situations. Successful at a number of government covert tests, he prided himself on attention to detail and his appearance, sometimes providing a daunting presence to onlookers and enabling to see their nervousness if they were concealing an item. His dark brown eyes stared at the terminal manager as the man flushed red, wary of his mistake on the radio and that the officer knew. Riaz finding amusement at the manager’s error, knowing the embarrassment would prevent him from making the same mistake again. He nodded knowingly to the red faced manager, turning to run after the others, his thoughts clear, ‘We need professionals now…there is no time for mistakes if you want me to believe in you.’
As the police and army personnel sprinted across the tarmac, one of the airport ground floor doors opened, twelve security officers and a supervisor spilling onto the apron, their eyes wide with amazement at the sight ahead of them almost filling their vision. Daryl Barton moved round the airport vehicle, indicating to the security staff, ‘Come on……move you lot! Into the craft now!’
The lead officers nodded, lunging to run across the tarmac after the soldiers and police officers. Daryl followed them indicating for the manager behind them in a blue tabard to come with him, ‘Oscar One?’
The Last Marine in the Galaxy (Galaxies Collide Book 1) Page 2