Area 51_The Mission

by Robert Doherty

  The point of no return had been reached. A third pass was attempted, the crew—and those running the mission on the ground—now knew that Endeavor did not have enough fuel to return to Earth.

  The third one worked. Barely. The arm grabbed hold of the edge of the blasted-out black metal and the claw on the end locked down. The shuttle swung around on the end of the arm, bumping against the side of the massive alien ship, bouncing off, then coming to rest.

  Within minutes, the boarding team, led by Lieutenant Osebold, was preparing to space-walk in their TASC-suits to enter the mothership.

  “We made the decision during planning to have both shuttles take as many passes as needed to link up, regardless of their fuel situation,” Kopina said. “We’re prepping some Titan rockets with fuel payloads. They won’t be ready for a couple of days, but we will get the payloads up and we will get Endeavor down.” “So they’re stuck?” Duncan asked.

  Kopina nodded. “It’s mainly a psychological problem. They have enough air, water, and food to last three weeks.”

  “They could also fly the mothership back down,” Duncan noted.

  Kopina looked at her. “That’s a possibility, but not one that has been approved yet.”

  “What does approval matter if they have control of the ship?” Duncan asked.

  Kopina shifted her attention to the other screen. “Columbia has visual on the talon,” she announced. “Let’s hope they have better luck on linkup. Columbia is carrying more fuel than Endeavor because not only do they have to catch the talon, they then have to maneuver it to the mothership. So there was a sacrifice in payload so she could take more fuel into orbit.

  “I’m putting Columbia’s cockpit intercom on speaker,” Kopina said as she flipped a switch.

  A woman’s voice filled the room. “Range three hundred meters, closing at relative four mps.”

  “That’s Colonel Egan, the pilot of Columbia,” Kopina said.

  Duncan could see the talon on the screen in front of her. Unlike the mothership, it wasn’t tumbling, at least as far as she could tell. “How come the talon seems to be stable?” she asked.

  “We noticed that a day or two ago,” Kopina said. “Best guess is that there was some internal shifting inside that counteracted the initial rotation.”

  “How can that be?” Duncan asked.

  “Any one of a lot of things,” Kopina said. “An internal bulkhead giving way. Shifting of liquid inside of tanks. A system can degrade over time.”

  “But it happened in such a way to exactly counteract the original rotation?” Turcotte asked.

  “Not exactly,” Kopina said. “There’s still some yaw and pitch. Hey, let’s be thankful for small favors. If it was still tumbling like it was initially, it would practically be impossible for Columbia to get close.”

  “Two hundred meters,” Egan said. “Closing at three mps. Adjusting and slowing.”

  The talon, although nowhere near as large as the mothership, still dwarfed the shuttle. The lean, black ship was over two hundred meters long and thirty meters in diameter at its thickest point. It was slightly bent to one side, giving the appearance of a very large black claw.

  “One hundred meters. One meter per second. Rotating cargo bay to face target.”

  “They’re putting the arm closest to the talon,” Kopina explained. The camera view shifted. They were now looking up out of the cargo bay of the Columbia. The talon was a lean dark shape filling the space above the shuttle. The thin form of the manipulator arm could be seen, slowly extending.

  “What the hell!” Colonel Egan’s voice conveyed her surprise. “Something’s happening!”

  Turcotte and the others in the room could see it also—there was a small golden glow on the tip of the talon.

  “Get them out of there.” Duncan ordered.

  “Boarding team deploy! Deploy!” Colonel Egan was yelling into the intercom. “We’re too close. I’m going to have to keep closing.”

  “We’re going out,” a voice replied.

  “That’s Lieutenant Markham, Bravo Team Leader,” Kopina said.

  A TASC-suited figure appeared, cutting across the camera. An MK-98 was in the figure’s gloved hands. A tether line was attached to the figure and a bulky maneuvering pack was on its back.

  “There’s Markham,” Kopina said.

  Markham was about twenty feet outside the shuttle’s cargo bay now, between it and the talon, which was less than fifty meters away. There was a bright gold burst from the tip of the talon.

  “Oh, God,” Duncan muttered.

  A thin golden line of light flashed. It went to Markham’s left, then adjusted, cutting right across the SEAL commander.

  The scream that echoed out of the speakers lasted less than a second. Markham was in two pieces, neatly sliced, the top half still attached by the tether, the bottom half tumbling away. Frozen blood floated about both parts.

  “I’m up!” a voice yelled. A second space-suited figure appeared, this one with no tether.

  “Jesus!” Kopina exclaimed. “He must have just jumped out of the cargo bay.”

  The man held an MK-98 in his hands and he was bringing it to bear when the ship fired again. Duncan admitted the bravery of the SEALs while recognizing the futility of their action.

  “Emergency firing!” Colonel Egan’s voice was terse. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”

  Another, larger golden beam lanced out. The camera recorded that for the briefest of moments, then the screen went black.

  • • •

  “We can blow this door,” Croteau said.

  “And bring the army down on top of us,” Lo Fa noted.

  Croteau shrugged. “At least we’ll have a fighting chance. It’s still dark out there. In the confusion, many of us can get away.”

  There was a murmur of assent among the mercenaries gathered in the corridor. They were two hundred meters away from the main chamber, where Elek was still working at the console. They did not have much time before she realized they were gone.

  Che Lu remained silent, having already made her decision to stay. Croteau looked around, getting assent.

  “Blow it,” he ordered.

  As the mercenaries’ demolitions men rigged the charges, everyone else moved back down the corridor.

  Che Lu pulled Lo Fa to the side. “I wish you well.”

  Lo Fa shifted his feet. “You should come with me. This place is not good.” “I have to stay.”

  Lo Fa grimaced and looked away.

  “You only promised to get me in, and you did,” Che Lu said. “You must take care of yourself.”

  “I didn’t get you in like I planned,” Lo Fa said. “Getting you captured was not part of it.”

  “I will be alt right.”

  Croteau raised his voice so the cluster of people could hear him. “We blow the blocked entrance, we’re going to have to move fast. I recommend everyone move west. According to our man here”—he pointed at Lo Fa—“there are guerrilla bands in that direction you can hook up with. They might be able to pass you through out of China.”

  The demo men came down the corridor unreeling their detonating cord. Croteau pulled back the charging handle on his weapon and made sure there was a round in the chamber.

  “Ready?” He looked about. “Fire in the hole!” He pulled the ignitor.

  There was the sharp crack of explosives, amplified by the tight confines of the tunnel.

  “Let’s go!” Croteau dashed up the corridor, the rest of the mercenaries following.

  Lo Fa took Che Lu’s hand and shook it. He bowed, then he was gone up the tunnel.

  Che Lu turned away.

  “What have you done?” Elek was hurrying across the large open space. “They desired to leave,” Che Lu said. “And they did.”

  “They breached the perimeter!” Elek was looking down the corridor.

  “When there was the opening up top,” Che Lu noted, “the army was in no rush to enter. I don’t think they will
try now either.”

  “Then who is that?” Elek asked as they heard footsteps coming from the corridor. Che Lu cocked her head and listened. A smile came to her face as a familiar figure appeared.

  “You could not leave me, old man.” She gave Lo Fa a hug.

  “Ah, don’t flatter yourself, old woman.”

  Che Lu stepped back. “What is wrong?” Lo Fa tapped his ear. “Listen.”

  “I hear nothing,” Che Lu said.

  “Correct.” Lo Fa said. “By now there should be firing between the mercenaries and the army. There is none. I went out. As the mercenaries ran, I looked about. The army is gone. There is no one out there.”

  There was silence for a few seconds as all three thought about that strange occurrence.

  “Why do you think they have done this?” Che Lu asked, although she had a suspicion that was so devastating she dared not voice it.

  Lo Fa had no such reservation. “They are going to try to destroy the tomb,” he said. “The troops have been pulled back to prevent them from being caught in the destruction.”

  “They seek to destroy us,” Elek said. Che Lu could not tell if it was a question or a statement, but Lo Fa nodded.

  Elek turned and headed for the control room. After a few moments, Che Lu and Lo Fa followed.

  • • •

  “Columbia has been destroyed.” Kopina threw imagery on the conference-room table. “We’ve had the closest satellite take some shots. All it picked up was the talon and some wreckage.”

  “There were ten people on board?” Duncan confirmed.

  Kopina nodded. “Yes.”

  “Any chance someone might still be alive?”

  Kopina sat down. “No.”

  There was silence in the conference room for several moments.

  “Could there still be Airlia alive on board that talon?” Duncan asked.

  Kopina shrugged. “I have no idea. The hull seems to be intact. The blast might have damaged its drive system but nothing else.”

  “Did you have any—” Duncan began, but Kopina cut her off.

  “Do you think we would have sent those people there like that if we had had the slightest clue? It looked dead, we assumed it was dead.”

  “Maybe—” Duncan began.

  “What?” Kopina asked.

  “Maybe there weren’t any Airlia still alive on the talon. Maybe it was controlled remotely?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kopina said. “Columbia is gone either way.”

  “What about the mothership?” Duncan asked.

  “Osebold is preparing to board,” Kopina said. “There is no sign any of the Airlia that were in the cargo bay survived the blast.”

  “How far apart are the mothership and the talon?” Duncan asked.

  “About eight hundred kilometers.”

  “So no chance the talon could attack the mother-ship?”

  “I would think,” Kopina said, “that if they had been capable of doing it, the Airlia would have maneuvered to the mothership already.”

  “Unless they were playing possum to draw us in,” Duncan said.

  “Look,” Kopina snapped, “I’m just the mission specialist here. I didn’t make the plan.”

  “No.” Lisa Duncan’s voice was harsh. “But I wonder who did.”

  • • •

  Croteau halted, raising his fist. His hand froze behind him at the signal. He estimated they’d made two klicks from the tomb and no contact yet. The other merk groups had scattered in slightly different directions, all heading generally west. And no shots from anywhere.

  Croteau knelt as another mercenary came up next to him. “Something’s wrong,” Croteau whispered. “There were PLA crawling all over this place. And they got to be pissed about their buddies getting gassed.”

  “Maybe they’re scared and have backed off,” the other merk suggested.

  “Yeah, and the Legion loved me,” Croteau said. He rose and signaled for the patrol to continue.

  • • •

  Inside of Endeavor’s cargo bay, Lieutenant Osebold had his TASC-suit on. Inside of his helmet, the left side of his face was twitching. He could feel a tear slide down his left cheek—at least he thought it was a tear. In reality it was a drop of blood.

  The massive bulk of the mothership filled the space above their heads. The shuttle was less than twenty feet away, held in place by the remote arm. “We go as planned,” he announced in the radio.

  The first pair of SEALs—Ericson and Terrel—jetted out of the cargo bay, heading toward the open gash on the side of the mothership. Right behind them went the second pair—Lopez and Conover.

  Osebold still waited, inside the cargo bay. He could see the other members of his team, dark black silhouettes, against the blackness of the mothership.

  His head was pounding, spikes of pain lancing across his brain. More tears of blood were flowing now, out of both eyes. He raised his MK-98 and fired.

  The six-inch steel darts ripped through his team, tearing through the exoskeleton. The screams echoed inside of Osebold’s helmet.

  • • •

  “What’s going on?” Duncan yelled.

  “A Guide,” Kopina hissed. She pulled a small device out of her pocket. “What are you doing?” Duncan demanded.

  Kopina flipped open the lid of the device. She pressed down on a large red button.

  • • •

  The small charge was right against the shuttle’s fuel tank. There wasn’t much fuel left in it, but more than enough to multiply the initiating explosion.

  Inside the cargo bay, Osebold was consumed by the momentary fireball, along with the entire shuttle. His last thought, fleeting and free, was of gratitude that death had found him.

  • • •

  “Who are you?” Duncan demanded.

  Kopina closed the cover on the device. The screen that had showed the feed from Endeavor was now blank.

  “They wanted the mothership,” Kopina said.

  “Who?”

  “The Guides. They were going to bring it back to Earth, load their chosen people on board, and go back up to space while the Black Death took care of the free people of Earth.”

  “If you knew that, why did you let the shuttle launch?” Duncan asked.

  “We only suspected,” Kopina said. “There is no way to tell if someone is a Guide until they act.”

  “I ask you again,” Duncan repeated. “Who are you?”

  Kopina raised her left hand. A large silver ring was on her ring finger. “I am a Watcher.”

  “And what is that?”

  “As long as the Airlia have been here, there have been Watchers,” Kopina said. She was backing up, moving toward the door.

  “Stop!” Duncan yelled.

  “I have lo go.”

  “The Mission! Where is it?”

  Kopina shook her head. “We don’t know. We sent one of our people to look for it. You know him as Harrison. He failed.”

  With that the other woman dashed out the door. Duncan ran after her, but she was gone.

  CHAPTER 22

  Inside Qian-Ling. Che Lu and Lo Fa watched as Elek was one with the guardian, surrounded by the golden glow.

  “I do not like this,” Lo Fa said. He spit. “Talking with that thing like that—“

  The golden field snapped off and Elek stepped back. He walked past the two Chinese without a glance, into the main control room, and up to the console. “What have you learned?” Che Lu asked as she followed.

  “I have no time for you,” Elek snapped. His hands moved over the panel.

  A loud rumbling noise came through the door leading to the storage cavern. Che Lu and Lo Fa went into the large room. In the center of the floor, the black metal covering was sliding back on one of the largest of the containers. Inside was a drum, about fifty meters long, by ten in diameter. It was mounted on both ends by a cradle of black metal that attached at the center of each end. The drum itself was a dull gray.

  As they w
atched, the drum began to rotate, faster and faster. Streaks of color—red, orange, violet, purple—began shooting through the gray.

  “What is that?” Lo Fa asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “It is of the devil,” Lo Fa said, and he spit in that direction.

  • • •

  “Hear that?” Croteau held up his fist, halting the patrol once more. The faint light of dawn was touching the eastern sky, and the men were nervous.

  Another mercenary cocked his head. “Yah.”

  They both turned and looked back the way they had come. Qian-Ling was highlighted in the flush of the first rays of the sun.

  “What’s that?” the mercenary whispered.

  The air around Qian-Ling was shimmering.

  “I don’t—” Croteau paused as he heard another noise. The roar of a jet engine. He barely had time to look up as a CSS-5 cruise missile flashed by overhead at a height of less than forty feet. The contrail of the missile headed straight for Qian-Ling.

  “Oh, God,” Croteau whispered.

  The missile hit the shimmering wall and detonated.

  Croteau saw the flash, which instantly destroyed his retinas, a millisecond before the blast wave incinerated him and everything within ten kilometers.

  • • •

  “China just nuked Qian-Ling.” Duncan was holding up several satellite photos. Turcotte was seated cross-legged on the floor of the bouncer, the laptop hooked to the SATPhone on his lap. He could see her and the photos on the twelve-inch screen.

  As Turcotte looked at the photos in the computer screen, she kept speaking. “From following the time sequence, it appears that a shield was activated just prior to the detonation.” She reached and pulled one of the photos out and put it on top. “See this wavy effect? That’s what the Easter Island shield looked like before it went opaque.”

  Turcotte checked the next couple of shots. “It apparently doesn’t completely stop a nuclear blast.”

  In the imagery, Qian-Ling had been stripped bare of vegetation, trees blown away, the ground scorched.

  “It didn’t completely stop this blast,” Duncan agreed, “but it did seem to stop the missile.” She used the tip of her pencil to show a point to the west of the mountain tomb. “Point of detonation was right here, about a kilometer and a half from the tomb. Right where the shield wall is. I think it was targeted for the tomb itself.”