The Assault

by Brian Falkner

  “Looks like they’re coming back for more,” she said.

  [0450 hours]

  [New Bzadian Early Warning Radar Center, Uluru Military Base, New Bzadia]

  Inzusu watched the jets on his radar as they wheeled around.

  Of all the jobs in the Bzadian Army, his had to be the most boring, but by that definition, also one of the safest. For which Inzusu was grateful. Not for him the terror of combat on the front line.

  This was the most excitement he had had since starting this job. Human jets over New Bzadia. Intruders within striking distance of the base.

  Lozpe was his supervisor today. Inzusu didn’t like him much and fortunately rarely saw him, as Lozpe was the kind who supervised from his office with his head on his desk. He rarely ventured out onto the radar floor, unlike Czali, who was constantly pacing, moving from one screen to another.

  Right now, however, Lozpe was hovering right next to Inzusu, watching the jets lining up their next attack run.

  A subtle change in the light patterns on the very fringe of his radar drew Inzusu’s eyes in that direction. A smattering of dots. At first he thought it was interference or maybe a chaff cloud, because the pattern was so dense and so widespread.

  The radar system clearly thought so too. Its basic intelligence struggled to define the strange signal. What did it mean? The fuzzy signal moved closer, resolving itself from a cloud to a series of distinct dots. Thousands of them. So many that the analysis computer was struggling to identify and deal with each one individually. There was a pause as the system interrogated the airspace and waited for a response from any aircraft in that area.

  Nothing came.

  Inzusu was starting to get alarmed now, although the radar had not yet identified the dots as a threat.

  His brain and the signal analysis computer both set off warning bells at the same time.

  None of the signals was broadcasting an identification code.

  They were enemy aircraft.

  “Azoh!”

  His hand hit the alarm button by the side of his keyboard even as he felt Lozpe’s breath on the back on his neck.

  “What is it? What have you got?” Lozpe asked, not yet registering the cloud pattern at the top of the screen.

  “Enemy aircraft inbound,” Inzusu said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Where?” Lozpe seemed confused. “What are they throwing at us today?”

  Inzusu pointed to the fuzzy mass at the top of the screen.

  “Everything,” he said.

  Chisnall could see the Bzadian fast movers in the distance, arcs of light in the sky, circling around for another attack.

  “Bring it on,” Wilton roared.

  Chisnall searched desperately around them. They were out in the open now, with no chance of evasion and no cover. Sitting ducks.

  “Wait!” Price’s voice. “They’re peeling off.”

  “You’re sure?” Chisnall asked.

  “Why?” Brogan asked.

  Chisnall said nothing, his eyes fixed on the darkened night sky. The troop carrier was bugging out as well.

  The air defenses around Uluru exploded into life.

  “What the hell?” Brogan said.

  “The raid,” Chisnall said. “It’s started.”

  “What raid?” Brogan asked.

  “Let’s get back up the hill,” Chisnall said. “I want a ticket to this show.”

  They worked their way around to the gentle northern slope of Benda Hill and back up to the top. Their former defensive positions were now crumbled, blackened rock. They had got out just in time.

  Bzadian fast movers were streaming in from the east and west to meet the threat from the north, and there were constant flashes in the sky above them.

  “They’re too small to be fighters,” Inzusu said. His fingers flicked over the display, spinning it, zooming it. “They’re drones, probably predators.”

  “How many planes have we got up against them?” Lozpe asked.

  “Not enough,” Inzusu said. He watched the screen for another few seconds. It was alive with swarms of Bzadian defenders moving to intercept the intruders. Missiles were flying in both directions. He saw two defenders get hit simultaneously and tumble from the sky. The predators were firing antiair. That was unusual.

  Surface-to-air missile (SAM) sites around Uluru lit up. Inzusu glanced at one of the live-cam feeds. He saw fiery lines streak up into the sky as the SAMs engaged the enemy, but there were matching streaks of lightning emerging from the sky and tracing back down the path of the SAMs.

  Every time a SAM battery fired, it gave away its position, and the scumbugz had advanced anti-SAMs. The SAM batteries had to keep moving constantly to avoid becoming a target.

  He could feel the concussions now, vibrating through the ground as missiles impacted above their heads.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, his eyes flicking between the radar screen and the analysis readouts.

  “What is it?” Lozpe asked. When Inzusu didn’t immediately answer, he repeated the question. “What is it?”

  “It’s all antiair and anti-SAM,” Inzusu said. “Everything. The entire attack is aimed at our defensive aircraft screen and our SAM sites. They’re not attacking any other ground installations.”

  “Which means?”

  “They’re softening us up.”

  He reached for the radio but got only static. He looked at Lozpe in horror. “They’ve jammed our comms.”

  “And our radar.” Lozpe seemed dazed, as if shocked by the speed and scale of what he was seeing.

  Inzusu turned back to the radar screen in time to see a cloud of white noise descend over it, blocking all the signals. The enemy was systematically destroying their defenses and jamming the radar and communications.

  That could mean only one thing.

  A glow in the sky ahead of them grew rapidly larger and turned into a Bzadian jet—a big one, a type two. It was heading straight for them, its wings on fire.

  It passed so low overhead that they could feel its heat before it crashed and sent up a fireball in the desert to the south.

  “Booyah,” Wilton said quietly.

  Ahead of them, the sky was alive with the constant thunderclap of explosions.

  A faint noise was flicking at Chisnall’s ears. He turned his head slightly and was greeted by a sudden roaring sound and a blast of air.

  “What the—” Brogan said.

  It was a missile. Ground hugging, to avoid radar. It streaked past the hill they were on at such a low altitude that they were actually looking down on it as it passed.

  What kind it was, Chisnall couldn’t tell. The speed at which it was traveling meant that it was no more than a rush of air and a streak of light, followed a few seconds later by a massive, screeching explosion and billowing flame from the north.

  “Take that!” Chisnall yelled.

  An entire submarine fleet had been dodging icebergs in the Southern Ocean in complete radio silence and full stealth mode. A few days earlier, the group had turned north and quietly made their way toward the coast of Australia. Waiting for the signal.

  Another missile passed them, and another, and suddenly the air around the hill seemed alive with massive insects attracted to the heat and light of the burning base at Uluru.

  It was a fireworks show like none that had ever been seen before. It seemed unearthly and weird to be sitting high on a rock as the missiles streaked past below them.

  Tomahawks, Exocets, Silkworms, Russian Granat missiles, and more. They honed in on the now largely undefended Uluru military base. With the alien fast movers busy engaging the predators and the SAM sites relocating or being destroyed, the missiles approaching from the south were relatively unimpeded.

  Then came the second wave.

  And the third.

  The ground itself seemed to be flexing and undulating.

  The desert was on fire.

  Not all the missiles were accurate. A number fell short, in a series of e
xplosions that rippled across the twin fences and the defenses of the outer perimeter.

  “What the hell is going on?” Wilton asked.

  “We’re sending them a message,” Chisnall said.

  “Booyah,” Monster said.

  Up to now, Earth forces had been on the run, fighting defensive actions, trying to hold back the unstoppable Puke army. Now, for the first time, Allied forces were taking the fight to the Pukes, striking deep in the heart of New Bzadia, at their biggest military installation.

  “Yeah, now get the hell off our planet,” Wilton said, but his voice was low and subdued. Even he was shocked by the sheer volume of the ordnance that was raining down in front of their eyes.

  “You knew about this raid in advance,” Brogan said in a slightly accusatory tone as they scraped their way back down the northern slope of Benda Hill.

  “I know lots of things that you don’t know,” Chisnall said. “That’s why I’m the leader.”

  “Anything else you want to share?” Brogan asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Thought not.”

  At the base of the hill, behind the clump of boulders, the Angels squatted in a circle and Chisnall consulted his GPS tablet.

  “Okay, here it is,” Chisnall said. “The big raid is our cover.”

  “They put on this whole show just for us?” Monster said. “Cheese and rice!”

  “No, not just for us,” Chisnall said. “But with all the confusion and destruction, we should be able to get in relatively easily. They’ll have plenty on their minds without double-checking ID from every grunt in the field. The missiles took out a large section of the fence and the minefield. That’s our welcome mat.”

  “You’d think someone would have mentioned this at the mission briefing,” Brogan said.

  Chisnall stowed the tablet and looked around the team. “Up till two days ago, less than three people in the world knew about this raid. Some people knew parts of it, for planning and coordination, but almost nobody had all the parts of the jigsaw. And the target was under wraps until yesterday. Most of those involved in the planning thought they were attacking a base in Singapore.”

  “Why all the secrecy?” Price asked. “Don’t nobody trust nobody no more?”

  “Something like that,” Chisnall said. “My orders were to tell no one until the raid began. If the Pukes had found out about this, it would have been a disaster for our side. But right now is the best chance any human has ever had to get inside Uluru and find out what they’re up to. So let’s not hang around here gossiping all day.”

  “Booyah!” Wilton said.

  “What about the RAF guys?” Brogan asked.

  “They’re coming with us,” Chisnall said.

  “What?” Price said.

  “You’re nuts, LT,” Brogan said. “No offense, skipper, but on this you’re nuts. We can pass ourselves off as Pukes, but they can’t.”

  “We’ll treat them as our prisoners,” Chisnall said. “It’ll give us extra credibility. Once we’re inside the base, they can hide out somewhere, until we’re ready to leave. Then our extraction team can pick them up as well.”

  “How exactly are we being extracted from this mission?” Brogan asked. “That part I’m not quite clear on.”

  “Sorry, Brogan,” Chisnall said.

  “That’s above your security level,” Price said with a roll of her eyes.

  “Right now we need to get moving. Oscar Mike in five. From now on, you don’t just act like Pukes—you are Pukes. We’re going right inside their biggest military base.”

  “Into belly of beast,” Monster said.

  Wilton and Price dug a deep hole, into which went their camo sheets and other non-Bzadian items. Then with Monster on point and Fleming helping Bennett walk, they started the last part of their trek. Chisnall walked at the rear, watching them.

  Five teenage recon soldiers.

  Two SAS troopers disguised as RAF officers.

  One traitor.

  Across the flat scrubby desert of central Australia.

  Past the twisted, ruined wire of the security fences and remains of the gun towers.

  Toward Uluru.

  7. BELLY OF BEAST

  [MISSION DAY 5]

  [0530 hours]

  [Benda Hill, New Bzadia]

  THE WRECKAGE OF THE INNER FENCE WAS A TANGLED metal cobweb lying across the remains of the dragon’s-teeth tank traps.

  “Land mine,” Price said over the top of an insistent beeping from her scope.

  Chisnall stopped dead. They all did. They were walking in single file, four meters apart, treading in the footprints of the person in front. Standard precautions for walking through a minefield.

  Except there shouldn’t have been any land mines. The cruise missiles had ripped through here, pummeling the desert floor, punching a hole through this section of the defenses. The churned sand of the desert should have been cleared of mines by the rippling shock waves of the explosions.

  “Are you sure?” Chisnall asked, but only as an automatic reaction. Of course she was sure. She wouldn’t have said it if she wasn’t.

  “Two o’clock. Distance: three meters,” Price said. “And a bit.”

  “Three meters.” Chisnall breathed out slowly.

  The alien mines had proximity detectors. You didn’t have to stand on them to set them off: if they detected movement within three meters, they would explode, kicking a shrapnel canister high into the air, killing or maiming everything around it.

  They were just on the verge of triggering the mine.

  “Back away slowly,” Chisnall said.

  “Good idea, LT,” Price said. “Should have thought of that myself.”

  Chisnall ignored her. Things were tense enough. Price was already moving backward, retracing her steps.

  “Options?” Chisnall asked.

  “Looks clear to the left,” Price said.

  “Take it slowly,” Chisnall said.

  “You think?” Price said.

  Twice more they found their path blocked by mines. One an antipersonnel mine and one an antitank mine. They were unlikely to set off the ATM, as it was keyed to large metallic objects, but they avoided it anyway. The explosive power of the ATMs was enormous, although they were not as deadly. Not to humans anyway. The charge was focused straight upward, without the shrapnel spread pattern of the antipersonnel mines.

  They moved through the main fence and past the pulverized base of one of the guard towers. Its automatic coil-guns whirred and clicked, sensing their presence, but the bent, broken snouts just shook angry fingers at the sky.

  In the distance, Uluru glowed red: a warning beacon in the early morning sun.

  The two SAS men, in their RAF disguises, walked silently in front of them, their hands manacled behind their backs.

  “How far is it?” Wilton asked, eyeing the red rock behemoth in the distance. It was hard to judge scale in the desert.

  “We’re in the exclusion zone. It’s about two hours of hard tabbing from here to the base itself,” Chisnall said. “We want to get there while everything is still in chaos from the raid.”

  From this distance, chaos looked to be an understatement. A pall of smoke hung over Uluru from what must have been hundreds of fires, burning fiercely.

  “Like the fires of Hades,” Chisnall murmured.

  “Call hell and tell them the Angels are coming,” Brogan said.

  “I just remembered that I have this really important appointment,” Wilton said.

  “Where’s that?” Price asked.

  “Anywhere,” Wilton said. “Anywhere but here.”

  “Not me,” Brogan said. “There’s no place I’d rather be. We’ve really hurt the Pukes for the first time, and this is our chance to stick the knife in.”

  “There’s a whole lot of places I’d rather be,” Price said.

  “Yeah, like ten-buck-pizza Sundays at Hell’s Kitchen,” Wilton said.

  “Mmmmm, pizza,” Monster agreed. “
Best food in the world!”

  “I hate to break it to you,” Chisnall said, “but there are better things in this world than melted cheese and processed meat on a bread-dough base.”

  “Mmmmm, pizza,” Monster said again.

  “The best thing in the world is not food,” Wilton said. “It’s when you’re shredding down the monkey trails. That’s beautiful, dude. That’s better than sex.”

  “Like you’d know,” Price said.

  “I know more than you think,” Wilton said, trying to look mysterious and not pulling it off.

  “Really?” Price asked. “You ever even kissed a girl, Wilton?”

  “Or a guy, whatever,” Brogan said.

  “Shut up,” Wilton said.

  “Didn’t think so,” Price said. “You want to know the best thing in the world? It’s your first real kiss. You’ll find out one day.”

  “Phantom, you’ve been reading too many romance novels,” Chisnall said.

  “I think I just puked in my mouth,” Wilton said.

  They arrived at the lip of an enormous crater where one of the missiles had landed. It was wide but shallow, a quirk of the explosion and the geology of the underlying rock. Rather than skirt around it, Chisnall led the team down the soft, pulverized sand. Their boots slipped and skidded down the slope, creating mini landslides. The acrid after-smell of explosive was strong here. Parts of a tail fin protruded from the earth on the far side of the crater.

  “What about you, Monster?” Brogan asked. “What do you think is the best thing in the world?”

  “Well, my dude, the Monster thinks that nothing beats a really good fart.”

  There was a second’s silence before the entire team burst into laughter.

  “Evolution kinda skipped your family, didn’t it?” Price said.

  “So who wins?” Wilton asked. “Do we get to vote?”

  “I’m not voting for Monster’s fart,” Price said.

  “There’s no voting,” Chisnall said. “I get to pick the winner.”

  “Why’s that?” Brogan asked.

  “Because I’m the lieutenant,” Chisnall said. “That’s just the way it works. This is not a democracy.”

  “How come you’re the LT?” Wilton asked. “You stronger or smarter than the rest of us?”