Overlord

by David L. Golemon

BETHESDA, MARYLAND

  The door to Niles’s hospital room burst open and without ceremony a civilian-attired Maxwell Caulfield entered pushing a wheelchair. Virginia—who had been speaking with her boss and relaying the bad news about the early attack by the Grays that was currently in progress—almost peed herself as the general threw back the sheet and blanket covering Compton’s battered body. He tossed the director a pair of glasses he had absconded with from his personal belongings that had been recovered from his quarters at the ruins of Camp David.

  “Mr. Director, we’ve been ordered to attend an emergency meeting, now!” The general assisted Niles up, careful not to hurt his broken left leg and his shattered right arm. Virginia, meanwhile, placed the director’s replacement glasses onto his heavily bandaged face. “The chief justice and the attorney general are already there, along with the directors of the FBI, the CIA, and the rest of my staff.”

  “A meeting with whom, may I ask?” Niles weakly asked as he was carefully lifted by the large Marine into the waiting wheelchair.

  “We are going right down the hallway. When the president calls, we act. Now hang on!”

  Caulfield turned Niles and out the door they went with the president’s Secret Service detail clearing the way. The entire hospital was abuzz with relief as the news quickly spread that the commander-in-chief was awake and talking his head off with the assistance of his first lady. Secret Service and capital police were busy wheeling large television monitors and communications equipment into the president’s hospital suite. They even saw the president’s two young daughters carry armloads of bottled water inside.

  The political war was also just beginning.

  CAMP ALAMO

  ANTARCTICA

  Jack almost slammed into Sarah and Anya just as the action station alarms started blaring their warning. She was on her way to his quarters as he and Everett had sprinted to get to their stations. They both stopped and out of breath couldn’t say anything at first. Collins looked at Carl as he quickly kissed Anya and then pushed her at arm’s length.

  “Gotta go, baby,” he said and then kissed her again. Then he quickly turned to Jack and Sarah.

  “Take care, McIntire.” He then faced his friend and held out his hand. Sarah quickly pecked him on the cheek and then backed off. “Jack, tell Will—hell, just tell him something.” Carl took the general’s hand and briskly shook. “See ya, ground pounder!” With that Everett jumped upon a speeding tram. Before Jack could say anything his friend was gone.

  Anya quickly slapped Collins on the chest, giving him a quick and soldierly good-bye, and then turned and watched the tram with Carl inside disappear downward into the tunnels.

  “Short Stuff, get to your bunker and keep your ass down.” He quickly kissed Sarah and then held her a moment.

  “I love you, Jack,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the blaring horns.

  He smiled and then before Sarah realized it, he was gone.

  Anya turned back and took Sarah’s hand, then started pulling her away in the opposite direction they had been told to go when the shit hit the fan.

  “The bunkers are in that direction!” Sarah said.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m a soldier and I intend to die out there, not in this frozen icebox.”

  Sarah started sprinting. “I knew I liked you, and thought Carl couldn’t do any better.”

  The two women sprinted for the SAS arms locker that Anya had accidentally stolen the key to.

  * * *

  Admiral Everett met up with his team at the main elevator leading down into Poseidon’s Nest. As they traveled downward he saw the young face of the SEAL he had chewed out at the Johnson Space Center. His face was now clean-shaven and he looked even younger than he did four days ago. Carl winked at the boy of twenty.

  “Ready, son?”

  “Not at all, sir!” he said loudly as the others laughed—SEALs and Delta together.

  “Now you’re a SEAL!” Everett said as he slapped the boy on the back.

  * * *

  The view from above was one of organized confusion as yard workers started cutting the fifty-six enormous ten-ton braces that held the battleship upright when the British engineers had freed her from 700 million years’ worth of ice. Scaffolding was being cut with acetylene torches and was falling free to crash onto the frozen seabed. Fuel specialists scrambled to load the full complement of liquid nitrogen into her vast tanks and live ordance was being loaded by giant cranes to feed the large 70- and 105-millimeter rail guns. Yardmen were quickly tearing away the tent structure they had erected for the installation of the alien power plant that had been seated inside a ten-foot-thick wall of titanium alloy to protect it from enemy cannon fire. The workers knew that the alien-designed engine had yet to be tested but didn’t really care, as their yard supervisors urged them on with their destruction of the support systems.

  Commodore Freemantle stopped and turned as the doors for the elevator opened. He faced Lord Durnsford and Sir Darcy Bennett.

  “Good luck, Percy, old man,” Sir Darcy said.

  Lord Durnsford held out his beefy hand to a man he had very little love for but respected immensely. “Look, I know we’ve had our differences, old boy,” Freemantle said, “but I wonder if you’ll do me a favor. I was caught off guard and forgot to say good-bye to my wife. She frets ever so much.”

  Lord Durnsford realized the man before him was saying good-bye in the only way he could. He nodded his head and then shook his hand. Freemantle smiled and then saluted the two men. Then he turned and hurried to the upper gangway.

  The two men stepped out on the elevated platform and watched the 4,000-man crew scramble aboard. Lord Durnsford glanced up toward the area where the engineers had tunneled out four square miles of tundra and frozen seawater and then filled it in again with a pattern of much thinner and well-disguised ice.

  “I hope Niles Compton was right about our General Collins.”

  “All we need is an hour, one bloody hour.” Sir Darcy Bennett stepped by Lord Durnsford and entered the elevator.

  With one last look at the enormous battleship, Durnsford joined his friend inside the lift. The last view they had was of the American SEAL and Delta teams hurriedly loading their special gift from the government of Israel.

  MCMURDO STATION

  ANTARCTICA

  The twenty-five saucers streaked low over the frozen earth as they hit the speed of sound after their dive from a hundred and fifty miles up. They flew in a V formation as the powerful attack ships blew snow and ice in their wide path toward Camp Alamo, a location they had discovered while tracking the Super Galaxies two days before.

  As the first attack craft breached the coast, the lead saucer broke formation and sped toward the one base in the direct line of communication to the Alamo: McMurdo weather station. As men, women, and weather observers ran for hollowed-out bunkers, the saucer struck. Its rapid-fire cannon burst from the lower dome at the center of the ship and stitched a pattern that tore the 100-year-old base to shreds. The insulated metal buildings rocked and then burst into flames as the powerful laser cannon did its deadly job.

  When it was finished the saucer didn’t even slow down. It jumped back to altitude and reformed at the rear of the assault flight.

  The twenty-five saucers were now on a direct line of attack to Camp Alamo.

  TASK FORCE 227.90

  USS GEORGE WASHINGTON BATTLE GROUP

  SOUTH PACIFIC

  Admiral Jim Sampson sat on the admiral’s flag bridge, drinking a cup of coffee when the captain of “Big George” handed him a message. The commander of the carrier watched the admiral’s reaction as he read the note. He looked at the captain and set his cup of coffee in its holder on the arm of the large chair.

  “Now?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, he’s on the command phone.” The captain was pleased to see the blood drain from the man’s face. “The message relaying the time has been decoded and authenticated as coming f
rom National Command Authority. It is the president.” He removed the heavy phone from its cradle and held it out to the admiral, who then took a deep breath and reached for the instrument.

  “Admiral Sampson,” he said into the phone. The captain, standing by the admiral’s chair, could hear everything because he had turned the volume to full before handing the phone over.

  “Admiral, do you recognize my voice?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

  “Glad to hear it,” came the tired but firm words. “Admiral, it seems you backed the wrong goddamned horse in this particular race.”

  “I was following orders from the commander-in-chief, sir, I would never have—”

  “I don’t buy that just-following-orders crap, Admiral, and you know that. Now turn those two groups around immediately and steam at flank speed for the coast of Antarctica. Assist the ground element on station in the defense of American and allied lives. Is that clear, sir?”

  “Yes—”

  He was speaking into a dead instrument.

  A short time later, the George Washington Battle Group, with the USS John C. Stennis Group in tow, made a dramatic full-speed course change to the south.

  CAMP ALAMO

  ANTARCTICA

  The first three advance scouts crossed the outer markers without any defense being thrown at them. The scouts slowed to subsonic speed as they came low. One stopped to take heat emanation readings while the other two sped ahead.

  The entrenched men of the 82nd Airborne observed but did not report, as per their orders from General Collins. They were to report only when the main element arrived. It was tempting to send the battery of TOW missiles toward the slow-moving targets, but the men realized they would have plenty of saucers in their laps soon enough.

  The advance element of Airborne waited.

  * * *

  The three saucers rose in height and hovered, waiting. The hidden 23rd Panzer Division was targeting these ships but had no orders to fire. The same went for the fifty emplaced and well-disguised M-109-A12 Paladin Self-Propelled Artillery. The specially modified Paladins had recently been redesigned and had their 155 Howitzers replaced with M-9780-A2 Standard Rail Guns, the exact same weaponry that had completely gutted the saucer that had attacked the Russian missile cruiser in the South Atlantic. The trick would be for the saucers to slow down enough for the geopositioning targeting systems to function correctly.

  Collins was watching with his staff in a specially prepared bunker two miles from Overlord. He watched the close-looped monitoring system and saw the three saucers just silently hovering near the exact center where Poseidon’s Nest lay. It was excruciating waiting for the real assault to begin. It was the silence before the storm that precedes every major battle and Jack Collins knew the game well—it was knowing when to make the other guy flinch.

  Colonel Henri Farbeaux was monitoring the technician that watched the advance BQPP-7 special radar system built to pick up the barest minimum trace of a stealthy aircraft by reading trace elements of the environment—in this case, snow and ice as it was disturbed by a speeding aircraft from almost any altitude. The Frenchman watched the scope intently as he was unprepared to die in this frozen hell.

  The Air Force technician, a volunteer from Edwards Air Force Base and now a part of the general’s staff, pointed to his scope silently. He looked up at Henri and nodded his head.

  “We have contact, General,” Farbeaux said confidently as he patted the airman on the back.

  “Positive contact?” Will Mendenhall asked.

  “Unless a flight of giant pterodactyls just flew over the warning line,” he said as Henri placed his web gear on and then charged a round into his nine millimeter handgun, “I think the enemy has arrived.”

  Tram and Major Krell did likewise and made ready to evacuate the general when and if it were called for. Will Mendenhall stayed close to the phones and radios to relay the orders as the situation dictated. Collins leaned forward and studied the twelve battlefield monitors at his disposal.

  “Inform Alamo and Poseidon’s Nest, we have incoming.”

  Will relayed the information and then swallowed, wondering how in the hell everyone could be so cool. But as he looked at the many faces inside the command bunker he saw the same fear in their eyes as his own.

  The radio monitored by 101st Airborne personnel sprang to life. “Incoming, seventeen ships behind the first scouts, crossing into zone 1187,” came the excited voice.

  Jack calmly looked into the appropriate monitor and saw the snow being churned up before he saw the saucers. The three scouts remained in their hover. Collins nodded and Will responded as calmly as he could with the radio.

  “Fire Team Bravo Five, take out the scouts. Fire at will!”

  * * *

  Six TOW missiles streaked into the air from two different hidden locations as fire teams from the 101st opened fire.

  The wire-guided weapons made a beeline for the saucer at the forefront of the hovering vehicles. The first three struck its metal body and knocked it sideways, but it quickly recovered—just not before the second set of three hit it. This time the saucer dipped and dug its nose into the snow and ice. It came to rest just as thirty more TOW missiles broke free from camouflaged positions. Missiles struck the two still in place as at least five missed altogether. The alien craft now reacted and streaked toward the line of fire, firing their laser cannon as they went. Carefully prepared positions started to explode in a hail of ice and snow as men and equipment were blown apart.

  “Eighteen saucers on the scope.” Henri turned to face Jack.

  “All positions, open fire, fire at will!” Collins said, a little louder than he had intended.

  All hell broke loose as the Paladins opened fire. The rail guns were the only thing visible as the mobile weapons system moved far enough forward to uncover their twin-barreled batteries.

  “Order the 23rd to scatter and confuse!” Collins calmly commanded as he watched his orders being carried out.

  Mendenhall shouted into the radio and Jack looked at him and mouthed the word calmly. Will immediately lowered his voice. Tram, after loading his old M-14 American-made rifle, smiled as his adrenaline started pumping as fast as the young captain’s.

  “We have ground movement from the first downed saucer,” Major Krell said as he watched on the perimeter monitor.

  Jack watched as the 23rd Panzers broke cover with their armored bodies breaking free of the camouflage netting and snow. It was a magnificent sight as the large main German battle tanks opened fire even before they were free of the earth they had been buried in. They immediately scattered to try and make the saucers spread out their fire to protect the troops on the ground. Collins switched views and then saw at least fifty Grays breaking free of the downed saucer.

  “What are you waiting for, Major?” Jack said to a stunned Krell as the German officer saw the Grays for the first time. He quickly snapped out of his trance and then grabbed the radio and the map.

  “Victor Seven, Victor Seven, we need you at…” He looked at the premarked map for his grid designated points. “Coordinates 27-89. Fire for effect!”

  The line of buried 155 Howitzers of the 82nd Airborne fired all twenty of their large guns at once. The heavy shells arced into the sky and came down directly on top of the slow-moving Grays as they attempted to get away from the small-arms fire from the entrenched infantry to their sides and rear. The ground around the twenty survivors erupted in a hell storm of shrapnel as the Grays were engulfed with fire and death. When the wind blew the smoke away there was nothing left but a large hole in the ground.

  The Paladins were taking their toll. The remaining two scout ships had succumbed to the twin rail guns’ rapid rate of fire. The two vehicles lay in pieces as the radios were crackling to life with the sound of targeting requests coming in.

  Several of the attacking enemy broke free as they started becoming more coordinated in finding their own targets. Laser cannon erup
ted and several of the expensive Paladins exploded deep in their revetments.

  Calls from calm but determined groups of Airborne began to get more frequent as the enemy started stitching the frozen world with far more accurate fire. Men started to break cover, running from one protected position to the other.

  Jack looked at the Frenchman and nodded that it was time. In the din caused by the loud discharge of the rail guns and artillery, Farbeaux made the call to the orbiting British Sea Harriers.

  “Eagle flight, Sentinel. I repeat, Sentinel,” he said matter-of-factly into his headset.

  The American Airborne troops wanted to cheer out loud as the British air arm made its dramatic appearance in the skies over Camp Alamo. Missile after missile struck the saucers from above as they attacked the maneuvering tanks and Paladins, not realizing they were being hunted from the air they thought they had under control.

  The enemy recovered quickly as even the first of the downed craft began healing faster than the defense was led to believe they could. The damaged craft slowly spun up into the air. It was like a shooting gallery where the little ducks kept getting up. Collins didn’t know how long his forces could hold out against such technology.

  Mayday calls began streaming in as the Sea Harriers were starting to succumb to the rapid-fire lasers of the enemy. Smoking ruins marked the grave sites of the Royal Navy aviators as they rode their antiquated birds into the ground. Vapor trails and missiles along with cannon fire filled the blue sky as dogfights broke out and then quickly ended for the Harriers as their Sidewinders and AMRAAM missiles had little effect against the advanced technology of the Grays.

  The enemy had quickly regained control of the skies around Camp Alamo and was now free to stalk and kill the fast-maneuvering Panzers and the men they were there to protect.

  General Collins ordered both the 82nd and the 101st to use their TOW missiles and then break for the fall back positions code-named DiMaggio.

  Henri Farbeaux called into his radio as Will helped lieutenant Tram and a young airman start to gather their gear.

  “All units, DiMaggio. I repeat, DiMaggio!”