Overlord

by David L. Golemon

  The defense had now retreated to only a mile from Poseidon’s Nest.

  * * *

  Everett secured the weapons next to the arms locker in the assault team’s ready room, where his men hurriedly started dressing in the layered plastic suits that would protect them in the hard environment of space. Carl followed suit. He started with the blue long johns and that was covered by an ultrathin layer of chest armor made from Kevlar and other dense carbon fibers. Then the suit itself: the nylon-based clothing was not much different from the atmospheric suits the shuttle astronauts wore, but were far more lightweight in nature. He placed the oversized boots on and then zipped them up, but left the combat gloves dangling by hooks from his wrists. He checked his thirty-man team and saw that they had completed their dressing in far less time. He checked them one at a time.

  Carl then ran to the forward bulkhead to check the status screen of his area of responsibility and saw that all of his personnel were accounted for. Along with the assault element, his weapons specialists would wait until the giant battleship gained the unrestricted confines of space before arming the fifteen nuclear devices supplied by the Israeli government.

  The warning alarms were silenced from the outside but the red blinking call to stations was still active throughout the ship. Everett turned and ordered his men to strap in to the Velcro-secured stations where the team would ride the initial flight into space, braced by nylon and canvas straps. He made sure all were secured, starting with the ingress team who would be the first to enter the assault craft. He examined his men as they were lined up against the forward bulkhead like tin soldiers. He made sure each was holding their helmets and they would stay that way until ordered by the ship’s crew to don the expensive acrylic 360° vision visors for takeoff.

  When he was finished he turned and ran for the automatic bulkhead doors that remained open until the ship’s captain called for all doors and hatches to be closed a minute before launch. His feet were sticking to the deck as his boots were designed with microfiber Velcro that adhered to the same hook-style fabric that clung to the soles of his boots like a cocklebur to a sock. The admiral ran through the companionway until he reached the large launch tubes that were the home to the two assault craft that would be used to take his men to their assignments. The six-man crew of each was going through their final checklists and the Air Force pilots were doing it rapidly. The great warship started to shudder as the alien power plant was brought online for the first time.

  Every man in visual range stopped as their hair came up as static electricity coursed through them from the decks and bullheads. A swirling sense of dizziness struck every one of the four thousand crewmen and all to a man or woman wondered if that was a normal thing—and no one really knew the answer.

  The shuttle bay was wedged into the girder system of the main decking superstructure and looked out of place. It was nothing more than two separate pressure chambers that were not part of the original Martian design. As Carl crossed the connecting ramp he saw that if he missed a handhold he would tumble more than a thousand feet down to the cave’s bottom that was fast being evacuated far below. He ran across the connecting bridge and saw Jenks struggling with the main engine bell of one of the shuttles. A large chuck of ice from above was wedged into the housing as he started kicking at it. Carl wondered if the crazed bastard knew that he was actually dangling a quarter mile above an abyss. As he started to say something the chunk of ice fell free and Jenks turned and ran for the safety of the girders that held his two shuttles secured. Everett reached out and grabbed the master chief by the arm and pulled him through to safety.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Carl screamed over the powerful noises coming from three hundred feet aft as the six main engines came to life. The ion-based technology was the reason for the electrical discharge that had coursed through the vessel.

  “That goddamn vibration from the battle above is knocking ice from the tunnel down onto everything. I warned the damned limeys about it. I told them they have to erect shielding, but the pansy-asses think they know everything!”

  “Well, don’t you think once this thing starts rising with all of those thrusters out there it will melt anything that isn’t steel and composite material, you old goat?”

  Jenks stopped and the looked as if he were considering the monumental thought that Carl just passed on. He unzipped his shoulder pocket on his coverall and popped the stub of a cigar into his mouth, then shook his head.

  “No, I didn’t think of that,” he said as an angered admiral pulled him back into the companionway. He resisted and then told Carl to be on his way, that he was going to ride the rocket from his place in the number one shuttle. He said he felt safer there.

  “Okay, you stupid bastard.” Everett held out his hand. “I’ll see you up there!”

  The two men quickly shook hands and then Jenks smiled and tossed his cigar out through the extensive steel girders that made up the ship’s superstructure.

  “Watch your ass, Toad, my boy.” He vanished into the raised doorway of shuttle number one. As the door closed Everett saw that someone had painted a name across the shuttle’s heat-reduction tiles: Virginia. Carl shook his head, realizing that the master chief was still carrying a torch for the assistant director of Department 5656 from their time together in Brazil.

  “Hey, I know I’m only excess baggage on this little cruise, but don’t you think you better get back to your station?”

  Carl looked at the next shuttle station where Jason Ryan was hanging out of the doorway like a small monkey.

  “I ordered you to the command bridge with Captain Lienanov where you might be useful, you little pain in the ass!”

  “Borrrring,” Ryan said as he acted the insulted commander.

  “You better hope this ship blows up and we’re all killed, because … because—”

  “Go get ’em, Admiral.” Ryan quickly ducked back into assault shuttle number two.

  Everett cursed and then had to laugh as he ran back across the connecting bridge to the relative safety of the pressure hull. The second officer called over the loudspeaker from the sixteen-story bridge high above.

  “Defensive force has fallen back to the DiMaggio line, enemy penetration is imminent. All personnel secure for launch sequence. Security detail standby on the main deck to repel borders until final countdown begins. All hands, man your launch stations.”

  “Repel borders?” Carl said to himself over the noise surrounding the ship as her ion engines were at station keeping.

  “All hands standby, commence charging boosters.”

  Everett knew that was the last resort as the electrical connection was made to all one hundred and twenty dry chemical booster rockets attached to the Lee’s outer hull, along the massive girders that made up her main deck.

  “Oh, shit,” he cursed. The rumble and clanging of steel restraint started in earnest as the full weight of the battleship came down on the remaining support structures keeping the Lee upright. Everett realized that gravity was starting to take effect on the 125,000-ton structure.

  “All hands, final warning: secure all decks for launch in ten minutes. Defensive command reports Gray penetration of safety zone is under way. Defensive line DiMaggio has been compromised.”

  “Damn it, Jack, get the hell out of there!” Carl spat out the words just as he reached his launch station on the uppermost deck, which was the most exposed area of the Lee. As Everett strapped himself in next to his men, he could see clearly outside as men hustled from her decks. He and his men would have the best view as the colossal battleship rocketed into the sky.

  * * *

  On the upper command bridge, Commodore Freemantle looked over at his new aide, a man who had virtually no training on bridge operations but might come in handy if he lost immediate communication with his command technicians monitoring and operating all the shipboard functions thirty feet below. Freemantle strapped himself in the upright position and braced with a steel
station so he could remain standing at all times during launch and battle.

  He examined the Royal Navy seamen below and was pleased with the calm approach they had during the most stressful event of their young lives. They called out shipboard status of all thirty-two decks. Freemantle knew that the HMS Garrison Lee was launching light, meaning to say the ship was carrying a minimum of food, water, and other necessities needed for an extended stay in space. Freemantle and the planners had figured the great battleship could only last less than an hour from launch to assault. Their job was to give the Americans time to reach the power refurbishment saucer.

  “Rather exciting, isn’t it, Captain Lienanov?”

  Lienanov stood next to the Englishman, in awe of what he was seeing through the large plates of thick, triple-paned glass that made up the bridge windows. Black Hawk and Gazelle helicopters buzzed like small bugs in and out of view above the Lee’s wide decks.

  “Strap yourself in, Captain.” Freemantle saw that the Russian was frozen in wonder at the events he was now a part of.

  “‘Exciting’ wasn’t the word my limited English would have chosen, Commodore.” Lienanov sat in his plastic chair and pulled the triple harness over his head and snapped it into place.

  Next to him Freemantle laughed heartily as the pressure of the past four years bled away as the moment approached. His number one, feet sticking to the material-covered decking, stood rigid next to Freemantle and held out a flimsy.

  “Flash message from the States, sir.” The first officer held firm to the railing lining the upper battle bridge.

  “Read it please, Number One.” The commodore watched the activity outside the large windows. He reached over and made sure his helmet was nearby and then faced his first officer.

  “‘The hope of the world rides with you, good luck,’ signed, the prime minister.”

  “Rather nice of the old boy. Now enter the message into the ship’s log, Mr. Jennings, and take your station.”

  “There is one more, sir, a warning from NASA. The United States Space Command and the European Space Agency have long-range telemetry showing the invasion fleet is now moving away from the dark side of the moon. Course is plotted and confirmed; they’re on their way here. Estimated time of arrival is twenty-five minutes.”

  “Bloody cheeky bastards, aren’t they? Not waiting and hiding. Well, let’s give them what for, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir!” the first officer answered. He momentarily stood at attention, then quickly moved away to his launch station.

  “All hands, prepare for launch, five minutes until power-up. The DiMaggio line is in full retreat.”

  The commodore heard the announcement sent from his communications center and then grimaced and was mumbling to himself, but Captain Lienanov overheard nonetheless.

  “I must apologize personally to General Collins, he gave me ten minutes longer than I needed or expected.” Commodore Fremantle lowered his head. “Good show, old man.”

  * * *

  Jack had watched his command being mowed down one unit at a time and knew that over a quarter of his men lay dying in the snow and ice. The German Panzers had finally been decimated as they fought to give the 101st and 82nd Airborne time to break from their defensive positions on the DiMaggio line and head for the deep shelters that had been designated for complete withdrawal. It had been hard for Collins to have the order issued.

  “General, it’s time for you to go.” Will Mendenhall thrust Jack’s web gear into his arms. “We’ll get the rest out, now go, your Black Hawk won’t last long out there. We just received a message; we have over a hundred Super Hornets heading in from the Washington and Stennis Battle Groups. Go, General.”

  Collins nodded for Farbeaux and the others to get to the Black Hawk. Sebastian and Tram gathered their gear but refused to move until the general came with them; he was now their responsibility. Jack locked eyes with the Frenchman as he eyed the young captain.

  “General, a ground attack force of Grays, over a thousand strong, is heading straight here and are only three minutes out.”

  “Okay, get out,” he said to the young 101st Airborne communications man.

  The soldier looked at Mendenhall and the Frenchman. “I’ll stay, sir.”

  Henri removed the nine millimeter and chambered a round, then holstered the weapon. He looked from Collins to the young black man he had never cared for. Now he knew the reason why: he never liked the perception of lacking in dedication to his craft, as he saw from the young officer studying him. He nodded at Will and then turned back to Jack as laser blasts started shaking loose ice from the last control bunker still operating.

  “I’ll be staying as well, General,” the Frenchman said, to the amazement of Mendenhall and a stunned General Collins.

  “It’s not your style, Henri,” Jack said as he was starting to be pulled away by the remainder of his staff to get him to leave. He angrily pulled away.

  “It once was, Jack, now kiss little Sarah for me.” He picked up the radio to prepare to make the call that would call down death from above.

  Jack turned to Will and stuck out his hand. “The best damn soldier I’ve ever known. So long, Will.” He dropped the offered hand and hugged the young captain.

  “Sir,” Mendenhall said, knowing that anything else would be pointless. He had to give the general time to leave. “Kick Ryan in the ass for me.”

  “Damn you, Captain, I should have left you at home.” Jack Collins released Will and took a step back.

  Mendenhall smiled and looked back at Henri, who had turned away and was leaning heavily on the desk where the radio sat.

  “You know I wouldn’t have accepted that. Now go, and when you get home, tell Doc Ellenshaw to keep swinging away, the rest of the world will catch up to him eventually.” Will smiled and then looked at Farbeaux. “You know, Jack, he’s not Ryan, or the rest of my friends, but I could go out with a far worse soldier.”

  Jack nodded, unable to say the words he so wanted to say to a friend, so he turned and left. He ran hard toward the waiting Black Hawk as if the running would stop the feeling of utter despair.

  Will zipped up his parka and then faced Farbeaux and the 101st Airborne lieutenant. He then removed his own automatic and chambered a round, then nodded to Henri, who raised the microphone to his lips as the sound of the Black Hawk started moving away. Jack was safe for the moment to fight again. The Frenchman waited until Collins and his team were clear and the Grays thought the line was still holding the defense. He made the call.

  “St. Bernard, St. Bernard, this is Raven’s Wing, this is Raven’s Wing. Broken Arrow, I repeat, Broken Arrow,” Henri called and then gently placed the radio down. “I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I would prefer to be outside in the fresh air.”

  Will nodded in total agreement with the man he had hated for many years, who was now going to be with him for a very long time.

  “After you, Colonel—sir.”

  * * *

  Jack looked out of the Black Hawk’s large door window as Tram and Sebastian lowered their heads in shame for leaving the three men behind. They knew it was a necessity to delay the Grays as long as possible to bring them into the killing zone, but that didn’t make the two professional soldiers hurt any less.

  As Jack Collins watched, over a thousand Grays surrounded the last remaining bunker on the DiMaggio fallback position just as the roar of the attacking air wings of the United States Navy was heard four miles distant. Then the world exploded right over the top of his friends.

  18

  As the last Black Hawk fought for altitude, a hundred streaks of blue and green laser light lit the skies around it. The army warrant officer pulled hard right on the stick and brought the large helicopter almost to a stall position to avoid a line of tracer-like cannon fire. They were being bracketed by not only five of the remaining twenty saucers but also the surviving Grays of the ground assault.

  U.S. Navy Hornets buzzed the battlefield in an effo
rt to engage the enemy, but the saucers were much too fast to get missile-lock. The naval aviators finally started using their twenty-millimeter cannon to engage at close range. Their goal was to protect the remains of the German infantry element left stranded by the destruction of their own shield of burning Panzers. The two airborne units had climbed aboard anything that was still operational when the orders had been given from the command-and-control bunker to break for the designated deep shelters prepared months in advance of the attack. For the first time since Operation Market-Garden during the air assault and invasion of Holland in World War II, did the two American airborne divisions actually leave a battlefield in the hands of an enemy. The soldiers of the 101st and 82nd did not like what was happening.

  The retreating soldiers set up pockets of rearguard action and fired TOW missiles from the backs of Humvees and Bradley Fighting Vehicles; they struck mostly air as the wire-guided weapons flew past the speeding saucers. The Gray reinforcements on the ground were paying a heavy toll for every foot of ground they took as missile after missile struck among their ranks. Heavy-caliber weaponry fired by the rearguard sent thousands upon thousands of tracer rounds into the saucers and the Grays on the ground. The effect was chilling to behold as the airborne units and the German infantry fought for all they were worth. Bradleys opened up with their Bushmaster weapons and started mowing down the Grays as they advanced, with each armored transport succumbing eventually to enemy handheld laser fire. The mechanized monsters Jack remembered from the Peruvian mines made their appearance as they rolled free of the saucers and then broke into their original forms and started deliberately walking toward Poseidon’s Nest. Their arms were extended and heavy-caliber kinetic weaponry opened up in all directions as the enemy advance continued.

  The command Black Hawk swooped low over the retreating units as the men inside wanted desperately to join them.

  Jack slammed his hand into the glass of the window as he saw three Bradleys explode simultaneously below.