“What about us?” Frank asked.
“We knew this was most likely a one way trip, “Gallono answered. “Sorry it turned out that way.”
Sorry?” Alex repeated saying it over and over. She seemed to gain more and more clarity of thought with each recitation as she looked around the massive burial chamber for options. She eventually fell silent and stared for a moment at the overturned sarcophagus of the late Chinese emperor.
“I doubt it will work, but we can turn that copper box upside-down and hide underneath,” Alex said. “It’s three-inches thick and made of solid copper. It will protect us from the explosion and possibly the concussion waves.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of destructive force is about to come down on our heads?” Frank asked with a shake of his head. “This whole mountain probably won’t exist when it’s over.”
“It’s better than my plan which is to curl into a fetal position and have a good cry,” Professor Russell said on the way to his feet. “Give me a hand.”
Together they carried a grunting and groaning Gallono over to the island in the room’s center. Meanwhile, Alex managed to position two pieces of stone tall enough to keep the edge of the copper box propped open when they turned it over to crawl under.
With enormous effort, Alex, Brian, and Frank managed to rotate the sarcophagus over to lean on the stones. Alex crawled under first, dragged Gallono under, then Brian and Frank followed. It was tight, but they managed to fit hunched over with their legs bent underneath their buttocks. There they waited and waited while crouched on their knees. The instant one of them felt a tremor they threw themselves shoulder first against the side opposite the stones to nudge it over enough to fall off the stones and clap to the ground with a thunderous boom.
The thunder grew louder and more violent as the sides of the coffin grew intolerably hot and began to creak and cave in from the pressures it sustained from the outside. Brian thought to himself that for all their efforts, in the end, they had only succeeded in cooking themselves alive in a copper pot.
Chapter 51: The Roswell Incident - 1947
Amid the sweltering midday heat of July in the deserts of New Mexico, Hastelloy looked down on the missile range of the Roswell Army Air Field. Spaced evenly across the landscape stood one hundred V-2 rockets ready to launch. Around him, a small team of rocket scientists under Tonwen’s supervision saw to the final launch preparations. Hastelloy’s attention was focused elsewhere.
The microscopic receiver he implanted in his right eye broadcasted an image of Gallono’s workstation superimposed over his usual eyesight. The commander was tracking the flight path of the Alpha ship heading toward earth.
Their ship had received its last supply drop, broken away from orbit three days earlier, and was now on final approach toward Earth carrying tens of thousands of Alpha warriors backed by their own thermonuclear weapons. Over four thousand years of labor and planning all came down to these next few minutes. Timing would be everything.
If the rockets launched too soon, the Alpha ship might be able to avoid the projectiles targeting them or be able to warn their base on Mars. If the launch was too late, then the Alpha would have an opportunity to destroy much of the planet’s populated areas and land to take over what was left.
“Launch the damned rockets already,” Hastelloy heard a voice shouting from the uncomfortable device lodged in his ear canal. It was President Truman’s panicked voice.
As part of their delicate arrangement, the President and his newly appointed Scientific Advisor were allowed to watch these events in his Oval Office using the same flexible flat screen Hastelloy employed earlier.
“How much longer?” Hastelloy asked as if the President had not spoken a moment earlier.
“Their ship just picked up quite a bit more speed now that it’s entering Earth’s gravity well. We need to launch in the next thirty seconds or we lose the race,” Gallono reported with alarm.
“Launch now!” Hastelloy shouted to Tonwen who was standing over the shoulder of his launch controller.
“Roger that,” the controller said. “Starting the countdown at T-minus five minutes to launch.”
“Forget the useless damned countdown. Launch them all RIGHT NOW!” Hastelloy hollered.
The launch controller looked like he was just ordered to reverse the direction of gravity and froze. Tonwen knew the stakes and did not hesitate. He mashed his index finger down onto the launch trigger, and the valley down below them erupted with a deafening roar. One hundred fiery trails pushed their objects with never before seen velocity to escape Earth’s orbit.
Hastelloy watched, via his implant, as an earth-based camera angle zoomed in on three rockets that peeled off from the main flight group. Those three streaked toward a distant object whose metallic exterior glistened in the sun’s light. A small readout in the lower right corner showed the rocket’s velocity at three thousand miles per second, and it was climbing fast.
The Alpha craft had no chance as the launch timing was nearly perfect. Even if they did have external sensors tuned to detect small incoming objects, there was nothing they could do at this point.
Five seconds before impact, the ship began to change course, but by that time, it was too late. All three fast moving rockets breached their preset proximity barriers and enveloped the Alpha ship in three expanding balls of fire that annihilated everything they touched.
With the view now white with the explosions, Gallono switched to a top down tactical representation of Earth’s vicinity. Other than the orange and yellow flashing circles representing the detonation site, the only other object of note was a cluster of blue dots racing away from the planet. They were traveling at a steady speed of nearly eleven thousand miles per second toward Mars. Their estimated time of impact was a little over an hour away.
Hastelloy was about to turn off the implant’s display and attend to his immediate surroundings when a red dot emerged from the outer edge of the detonation zone. It was small, but still moving fast toward Earth.
Gallono must have noticed it as well. Without prompting, the commander switched the display back to a live visual feed now zoomed in on the errant object.
“What is that? Did they get off a bomb before they were destroyed?” Hastelloy asked.
“No, there are no radiation readings coming from the object, but I’m picking up four life signs. I think it might be an escape pod,” Gallono answered. “I’m plotting its course now.”
The screen changed again to a view of Earth from space. It then followed a time-lapse progression of the craft’s path. As it drew closer, the continent of North America became visible. The display moved toward the southwest, drew in state lines, and identified major cities. The final analysis pegged the landing site somewhere between their Roswell missile launch site and the White Sands Proving Ground.
“That can’t be a coincidence,” came the voice of the President’s Scientific Advisor.
“It appears to be on the same course that the main ship was traveling before trying to avoid the V-2s. They either detected your launch site, or the Trinity test location and decided that was the best place to start,” Gallono concluded.
“When are they projected to land?” Hastelloy asked.
“They just did,” Gallono answered with an undeniable gloom behind his words.
Hastelloy shared the same sentiment. Could everything just once go according to plan when it came to dealing with the Alpha threat?
“Daylight,” Hastelloy snapped, which served as the trigger word for Gallono to cut the data transmission feeding the White House. “Get those exact coordinates and, when you have them, guide us to the landing site.”
Hastelloy turned off the visual overlay and allowed his eyes to focus on his immediate surroundings. While Tonwen and the small team of scientists celebrated the successful launch of the entire compliment of rockets, thirty stoic agents of the newly created National Security Agency looked on with indifference. The fact that the
y were not already on the move to arrest Hastelloy or Tonwen was a good sign, he still had the advantage. If the Alpha occupants survived their landing, the Americans would not be able to contain them. If the Alpha were dead, then the Americans getting a hold of their bodies and technology would do irreparable damage.
Hastelloy ventured into the celebrating bunch and placed a calming set of hands on Tonwen’s shoulders. He explained the situation in to Tonwen’s ear, and the two began walking toward one of several jeeps parked near the launch control bunker.
They tried to be as discreet as possible about it, but eventually the inevitable happened. One of the NSA agents stood in their path and tried to redirect them back to the main group. A swift jab to the man’s throat and an uppercut to his nose put him on the ground and unconscious, but it also alerted the other agents.
Hastelloy picked up the agent’s pistol and joined Tonwen on a full sprint over the last fifty feet to reach the parked vehicles. Hastelloy shot out the front tires of each jeep except the one Tonwen selected. They tore off in a cloud of dust, leaving the pursuing NSA agents yelling at the wind.
“What is the plan when we get there?” Tonwen asked.
“We destroy it and ourselves if necessary,” Hastelloy said with his voice trailing off so he could hear the driving instructions provided by Gallono in his earpiece.
“Turn left now and then right at the next intersection. From there follow the road for about fifty miles, and turn right. At that point, you should reach a farm field. The touchdown point is somewhere in there.”
Hastelloy relayed the navigation instructions to Tonwen who kept the gas pedal flat on the floor until they reached the farm field. There, a four-foot deep ditch and a fence separated the farmer’s land from the country road to block their path.
“Up the hill over there looks like a driveway entrance leading into the fields,” Tonwen pointed out and did not wait for orders to head that direction. He knew the stakes as well as Hastelloy.
“Captain, you’re going to want to see this,” Gallono said.
“I’m a little busy right now, Commander.”
“I’m aware, but still, you need to see this.”
Hastelloy decided they had a few minutes before reaching the driveway entrance, and opted to indulge in Gallono’s request. He switched on his visual overlay display and was greeted by an orbital view of Mars. Down below a checkerboard of explosions canvassed the entire northern hemisphere. Ten, then twenty, then fifty, and soon ninety-seven blasts erupted and turned into towering geysers of fire and dirt roaring toward the upper limits of Mars’ atmosphere. Anything within a thousand mile radius of the Alpha base was eradicated with absolutely no chance of survival.
Hastelloy felt an overpowering sense of elation explode from within him in conjunction with the inferno taking place on the surface of Mars. They had done it. At long last, the Alpha were no longer a threat to their mission of returning home to Novus. He was about to let out an ear-piercing victory roar when he felt the jeep lurch to a stop. He looked past the superimposed display and saw a set of black cars parked facing one another with men brandishing rifles and using the automobiles as cover.
“Get us out of here.”
Tonwen threw the gearshift into reverse, but before he could stomp on the gas, a third car rammed them hard from behind. An instant later, men from the roadblock moved in to join three men in dark suits emerging from the impact vehicle. They were surrounded.
Hastelloy played the only card he had in his hand at that point. He pulled out his FBI identification and waved it above his head. “What is the meaning of this? I am the director of the FBI and you are interfering with a federal investigation. As the top law enforcement officer in this country, I order you to stand down.”
One of the armed men walked up and snatched Hastelloy’s identification book, “The NSA doesn’t answer to you. This crash site falls under our charter by presidential order.”
“So what happens now?” Hastelloy asked as if he could not have guessed. President Truman had turned on him. He still respected the man as a leader doing what was for the greater good of his nation, but at that moment, Hastelloy was sickened by the brutal and power hungry nature of humanity. That was the last thought to pass through his mind before the NSA agent drew his pistol and put both him and Tonwen down.
Chapter 52: Retirement
Valnor looked on with great amusement at the sight of General Secretary Joseph Stalin attempting to mount an imposing white stallion to lead the Victory Day parade. The animal was stunning to look at, but stubborn and very powerful. The horse would be a handful for even a seasoned cavalryman, let alone a retired foot soldier turned politician who now sat behind a desk.
Twice now, the horse had bolted when Stalin placed his foot in the stirrup. With his level of anger obviously growing, Stalin cast aside the reins in favor of grabbing the stallion by its mane. The animal reared back on its hind legs and sprung forward in a gallop. The General Secretary tried to hold on and was dragged across the cobblestone square until Stalin lost his grip and fell face first on the stones.
Stalin sprung to his knees and then his feet to unleash a string of obscenities that accused the stallion of being sired by the devil himself. The General Secretary snatched his hat from his aide, brushed off the front of his uniform and spat toward the animal, “Let Zhukov take the parade. He’s an old cavalryman anyway.”
Realizing all eyes were now on him, Valnor tucked away his amused smile and stepped forward to lead the parade. He had no difficulty mounting the white stallion and expertly reined it to the lead position while Stalin and his gaggle of military and political ass kissers made their way to a stage set up in front of Lenin’s Mausoleum in the center of Red Square.
Valnor understood the political necessity to stage a victory parade at the conclusion of the Great Patriotic War, but in reality, there was not much for anyone to celebrate. The Nazis destroyed over seventy thousand Soviet cities, towns and villages. As a result, nearly twenty million civilians along with another ten million soldiers had died. The Soviet Union did not so much defeat the Germans as they did outlast them.
The Soviet public would never learn of the eleven billion dollar Lend-Lease agreement with America, which saved the communist state early in the war. Nor would the American public be allowed to appreciate the monumental human sacrifice the Soviet Union bore during the war. Uniting the world’s greatest capitalist state, communist state, and colonial power was always a strange alliance born out of necessity to defeat the Germans. Now that the day had been won, each side jostled for position to take full credit.
Every action the political apparatus undertook was to glorify Stalin and his divine leadership during the struggle. That being the case, Valnor was shocked to be given the place of honor during the Victory Day parade.
He had received widespread accolades as the ‘Savior of Moscow’ during the Great Patriotic War. His successes outshined those of Stalin by a wide margin and now placed Valnor as a political liability. It did not make any sense for Stalin to feature Valnor in the parade. Even if he could not control the stallion, he could have walked, ridden in a jeep or even on top of a tank. There were any number of solutions that would have let Stalin hoard all the glory of final victory for himself.
That thought stuck in the back of his mind as he kneed his mount forward with a procession of infantry, tanks, and mobile rocket launchers trailing behind him. Overhead the sky came alive with regular overflights of fighter and heavy bomber formations. As he approached the stage erected in front of Lenin’s Mausoleum, he saw General Secretary Stalin standing on high, tall and proud.
The distinguished leader of the Soviet Union saluted the mass of military might marching past him and Valnor felt his level of anxiety abate; the symbolism was unmistakable. Stalin did not need to be the Savior of Moscow. The generals worked for him and did his bidding with his army.
Valnor played his part in the show. He led his mount over to a waiting sol
dier and grabbed a Nazi banner from the man. The red banner featuring a white disk and black swastika was captured from a defeated German army division. Valnor carried the standard over to an open space in front of Lenin’s tomb, tossed it to the ground, and had his actions rewarded with a roar of applause from the crowd. After him, hundreds more red banners were thrown into the pile, and Stalin oversaw it all.
The games these men play, Valnor thought to himself. None of it mattered much to him anymore. The world war did exactly what Captain Hastelloy had intended. The capability to destroy the Alpha threat on Mars was developed and used. An added bonus was that Tomal and his dangerous Nazi friends were defeated. Valnor concluded his task was now complete; he was content to retire into a tiny country cabin and enjoy a few years of peace and quiet before returning to the Nexus for his next assignment.
The next day Valnor was summoned to a meeting with Stalin inside his Kremlin office and felt his anxiety level return with a vengeance when he entered the room.
During the Great Patriotic War, Valnor fancied himself as one of the only people who truly understood Stalin's personality. As the Chief of Staff and later Deputy Supreme Commander, he had hundreds of meetings with Stalin, both private and during planning conferences. As a Consequence of the many encounters, Valnor understood Stalin's personality and methods.
He understood the man well enough to gauge his mood simply by looking at the ever present tobacco pipe in his hand. When Stalin drew deeply on his pipe, it meant he was in a cheery mood. Conversely, if Stalin failed to relight his pipe, it meant an imminent outburst was coming.
On this occasion, the pipe was not lit and there were four armed guards present behind Stalin who was sitting at his desk. In front of the window overlooking the Red Square stood fifteen members of the Politburo staring at Valnor with pity in their eyes.
“Marshal Zhukov, you are under arrest for conspiracy to overthrow General Secretary Stalin’s government,” one of the politicians read aloud without a hint of emotion behind his words.
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