Rodrigues emerged from the trees, gasping for breath and dropping to his knees next to the other younger marine, both men breathing heavily and stunned by the sight before them. The tall white lighthouse stood to the left, the weathered walls stained and sporadically lined with lichen on the lower levels flourishing in grooves between the stones.
The early evening low sun seemed to sparkle briefly between clouds as they stared around incredulously in disbelief, a fast food van sat next to the high rounded structure with several children queuing for their selections, three minibuses parked around with couples sat on wooden picnic benches, chewing on burgers or hot dogs and sipping from paper cups or dink cartons. Several smaller children were playing in the distance, the small park at the end of a substantial driveway from the south and popular stopping place.
The picturesque island was steeped in history, from native American Indians in the seventeenth century to being occupied by the British Army in the revolutionary war, the coastline fortified in the nineteenth century, the island having experienced a number of intriguing uses with lighthouses and abandoned forts to be investigated.
The houses to the south were now reoccupied after the area of prominent land was closed in 2014, the unsafe linking bridge demolished in 2015, a short period of abandonment following before residents were permitted back with their own water transport, the island now attracting lucrative day trips, albeit to restricted viewing areas only.
The two soldiers glanced slowly to their right in almost unison, two sightseers staring through a small gap in the trees with binoculars at the burning city in the distance, another with a mobile phone raised, filming the heavily rising smoke plumes.
Rodrigues gasped, the soldier next to him tensing in alarm as he heard the muffled crashing of a transport platform door falling forward and grinding against the rocks, a loud snarl and roar coming from within the vessel as two beasts were released, the armoured Morgons crashing through the trees behind.
Grabbing his deafened countryman, the younger marine darted forward, screaming at the twenty three gathered people, several stunned as they glimpsed the drenched and blood smeared marines, their fear rising as the soldiers waved frantically, pointing to the vehicles. People stared in transfixed terror, the food and drinks dropping from their grasps, the two soldiers grasping out at individuals in an attempt to force them from inaction.
The two men with binoculars spun round to see the soldiers running with others, the mobile phone cracking onto the cement below them, the filming middle aged male gasping for breath as he backed from the trees before him in terror, two piercing eyes and salivating jaws gradually emerging into the dim light.
The four large incisors snapped menacingly as dripping wide paws with extended talons stepped onto the cement, the large muscular tiger lowering on its haunches as it snarled again, frantic screams breaking out as people fled in terror. Further crashing came from the trees, high piercing shrieks ringing out as the armoured soldiers advanced into the light, withdrawing large twin bladed swords from their backs in relish as a vehicle engine roared into life.
The sabre toothed tiger swept forward, jaws snapping as powerful extended paws swiped from side to side, two screams cut short as the bodies bucked and shook, the beast’s razor sharp talons slicing through the male frames before it, the claws tearing through flesh and cracking bone, the incisors closing on one of the torsos and tossing it into the air.
The cameraman got about five yards, a swinging blade from the trees cleaving his chest open as blood spurted across the emerging black armoured plate, ribs and backbone shattering as the body was propelled backwards, the beast pouncing on it and tearing flesh from the shattered frame, a heaving gasp the last sound from the bloodied corpse as it disintegrated.
Chapter Nine: A Russian Response
Near Saratov, deep inside Russian territory
The Spetsnaz senior intelligence officer stared at the flickering and diminishing images before him in disbelief, a KGB commander rising in dread beside him, communication lines disappearing before their eyes as the screens on the opposite wall flickered. Cold adrenalin swept up his spine as he realised the recently issued official emergency protocol that had just been activated, his knowledge of the outside world diminishing and then disappearing completely as the images died before the two men, the only illumination in the small room now from desk lamps.
Operators in the seats below frantically attempted to regain connections across Russia, rerouting communications around now silent and destroyed fibre optic cabling, some raising their hands in frustrated or resigned defeat as they stared at non-responsive displays. Static horizontal lines surged across the numerous screens throughout the control centre, the KGB officer turning to his colleague in dread, ‘Comrade…the time has come for us to act. Moscow must have been destroyed for this meltdown to happen…we will be next. We know what we must do.’
The Special Forces intelligence commander nodded grimly, raising his voice across the underground command centre, ‘Call in the other watch commanders…attempt to re-establish contact with the other outside bunkers…we move to protocol one…establish the targets. All special forces and garrison troops to protect the blast doors and hidden entrances.’ He nervously grinned briefly in reassurance for the observing eyes of startled operators staring up at him through virtual darkness, glancing back at his colleague, ‘Always remember my friend, you no longer exist to the outside world…any communications must come from me or a government official, the Americans must never suspect the KGB still has ultimate power here…you were disbanded in the eyes of the world.’
His friend grinned sheepishly, shrugging, ‘What matters now is that I present myself as Dimitri? Just someone to talk to will reassure the Americans…’ He grinned widely, seeing his companion’s irritation and shrugging, ‘…don’t worry, I will report as the Interior Ministry spokesman. I don’t know why we are continuing this façade…they never believed us anyway about disbanding the KGB.’ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, indicating to one of his own staff grimly, ‘We will establish a link as soon as possible…you may wish to prepare yourself…I want assistance with any demanding questions.’
A Presidential Bunker Briefing
‘Yellowstone Park, Mr President. That will then be the end of the human race.’ The intelligence officer lowered his head in regret, coughing nervously, ‘The enemy’s firepower is too great…and we are severely weakened militarily. If they target this National Park and its weak surface crust with their weaponry, then the subsequent volcanic and geothermal reaction will spew lava and a poisoned dust cloud high into the atmosphere.’ The exhausted middle aged government official seemed to even claw at his brow in rising stress, his suit coated in dust as an unshaven jaw stiffened, ‘Within days the United States will become isolated from the heat of the sun, the temperature will drop dramatically…people and life will begin to die as the pollution and cold destroys their bodies.’ He drew a deep breath, his body swaying in weariness, ‘Then this will spread further, across the globe…we believe the enormous volcano will be become continually active from what we have already experienced from the devastating power of their initial blast…the damage will be just too deep into the earth’s core for the planet to recover in a form to save or preserve human, animal or the life of vegetation…any ultimately damned survivors will then slowly be deprived of oxygen…and food.’
Fifteen figures sat in demoralised silence, staring up ominously at the reporting officer stood at the end of the table, the man running a shaking hand through his dishevelled hair, the secure briefing room adjacent to the main control centre beneath the Blue Ridge mountains in Virginia. The pin lights in the ceiling flickered briefly, underground generators surging in power to compliment the struggling outer power grid, several people glancing upwards nervously before shaking their heads.
The President of the United States raised his arms in ultimate weary exasperation, several secret service agents stepping forward
briefly in alarm as the assembled government, Senate and Congress representatives across the large table strained their eyes. Forcing a grin, he nodded to the officer at the end of the table, ‘Well, that was a report…and not one I liked.’
The leader sighed deeply, glancing up at the darkened blank screens on the wall before them in the deep underground bunker, ‘So we are ultimately defeated…it’s only a matter of time. We have lost contact with Moscow…initial reports from the Germans and British indicate complete destruction of the Russian capital…intelligence assuming they will resort to emergency protocols that have been pre-written unless receiving additional interim instructions.’ His drained eyes dropped in alarm before widening and rising suddenly, voice rising in realisation, ‘Oh God…the Russians, they could launch…everything!’
Joint Communication
One of the screens before them suddenly flared with static, the distant signal diverted through Volgograd and then Kiev before underground boosted fibre optic cables through the Balkans, southern Germany, France and then finally Great Britain to cross the Atlantic Ocean. The US president whispered to one of his officers as he realised the Russian communication effort, ‘Get the British on the call as well…we need to see what the situation is…find out who is now in command if Moscow is really gone.’
Gradually a grainy picture formed, a suited male figure sat facing the camera from behind a desk, the walls a dull grey behind him, a lone painting of the Ninth Wave (Ivan Aivazovsky 1850), his eyes widening in expectation as he stared towards the camera crew, one of the technicians nodding that the transmission was live. Clearing his throat, the greying middle aged official’s voice was firm, the Russian accent strong, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen…I must apologise that at present we have no visual, my engineers are working on establishing a full link through our underground cabling network. I am a spokesman for the Interior Ministry situated in the Saratov intelligence bunker…my name is Dimitri and I am now in charge of the central Russian military district.’ He drew a deep breath, ‘It is with regret that I announce a loss of communication with the Kremlin and the adoption of our secondary emergency protocol. We have no live links with Moscow and must therefore assume the worst, that the city has been destroyed.’
The Russian shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ‘There are reports of widespread fires and disruption in the city above us after passing shafts of intense light, forests are burning in the distance and the blasts were believed to be targeting our capital city from the enemy ships in high orbit above. The hospitals are overwhelmed with emergency cases of blindness, third degree burns and from several collisions…numerous military helicopters have crashed in the suburbs and we are placing the city under martial law. He hesitated, smiling nervously as the engineer turned, a picture of the American room flickering on one of the wall screens, another of the four displays surging as an image of the British Prime Minister began to clear, the technicians wearily congratulating each other with silent hand signals.
Stiffening, the senior KGB Officer nodded into the camera, almost gritting his teeth in determination, ‘We are currently engaged in heavy fighting to the south of St Petersburg and numerous fragmented military units are cut off in the city…Russia’s beautiful city of the Czars. Further forces are moving up and we are also positioning defensive forces along the border with the Ukraine where we believe the fighting is near Chernobyl. The Kremlin designated specific instructions for any event resulting in the fall of our senior command structure…the orders updated only recently and distributed across our military and defensive forces. I must inform you that this bunker is now the major command centre for central Russia and we are proceeding with the orders designated to this base.’
The President interjected, his voice rising, ‘You have our deepest sympathy for the losses your country has suffered, but the United States is also under direct attack in several locations and has experienced the worst disaster in our history, millions are estimated to have perished.’ He glanced round the room of senior politicians, their grim faces lined with emotion, his voice almost breaking with exhaustion, ‘What exactly are the next steps in your orders?’
The KGB officer shook his head, staring back in defiance, ‘I am not at liberty to share this information…’
The US leader sighed, slumping back in his chair as he glanced at the new illuminated screen, the British Prime Minister shaking his head in frustration as he spoke, ‘We have all lost a tremendous amount…although Britain has not suffered the immense tragedies that have befallen both your great nations. We face the biggest threat to our existence, so need to work together to coordinate our defences…launch counter attacks and draw the enemy into a stalemate.’ The weary head of cabinet leant forward, his eyes staring into the camera meaningfully, ‘Now, what is your country to do next?’
Dimitri stared with cold eyes into the camera, the picture flickering once more, ‘We are working with the Chinese to generate a greater picture of what is occurring to the far east, it seems multiple landings have occurred and heavy bitter fighting is continuing as defensive forces attempt to stem or halt the enemy’s advances.’ He glanced down uncomfortably at the orders in front of him, ‘As of immediate effect, my country is escalating its stance…with the lack of a political structure, the military are now taking command and will deal with this grave threat as we see fit.’
The United States President squinted at the screen, a worried MI6 officer moving into the shot and whispering to the British Prime Minister, a Homeland Security agent stepping quietly into the conference room, the US leader the first to speak as the officer stared at him warily, ‘Who will be ultimately in command? We need reassurances that this move will not supersede our mutual agreements on nuclear response…’
The British camera shook slightly as it moved back, a blue uniformed commander slipping into view next to the Prime Minister, his face flushed with weary stress as the United Kingdom leader indicated for him to speak, ‘I am Admiral Karladen, official representative of the Trevakian Empire here on earth. I must speak highly against use of a nuclear response…this enemy is technologically superior to your race and are resilient beyond your comprehension.’ The Trevakian leant forward onto his elbows, gritting his teeth, ‘My officers have continually analysed their tactics on earth since arrival and conclude they are deliberately attacking against heavily populated areas to prevent use of your most powerful weapons.’
The commander stared into the camera, his expression grim, ‘We consider they are potentially even planning for you to fire at their high orbit ships…offering you them up as targets to exhaust your ammunition stocks. I must advise that even if your missiles are able to reach these vessels they will be destroyed.’ Karladen swallowed hard, shaking his head, ‘They have the technology and weaponry to intercept your missiles before they reach space…detonating nuclear ammunition high in your atmosphere, the poison and radiation spreading across the planet as it gradually falls to earth…your planet could become a wasteland and uninhabitable to all life other than the Morgons within days if not weeks.’
Dimitri nodded in consideration, his voice low, ‘We will discuss your observations admiral and notify you in due course of our actions.’ His had raised abruptly, the screen flickering before going blank as the transmission was cut.
Chapter Ten: Galactic Preparations for Battle
Medical Bay, Galactic Freedom
Flight Officer Anjara stirred, a low moan coming from his scarred clenched lips, pain seeping through the medical bed’s lowered anaesthetic, the medical staff keen to see if the tenacious flyer was able to emerge from an induced coma, requiring further checks on a conscious combat veteran to determine if there were any deeper mental injuries. The patient’s body had sustained extensive injuries before being evacuated from the front eastern villages of Zaxon B, Fahimian medics credited with saving his faltering life with prompt battlefield treatment.
Blurred amber and red flashing lights seemed to glow above him, his body movi
ng stiffly in pain as several scanning beams glowed green, then amber once more. Gritting his teeth, a morbid smile swept briefly across his lips, an aching body complimented with sharp painful reminders of previous flight injuries, his eyes blinking as he winced at the silhouette above, highlighted in the dimmed overhead medical bay pin lights, ‘I am still alive at least…I can feel that!’
The shadow nodded, Anjara’s eyes straining to see the figure lower to sit beside him, his vision still blurred as the man spoke, ‘It seems we are not to be parted commander…I am glad you are awake.’
Flight Officer Anjara’s rising head sank back against the rubber like pillow, grinning before drawing a sharp breath in pain, tears of relish forming in his eyes, ‘Somas, my friend…we are together once more.’ He drew a sharp breath, emotion filling his bruised and battered chest, the adrenalin beginning to seep through his muscles, ‘My loyal engineer…how long have we got before we meet the enemy again?’
Somas stifled a snigger, shaking his head in disbelief, ‘You are indeed insane commander, but my kind of madness…we reach this earth in thirty hours…a new planet for us both to defend. From rumours, the Morgons are apparently up to their usual tactics…slaughter and invasion, the Empire will need flyers sir…’
Anjara winced once more, grinning in rising excitement, his fingers twitching…mostly from surging adrenalin, but also from the depletion of the anaesthetic. He coughed, gritting his teeth against the agony, ‘I will be ready…Vipers will fly again…tell the medics I will need a boosted flight suit…ready…ready the fighter and supervise the armaments my friend…’ He yawned as the increasing anaesthetics seeped through his frame once more, Somas’s eyes moistening as he stared down at his commander, Anjara sleepily whispering, ‘…th…this time we will be ultimately victorious…we will drink with the young human Re…Rees before we fly…’ His voice drifted into slumber, ‘I…I owe him my life…’
Planet Genocide II: Galaxies Collide 5: Onslaught Page 12