Planet Genocide II: Galaxies Collide 5: Onslaught

by Andrew McGregor

  In the high surrounding rocks, snipers with high powered rifles waited beneath rocks and in narrow caves, the mine to the west now a hive of activity as tethered snapping animals lined the tunnel walls, the deepest parts still blocked off but accessed from a high escape grate. Further Morgon units with numerous grey uniformed Silakians moved ammunition and heavy calibre weapons to the surface, a small satellite receiver sending pulsed and coded messages across the valley.

  Chapter Fourteen: A Collapsing World

  United States Presidential Bunker, Blue Ridge mountains in Virginia

  The President stared at the screens before him, the Prime Ministers of the United Kingdom, Germany, France and Italy looking back curiously at him, grainy pictures of a Chinese military commander relayed through Russian underground fibre optic cables, the diversions to ensure a signal criss-crossing the southern Ukraine and then Balkans before linking with the western network.

  Another screen suddenly flickered, the American President sighing and indicating to one of his security personnel impatiently, ‘Is this the Russians…this Dimitri in Saratov?’

  The suited security officer glanced across at one of the technicians on a laptop next to the screens, the older man shaking his head and wording ‘Ukraine’, the secret service agent from Homeland Security lowering next to whisper to the president, ‘Sir…we believe Dimitri is a commander in the KGB…that a power struggle may be evolving after the destruction of Moscow and that the KGB are now in control…’

  The President nodded, glancing down solemnly as the blank screen flickered once more and rubbing a hand through his matted hair as he whispered, ensuring his head was lowered sufficiently to prevent lip reading, ‘KGB? They were disbanded…surely not…the CIA would have known…’ He shook his head in exasperated weariness, gritting his teeth, ‘Just get me everything you have…I want to meet the Joint Chiefs of Staff in the main meeting room after this conference call…I want all footage analysed.’

  The agent nodded, stepping back as static surged across the blank screen once more, the picture forming from Kiev of a tired Prime Minister, the middle aged man nodding to the screen, his accent strong, ‘My apologies Mr President, Prime Ministers…we have some technical issues here.’ He drew breath as the screen flickered once more, ‘We are in heavy combat with the enemy to the north…they are advancing southwards towards us from Chernobyl.’ The exhausted Ukrainian wiped his brow nervously, ‘Our soldiers have been slaughtered…units simply torn to pieces by their armour and soldiers…we have experienced nothing like it before. Special forces are now engaging them and we have lost contact with our neighbours in Belarus…we believe they are being heavily attacked also.’

  The last blank screen burst into life, the Prime Ministers straining their eyes as they glimpsed the deep red background, the setting from the Saratov bunker now more formal as Dimitri sat behind an ornate desk in a crisp suit, the same painting as before behind. Slowly nodding, he cleared his throat, the Russian accent strong as he nodded to either side of the camera, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen…my apologies for the delay…I have been gathering reports from near St Petersburg. Shall we begin?’

  The United States President grimaced, nodding and sighing once more, ‘Very well, thank you all for joining us on the emergency call…I wished to gain a mutual understanding and perhaps agreement for going forward. With the exception of the Germans and Chinese governments, we are all experiencing fighting on our home soil and this seems to be escalating…but we all have coastlines and are therefore still vulnerable to further infiltrations. Due to the destruction of our western seaboard in the United States, we are unable to secure communications with the far east, but I believe our Chinese friends have a full update?’ He smiled as the Chinese general nodded, seeming to smirk as the president continued, ‘We have two enemy ships orbiting our planet, both of which are capable of inflicting devastation unparalleled in human history…in short, we are at the mercy of the enemy’s firepower. Our geologists have advised that one strike to any one of the six super volcanoes across the planet will end human life in a matter of weeks…destroying the planet and making it uninhabitable, probably killing all life forms and potentially causing a new ice age.’ The President hesitated, allowing the information to sink in, ‘I therefore propose we engage the enemy conventionally until another opportunity presents itself…perhaps even a weakness is found…we cannot afford to provoke them with a nuclear response.’ He nodded to the British Prime Minister, ‘Have we any further updates from our Trevakian allies?’

  The Englishman smiled briefly, then became more serious, ‘Admiral Karladen has decided to coordinate efforts from his ship in west London…scan the enemy strength further. A high ranking Trevakian envoy is en-route to me now to take his place with any further updates. As yet, there is nothing other than the previous warning…that the enemy may even want us to respond with nuclear weapons, that they could then potentially destroy these missiles and utilise any fallout against us.’ He shook his head dismissively, ‘We would have little control over any such pollution at high levels…the air currents and weather patterns could disperse radiation across vast distances…possibly killing or poisoning millions.’

  The German Prime Minister interjected, clearing her throat, ‘We concur…we have no wish for a nuclear response…’ She glanced across her own screens, noting the leaders of Italy and France indicate their agreement, then stare at the Chinese and Russian screens.

  The Chinese general cleared his throat, his own accent strong, ‘I cannot make any such guarantee for the People’s Republic of China…if our borders are threatened, then we will consider any appropriate response at that time. We are monitoring fighting in South Korea, Thailand and Japan with American forces responding from Guam. We consider that the enemy has considerable forces and is massing in this area. We are reinforcing our coastlines with the deployment of numerous divisions, anti-aircraft batteries and artillery.’ The general looked up, checking the frantically typed autocue next to the screens, ‘We have opened our borders to refugees from North Korea and will monitor the defence in the south closely, perhaps offering divisions to support our neighbour at their southern border, the 38th Parallel.’

  The President of the United States lowered his head, pinching his nose in weariness and frustration, ‘Very well…will you please seek the assurances we request from your commanders and central government?’

  The general nodded, ‘I will escalate your concerns Mr President, but cannot guarantee a favourable response…’

  The German Prime Minister raised a hand, ‘Please at least consider the implications of your response…by all means protect your borders, but a nuclear reaction that could place us all…and any future in jeopardy should be avoided…’

  The Chinese general smiled briefly, ‘I will inform my superiors…they have stated that they will join a future call once we have established the enemy’s intent and even if we are a target.’

  The German Prime Minister continued unabated, ‘Are you able to offer any assistance to South Korea?’

  The general hesitated, offering more information at the frantic indication of a communist official next to the camera, ‘We are already assisting Japan after a plea for help, but I believe have yet to receive a similar request from Seoul…I understand we are attempting to contact the South Koreans…’

  The President nodded, concealing his exasperation before indicating to the Russian screen, ‘Please advise us of the Interior Ministry’s intent, Dimitri…if I may call you Dimitri?’

  The Russian nodded, coughing slightly as he read an urgent report held up beside the camera, ‘I am Dimitri Petrov of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, now second in command of the Russian Central Security District. We now have a clearer picture of the dangerous enemy positions in both the north near St Petersburg and in the Ukraine and Belorussia on our borders. We consider our positions vulnerable in the west and the far south east, near Vladivostok…also in the north near Murmansk and across al
l our extensive coastlines.’

  The United States President stiffened uneasily, glancing across the other screens and seeing nervous expressions as Dimitri leant forward, his eyes staring coldly into the camera, his tone becoming very formal, ‘We have just received news that numerous enemy ships are entering the atmosphere above our nation. This is more than we can tolerate…we have shown restraint so far, but not any longer.’ Dimitri’s face was becoming flushed with anger as he took direction from beside the media crew, his voice rising further in apprehension, ‘We are preparing a full response against one of the large ships above…we anticipate it will pass over our brave nation in the next couple of hours.’

  The United States President’s eyes widened, his tone strained, ‘N-No Dimitri…let us discuss this further…’ He looked up as a secret service agent entered the presentation room, the younger man’s face grim as he indicated the message was urgent. The president glanced back at the Russian screen, seeing the picture fade, the agent clearing his throat in alarm, ‘Sir…we have numerous enemy incursions in the atmosphere above us…the aliens have apparently launched dropships.’

  Security personnel appeared on the other screens, urgently whispering to their leaders, the Chinese transmission abruptly cut as the screen went blank. The agent sighed, shaking his head in despondency, ‘Hundreds of small craft, Mr President…Air Combat Command advises we now have insufficient fighter reserves to fully respond against such a large threat. All batteries are being deployed…in short, the deteriorating situation is now becoming almost untenable.’

  Chapter Fifteen: The Scottish Highlands

  Margaret McLennan smiled as she glimpsed three of her rescue dogs chasing two pheasants across the heather, the rising birds more than able to escape the attention of the pursuing white and tan Springer Spaniel, black Labrador and long haired white Lurcher cross mongrels as the furious startled barking increased, the inseparable three young companions surprised at the sudden flapping of wings as they chased each other playfully through the undergrowth.

  She looked round as the other four older dogs’ heads rose to her left, the interests of the grey Fox Terrier and three ‘Heinz 57 (mixture of numerous breeds)’ medium long haired dogs in the peat bog and stagnant pond aroma far exceeding any urge to join the chase, their extensive canine experiences telling them that the chances of catching such a prey were remote at best.

  At sixty two, Margaret had retired to own a small guesthouse on the western shore of Skye in the highlands from Edinburgh in the south, her civil service pension and that of her late solicitor husband providing more than enough to supplement a meagre income from the five letting rooms in the remote cottage. Providing her favourite rustic dinner and breakfast food with pride for the few visitors, she had chosen not to advertise on the internet, preferring a small passing trade of curious tourists to discover by chance her rather unique style of welcome.

  Most patrons were drawn by the drab and dour exterior of the building that depicted the films and programmes they had experienced of an older Scotland, several even motivated by the Irish comedy, ‘Father Ted’, the formidable lonely structure bearing some resemblance. The few that ventured through the gates were then fascinated by her collection of rather bizarre wooden garden ornament gatherings, sculptures and the numerous rescue dogs. Margaret’s self designed and scorched lacquered wood signs promoted the charity that rescued canines from across Europe and further afield…the customers drawn further as they realised all proceeds were donated to the welfare of her pets and four legged friends.

  Able to afford the large section of enclosed land that came with the main house, she had personally constructed safe and reinforced runs for ferrets and rabbits, fostering and adopting the animals from Scottish shelters and even further afield, then providing safety from marauding predators such as foxes or the suspected wildcats. Three donkeys, two small goats and five geese were added to her collection over time, any visitors engaged further by an option of assisting with the feeding of the animals every morning or sometimes even late evening. The cold house and accommodation wasn’t for everyone, but a rustic charm had endeared her to several regular holidaymakers.

  Initially suspicious, locals had eventually become fascinated by her elderly energy and love of animals, some even bringing injured specimens from around the island for her devoted care, knowing she would either tend for them personally or call her locally contracted vet if further treatment was required. The occasional donated tin or bag of pet food was usually left unanimously, Margaret completely unaware she had a secret but shy highland admirer that sensitively watched from afar.

  All the gestures were acceptable to the retired widow, knowing once the animals were fed and watered, the tourists departed, she could venture out along the narrow lanes of the beautiful island in her formidably large enclosed pickup truck, accompanied by the beloved dogs that now completed her existence for a planned long walk. Perhaps three or four hours would follow of solitude in the beautiful rugged countryside she and her late husband had holidayed in at least once every two years, the Trossachs and Welsh countryside their other favoured destinations.

  Margaret sighed as she saw the peat and mud coated older dogs, the pets shaking vigorously as she grinned, shaking her head in mock disapproval and considering the pungent journey back in her large vehicle. The other younger pets relinquished their pursuit to return to her side, wagging their tails furiously and panting, their tongues extended as they yawned with excitement and adrenalin (most dogs will yawn when excited).

  Clicking her tongue, she stepped further along the moist earth based path between overgrown heather and bushes, her climbing boots splashing through squelching puddles as the virtually blackened older dogs pounced back into the peat bog, growling playfully with each other as the water and glutinous mud cascaded over their matted coats.

  Margaret giggled as the younger dogs raced off again, their shrill barks ringing out as she approached the shore, the waves churning ahead past the rocks as a strong Atlantic wind tugged at her frame, salt water droplets splashing against the waxed overcoat, a homemade thick tartan scarf tied tightly over her head.

  The water surged back and forth across jagged coastal rocks, Margaret loving the bleak rawness of nature, her eyes straining against the sea drizzle as she glanced from side to side, staring along the barren windswept landscape. The younger dogs chased each other gleefully, bounding over the heather as she sighed, her eyes straining as she glimpsed the outline of a parked lorry further north, several figures standing at the back.

  Shaking her head, her thoughts moved back to the dogs, knowing the removal of ticks would have to be a key function that evening, recalling the teachings of her late husband in fondness. She smiled faintly as his warm emotional memory swept through her chest, recalling a roaring open wood fire and the long stone fireplace he had constructed in their living room as she half closed her eyes, tears of emotion welling as she felt his distant love embrace her, the feeling of distant belonging. In her memories, both hands were clasped round a full red wine glass as the man she had loved all her life had meticulously, almost flamboyantly grinned in almost relish. Both were sat in their pyjamas in front of the roaring heat, their wet clothes from a day’s walking in the hills steaming behind, the two dogs panting and basking sleepily before the fireplace in subdued expectation for what was to come.

  She grinned as she could almost hear Alexander giggle, raising the large box of matches almost triumphantly, his tone warm from after their initial large scotch they shared as an end of day walking custom, ‘Now my dear…we could go to the vets, or resort to a more ‘Highland’ method to remove these blood sucking beasties!’

  No matter how hard she tried, she would be unable to restrain her laughter at his deliberately imposed and almost preposterous manner, his strange and unique humour the first thing that had drawn her to him, her love blossoming on the evening they first met, now seeming so long ago.

  He would strain his eyes,
in later life donning his glasses in studious concentration, running his hands across the initial chosen pet, his exaggerated voice still causing her to giggle on the bleak coastline, ‘These tricky little beasts grab on as the dog runs past…attaching themselves to the fur and then clambering towards hot flesh…’ Alexander would then slurp in exaggeration, wiping his chin playfully as she giggled, ‘The vampire of the Lowlands and Highlands…drinking the wee doggie’s blood and burying it’s nasty little head into the skin.’ He would look up in triumph as he located the first intruder on the dog’s skin beneath the hair, ‘Now…your money grabbing veterinary surgeon will use tweezers…but this is far more effective…’

  Alexander would usually look up again, his eyes widening in mock curiosity, ‘Now that we have prepped the patient, are there any questions so far young lady?’

  Margaret giggled further, recalling when she had been able to ask just one question over numerous times in fun, her lips moving just as they had done many years previously, ‘But surely professor…without proper medical equipment, is this not dangerous for the patient?’

  Alexander had strained his eyes briefly as if considering the question, then cleared his throat as she had chuckled, swigging from her wine, ‘Very good question…to remove the blood sucking tick, we must ensure the buried head and teeth are not left in the wound…this is quite easy to achieve without tweezers.’ He held up a match, ‘This match head is roughly half the size of the tick’s back…if it was red hot and thrust into your back with the same dimensions…what would you do?’

  The much younger Margaret giggled, ‘Well, I would scream in pain professor!’