Corporal Earl Dugan studies final data inputs on multiple screens then updates the concerned squad leader after the prompt. "I'm studying the last feed but believe Raven-2 was shot down, Sergeant-Major. Last input indicates an electronic burst hit it followed by a mid-air fuel explosion; over."
"Did you see what shot it or where it came from? I didn't hear anything; over?"
"Negative; terrain is rocky with many places to hide equipment. I can say your current position is roughly two clicks from where Raven-2 fell. You are close, sir; over."
"All right; does Bravo still have eyes; over?"
"Yes, but they're way behind. The terrain is uneven so progress is impeded; over."
"Ten-four, we're on our own for now. Do we have another drone; over?"
"Negative, Sergeant-Major; repair crews are working to fix what's left. The storm damaged ailerons so they'll have to be replaced; over."
"All right; let me know if Bravo's drone can assist. Until then, I'm assuming we’re blind; out. All right, gentlemen," he tells the confident team once shutting down the outdated but effective field phone when satellites are offline. "Eyes are six but we're close. Something took out the bird so we must assume these folks are packing. Let's find these critters and smoke them."
Moving out at a slower pace, Wheeler spots the wreckage through field binoculars then does double takes when seeing what’s approaching several hundred yards ahead.
"You won't believe what I'm seeing," he tells the men waiting for the next command. Passing binoculars to a Navy Seal Petty Officer, Wheeler waits as the next in command gets an eyeful.
"Holy mackerel; what are they, Sergeant-Major? They look like giant bugs. Wait a second, there's something else with them. Take a look," he says passing back the binoculars.
"Yeah, that's weird," the Sergeant-Major breathes. "It appears to be the top dog and there's another one lagging a bit. Let's set up an ambush; Charley, you and Dick handle over-watch atop that mound to the right about one-hundred meters. The rest of us are going to set up on the ridge," he points at the area. "I want you to take out the oddballs once we engage."
"Odd-balls, Sergeant-Major?" Corporal Charlie Taggert replies, his curious frown almost amusing. "What do these oddballs look like, Sarge?"
"You fellas'll know when you see them," Wheeler snickers. "Let's just say they're the tall ones."
Navi Helm
Sitting in the centrally located control seat staring at endless space, Dr. Abraham listens as Zote and Billy Goddard explain what they're seeing on multiple data feeds about the enemy vessel that survived rail gun projectiles. Though cloaked and many miles from their elusive foe, Abraham senses any mistake could be fatal. Appreciating the ability to defend against what most consider state of the art smart-artillery, the team discusses which system remaining can do the job. While engineers and military leaders take various angles and positions for how to defeat the enemy ship, Abraham's thoughts bounce between safety of ground forces and Navi.
"We're being tracked," Billy Goddard interrupts while the leadership team discusses strategy and military options. "Despite cloaking, they've found us."
"Are they closing the gap?" Abraham asks after stopping the debate about weapon platforms. "It may be moot to debate systems if they attack. In that case, it's fire at will."
"No, Dr. Abraham, distance is stable, but we're definitely being scanned. There's little doubt that communication with our troops led them to us. I'm sure they're sizing us up."
"That's good news about distance," Jocko sighs as those in the helm note strained facial expressions on the giant screen. "Our next best option, unless they're right on us, are magneto-rockets," he reasons while maintaining watchful eyes of level-five activity below his perch. "I'd save E-pulse cannons as our last chance. Maybe, if we kill or damage part of their systems from afar they'll let us alone."
"Why are magneto-rockets our best chance, Commander? I'd think speed of the pulse cannons negate apparent issues with the rail gun. They won't have time for rope-a-dope," Abraham counters, his use of Ali boxing terminology unusual but effective.
"If distance between us is fifty miles or less, you'd be correct. However, I'd maintain safe gaps until we learn more about their arsenal. For all we know, they don't carry offensive weaponry. Space is a lonely place and that may be the simple reason they aren't attacking."
"Let me get this straight, Commander," Abraham puzzles over the communication system. "You want to disable their ship but for what purpose; why not obliterate them and end the threat?"
Zote is listening to the souring exchange while reluctant to engage. "What do you think, Zote?" Abraham says after subtle nods from Billy suggest his robotic friend has something to offer.
"Another vessel for the ride home is strategic thinking, Dr. Abraham. Commander Jocko could be correct about offensive capabilities and reports from the ground suggest limited firepower. If these vessels came to carry Creators back to their home, we might assume they've built accommodations that keep them alive. What we've seen on the planet suggests brute force and intimidation is their main strategy, not smart weaponry. They will not risk the loss of Creators just as we acted on the mountain top."
Abraham ponders the robot's common sense approach to their situation. "I can't ask troops to board an enemy ship. Who knows what they'll face?" Abraham counters. "It could be a bloodbath."
"Boarding hostile ships is what Navy Seals do. It just happens we're in space rather than water. What's the big deal?" Jocko argues, his tone suggesting little reluctance handling that scenario.
Chapter Forty
Alpha Squad
aiting behind a rocky ridge dotted with unusual color plants and bushes as numerous robotic devices head toward them stepping like oversize spiders, Sergeant Wheeler takes note of the precise nature of their movements. Skillfully organized in wedge formation of a disciplined mechanized unit, he and second in command marvel as two large human-shaped machines guiding them, about seven to eight feet tall, give operational signals using peculiar oral sounds. Once the piercing tones register, the small robots pivot like dozens of synchronous swallows responding to commands.
Meanwhile, Green Beret Sergeants Charlie Taggert and Dick Winters quietly set up scoped sniper rifles on tripods once getting over the enemy's amazing exterior. Lying prone gazing through 15X50 scopes with triggers ready to engage, the friendly soldiers joke about unknown effectiveness of Remington M24 semi-automatics loaded with radically invasive 7.62 mm projectiles. Will the rounds penetrate surfaces of what appears to be giant metallic spiders employing multiple feeler tentacles and thick flexible legs that enable maneuverability and long strides?
In minutes, twenty-two fighters are set atop a ridge as the two seasoned snipers prepare across the gap about a hundred yards apart. Though the men are eager to engage, sight of the approaching mechanized army, about two hundred, seems daunting requiring rapid fire. The closer they get the more size and demonstrated leg strength is apparent, showing no signs of fear or hesitation. After a few short high-pitch signals from one of two slender metallic commanders, spindly creatures toting what are likely weapons in one arm, the wedge suddenly tops. After two annoying sounds like angry off-key claxons, the intimidating wedge splits reforming into separate forces as if anticipating the ambush. Clear the enemy leader senses danger, Sgt. Wheeler whispers into his headset for Taggert and Winters to start with the tall ones.
Once 7.62mm 168-grain rounds echo like thunderclaps, the trailing alien leader, protected by distance, angle, and boulders immediately releases an energy bolt that destroys rocks and everything around the snipers. The squad reels as obvious firepower from one of the tall ones far exceeds expectations.
"Fire at will," Wheeler sings loudly. "Kill them."
Moments later, a tremendous volley hits targets, stopping many of the critters dead in tracks, some with feelers and legs damaged by the supersonic lead volleys. Soon however, the squad faces flurries of crisscrossing laser beams from doz
ens of spiders and one leader cutting loose an even more lethal barrage. Casualties on both sides mount quickly as the fierce battle rages.
After ten minutes with the outcome far from certain, Wheeler signals to A-10 Thunderbolt and AH-64 Apache pilots after assessing damage caused by high-tech lasers splitting soils, rocks, and men. Waiting at safe distances, the time had come to engage powerful armaments against the exposed enemy. Aided by laser designators during deadly passes, the tide begins turning.
Magneto Plasma Rockets
As Commander Jocko signals for the rocket team to prepare the first launch of bus-size projectiles, he leans back in his seat and sighs. Imagining several technical briefings months earlier describing how the complicated weapon functioned, he recalls aspects of variable specific impulse magneto-plasma, originally designed for engine thrusters, becoming one of the most powerful secret non-nuclear options in the vast American arsenal. Dizzied by intricate presentations when engineers enthusiastically described injectors feeding xenon gas and ionized propellant using helicon RF antenna couplers and magnetic fields, he remembers getting headaches when not fathoming top-secret toroidal inner and poloidal outer coils housing the plasma. The process included a reinforced ceramic-tungsten chamber heating propellant to a whopping million degrees before exiting twin generators and ion cyclotrons. When molecules containing oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, and chlorine triflouride surrounded by semtex ignite, the amount of energy released is exponential chain-reactions due to almost instant decomposition and supersonic shockwaves.
"We're ready for guidance coordinates," the lead armament technician standing on the floor next to the large device says via headset while looking up at the boss.
"Thanks Nelly; have your team stand by for further instructions."
Punching a control panel button, Jocko waits impatiently until Dr. Abraham answers. Inside the futuristic weapons area loaded with computers, monitors, gauges, dials, buttons, skid steers, technicians, engineers, the brilliant and humble mission leader responds.
"Are the rockets ready, Commander?"
"One is loaded waiting for final coordinates and two more are staged. Let's hope we don't need more than three. They're a devil to load."
"All right, Commander; we're discussing the best strategy. Some think we should hold off and try capturing the vessel. It's a tough call and risks are high."
"I assume you're tending to believe they don't have offensive space weapons," Jocko follows, feelings moving back and forth about launching the massive rockets.
Abraham scratches his mustache. "Zote and Goddard agree that's the most likely situation. Imagine the odds of running into another spaceship, much less in another galaxy. Why would anyone build devices that are never used, akin to locking doors on deserted islands?"
"So what's the answer? Do we stand down or what?"
"Not yet, Commander; we're going to try communicating with them. It's possible we can negotiate a deal. Of course, I'm assuming our ground forces hold the line. What's the latest news from them?"
"I haven't heard anything in the last hour," Jocko sighs. "We're not sure what happened with communication equipment. Our end checked twice negative for problems. It's gotta be base camp issues. Anyway, air assets were called in close proximity to one of the squads. That says the outcome wasn't clear if air support was needed. Bravo is nearing the battle site and should have intel if we fix the link."
"All right; I won't attempt making contact unless we know the Creator is safe. Back aboard Navi would be nice if you can pull it off. In that case, we'll try outrunning them. When will we get communications resolved?"
"I don't know yet; if the vessel is jamming ground unit communications, there's little we can do other than employing counter measures," Jocko reasons. "Is it possible they recaptured the Creator and are bringing it aboard? Maybe, that's why they're not attacking."
"Did aircraft report back results?"
"Guess is they were forced down or crashed. Anyway, we lost contact along with base camp, aircraft, and two squads. At this point, I don't know what the hell is going on. Whatever they have is making contact with anyone impossible. I'm concerned for them."
"All right; how long before you can get the backhand of God ready?" he asks referring to a burst of nuclear electromagnetic radiation. "Stopping their jamming, if that's what's happening, might be a good bargaining chip before we're forced to destroy them and what about E-4s? Did we ship them to the base camp?"
"Negative, E-4s are still on board. It was overlooked in our mad dash, I'm sorry to report, although I think HEMP is what we need to consider. Nothing handheld is going to counter what they're using."
"Unfortunately I agree; get HEMP ready and put the rockets on hold but don't put them back in storage. We don't know what'll happen once we un-jam them. This stuff has never been tested, much less in space."
"Roger; I'm on it; out," Jocko sighs as indecision mounts.
Chapter Forty-One
Alpha Squad
hen lasers and bullets cease and smoke and dust drifts and settles after the fierce exchange, it's unclear to Sgt. Wheeler who won. Finding the large robots lying on the ground below his perch spurting sparks and fluids from heads, bodies, and legs, he begins checking casualties, many of which lying next to him are groaning, bleeding, unconscious, or dead. He grimaces seeing that a few succumbed to direct laser shots drilling holes into both sides of helmets, one of those moments you'll never shake. Less wounded soldiers, able to get up and bugger on, cringe while checking status of burned teammates, including remains of the snipers. Meanwhile, a couple fighters begin wading through downed spiders depositing lead when they exhibit signs of life. Providing aid to those unable to rise, others collect bodies and arrange them neatly together.
"Are we able to make contact with Navi?" Wheeler asks the new radioman as Bravo squad walks toward them, shocked by the carnage.
"Negative Sarge; I can't get nobody."
"All right, keep trying. The rest of you listen up," he shouts to those in earshot numbering five. "Bravo is here so we'll head back to base camp. Carry wounded but leave the others here. We'll come back to collect them."
"Hey Sergeant Wheeler," Bravo's squad leader says upon his approach as the fresher soldiers spread out checking status and help wounded men.
"Sergeant Major, I'm glad you finally made it. We could have used you an hour ago."
"The terrain was slow going," Sergeant Major Bassett responds, his tone suggesting being late to the party wasn't a choice.
"Where's all your team? Did you make contact?"
''No, I decided to send half back to base camp after the blackout. They're jamming us and I don't know if it's from space or another ground force."
"Good thinking, Sarge. I'm worried this isn't the only contingent," Wheeler retorts gazing at the battlefield. "They had lasers and the big ones coordinated the attack. Our snipers were effective at first before they lit us up," he explains pointing at the battlefield. "It was touch and go."
"How many KIAs?" Bassett asks scanning the eerie scene.
"Nineteen; last count was nineteen and two more if we don't get them into surgery."
"Roger, my team will take pictures and handle extract. Let's get humping."
Navi
Commander Jocko signals to fire once Abraham decides it's their best option after considerable debate. The E-2 fourth generation Hemp electromagnetic pulse weapon, nickname backhand of God, exits a cargo bay then begins a short journey once gaining speed. As the team guides the sleek advanced missile to a designated location near the alien ship, leadership waits patiently for results.
"Let me know if jamming stops," Abraham says to Billy and Zote standing at central control panels inside the complex helm. "I want to contact base camp and ground forces to see where we stand. We gotta know if the Creator is still in friendly hands. It will be hard saying how long the E-2 will work."
"Right, Dr. Abraham," Billy replies keeping eyes focused on a myriad of complic
ated instruments. "Signal is still down," the young genius adds.
"How far to the target?"
"Energy releases in three-point-two minutes," Zote answers as digital measurements flow. "The shield is up."
"All right; be ready to make contact, Zote. It's up to you to explain their precarious situation. The next salvo won't be to break jamming signals."
As all inside the helm anticipate a massive detonation, they tense as seconds tick off. Suddenly, a bright pinpoint light far away begins expanding as an enormous shockwave wreaks havoc. Scattered gamma rays and inelastic gammas produced by weapon neutrons lasting no more than a second engulf the alien ship. Like multiple lightning strikes on one spot causing an unprecedented firestorm, the electromagnetic pulse works perfectly as the aliens scramble to control their vehicle.
"Communications to base camp are back up," Goddard reports. "Line three is open to the camp; line four and five are open to the squads."
"Ok, try raising them. Commando Jocko see if you can make contact with the squads. We'll try from our end to call the base camp; priority is status of the Creator; over."
"Roger, I'm on it; out."
Alien Spaceship
Aboard the jostled vessel, aliens from a contiguous galaxy wonder how such raw power is possible. Scrambling to repair electronic guidance systems, the creatures from Ursa Major aren't sure how to deal with offensive weapons from vessels that can appear and reappear with relative ease. Better understanding why they must secure the Andromeda Creator, they have scant idea about the humans behind missiles that unleashed firestorms and directed the electromagnetic energy.
While the aliens struggle to recode and repair systems, an electronic signal comes across the communications center. At first, they believe ground forces are still functioning until the message changes to translatable binary codes and algorithms.
The Alien Creator Page 28