Overlord

6

The three Ilyushin IL-76 Ds started to disgorge over two hundred and fifty of the most highly trained soldiers in the world. Colonel Vladimir Tiushkin was in constant verbal communication with the Russian government as he watched his elite but truncated 106th Guards Airborne Division start their HALO (High Altitude, Low Opening) jump into harm’s way. The colonel was the last soldier to leave the safety of the aircraft. His unit was tasked to secure the university science buildings and then allow the Russian and American propulsion specialists to deactivate the alien power plant and secure it for transfer back into Azerbaijan, and then from there to whatever secret destination was called for. The colonel knew that if his unit failed a full-scale invasion was being prepared by not only Russian forces from the sea, but also from NATO forces based out of Afghanistan.

In the final twenty minutes of their flight the colonel had been told that they were being tracked by a possible hostile flight of aircraft that may or may not have originated in Tel Aviv. The operations intelligence people had told him that they had picked up transmissions from Israeli fuel tankers leaving their immediate area and they could only figure it was a flight of Israeli fighters that were going to finish what the Russians might have started. Now the colonel had Israeli forces to contend with as well as an undetermined number of Iranians. He only prayed that more levelheaded minds prevailed inside the halls of the Iranian government.

The commander of the 50th Mechanized Division of the Iranian army had placed his tanks well away from the city and university and was hidden well behind a series of small hills surrounding the valley. His instructions were simple: move fast after the attack on Tel Aviv and secure the university. Other forces would move on the government in Tehran and secure the capital. The rumor that the new Iranian president had been having high-level talks with the American president weighed heavily on his mind as this act of high treason meant that they were going to hang if the attack and coup failed.

The general only prayed that the new president ignored the Americans.

The first Russian troops landed hard just inside the university compound. It had only taken seconds for the first warning shots by security forces loyal to Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to respond. Several of the highly trained commandos were killed as they touched down, forcing others to start firing before they hit the ground. This was a scenario they had expected and the excellent marksmen of the 106th Guardsmen soon settled the initial security situation of the attack. Thirteen of the ex-president’s men hit the ground dead before the first Russian soldiers had removed their jump equipment.

The commandos knew exactly what to do and immediately assembled inside the large university grounds. The initial assault on the applied sciences building began at exactly fifty-five seconds after the campus was secured.

Inside the large facility, at the bottom-most level, noise from the outside world could not be heard as the large alien power plant started its initial sequence in initiating the elements of the wormhole to open. The weather over Tel Aviv was light wind and no cloud cover. The Iranian technicians knew that if they had targeted the large city correctly the skies over Israel would soon cloud over as the machine gathered bits of moisture from the surrounding air and sea into the swirling mass that was the alien wormhole. The only three recon satellites of the Iranian nation had been re-tasked six hours earlier so they could witness the destruction of the Israeli problem firsthand.

“Power is at 80 percent and rising,” came the lead coordinator’s voice over the intercom as Ahmadinejad listened and watched through the thick glass. He was anticipating many things this night — not only the destruction of Israel, but also his anointed return to the head of Iranian government.

His smile wanted to break free from his stern countenance. The general seated at his side was on the opposite end of the spectrum as he watched the activity of the alien engine startup. He was overly concerned about his forces and their ability to secure the capital and reinforce the university. Thus far the only word that had come in was from the university element that awaited his word in the hills surrounding the city; that they were in position and prepared to defeat any opposition from the outside world. There had been no word from his division commanders outside of the capital or the holy city of Qoam. He knew that if Rouhani was not taken into custody and the ayatollahs kept under lock and key until after their power base had been secured, the entire coup would be over before the plan had been fulfilled.

Ahmadinejad turned in his seat and examined General Yazdi’s face. “Are your units prepared to enter Tehran?”

The general wiped the small bead of sweat from the space between his upper lip and pencil-thin moustache and nodded.

“Yes, my president, the forces loyal to you are moving as we speak,” he lied.

“Good. I want my cabinet inside the capital in one hour. They are to secure all government office facilities and disarm the Revolutionary Guard.”

“My men have their instructions and will report soon.”

Ahmadinejad’s eyes remained on Yazdi for the longest five seconds of the career officer’s life, then finally turned away as the lead technician joined them from the laboratory.

“We are prepared to initiate the wormhole. Do I have the president’s permission to start the attack on Tel Aviv?”

“Yes, let’s end this. Commence the operation.”

The technician stood rigid and then moved to the communications panel on the glass wall.

“Form the wormhole.”

The plan was simple. The wormhole would form around the capital of Israel, engulf the entire region, and then shut down. Like the resort a few days before the entire Israeli government and the city of Tel Aviv would be whisked away to a place only God would determine. Five thousand years of Hebrew domination of the Middle East would end as suddenly as it had begun in 1947. The Israeli dogs would simply cease to exist, at least in this dimension.

Ahmadinejad felt the hair on his arms and neck start to rise as the alien power plant built up to maximum power. Blue and green swirls of light started to escape the containment vessel of the engine. The interior of the glass-enclosed space started to shake and vibrate as the alien technology started to explode free of the building. The large tunnel opening to the laboratory opened to the sky six stories above, to allow the wormhole effect to escape.

Suddenly an explosion rocked everyone in the sublevel of the university. Ahmadinejad thought the power plant had exploded as the men inside hit the ground for protection. Just as suddenly the lights were gone and the alien power plant started to power down with an ear-shattering screech. Shots rang out from every direction as stun grenades started to explode.

Ahmadinejad hit the floor and turned to the general. “Signal the reinforcements to move in. We are being attacked by Israeli or American forces. Hurry!”

Yazdi stood and raised his phone. “Move in!” he shouted — and then the general’s face exploded onto the ex-president as a bullet entered the back of his head. Ahmadinejad watched in stunned silence as men moved in, dressed in black commando uniforms. One of these placed three more rounds into the general’s head, then pulled Ahmadinejad to his feet. The ex-president was immediately swarmed by several men and made secure by a nylon strap that was brutally applied to his wrists. He could hear the men speaking into their headsets and the language they spoke was a shock. They were speaking Russian, not American! Flash-bang grenades exploded all around him as technicians inside the chamber went down one and two at a time as the commandos killed them. In the flash of the grenades and the hum of flying bullets he watched men from another nation spoil the plan of thirty-five years right before his eyes.

The man leading the assault yelled into his mouth microphone. “All secure, power plant is disabled.”

The general in command of the forces arrayed to resist the Russian assault was getting ready to order his mechanized forces forward when his second-in-command jumped onto his armored personnel carrier.

“Our new president sends his regards.” The colonel raised his automatic and fired two shots into his general’s head.

The American president had finally gotten through to the government in Tehran and convinced them of the plight Iran was facing. In a matter of mere hours men had been moved into place to thwart the coup attempt, which none of the junior officers of the treasonous divisions had been aware they were doing. Across the board every commanding general and their adjutants of every frontline Iranian division had been so disposed of. The coup had become a complete failure.

For the first time in recorded American history foreign nationals were allowed into the most secure location inside the United States — with the exception of one facility in Nevada. Russia, Great Britain, Germany, France, and China were represented by their countries’ highest political figure. All eyes were on the live video feed supplied by the joint resources of the United States’ NSA and Russian Intelligence platforms that amazed the other leaders in clarity and real-time exposure to the assault in Iran. The men in the situation room watched as a live video feed from Tehran took up a large portion of the main viewing screen. Iranian president Rouhani watched the satellite feed of the assault on his complex with trepidation. The view inside the university was confused and erratic. The men watched as cameras were tussled and images obscured. They heard the real-time shouts of men doing a devastatingly effective assault. The screams of Iranian technicians and the calm voices of men killing them thrilled and sickened the powerful men sitting around the large table.

Rouhani lowered his head as he watched helplessly as the men of his nation were cut down in the most ruthless manner. He now understood the dynamic of what the Ahmadinejad had planned. The scope of the coup and the planned attack on Israel had been explained to him by the many leaders gathered today. He now understood what had been at stake and had decided that his national goals would now coincide with the plans of the western and eastern worlds. Still, the sight of his countrymen being killed so ruthlessly was a vision that froze his blood.

Jack Collins and Carl Everett watched from seats situated along the wall with military assistants from the other nations. Every man knew the efficiency of the Russian assault and feared for the men involved. They had watched the entire assault without comment.

As Everett watched, his breath hitched in his chest when the all-clear was announced. The assault had been an overwhelming success. Carl saw Jack tense when he recognized the faces of Ryan and Sarah as they entered with the rest of the United Nations technical team who were there to secure the alien technology. It was Carl who wanted to stand when a face he recognized came into a soldier’s camera view: Anya’s. He looked at Jack with an almost panicked look. It was the president who eyed the two officers that offered an explanation.

Another monitor along the wall sprang to life and the prime minister of Israel appeared. The Intel chiefs of the varying nations knew the man next to him was the head of Israel’s intelligence agency, the Mossad. General Shamni was being viewed publicly for the first time as a good-faith measure for the peace of mind of the gathered nations.

“Mr. Prime Minister, is your government satisfied the rogue element inside Iran has been curtailed, to the point that you can stand down your military forces and recall your strike elements?”

The small and elderly prime minister closed his eyes momentarily, then looked into the monitor and just nodded his head.

“Yes. As of one minute ago, General Shamni has recalled all Israeli forces and lowered our alert status. Do we have reassurance that former president Ahmadinejad’s forces have been neutralized, and that there will be no reoccurrence of hostilities from the new Iranian government?”

It was Rouhani who answered from his monitor.

“I can assure the State of Israel that not only will there be no occurrence of hostile intent, but also that Mr. Ahmadinejad and his cohorts in crime will not see the light of the dawning day. Furthermore, with the agreement of the clerics of our nation, Iran is prepared to offer this sign of peace and friendship. We are prepared to publicly announce that we as a people recognize the State of Israel’s right to exist, and I am prepared to offer full cooperation in our new and hopefully continuing relationship between our two nations.”

The many varying national personalities of the world’s most powerful nations rose as one around the large conference table and applauded the most decisive decision in the history of the Middle East. At long last the coup not only failed, but ushered in a new age of cooperation between the two nations of Israel and Iran.

“We are most pleased to accept your very kind and genuine intent of friendship across the board,” the Israeli prime minister said with a nod of his head. “I am sorry for your losses in this sordid affair. May I offer assistance to not only the Iranian nation, but also the gathered nations planning for what is to come?”

“Thank you, Mr. President, and you also, Mr. Prime Minister. I will be in contact very soon so your governments can liaise with our military forces for training and instruction,” the president of the United States said with a grim smile and nod of his head.

Rouhani nodded and his monitor went dark. He had a new government to form and a very long explanation for the people of his country on how close they had come to war with the rest of the world. He should have no trouble with the changing of power from his people. The Israeli leader removed his glasses as his monitor also went dark.

The president nodded toward the opposite end of the table and the president of Russia.

“Our assault division will remain on station until the technology is crated and moved to Overlord’s transit location. This will be confirmed by members of the assault team under United States control.” The Russian turned and faced the leader of America and shook his head. “I fear with the reports from Great Britain and France that we may have run out of time.”

“First we have to confirm that the Iranian scientists have actually managed to power up the alien power plant and have succeeded in creating their wormhole.” The president looked at Niles Compton, who stood and went to the large monitor. He held the phone in his hand as he connected with his element in Iran.

“Lieutenant McIntire, have you procured the test sequences from the Iranian experiments?”

There were several beeps and static sounded over the speaker system in the situation room. All eyes watched the strange balding man as he waited. Soon the image of Sarah came into view. Jason Ryan was standing near her.

“Yes, sir, what we have thus far is their experiments were charted into five differing areas of Earth’s past.” She held up a printout and pointed to several lines of code. The view changed on the Russian-supplied camera to show one of the leading Iranian technicians as he confirmed the time differential. “The first wormhole created a tunnel that accidentally targeted an area of northern Europe right around 38,000 BCE. This is verified by charting the skies and various planet locations. The second was 117 AD, location was the Scottish highlands. This corresponds with the disappearance of the famous Ninth Legion.” Sarah looked at the camera. “It seems the Iranians were responsible for this and several other incidents of mass disappearances over the course of history. The next was 1558 near Roanoke, Virginia. It is estimated—”

“Very good, Lieutenant. Then we can confirm that the alien technology has been successfully powered up, and that an immediate transfer of the unit can be accomplished as soon as it’s dismantled and crated for transport?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Sarah said as she knew the president had cut her short on the report.

“Lieutenant, you and Commander Ryan will stay with the power plant until it arrives at its final destination — is that clear?” Niles Compton said.

“Yes, sir.”

The picture went dark and Niles returned to his seat.

“Mr. President, the People’s Republic understands the need for the alien technology, but I believe the time has come for the United States to”—the Chinese president looked around the table—“as you Americans say, ‘come clean.’ We need to know the source of your planning. We, the many nations represented here, have invested our entire treasuries to something that may or may not work, as this has turned into the most expensive project in the history of the world. And now the peoples of our nation are starting to become very anxious over the unbridled spending. We are going to lose the confidence of the people, and then all will be lost.”

“Gentlemen, many of you have wondered about my friend and colleague sitting with our group today. May I introduce Dr. Niles Compton.” He nodded at Niles, who made his way to the podium at the front of the room. “Dr. Compton is the head of a think tank, or advisory group, located within the borders of the United States. Operation Overlord was conceived in part by him and two other men. Doctor, you may start at the beginning.”

Niles nodded his head, removed his coat, then took a sip of water. He glanced at his oldest friend, the president, who nodded and smiled as the truth the United Sates had held in secret for sixty-five years was about to spill forth. Niles pushed a button and a view of vault number 28967, buried deep inside the Event Group complex, appeared. A giant black tarp was laid over an object of tremendous size. It was pulled away by several men. The round, broken, and incomplete skeletal remains of the two Arizona saucers appeared and the leaders of the world sat forward in their chairs as the sight amazed them. Only the British prime minister did not seem shocked.

“1947, Roswell, New Mexico,” Compton began. “A flying saucer was indeed captured, just as many of you have speculated. The incident was covered up by then President Harry S. Truman. We had been attacked. In the summer of 2006, it happened again…”

Jack and Carl listened as Niles spilled the secrets of the Event Group and the United States, baring the soul of secrecy that had been hidden since the end of World War II. The leaders of the world’s most powerful nations had been told about the attacks and shown proof earlier after the moon missions to uncover alien technology, but never the source. The two officers listened for an hour as the story was related. When he was done, Niles looked at the faces staring back at him.

“We inside France knew the United States, and to some extent Great Britain, had some valuable information they hadn’t shared with the world, but we also have belief inside our intelligence community that perhaps you are still not being truthful to the full measure. Since the British find in Antarctica, you have yet to explain the way in which you devised a way to power up the device discovered. Who has been assisting your government, Dr. Compton?”

Carl Everett looked at Jack and mouthed the question “What device?”

Jack raised his eyebrows and shook his head, indicating he had no idea what the president of France was referring to.

The American president nodded toward Niles, then looked at his colleagues and laughed. They looked at him confused.

“Dr. Compton has been in control of an asset we have been hiding since 2006. Yes, it is the very same incident that he described concerning the attack in the Arizona desert. Thus far the need to know the whole truth of the matter has only extended to Her Majesty’s government, due to their extraordinary find in Antarctica.” The president again smiled his strange little smirk. “Niles, please make the introductions.”

Jack and Carl saw the familiar face of Virginia Pollock come onscreen. She sat next to a chair that was turned away from the camera. She smiled at the gathered men in the situation room and as she did she turned the swivel chair. The faces around the table drained of color.

“Good God,” the president of France proclaimed as he rose in his chair. The president only smiled wider.

“Gentlemen, may I introduce our friend. This is Mahjtic. Along with the late senator Garrison Lee and Dr. Compton here, this being is responsible for the planning of Operation Overlord.”

Jack had to join the president and smile as he watched Matchstick blink his large, black eyes at the camera — and then wave to the gathered men with a quick, childlike gesture.

It was the French president who summed it up for the world leaders.

“Incroyable!”

Jack had to admit as he looked at his small green friend, that yes, it was incredible.

The president of the United States stood, placed his hands inside his pants pockets, and walked to the front. He nodded at Niles, who replaced his coat and seated himself between Jack and Carl. He looked at them and winked, knowing that he had just introduced to the world the most important being on the planet since the arrival of Jesus of Nazareth. Jack pursed his lips in a silent whistle, showing that he had been impressed with the information about Matchstick being finally out in the open.

Before the president could speak, the German chancellor rose to his feet. “I may assume we can have access to this … this … being for questioning?”

“No. Mahjtic is in a secure location that is inaccessible to the rest of the world, even myself.” The small lie came easily to the president. “If the enemy knew we had a Green being in our hands they would search until they found him and eliminated our only asset. Mahjtic is the only advantage we have in the coming days. If we lose him, we lose the war.”

“And this being is trustworthy?” asked the president of the People’s Republic.

“Mahjtic has proven himself over and over again in the past. It was he who led us to the discoveries on the moon and the technology found there. But for argument’s sake, the man your military leaders chose to lead the combined Special Forces Fast-Reaction Force, Colonel Jack Collins”—the president gestured toward Jack, who just looked on as he still didn’t know what he was there for, and was hearing certain things for the first time—“has worked with the asset many times and will vouch for his commitment to our fight. Gentlemen, Mahjtic was a slave to the beings threatening us; there is no love between the two races. He is reliable.”

A member of the Secret Service knocked and entered the room.

“We have a communication directive from China for the president … err, Mr. President.”

The president nodded his head as the agent delivered the flimsy communication teletype to the small and portly leader of China. The man read and then frowned as he turned to the agent.

“Please have your communications people verify this and inform us right away, please.”

“Is there a problem?” the president enquired.

The man cleared his throat, then slowly placed the communication on the tabletop.

“We are starting to get confirmed reports from Japanese sources that we may have indeed had several instances of downed civilian airliners off their coast.” The Chinese president motioned for an assistant to distribute copies of his Intel report. “It seems that if we couple this report with the incident in the North Sea concerning our friends the French and British, we must assume we are facing the initial stages of war.”

The American president lowered his head and then looked up at the gathered men.

“Thank you Mr. President.” He knew the man he had helped gain power inside China was right. “Gentlemen, I think we can all concur: it has started. And may I suggest we waste no more time.”

“Yes, I believe we should initiate Operation Cut and Run immediately,” the British prime minister announced.

“Very well. Then we are all in agreement?”

One by one each member of the world council raised their hands and lowered their eyes. France, Great Britain, Germany, China, Russia, and the United States all voted together for the first time in military history. The president moved to the door and opened it to allow the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to enter. General Maxwell Caulfield stood rigid as he came face-to-face with former enemies and allies alike.

“General, please alert your counterparts across the board, Operation Cut and Run has been initiated as of this date and time. Start hiding them.”

With one last look at the men at the table the general nodded and then left.

In the next fifteen minutes every army, naval, and air force asset in the world would go to Red Alert. Every warship assigned to a fleet would take to sea and every warplane the world over would be dispersed to undisclosed airfields in every country that was part of the alliance.

Jack looked at Niles, still not understanding what his and Everett’s parts in this plan would be.

“Gentlemen, let us prepare to defend ourselves,” the president said.

Jack wanted to ask Niles about their role but kept quiet as the world spiraled toward a war of the worlds — the like of which had never been thought of before, in life or in their worst nightmares.

The world was about to change forever.

Hunting Creek Lake was located inside the confines of Cunningham Falls State Park and was situated only fifteen miles from the fortified residence of the president at Camp David.

The sun was just beginning to set behind the trees as Jim Macdonald and his two sons, Bobby and Brandon, twelve and ten years old respectively, were just starting to pack up from their end-of-the-month hike through the lake country of the park. Ever since Jim had been coming here, he and his boys had occasionally run into either Secret Service or State Park employees making routine sweeps over the area even when the president wasn’t in residence at the Camp David Retreat. This day had been different as they had come across not only the Park Service and the Secret Service, but also full combat-dressed Marines. Needless to say the heavy presence had put a major damper on the day for him and his two sons, even though they had shown nothing but excitement at seeing the Marines in the woods.

Jim admonished the boys to hurry packing the remains of their lunch and hiking gear, as their mother expected them home for dinner before the sun fully set. The father was also in a hurry because the security people they had run into had advised being out of the area due to the heavy police and federal presence surrounding the parks.

They had just finished packing when a small rain squall washed over the area. The man and his boys looked around and up as the sudden wind and rain caught them off guard. The small storm lasted only a minute and the skies quickly cleared.

“Well, that was different,” Jim said as he tousled the now wet hair of his youngest son.

“Now I’m all wet. Mom’s going to have a hissy fit,” Brandon said as he shook off his father’s hand.

Suddenly a shrill whistling was heard from the twilight sky above them. Jim looked up and saw at least a thousand large balls of silver falling toward the small lake and shoreline. At first he thought it was an optical illusion and he was watching a bizarre meteor shower that just looked as if it were heading straight toward them, but then the whistling became loud enough that his two boys placed their small hands over their ears.

Jim realized they were indeed falling objects and they were definitely heading straight for them. He grabbed his sons in both arms and sprinted straight into the trees lining the lake. He was nearly out of breath as he pulled up and turned in time to see the first of the objects strike the water and the shoreline. He tried to count them as the hissing orbs struck, the splashes rising high into the air. The objects that struck the small shoreline also hissed in the wet sand and threw up a plume of steam. Jim had to stop counting after he hit over a hundred of the silverish objects, and still more pierced the sky and landed anywhere from the lake to the forest surrounding it.

Brandon grabbed his father’s legs in a hard hug as Bobby hid closely behind the tree. The objects came to rest; some sank in the cold water while others struck trees and careened off into the woods. They heard a loud crack as one of the strange balls came down near them and crashed against a tree. The eight-foot-in-diameter spherical object left a scorch mark on the bark of the tree, and when it rolled twenty feet and came to rest it started the loose pine needles on fire.

Jim took hold of both of his frightened boys and drew them close. Brandon whimpered as the silver ball started to slowly open along its center-line mass. Jim gagged as a horrid smell struck his nostrils as the ball split open. The three started to slowly back away from the grounded object just as a pole-like device came up from the center. Steam slowly rose and the hissing sound; the small ball was hot enough that Jim felt the heat from ten feet away.

“Daddy, what is it?” Brandon asked, wanting to pull his father away from the frightening scene.

Before Jim had a chance to answer, something uncurled and stood from the inside of the strange craft. It had a large, thin body and as it rose to its full height, Jim thought that he had had enough hiking for the day. He turned with his boys in tow and he came face-to-face with another of the things. The helmet it wore was a dark purple but that didn’t stop Jim from seeing the horror that was behind the visor. The eyes were black and ringed in yellow, a brightness of color that frightened Jim beyond measure. The tall being was holding a large pole half as long as its entire body in its gloved right hand. The other hand reached down nearly to the being’s knees, which were turned backward.

Jim pushed at the boys and they quickly ran past the strange creature. Brandon was crying and Bobby was admonishing him and his father to hurry. As they cleared the woods they came to a screeching stop only fifty yards from the small lake. Over three hundred of the creatures were lining the shoreline or emerging from the water. It seemed every one of them was looking right at the three humans.

A low moan escaped the lips of Jim Macdonald as the Grays approached. He almost fell to his knees as the closest one removed the helmet that had been covering the worst feature of all — the head.

As the sun set over the small lake in the even smaller park, the humans’ screams echoed through the area. Then the Grays moved off toward the north — toward Camp David.

The leaders of the world broke into several small groups as they sent out their alert orders; the military establishments, not understanding the entire plan, moved to protect their nations. Coffee and tea were brought in but many, including the president, chose to have something a little stronger — after all it wasn’t every day that the entire world acted as one in a matter of life and death. The president secured his drink as he approached Niles, Jack, and Carl. He was soon joined by the Chinese president with his cup of tea in hand. He spoke before the president could.

“Colonel Collins, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” He sipped his tea and then smiled. “As I understand it, you were quite instrumental in securing the technology in South America. I must say the report that your president gave all of us read like an American adventure novel.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m sure it was nothing that thrilling,” Collins said.

“Still, it was enough for my military people to concur with these men that you are the right person for the mission at hand.” He smiled again, then nodded at Niles and Everett and moved away to sit and talk with his counterparts.

“I suppose you are at least curious as to what that mission may entail, Colonel?”

“All I can hope is that it’s something that will assist you in this massive undertaking,” Jack answered.

The president took a sip of the watered-down whiskey and nodded at Niles Compton.

“I’ll leave it to your director to explain as much as he is able. I’m sorry the whole picture cannot be painted for you, Colonel, and Captain,” he said, looking at Carl. “But as you know, we still like our secrets around here. Hell, we would all die if we didn’t keep something in the dark — after all, we’re politicians.” He moved away with a smirk at Niles.

“Captain, you are hereby transferred to a location in Houston for training at the request of one of our leading engineers at NASA. Your transport is waiting outside.” Niles held out his hand to Everett, his eyes going from his face to the wristwatch he was wearing on his right hand. Carl shook. “Godspeed, Admiral,” he said as he handed Everett a small box. Carl opened it and saw two stars. He was shocked. “I’m afraid it’s only a temporary-grade promotion, but it was needed for you to command who it is you’ll be commanding.” Everett looked at Collins.

“Congratulations … sir,” he said with a smile as he too shook his friend’s hand.

Carl was speechless.

“And these are for you, General Collins. Same brevet rank, I’m afraid,” Niles continued without a hitch.

Jack opened the box and saw the two stars of a major general. He too was shocked.

“Believe me, when I heard you went to Washington, I thought we had lost the opportunity to see the faces you are wearing right now.”

“I don’t understand, why—”

“It’s not your place to understand, General. And don’t think that you no longer work for me, because when this is over you both are going to be returned to Group at your former pay-grades.”

Niles smiled and then removed his glasses. “Jack, you will be working with the finest men in your field. It will be a fast-reaction force designed to protect the asset known as Overlord. I cannot give you details, but it will be up to you and your unit to give us the time we need. To give Carl the time he needs to fight back.”

The two officers were as confused as ever.

“Jack, we assembled men from Special Forces around the world; some of them you have worked with before and have been assigned to you. Carl”—he faced Everett—“learn fast, get through your training, and save the fucking world.”

“Niles, we—”

He held up his hand with his glasses still clenched in his fingers, stopping Jack’s question.

“Will Mendenhall, or should I say, Captain Mendenhall, will join you as your aide. He’s waiting outside. You will also take Colonel Farbeaux with you as your adjutant.” Again he held up his hand when Collins started to protest. “Jack, he’s the best the French have and they saw fit to give him to us, thus saving his life. They wanted to hang him, after all.”

Niles relaxed and then shook his head.

“I wish I were going with you, but know this: at Group we are going to help you in every way that we can. You know our people, we will find a way. Good luck … my friends.”

Niles Compton turned away quickly as he choked up.

Both men looked down at their new brevet ranks and then both looked up. It was Everett who broke the uneasy silence.

“I would give a year’s pay to see old Henri’s face when you tell him, Jack.”

“Admiral, you know what?” he asked.

“What, General Collins?” he said with his smile growing.

“You can kiss this old ground-pounder’s two-star ass.”

Matchstick was sitting beside Gus’s bed. The old prospector was exhausted as his age was really starting to show. He was dozing as the small alien watched from his chair. The small feet dangled three feet off the ground as Matchstick reached out and took the old man’s hand and lightly squeezed. Gus’s eyes fluttered open and then closed, but in that brief moment he felt the presence of his small green friend. He relaxed, then slept more soundly.

Earlier, long before Matchstick had been introduced to the men at Camp David, Dr. Denise Gilliam and Virginia Pollock had sat the small being down and explained for the first time how tired Gus truly was. Matchstick had blinked several times in his fight to understand what it was they were telling him.

“You fix Gus, like you fix Mahjtic?”

Denise and the best medical men and women in the country had saved Matchstick from the growing fate of his race. His body had been overwhelmed by pollutants from his home planet, but with the perseverance of the medical staff they were able to control all of the infectious materials inside the green alien’s body. They suspected they had saved his life from one of pain and death. They had no such hope of saving the old prospector. Gus was old beyond his years and was slowly letting go of this life in his own ornery way.

Virginia had kneeled beside Mahjtic and looked into the large, obsidian eyes.

“Gus is old and tired. This is the way of our race. The reward for being us is the chance to rest and sleep. We here at Group do not yet understand your belief system on your home world, but we sense…” She stopped and thought a moment, then corrected herself. “No, we believe that once you die, you are allowed to see and be with the ones that you loved in life. I believe that you and Gus will be together again. Right now he’s just tired and old.”

“Gus, die?” Mahjtic said as his eyes rapidly opened and closed, the eyelids sliding inward from the side of his head. “You cannot fix?”

“Gus has lived a long life,” Denise offered as she started to choke up.

Matchstick had simply lowered his head, then wrapped one arm around Virginia’s neck and one around the leg of Denise. That was when the two highly trained doctors broke down and cried. Matchstick and the two women had stayed that way for the longest time before they left the two friends alone. Matchstick was content to sit and watch Gus breathe contentedly in his sleep.

A light knock sounded on the door and Mahjtic eased the old man’s hand from his own and hopped from the large chair. The Group had placed them inside the quarters they usually reserved for the president of the United States on his frequent visits to the Group. The small apartment was well appointed and Gus had complained to no end about the accommodation, but had finally relented. The small alien made his way to the door and pulled it open. He blinked several times as the light in the curving, circular, plastic-lined hallway struck his eyes. He saw Pete Golding and Charlie Ellenshaw standing there smiling. Charlie leaned into the darkened room and saw that Gus was fast asleep.

“Uh, we thought since you were introduced to the Overlord security council gathered at Camp David this afternoon, you may want to come down into the computer center to watch the president address the nation and the world,” Pete whispered.

Charlie and Pete saw a concerned look cross the alien’s features and then he tilted his head.

“From where?” Matchstick asked.

The two brilliant men were confused as Matchstick quickly stepped from the guest quarters and into the hallway. With one last look back at Gus he eased the door closed.

“We will watch in the—” Pete started to answer.

“Where … president speak?” he asked hurriedly.

“They haven’t left Camp David; I imagine the speech will take place there,” Pete finally answered.

If it were possible, Pete and Charlie would have sworn Matchstick’s face drained of color.

“Any … broadcast … to … the … public … will … be … in … the … clear … not … like … the closed … communication … with … us. The Grays will … triangulate … and know … they have … been … discovered … they will … know … where … the president is!”

Suddenly Matchstick turned and ran for the two pneumatic elevator banks and waved Charlie and Pete forward while crying out.

“No, no, no, must stop, must stop, must stop!”

The two men watched as Mahjtic vanished into the elevator and then they both hurriedly followed.

Speaker of the House Giles Camden watched the president as he was being broadcast live from an undisclosed location. The senator’s eyes studied the other men seated to the president’s right and left, with the flags of their various nations behind them; centered in the middle was the blue flag of the United Nations. Camden had listened to the president’s explanation concerning the Russian assault on Iran. He thought the man actually looked pleased that he had set up the Russians for an eventual takeover of that region. Another reason for the need to get this maniac out of office — he was losing control of everything from his military to the influence of the U.S. when it came to gathering new allies in the hectic Middle East.

Camden had excused his aides before the speech had started to allow him and Daniel Peachtree to sit alone. He was free to speak his mind now that his young aides were visibly absent. Peachtree, with his recent failure in the Hiram Vickers fiasco still vivid in not only his but Camden’s minds, sat silent when the Speaker of the House again started his ranting about the president.

“And let me tell you one thing, if he thinks his entire military is backing him he is sorely mistaken. I didn’t spend all those years in the senate not making friends myself! I have plenty of generals and admirals, people that are not happy with the unplanned, unfettered spending that’s happening!”

“You still are not onboard with the president’s plan for defending the planet, even though all these world leaders are? I mean hell, Mr. Speaker, most of them are as big a hawk as yourself. The new Chinese president is a known right-wing fanatic and he believes what his scientists and the president have outlined.”

“Yeah?” Camden snapped his head around to look at the assistant director of Operations of the CIA. “And what about the report that emerged from your own boss at Langley that said the president had been instrumental in bringing that nut in China into power, after being a cohort in the previous chairman’s assassination after the moon landings?”

“That is speculative at best. We have no proof of that. It may have been a military coup because the former chairman was not pleased with the money spent on going to the moon last year. That was why he was … well … removed.”

On the screen the president was in the middle of explaining the events that had taken place in the desert sands of Arizona back in 2006. He had finally admitted to the world that the famous Roswell incident had really happened, and thanks to that episode they had the ability now to fight back. And he was warning the world that a fight was indeed coming — and now he had the leadership of the most powerful nations on Earth backing him. Camden saw no way to stop the massive spending that was going on and the president knew that — that was why this very press conference was taking place.

Assistant Director Peachtree rolled his eyes at the Speaker’s ranting. As he looked at the television screen he saw that the president had life-sized cutouts of a small Green, and a rather aggressive and very much taller Gray. He swallowed as he looked on. As for Camden, he scoffed at the likenesses of the aliens as the president explained the difference between the two races. Peachtree wanted desperately to get out of there and get out west to track down that bastard Hiram Vickers before he was caught and spilled his guts on what he and Camden knew. That was what was worrying him, not the president and his no-longer hidden and secret agenda.

“As of right now, we and the rest of the world are destined to go broke because these fools believe in fairy tales!” Camden bellowed.

As for Daniel Peachtree, he didn’t think the man on television was bluffing. He was beginning to get a little frightened.

Charlie Ellenshaw and Pete Golding were right behind Matchstick when he burst into the computer center. Europa had the president’s address to the world on most of the large monitors that ringed the large room. They watched him run down the flight of stairs in the amphitheater-style arrangement and streak toward the weather-recon section. Mahjtic looked up at the computer-generated vision of the world and watched it intently. Most of the planet seemed calm to Pete’s eyes as he and Charlie finally managed to catch up to the small alien.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Pete asked as he finally managed to get some of his breath back after the long sprint down to the center. Many of the one hundred computer techs moved their eyes from the president on television to the commotion on the main floor.

“No, no, no, no,” was all Matchstick said as his large eyes centered on the eastern portion of the United States.

It was Charlie Ellenshaw who understood first. He leaned over and spoke to Pete, who finally registered the relief he wanted after Matchstick had frightened him so.

“Matchstick, the president and the council are safe. No weather patterns that would indicate a wormhole are anywhere near the Washington area. Besides, their people and Niles have the information needed to detect a strike. They know what to look for.”

Mahjtic ignored Pete as his eyes continued to scan the area of the East Coast. Finally the alien sat at Pete’s desk and brought the Cray Supercomputer to life.

“Europa?” he said with his strange but now stronger voice.

“Good evening, Mahjtic, how can I help you today?” The computer’s voice program still sounded like Marilyn Monroe after eight years.

Matchstick started to talk but in his excitement he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. He turned and started hitting keys on Pete’s computer at a blinding rate with his long, articulated fingers.

IS THERE AN ION READING WITHIN THREE HUNDRED MILES OF MARYLAND? he asked quickly by keyboard. The words started springing up on the monitor.

Pete and Charlie, along with many of the other techs, watched with curiosity.

“There has not been any sign or reading that would indicate electrical activity in the vicinity of Maryland since nine A.M. eastern standard time,” Europa said.

Matchstick closed his eyes. Then he sprang to life again and started banging on the keyboard.

PLEASE, CAN YOU BACKTRACK AND SHOW ELECTRICAL ACTIVITY AT THAT TIME?

On the main viewing screen the scene switched from the president and his Overlord Council to that of a swirling weather pattern that had only lasted a short time and then had cleared up. The swirling pattern was light and vanished almost as quickly as it had formed.

“Now there, you see?” Charlie said. “That was no wormhole, Matchstick, it was a small pattern of rain clouds that wasn’t enough to compete with the regular morning dew.”

Matchstick turned and faced Charlie. “It formed … from almost … nothing,” Mahjtic protested. “It is … possibly … a raid!”

“But Matchstick,” Pete said as more technicians started to surround them because they had detected the fear in the alien’s voice, “that brief weather cycle was not big enough for a wormhole. The ship transiting it would have had to have been far smaller than anything we have ever encountered, or any you have warned us about in your briefings.”

Matchstick became angry and turned on Pete.

“The Grays … can come … through the wormhole in … capsules! You must … get the president and the … council out of … Camp David … now!”

“I don’t understand what you’re telling us,” Pete said as Virginia Pollock entered the comp center after being alerted by security. She heard what the alien being was saying and waited for Charlie and Pete to explain.

“They are here. They may have … connected to the … communications coming … from Camp David during the … raid in … Iran. They … know about the … engine … and now … the president’s … address … to the world … is being broadcast in the … clear. They know where the president … is and the power plant. They will move … on them and eliminate … the threat they pose.” Matchstick’s voice and speech pattern were clear and precise, but in his excitement certain words seemed to catch in his throat. He turned and stood up, looking again at the weather patterns the world over. His eyes widened as he pointed at the screen directing everyone’s attention to the borders of Iran. “Look!”

They all turned and saw a huge storm starting to form over eastern Iran. As they all watched stunned, the space-based image showed the giant swirling pattern of a large wormhole starting to gather moisture and electron particles from the air.

“Pete, warn Niles at Camp David, get those men out of there. Tell them we suspect, as does Magic, that ground penetration by the enemy may have been achieved earlier in the day. And get a message out to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Warn the Russians in Iran they are about to have company — a lot of it!” Virginia started by slapping Pete on the shoulder, “Go, go!”

On the large computer screen the wormhole over eastern Iran grew to tremendous proportions as red alarm lights started sounding throughout the complex.

There was a line of vehicles waiting to leave and even more waiting to enter at the now camouflaged and sandbag-buttressed security entrance to Camp David. Jack and the newly promoted Captain Will Mendenhall stepped from the green government sedan and walked toward the car behind theirs. Carl Everett stepped from the backseat while his driver stayed behind the wheel.

“Damn, it’s harder to get out of this place than it is to get in,” Everett joked as he took in the new silver bars on Will’s uniform. “It must be the shock of seeing Will weighed down by all that hardware.”

Jack smiled and Mendenhall frowned.

“I don’t think the Secret Service and these Marines care much that I was promoted to be a secretary for a new two-star general,” he quipped, then caught himself as he was now addressing not only a two-star admiral, but also a newly promoted two-star general. He relaxed when he realized that these temporary ranks would never change the way these two men looked at life.

“I’m afraid we’ve been held up because the Secret Service and FBI have yet to deliver my new adjutant.” Jack looked at his watch. “Which should have been five minutes ago.”

“With our luck old Henri probably stole their keys and has already escaped,” Everett said in all seriousness.

“My luck isn’t that good,” Jack said with a frown as he looked around, wondering what was taking security so long to deliver the Frenchman.

Jack was about to tease Will even more when every alarm bell inside the Camp David compound started blaring with intermittent and very loud warnings.

The Secret Service broke into the live broadcast of the president’s address and ran to the podium, pushing and pulling him and every member of the council out of the small room. Marines formed a perimeter as the group was hustled out.

“What’s going on?” the president demanded as they were ruthlessly shoved into a tight formation as they neared the back of the main building. The other leaders of the world were just as shocked as their own security elements joined the rush to get out as warning bells sounded everywhere. The few members of the world press who had been invited up to the press conference now were left standing with mouths agape at the sudden action.

“We just received a coded warning from ‘Magic’ that an attack is imminent on this compound!” Niles Compton said as he joined the group of world leaders. They were now surrounded by fifty Marines in full battle BDUs. “The same warning is going out to the technical team in Iran. It looks like a giant wormhole is forming over the eastern section — they’re going to be hit. It must have been the last test and our own communications that led the Grays to the university. Your broadcast was like leaving a bread-crumb trail for the enemy to find us and them.”

“The power plant, that’s more important than us. Can we get it out of Iran in time, Niles?” the president asked as they were being hustled toward a reinforced bunker a hundred yards from the main house. They heard the scream of F-15s as they streaked low over the densely forested area. Soon the thumping of rotors broke through the noise of the warning alarms and the jet noise as more Marines were brought into the compound.

“We’ve got the warning out to the Russian and Iranian forces. Luckily the Revolutionary Guard detachment was still in the area and is moving on the university to assist,” Niles answered as they reached the steel door of the shelter. “The power plant had already been crated and our people have begun to move it out of the city, but we don’t know if it’s in time.”

A loud explosion rocked the area and then they all heard screams as the early night was now alight with flares. Large shadows ran through the trees, and then bright streaks of laser light pulsated out toward the Marine detachment. Several men were caught before they could react and were sliced in two. The others started to return fire at the unseen Grays, but they were well hidden inside the tree line. The president and the Overlord Council were hustled into the bunker, followed by a full squad of heavily armed Marines and Secret Service personnel. Niles Compton looked back as the door was closed. He prayed that Jack, Carl, and Will Mendenhall had cleared the Camp David compound in time.

Jack hit the ground and Everett and Mendenhall fell on top of him. The world came alive with flashes of light as an unseen enemy opened up from thick surrounding trees that obscured the Marines’ return fire. He heard an explosion overhead and they all managed to look up in time to see a Marine Corp Black Hawk start spinning into the tree line, where it hit and burst open, killing all inside. Three Marines in battle fatigues ran by them and were immediately struck down by bright flashes of light. Jack winced as a headless torso struck the ground next to him.

“Come on, we’re going to get cut to pieces if we stay here!” He reached for a fallen M-4, the shortened version of the venerable M-16. He also reached for the nine-millimeter Beretta that was still holstered in the Marine’s web belt and tossed it to Everett.

The three men ran to a defensive position being set up by the remaining Marine detachment at the front gate.

As soon as Will Mendenhall slid to a stop beside Jack and Carl he found another M-4 lying on the ground, just out of reach of a dead lance corporal a foot away. Will reached for it, then shielded his eyes as flares burst in every direction.

“I think the war may have started,” he said as he tried in vain to find a target. He ducked behind Collins as three streaks of laser light reached out toward them. They struck a tree and burned through the thick trunk. It started to fall over as several Marines broke their cover and ran to a new position.

As Collins raised his head he saw the outline of one of the Grays highlighted by a floating overhead flare. He took quick aim at the distant target and fired off three rounds. He watched the tall, angular Gray stumble and fall to the ground.

“Good shot, Jack,” Carl said as he too fired off his own M-4. Marines from every direction started firing as they acquired targets.

The men from the Event Group knew from their experience in Arizona, from autopsies, and from Gus Tilley’s debriefing that same year, that the Grays would be notoriously hard to kill because of their having two hearts. Everett remembered the same thing.

“Aim for the heads!” he shouted out to the Marines around them.

The volume of fire escalated to a loud din as the Marine detachment started to get their bearings.

Will saw something rushing at them; he kneeled and fired a long burst into the dark. He saw as well as heard the tracer rounds as they struck the Gray. Its forward momentum brought the alien over the fallen tree they were behind and struck Will and they both hit the dirt. In an instant the Gray was on him, jabbering and screaming as bluish blood pulsed into Mendenhall’s face. Everett jumped onto its back and fired four rounds from the Beretta into the creature’s head. It rolled off and Carl assisted Mendenhall to his feet.

“Just like old times out at Tilley’s place, huh, Captain?” Everett said over the noise of bursting grenades and gunfire.

Before Will could comment an Apache AH-64 Longbow attack chopper streaked low over the trees and the men heard the screech of missiles being launched into the woods surrounding the compound.

“This is a major strike element — if Apaches are firing directly next to the compound this has to be an assault on the men inside. They’re serious.” Jack rose up from the ground and chanced a look around. He saw Grays coming in from the surrounding woods. He counted at least twenty before a hail of laser shot forced him to duck. “Fellas, we’re about to get major company.”

“Damn it, Jack, I’ve got about five rounds left in this thing,” Everett cried out but immediately rose and fired at the line of tall Grays coming at them. “Make that none.” Carl hit the dirt beside Will and Jack. “Well, I got two of those ugly bastards!” he said as he ejected the magazine.

Collins managed to rise and watch as the Grays advanced. Suddenly a loud explosion rocked the ground beneath them and they were tossed against the underside of the green sedan. As his vision cleared he looked back and saw a tall column of smoke rising from the direction of the living quarters of Camp David. Jack grimaced as he started fearing the worst.

“What we’ve got here sure as hell looks like a murder raid, General,” Everett said as he too examined the Grays as they came out of the tree line. They held what looked like long shafts. He turned and looked at their rear and his heart froze. Ten of the Grays had managed to work their way behind them and what was left of the Marine detail. He saw young men being mowed down by weaponry he had only seen in movies.

Jack yelled in pain as one brief shaft of light grazed his shoulder with the full wattage of the laser round striking the dirt next to him, sending up chunks of bright red clay.

“Gentlemen, I think it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge.”

Jack stood with Everett and Mendenhall right behind. Just as fast they were frozen in solid bright light coming from the opposite direction.

“Collins, hit the dirt!” came a voice amplified over a bullhorn.

The three men didn’t need prompting and did as ordered without much thought. Before their ragged breathing could stir up dust, a horrid sound started. It was a shrill whining and then all hell broke loose. Jack raised his head slightly and looked from under the rear of the car. He saw Grays being torn to bits. The brutes were being mowed down by something Jack now recognized as a five-barreled Gatling gun. He looked behind and saw over a hundred Marines making their way toward them. Before he knew it the noise had stopped and the ringing in his ears began. Soon arms and hands were lifting him to his feet.

Jack, Carl, and Mendenhall were stunned to see one particular man among the Marines. He had a smoking M-4 assault rifle in his hands and a set of handcuffs dangling from his right wrist. Henri Farbeaux looked around him as if he were in shock. He watched as Marines continued to shoot some of the Grays as they struggled to get to dropped weapons, but soon even that noise fell silent. Farbeaux shook his head as he approached.

“Makes you appreciate a human enemy, does it not?” Henri said as he handed off the empty M-4 to a passing Marine. “I don’t suppose you have a key for this, do you?” Henri held up the dangling handcuff. “I think my days of hiding and running are over.”

Will Mendenhall was grateful to see the Frenchman, but Jack and Carl only looked at him in amazement. Then at once both men came to the realization of what really just happened.

“Come on,” Jack said. “Niles and the president are back there!”

Farbeaux watched the men start running back up the road without a second glance at him. He looked at the dangling cuff, then cursed and followed his new allies.

Around them, the remaining Marines started checking the dead Grays, with several of the toughened veterans getting ill when examining the alien species up close. There had been several shots ringing out in the growing night as Grays were dispatched by very angry soldiers and state police. Soon officers with cooler heads stopped the executions and they began the grim task of gathering dead and wounded from both sides.

Over 2.78 billion sets of eyes had watched live on television as the leaders of the most powerful nations on earth had been hustled off the podium at Camp David. The camera was left on and the billions of citizens of the world were left looking at an empty stage with shouts, screams, and gunfire erupting through their speakers. Men, women, and children were left astounded, and all were in the dark as to what was happening at the small American villa in the Maryland woods.

Jack, Carl, Will, and Henri all ran toward the rear of the devastated compound. Secret Service, state police, FBI, and Marines were running everywhere with weapons at the ready. No less than a platoon-sized element of Marines had surrounded the rear of the house and grounds. Many Marines and agents from every branch of service lay dead or dying from the assault of the Grays, over a hundred of which had been cut down and were lying dead on the ground; some even in the trees.

“Oh, God,” Will Mendenhall said when he saw fifty or so men trying desperately to clear the entranceway to an underground bunker.

Men were tossing chunks of concrete left, right, and over their shoulders. Finally reinforcements started to arrive by helicopter and by road. All concern for security had gone out the window as even the servants stationed at Camp David were joining in the efforts to free whoever was trapped below in the bunker. Sirens blared and large Marine Corps helicopters circled above as they cast bright lights on the surreal scene below. Off to the left Jack and the others saw the president’s helicopter, Marine One, on its side and burning. Apache Longbow helicopters were now orbiting in force. A lone Gray rose from the ground and charged at the rescue workers. Before Jack could relax two FBI agents spun and fired at the alien, but its momentum carried it forward until it struck the workers. Three Marines immediately dispatched the enemy, then several others struck at it with anything they could get their hands on.

Jack grabbed a Marine sergeant as he trotted by, making the kid almost fall to the ground.

“Where’s the goddamn president?” he shouted over the din.

All the boy could do was turn his head toward the bunker. Jack released the kid and looked on at the continuing efforts to free all inside. Even Farbeaux was stunned at what he was seeing. Relief flooded their features as they saw the prime minister of Great Britain and then the Chinese president as they were assisted from what now looked like a grave. The Chinese leader looked as if his arm was broken and the prime minister was cut but unharmed. He was desperately pointing back toward the collapsed bunker and insisting that he be allowed to help the rest of the council.

Jack felt his body deflate as a man was brought out, his head and left leg missing. Jack looked around, fearing what was coming next. He glanced at Will Mendenhall and his heart ached for the young captain. Will was so angry that a single tear coursed down his face.

Collins was soon tapped on the shoulder and he turned to see the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He was ragged looking, with his uniform jacket ripped and his face bloodied. He tossed away an old M-16 and as it clattered to the ground he looked at the four men around him. He flinched when the roof of the main house collapsed and a shower of burning embers lit the night around them. The rescue workers were removing many of the house staff covered in sheets or curtains, anything they could find.

“How in the hell did they get so close without us knowing about it?” Jack asked angrily.

“As I’m not supposed to know about you people out in the desert, all I can say is that we were warned at the last second by that asset out there, Magic. If we hadn’t been warned none of us would have made it out alive.” General Caulfield wiped blood from his broken nose.

“But how did they get so close, goddamn it?” Jack insisted, as his eyes probed the site for Niles Compton.

“We think they may have arrived early this morning. It was purely a ground assault, which was why that damn wormhole wasn’t large like the others.”

Finally it was Everett who called out. “Niles!” All to a man they ran forward. Niles was covered in blood as he was helped from the rubble. His right hand was held over a large gash in his head that completely covered his eye. Will tore off part of his shirt and applied pressure to the wound. Jack and Carl and even Henri assisted the director over several of the fallen Grays. Will even managed to kick one of the dead beings in the head with brutal force. Suddenly Niles, acting delirious, turned and wanted to return to the smoking hole in the ground.

“The president — we have to get to him!” he cried as he struggled against the restraining arms.

“There he is,” General Caulfield said as he rushed forward.

Niles stilled his protests when he saw his best friend being carried out by five filthy Marines. His arms were hanging loose and as the men watched, doctors ran toward him. Jack’s heart froze as he watched the president of the United States laid on the ground. Caulfield turned and faced the men.

“He’s out cold, has a massive gash on his head, and he may lose an arm — it’s crushed bad. God, what are we…” The general looked up and grabbed the first Secret Service agent he could find. “Get the word out: the vice president needs to return ASAP to the capital.”

Niles collapsed into the arms of his men. The president was hurriedly rushed to a waiting Marine Black Hawk and was immediately lifted out, along with the Chinese president.

Caulfield again grabbed for a man. This one was a Marine medic who had been working on the president.

“Is he going to make it?” he shouted.

The young medic shook his head. “He’s bad, real bad.” The boy ran off to assist in the treatment of other wounded people.

Jack assisted the director to the ground and saw that Niles’s right side had taken a devastating beating. He knew the man was going to at least lose his right eye, and his left arm had to be shattered.

“General, you had better get to the vice president soon. This may not be over.”

“Look, we passed the information along, but — oh, hell, I would want to know if I were you,” Caulfield started to tell Jack, “because I know you have people in theater, Magic also relayed that there may be a massive wormhole forming over Iran.”

Jack stopped briefly as his thoughts went out to Sarah and Ryan. Then he just nodded his head once at the chairman and then pushed Everett, Mendenhall, and Henri forward.

The men started to assist the Marines, Secret Service agents, and firemen helping the survivors. Henri started to follow but a long-fingered hand wrapped around his ankle, stopping him. The others stopped and turned and saw that a surviving Gray had stopped the Frenchman. The being was uttering something Henri couldn’t understand. With a quick look at Jack and the others the former special operations man for the French army leaned down and pulled the long, spotted, and sickly fingers from around his ankle. He squatted over and stared at the Gray for a few seconds. Eyes much smaller than Matchstick’s obsidian ones gazed up at Henri with their yellow tint, the mouth working enough that he could see the creature’s small, clear teeth. The Gray had three bullet wounds to the chest and abdomen. The clothing it wore was jet black in color, highlighted with purplish hues.

“Let me be the first to welcome your kind to Earth,” Henri said as the others watched with interest. Even General Caulfield was interested in what the Frenchman was up to.

Henri Farbeaux slowly stood up and, with the eyes of an enraged mercenary, raised his right foot and brought it down on the Gray’s neck, easily snapping the strong spine.

They all realized at that moment just what kind of war was being brought to Earth’s doorstep.

7

Before Vice President Sol Stevens knew what was happening, ten Secret Service agents and as many of San Francisco’s finest had whisked him out the back doors of the new terminal building he was dedicating. He was roughly shoved into the back of an SFPD SWAT van and moved to the east end of the airport. He was held in place by SWAT team members who hadn’t issued one word to explain the situation.

The van soon stopped and the rear doors opened and three men climbed in beside him. One of these men was his chief of staff, who was visibly shaken to a point that he looked like he was going to be sick.

“What in God’s name is going on, Stanley?” Stevens asked as the door was closed. The van once more sped off, followed by ten police cars and as many motorcycles with sirens wailing and lights flashing.

Stanley Whalen had been with the VP since he was twenty-two and was thrilled when the president had chosen his man after the former vice president was ousted before the last election. Now he wasn’t so sure it had been a good thing. He choked out something that was incomprehensible. It was the second man who answered for him when the assistant broke down.

“Sir, the president is close to death at this moment. Camp David was hit with a strike team as yet unidentified.”

“Who in the hell are you?” Stevens asked, straining to hear over the wailing sirens.

“I’m Frank Deveroux, special agent in charge of the San Francisco FBI field office.”

“Who hit Camp David?”

“That has not yet been confirmed, but the president is in surgery at this very moment. The German president is dead, the Russian president won’t make it, and the other members of the summit are bad off. Most of the president’s staff is dead. We have to get you to Oakland and a secure location ASAP. The president is unable to perform the duties of his office. Do you understand what I am saying, sir?”

Vice President Stevens sat heavily against the side of the large, black van as the eyes of every man inside looked toward him.

The VP looked into the agent’s face. “Was it…” He looked at the SWAT members guarding him, but thought he didn’t care about security, especially since the president was supposed to have explained to the world what was really happening. “The Grays?”

The agent nodded his head just once. “Right now we have an Air Force Pave Low waiting to take you to the Presidio. We have word out and the airport is going to close down immediately.”

The vice president, along with most citizens of the planet, had not fully understood the nightmare scenario the president had tried to explain to them. Now it hit home that this was not some fictional story or new game that just came on the market — this was going to be a war, one that he prayed they had prepared for.

Ten minutes later, with ten F-15 Eagle fighters flying overhead for protection, the Air Force MH-53J Pave Low III helicopter slowly lifted free of the tarmac as aircraft of every kind was being cleared from the skies. The giant five-bladed rotors crushed the air around it as it rose into the sky, flanked by two Apache Longbow attack helicopters. The helicopter dipped its nose and fought its way into the sky just out over the bay.

Flight leader Sam Ellington, better known as “Viper,” led his flight of ten F-15s as they supplied combat air cover for the Pave Low. He was flying low in, dangerously close to the commercial flights inbound to San Francisco, frightening more than one pilot until they screamed bloody murder to San Francisco control at the dangerous conditions.

“Hercules flight, we have an intermittent contact bearing three-five-seven degrees heading your way. Flight speed estimated at four-seven hundred kilometers per hour. Suspected contact is confirmed hostile. You are free to engage. Say again, you are weapons free,” came the call from the Naval Air Station in Oakland. “We have support coming in from USS George Washington, six Hornets on your six, over.”

The only answer from the Air Force flight leader was two clicks on his radio. He was thinking that the Air Force would not need support from the Navy on this one.

“Air Force Pave Low, hit the deck and scatter to dry feet, over.”

The giant helicopter dropped low and when only ten feet from the choppy bay waters leveled out and made a run for land.

The small saucer was almost invisible as it came in from the sea. It flew beneath the Golden Gate Bridge and swooped low over the waters of the bay. It capsized over twenty sailing vessels out for the beautiful evening as its V-shaped vortex shattered the waters around them. The flight of fighters turned to meet the incoming threat as it slowed to under Mach speed for its attack run. Flight knew immediately that the small craft was coming for the man they were protecting.

“Hercules flight, engage!” he ordered. The F-15s broke and peeled off in twos to meet the incoming threat. As the giant Pave Low made for the docks near Fisherman’s Wharf, the fighters started launching long range AIM-120 AMRAAM radar-guided missiles at the small attacker. The saucer jigged and then went low, confusing the seeker heads of the advanced missiles with its speed and maneuvering. The missiles struck water and several large container ships by accident. The evening sky was illuminated as an oil tanker exploded with a blinding flash. The saucer rose before a second volley of missiles could leave the rails.

The Pave Low never stood a chance as the saucer easily sidestepped the protection of the fighters as it made its attack run. The initial laser flash missed the helicopter and slammed into the sea with a loud hissing noise, but then the beam was adjusted until it contacted the aluminum housing of the giant Air Force bird. It sliced through the tail boom and the Pave Low spiraled into the sea, to break apart in the water.

As the small saucer, measuring no more than fifty feet at its widest point, turned nose up, five AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles struck its rear section, pushing it down into the sea. The saucer, now smoking, rose once again. Five more missiles struck and it wobbled, then briefly made for higher altitude. But its momentum ceased and the saucer crashed into a very crowded Fisherman’s Wharf and exploded, killing well over a thousand people.

The second assassination inside the American chain of command had taken place and the might of the U.S. Air Force had been powerless to stop it.

Sarah watched as the massive alien power plant was lifted free of the science building, through the giant skylight that had been built when it first arrived five years before. The circular engine was taxing the crane used to lift it. The cables strained and the Russian engineers cringed every time the wind gusted to fifty plus miles per hour. Sarah glanced at the sky and then toward the plastic shrink-wrapped engine as it finally settled on the bed of the Iranian army’s largest transport. As she allowed her nerves to settle she felt the first drops of cold rain strike her face.

Jason Ryan and Mossad agent Anya Korvesky approached. Anya had now been officially cleared by the president and the Russian authorities to be officially on location. The Israeli prime minister, as well as Rouhani of Iran, had been thoroughly briefed on the new alliance of nations and were fully onboard. Egypt, Syria, Afghanistan, and India were not.

“I don’t care for the looks of this. The Russian military meteorologists said this formation of clouds has sprung up from nowhere.” Sarah felt the electricity in the air. She used her hand to brush the hair on her head back into place.

“I’ve never seen anything like this in this region. There are storms over the Caspian Sea quite often, but never anything that resembles a hurricane,” Anya volunteered.

They turned toward the sky and braved the unusually cold rain drops to see the clouds as they formed and then were snatched away, where they joined others in a massive swirling pattern that reminded Ryan of a vortex of draining water. They could see very clear sky at the exact center of the cloud formation. Small particles of hail started to fall.

“Jason, remember the Magic briefing about the formation of wormholes?” Sarah asked.

“You don’t think this—”

“Yes, that’s what I think. It’s a wormhole.”

At that exact moment sirens sounded and Russian and Iranian military personnel started to scramble around the university. Sarah was shocked to see over a hundred Iranian Zulfiqar tanks, the new armor built by Iran to combat the forces of the West, coming through the main gate of the university. What was even stranger was the fact the 106th Guards Division of the Russian army was riding on the tops of the tanks alongside the Iranian crewmen. They screamed left, right, and were in moments totally surrounding the many science buildings. Iranian infantry from the very units that had been assigned to attack them earlier that day were now on guard and ready to defend the power plant at all costs.

“Oh, shit, this isn’t good,” Ryan shouted into the increasing strength of the storm.

“You’re not saying the Iranians have another operating engine, are you?” Anya asked. Ryan pushed her toward the large transport, where riggers were making fast the power plant to the bed of the giant tractor trailer.

“No,” he shouted at Anya as they ran, “not exactly the Iranians. As you can see they’re on our side.”

They stopped at a grouping of soldiers who would be transporting the power plant to the docks for sea transport across the Caspian. The commander of the 106th Guards Division was shouting orders to not only his subordinates but to the new Iranian allies as well. He saw the two Americans and then grabbed Sarah by the collar, making Ryan become defensive until he saw he was giving orders.

“Get to the transports and get the hell out of here. We have something coming through this storm. Space-based imagery is showing a massive power surge connected with this activity. I’m afraid your president’s scenario is not just prophecy.”

Sara, Ryan, and Anya all looked at the strengthening storm that had come out of nowhere. The swirling clouds had intensified and now there were bright streaks of blue, purple, and yellow lights shooting out like lightning. Several of these actually burst free and struck some of the surrounding buildings.

“Go get this thing to safety. We will do what we can!” the general shouted, pushing Sarah away. He and his staff ran to take control of his ground forces.

The three ran for the line of trucks that were waiting. The semi-tractor trailer with its heavy burden wasn’t even waiting for the Russian riggers and engineers to clear the flatbed as the driver, with seventeen Russian commandos riding on the back, shot the large vehicle forward. Ryan took the driver’s seat of an old university-owned car that happened to be a 1978 Ford LTD, a leftover from the days of the shah. He threw the heavy touring vehicle into gear as soon as Anya and Sarah were safely inside. They all heard the hail, which had grown in size, start pummeling the vehicle just as they fell in line inside the large convoy of trucks, cars, and armored personnel carriers assigned to the transport of the engine the hundred miles to the sea.

Sarah leaned her head into the windshield as the hail cracked the glass, and heard a sound that could only emanate from a nightmare. The bass throng of noise shook the car and as she placed her hands over her ears she saw that the Russian and Iranian ground forces were hitting the wet ground around them as the noise literally threw them to the earth. The ungodly sound seemed to intensify as they moved toward the main gate.

The first two saucers through were one hundred feet in diameter and they separated as soon as they cleared the swirling vortex of moisture. They went in opposite directions trailing moisture, lightning, and hail in their wakes. Then another two of the same-size saucers entered Iranian airspace and they also spread out high and low over the university.

The world stopped working momentarily as a bright and blinding flash illuminated the air around the university as the largest saucer came through the eye of the storm, taking the cloud formation down with it. Its speed actually burst the eardrums of over fifty of the closest men as it slammed into the largest science building. The structure pancaked as the violence of the collision broke the earth three hundred feet around the building’s foundation. Earth, water, and men were thrown two hundred feet into the rain-swept sky as the giant saucer came to rest. All inside the five-story building had to have been crushed to death. Electrostatic lightning shot from the the five-hundred-foot-diameter saucer. Its roundness was almost beautiful to behold as it settled in the rubble of the science building. Steam jets burst through the air as its skin was cooled by the falling rain and hail.

Anya ventured a look out of the now cracked and broken rear window of the LTD. “My God!”

Sarah turned in her seat as the Ford sedan shot through the front gates of the university. She saw the Iranian tanks open fire on the downed saucer, and then to her amazement Russian commandos rushed forward to engage the enemy. Her eyes widened in fear when she saw one of the smaller saucers streak low over the remaining buildings and start to shoot the very same laser systems she knew they had recovered in South America. Blue light reached out and cut the new tanks into pieces. Explosions rocked the grounds. Russian handheld missiles left their launch tubes and small arms tried desperately to fire on the smaller saucer. Sarah couldn’t take it all in as she saw the large saucer open a fifty-foot hatchway, and she choked up when she saw the dark images of hundreds of Grays as they ran down a ramp and started their assault on the facility. Russian soldiers were very brave as they ran to engage the enemy.

“It’s going to be a massacre,” Anya shouted as ten more of the Iranian tanks exploded. She saw streaks of armor-piercing rounds strike the larger saucer and she was seeing damage as large chunks of metal were thrown forth into the dwindling storm. Explosion after explosion rocked the car as they watched helplessly as the Gray attackers overwhelmed the small force of Iranian and Russian troops, but they were taking a healthy host of attackers with them. Anya and Sarah saw Grays falling by the tens and twenties as Russian marksmen and missiles found their marks.

Ryan was mentally willing the transports to move faster as a new sound entered the din of the attack. Russian MiG-31s screeched across the sky and then climbed toward the fast-disappearing storm clouds. Missiles and ground-penetrating bombs struck the large saucer but Sarah saw they were doing nothing but denting the large machine. Somehow the saucer was starting to generate a force field that adhered to its bright metal skin. Still, it took damage. She realized this was a suicide attack and quickly surmised this craft was never meant to lift off again.

Sarah turned in the front seat and looked at Ryan.

“You don’t have to say it, I’m scared as hell myself. I don’t care what weaponry we’ve come up with in the past five years, I don’t think we can stop something like this.” Ryan blared his horn for the armored transport ahead of him to close the gap between him and the transport ahead.

All Sarah could do was look at the tarp-covered alien power plant on the flatbed ahead of them in the column, and pray that the little man they knew as Matchstick knew what he was doing with the plan designated Overlord.

Speaker of the House Giles Camden watched the news footage being split between Camp David and Iran. The scroll at the bottom of the large screen was mentioning disjointed attacks in San Francisco, Beijing, and Cologne, Germany. Specifics thus far were only speculative on the reasoning for these strikes.

Camden accepted the drink from Daniel Peachtree, who was anxious to leave the Speaker’s house and get back to Langley, as he knew the director was probably reeling after news of the Camp David strike had become more specific. His cell phone was now turned off as he waited for his new lord and master to set him free. As it was, Camden didn’t seem to be in a hurry as the smallish, portly man sipped his drink while shaking his head.

The ornate study was starting to fill with assistants and interns from the Speaker’s offices, and many were in shock at what was happening here and around the world.

“Okay, we need a little damage control here, ladies and gentlemen; after all, it was me who has been decrying this military spending of the president’s and now it seems because of well-kept secrets from our nation’s past it very well seems justified. You need to come up with a quick course change to minimize the damage.”

“Don’t you think the president should have brought you in on this, to make spending these billions upon billions of dollars more acceptable to the nation, and yourself?” Peachtree offered, not really caring to air his opinion inside a room full of Camden’s people.

Camden sniffed loudly and then held his empty glass out to be refilled, which an aide promptly did.

“Not when one considers how much that man hates my guts. Hates my state, hates my budget crunching — when it’s not my party in power, of course. But hate nonetheless.”

On the television screen the view of the Iranian situation went from split screen to full as it showed the downed saucer that had completely obliterated the large building on which it rested. It was smoking and had finally been smashed by the remaining tanks of the Iranian army. Camden watched as Russian soldiers rushed from spot to spot, trying to dispatch areas of resistance. Gray bodies lay everywhere and Camden grimaced when a news camera came close to one and he saw in detail what they were fighting. The dead yellow-ringed eyes stared off into nothingness, and the sickly gray skin that was exposed underneath the strange-looking suit they wore gave the Speaker a small, cold chill.

“It seems the Russians and the Iranians dispatched the attackers soundly.” Lyle Morgan, the Speaker’s chief of staff, accepted a drink as he watched the screen. “They seemed to have destroyed the large saucer quite quickly and efficiently, if you ask me.”

“They’re saying it wouldn’t have been so easy if those four smaller saucers had stayed on station, but they left in a hurry for some reason. Now we hear that the large saucer was nothing more than a transport of some sort not designed for sustained attack. It had thick armor, but no electronic shielding. It just housed attacking troops. So, we may not know as much as our new Russian allies think,” Camden said.

The sliding doors opened and the Speaker’s housekeeper came in and whispered to Daniel Peachtree. The CIA assistant director handed her his glass of whiskey and then nodded his thanks.

“I have to leave, something big is coming down and—”

Peachtree was cut off as five Maryland state troopers burst into the study, at least ten Secret Service agents along with them. The staff was pushed aside and one of the dark-clothed agents went straight to Camden. With the assistance of two of the troopers he lifted the Speaker of the House from his large chair.

“What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?” Camden insisted.

Lyle Morgan tried to stop the men from handling his boss in such a rough manner. He was pushed to the carpeted floor and two agents placed their nine millimeters close to his head. Morgan froze.

“Do not interfere, sir,” one of the agents said.

Peachtree was in shock as he first thought that the authorities had caught up to Hiram Vickers and the little weasel had spilled his guts.

“Gentlemen, I’m Assistant Director Peachtree, CIA. May ask what is happening?” he ventured, terrified he would be placed into handcuffs soon.

One of the agents holstered his weapon and then nodded to the state troopers that they could ease up on the Speaker’s staff of frightened men and women. His chief of staff was lifted from the carpet as the security detail calmed a bit.

“Apologies, Mr. Speaker, POTUS is down and the vice president was just killed in San Francisco. For the time being we are here to transport you to Fort Meyer, where we can properly secure you. Your staff will be sent for.”

“The president is dead?” Camden asked as he was moved to the doors. “The vice president also?”

“We don’t know the details, sir, but we do know that under the Constitution we are obliged to get you to safety.”

Camden was in shock at the change in luck. He realized after a moment’s hesitation that he was in a direct line of succession to the most powerful position in the world — the presidency of the United States.

It had been three hours since the president had been flown out to Walter Reed hospital. Jack, Carl, Will, and Henri Farbeaux were covered in dirt, sweat, and gore as they watched the last of the world Security Council being airlifted out. Jack took a deep breath and walked toward the last remaining ambulance. He saw paramedics still working on slowing the bleeding of his friend and mentor, Dr. Niles Compton. Will Mendenhall placed a hand on Collins’s shoulder. Will finally turned away as Carl and General Caulfield approached. They watched as Niles tried to sit up on the gurney. Two medics yelled at him that he could not move. Niles struggled for a few more moments and then settled. Jack’s eyes never left the director.

“General,” Caulfield said, trying to get Jack to look away from the scene. “We have some updates.”

Collins swallowed as he feared the worst from Caulfield’s tone. He hated the title of his new rank because it made him feel that much more powerless in light of what was happening. He turned to face the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The man had his nose bandaged and his cuts tended to. He looked tired and haggard in his ripped uniform. Collins nodded his head that he should start with the bad news he knew was coming.

“To start, from what we know in Iran, your people are safe. The power plant made it out just as the attack began. Russian forces took heavy losses and the Iranian armor division has just about ceased to exist. We have more people on the ground now, but they were hit hard.”

“One thing I’ve learned as well as you, General, is the fact that you always deliver the good news first.” Jack waited for the other shoe to fall.

“The military way, huh?” Caulfield looked from Collins to Carl, then the Frenchman as he joined them.

Will Mendenhall had eased closer to the ambulance to try and let the director of the Event Group know that he was near. He swiped at his face, angry at himself for being so emotional.

“The vice president is dead. His helicopter was shot out of the sky over San Francisco Bay this evening, moments after the attack here.”

“Any word on the president’s condition?” Everett asked as he used a towel to wipe his face.

“It doesn’t look good at this point. As of right now they placed him in a medically induced coma, whatever the hell that means. His injuries are extensive, I’m afraid. The Chinese president died in the air. A heart attack, of all things.”

“What a fucking mess,” Everett said as he angrily tossed away the filthy towel.

“That, my friend, is the understatement of the year,” Caulfield said. Jack knew immediately that the other shoe would now come down as assuredly as Henri’s foot on the alien’s neck had.

“What is it?” Collins ventured.

“The line of ascension for the presidency goes to the Speaker of the House.”

Collins felt his stomach roll as he angrily turned away. Henri tried to follow what was being said beneath the actual words. He stepped closer to the men.

“Besides the insanity that comes with all politicos, may I ask the significance of this action?”

“Henri, you study history, and I assume you’re well versed in the classics. What does the name Cardinal Richelieu mean to you as a Frenchman?” Carl walked past and joined Jack.

Henri looked taken back. The cardinal was a scoundrel of the first order in Dumas’s The Three Musketeers. “This man, this speaker of the house is a—”

“He’s no friend to the president, or to us,” Everett finished.

“What he’s saying, Colonel, is that this man Camden will most assuredly cause problems for Operation Overlord — our only chance at winning this thing,” Caulfield said.

Jack shook his head, angry that his role in Overlord was being kept from him because of the dangers he and the others faced in being captured by an enemy that, as of that moment, looked unstoppable.

Will Mendenhall ran toward them.

“Colonel — I mean, General, Doc Compton wants to see us.” He looked at Henri. “All of us.”

Collins and the four others rushed to the ambulance, where the two medics were angrily holding the rear doors open.

“Look, make it fast, this man has serious blood loss and he’s lost his right eye. His left arm is going to follow and then his life, if we don’t get him—”

The EMT was pushed aside so the four men could gather around the back of the ambulance. Jack had to push Niles back down when he tried to sit up.

“Easy there, we can hear you, Niles.”

Compton seemed to relax and then patted Jack’s restraining hand as he settled.

Will momentarily turned away when he saw the white blood-soaked gauze covering Compton’s face. The damaged arm was placed inside a clear plastic cast and the director’s white shirt had been ripped open to expose several large gashes to his chest.

“Get to … your … new stations … imperative … imperative.” He was running low on steam. “Overlord … must…” Niles coughed up blood.

“Goddamn it, we have to get this man to the front gate, we have air transport standing by there,” the medic insisted. Jack gave the man a withering look until he lowered his eyes, and then turned back to his director.

“Jack … Jack?”

“I’m here, Niles.”

“Get word … to Virginia … get out … here … and … take my … place … on the … council.”

“I will before I leave for Hawaii, I promise.” Jack watched Niles trying to find his glasses on his head. Jack knew the man’s glasses were long gone and felt so bad that he choked back his anger and sorrow.

“Jack … you … don’t understand … this isn’t right…” Niles’s voice became a whisper. “General Caulfield?”

Maxwell Caulfield stepped closer so he could hear. “I’m here, Doctor.”

“You two … tell Virginia … something is wrong.”

“What do you mean, Niles?” Collins glanced at Caulfield, who shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t understand the comment either.

“Matchstick … Matchstick … is not telling us something. It may not … matter in the end … but he knows something that … he’s kept from us.”

Jack felt the blood rush from his face. But … “I’m not following.”

“He … knows … he … knows … why. He … lied to us … The Grays aren’t here … for the planet, or resources … they…”

Niles passed out. Jack and the others were roughly pushed aside by the attendants and the doors closed.

“Sorry, he’s got to go,” the man said as he rushed to the front of the ambulance. It screamed off toward the distant front gates of Camp David.

“What in the hell did that mean?” Everett asked.

Collins waited until a Black Hawk went by overhead as he turned to Caulfield. “I have a call to make, General. Can I get to a secure phone somewhere?”

“Use my car, there’s a secure phone there with a scrambler.” Caulfield removed his coat and took another from his aide. “Someday you people have to tell me just what in the hell you do for the government. The president told me never to ask, but I would really like to know.”

Everett watched Jack run toward the parking area with the general’s aide close at his heels, then turned to Caulfield.

“No you don’t, sir, you really don’t.”

Will Mendenhall sat on a small outcropping of stone and watched as the FBI and Marines rounded up three of the Gray aliens and bound them hand and foot to each other. The beasts hissed and spat until several of the soldiers placed black hoods over their heads. Even then the Grays fought to free themselves by kicking out with their nylon-bound legs. Will wondered just what was behind this attack, as it hadn’t matched up with anything the Event Group had come to expect from the briefings that Matchstick had given over the past eight years. He shook his head and thought about not only the president but about his boss, Niles Compton. He never knew how close he had become with the surly little man who protected his secret department like a mother bear defending her cubs. He was distant at times and hard to like, but the one thing you could never take away from the director of Department 5656 was the fact that he was serious about the charter of the Group — he knew the answers to everything lay in the shared past.

Carl Everett sat next to Will and saw what he was looking at. Carl picked up a small stone and lightly tossed it over toward the three Grays. The rock struck the middle one and again it began to hiss and spit under the black hood. The three Marines guarding them turned and looked at Everett. Carl just held up his hands in a What? kind of gesture. The Marines turned back to their charges.

“The closest I can come to figuring this out is I believe this was a suicide attack. Over a hundred sacrificed themselves to get at our chain of command.”

Both Carl and Will looked up and saw Henri Farbeaux standing over them. The Frenchman had managed to find water and a rag and cleaned himself up. Everett and Mendenhall looked as if they had come out of a cave-in in some distant coal mine.

“I have to agree with you, Colonel,” Carl said, standing and keeping his eyes on the three prisoners for a moment. He turned to the Frenchman. “This doesn’t make one hell of a lot of sense. If they just want the planet, why attack the chain of command of any country? Just come down and start cleansing the world would be the order of the day. It makes no difference who goes first.”

“Confusion, I guess,” Will said as he stood, his eyes still planted on the three prisoners. He finally looked away. “The old take-the-head-of-the-snake-and-the-body-will-die thing.”

Everett smiled for the first time that day. “Is that the way they put it at Officers Candidate School, Captain?”

“Yeah — I mean, yes sir, something like that.”

“Well, maybe he has some answers for us, or at least new orders that make sense.”

Everett and Mendenhall looked in the direction that Henri had come and saw Jack returning from his call. He was joined by General Caulfield, who gestured that his staff and aides should stay back from the small group of men. The general had just been updated by the Pentagon on what was happening elsewhere in the world. They all noticed that Jack and Caulfield had the same look on their faces — they weren’t happy.

“Well?” Everett was anxious to hear what both men had to say.

Collins looked at Caulfield. “General, you may not know what we really do in that desert facility you know about, so I’ll just say this: we are run specifically by the president of the United States, as I know you’re aware. You and just a very few others suspect we are even there, and that’s the way it’s been since President Woodrow Wilson. Only the director of the National Archives and the head of the General Accounting Office know we’re officially there.”

“Okay, do you have to shoot me or something for knowing?” the general joked.

Jack finally smiled. “No, but whatever happens, Virginia Pollock, our assistant director, has a special file just in case this exact scenario ever happened.” He looked at Will and Carl. “It seems our esteemed director was smart enough to cover all his bases, and he covered this one particularly well. Under no circumstances is the new president to know about the Group. By law he is to be informed of our existence no later than ten days after taking office and is to be briefed by the director of the National Archives and the General Accounting Office. Now, no sitting president can ever dissolve our department; we are law. We are there to stay. But the president can also hamstring us. I and Ms. Pollock believe, and Niles concurred, that Camden would indeed hamstring us, thus damaging the Overlord plan. This cannot happen. You will be the only one in his cabinet that knows anything about us and it must stay that way until…” He swallowed. “Until we know the fate of the president and Dr. Compton.”

“Well, I don’t understand, but if that is what the president wants, who the hell am I to disagree?”

“Wait, what are you saying, Jack?” Carl asked.

Collins looked from face to face, then closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. He opened them and then kicked at a small piece of rubble that used to be a part of the family residence at Camp David.

“Giles Camden was just sworn into office five minutes ago at Fort Meyer.”

“Wait a minute, the goddamn president isn’t even dead yet!” Everett protested.

General Caulfield turned away, then looked up at the dazzling night sky full of stars.

“The president is now unable to fulfill his duties as commander-in-chief. Until such a time as he is mentally and physically able to perform his duties, it falls to the vice president.”

“Who’s dead,” Will Mendenhall said with a sigh.

“In that case it falls directly to the Speaker of the House.”

“Senator Giles Camden.” Caulfield turned again to face Jack and the others. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to protect you or your group, General Collins, but one thing I do know for sure is the fact that this Camden will fire me the first chance he gets. Had too many run-ins with the bastard, and he is no friend of the president’s.”

Jack placed a hand on Caulfield’s shoulder. “Do what you can, while you can. The biggest priority according to Virginia is to keep Operation Overlord alive. They all say without it we cannot win this war.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Caulfield held out his hand. They shook and the general nodded at the others. He took a particularly longer look at the man he had seen in handcuffs not five hours earlier, Henri Farbeaux. “Damn strange outfit,” he said as the strange group of men watched him leave. The general was quickly joined by his aides and they walked out of Camp David.

“What’s up, Jack?” Everett asked as the four men gathered around.

“Virginia is using a Nellis fighter to fly to Washington; she is officially taking over Group. She’ll fight for the plan as it stands, but she can only do so much. Matchstick has requested a prisoner be taken back to the facility. I arranged that already with the FBI through General Caulfield’s people. He goes back with Will, Henri, and me. Carl, you’re to get to Houston on the first military flight you can get. Arrangements have been made at Andrews Air Force Base. As for us, we have a few pointed questions for Matchstick that he has to answer before we head to Hawaii.”

The four men stood facing each other with the whine of helicopter turbines ripping the air around them. Carl Everett looked his companions. He turned to Will Mendenhall and held out his hand.

“You take care of this guy, Captain.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Will said tightly. He always hated good-byes. “And if you run into that navy flier anywhere, tell him I said he better get his ass home safe,” Will shouted over the mounting noise of the Black Hawk.

“I think you may see Ryan before I do, but if I do, I surely will pass it on.”

The two men shook hands and Everett turned away from Mendenhall quickly and faced his friend.

“Jack,” Carl said, not knowing just how to say good-bye.

Collins looked at the watch on Carl’s wrist and then nodded his head.

“Swabby, I don’t know just what Niles, Director Lee, and Matchstick had up their sleeves, but I swear to God, it better be worth it. You are the best man I have ever known.”

The two men shook hands. Then to the astonishment of all Jack bear-hugged his friend. They stayed that way for a moment.

“You better knock it off. I mean, we’re a long way from don’t ask, don’t tell,” Carl said as they parted.

“Kiss my ass, Navy,” Jack said as he backed away.

“Ditto, you Army puke,” Everett said with a smile. “We’ll meet again, Jack, you better believe it. Maybe not here, but some place where we can raise hell.”

Collins nodded and then started walking toward the waiting Humvee. Carl turned to Henri.

“I don’t like you, Froggy, I think you know that.”

“I do indeed, Admiral.”

“But that man sees something in you the rest of us don’t. Don’t let him down.” Carl, against his better judgment, held out his right hand. “Get everyone you can home safe. I don’t think I’ll be there to see it.”

“Understood.”

The two antagonists shook hands and then Henri Farbeaux left Everett with a small salute to the man who had been chasing him since 2001.

Carl watched the Humvee leave with a last wave of Jack’s hand. He smiled as he knew he would more than likely never again see the two men he admired. With a thought toward Sarah McIntire, Jason Ryan, Niles Compton, Alice Hamilton, and the rest, Admiral Carl Everett turned and made his way toward the waiting Black Hawk and his ride to Houston.

Collins smiled, as did Will. They both realized they might never see the man they had come to admire more than most. It was Henri Farbeaux who put the whole scene into context.

“Gentlemen, I doubt that is the last good-bye we’ll be making. I suspect that we will have many more.” He smiled sadly. “And very possibly not many hellos and welcome homes afterwards.”

The three soldiers turned and looked at the three hissing prisoners bundled in the back of the Humvee.

8

Sarah, Anya, and Jason Ryan were sitting inside the small hut, watching the Russian language news reports coming out of the United States. Many more Russian officers, scientific technicians, and civilian engineers were stunned at what was happening. Sarah knew Jack and Everett were at Camp David during the attack, but a quick, secure phone call to Nevada had informed them that the two men were safe. Sarah had a chance to speak with Pete Golding, who was now in charge of the Event Group facility since Virginia Pollock had been called to Washington. Sarah knew something was wrong when she had asked why Virginia and Niles Compton were both in the same place at one time outside of the complex and Pete Golding had become quiet for ten excruciating seconds on the international phone line. Then he said it looked as though, along with the president of the United States, the Chinese president, and the chancellor of Germany, Niles might not make it.

Since she had heard the bad news from Camp David it seemed as if the world had turned into her ultimate nightmare. Ryan watched the television as Anya Korvesky explained what was being said; she understood the Russian language fluently. Earlier Anya had been informed by General Shamni in Tel Aviv that she was now a military liaison with the project that had been formed to combat this terror from space. She was just as stunned as the rest of the world at learning they had basically been at war since July 1947—the very same year her nation, Israel, had been born. She glanced at Ryan when the news report showed the Walter Reed military hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. She saw his jaw working and then he kicked out with his foot, sending a small trash can flying through the air.

A small Russian nuclear technician nodded his head and then sat the trash can upright. Everyone in the room was as angry as the American and wanted to do the very same thing — kick out and strike anything.

“Look,” Ryan said as he turned to face Sarah, “Did Pete say anything about when my real orders would come through? I mean, we’ve babysat this fucking power plant long enough.” He looked around at the Russians and the fifteen naval police guarding them. “The damn thing seems to be in good hands, they don’t need us anymore.”

Sarah walked over and faced Jason, then smiled. “We all want new orders, but we’re supposed to take this thing wherever the Russians are taking it and inform Niles and Virginia when it’s on station — wherever that is. Until then we have to bite the bullet just like everyone here.”

“Goddamn it, Niles is probably dead along with the president, and do you think for one minute the Chinese are going to look kindly on how well we protected their president? This whole alliance could come crashing down around our ears and here we sit. I’m a United States naval aviator and I want out of here. I want orders cut by Virginia, Pete, or whoever else may be in charge releasing me from Group. I want to fight, not babysit something that may be nothing more than a small alien’s pipe dream!”

“And you shall get your wish,” an officer in a snow-white naval uniform said as he stood just inside the doorway. He quickly gestured for the naval police of the Russian navy to escort the nuclear technicians and engineers from the small office. He stepped aside for the thirty-plus people to pass. He removed his saucer cap and then closed the door. “Maybe not one of your super carriers, but it is a warship. You three are to accompany me to your transport.”

He started handing out identification badges with their pictures on them. Even Anya received one. She looked at it and saw it was a picture from her Israeli Army days. She was surprised at how the Russians got ahold of it. Then she saw the workings of Mossad. She immediately knew that General Shamni had her placed here in the guise of an army major, not a Mossad agent — it probably would make for a harder working relationship with the Russians if they knew who she really worked for.

Ryan looked closely at the man’s white uniform and the two shoulder boards he wore. The man was a captain, second rank.

“My name is Captain Vasily Lienanov. I am the first officer of the ship that will transport you and this power plant that cost many Russian lives to its destination.”

Ryan stepped up to the man and saluted. He accepted the shipboard identification and placed it around his neck.

“May I inquire, Captain, if this engine is so important and speed is of the essence, why the alliance isn’t transporting the power plant by military cargo plane?”

Sarah placed her ID over her head and then watched the two naval men discuss the situation.

“I guess you have not been updated on the military situation,” the dark-haired and handsome Lienanov began in very passable English. “All aircraft outside of military fighter cover has been grounded. The alliance issued the orders after the civilian airliner attacks in the Pacific and the downing of your aircraft in San Francisco. Our transport may be somewhat safer, but almost just as vulnerable. We will depart with one of the most powerful Russian fleets ever assembled.” The Russian captain lowered his head in near shame. “And then we will slip away from that fleet in the middle of the night and make our run for our destination.”

“Alone?” Ryan asked incredulously.

“Yes, we will run at flank speed for forty-eight straight hours.”

“Can you tell us what our destination will be?” Sarah asked as she and Anya exchanged curious looks.

“No, I cannot, as I have yet to be informed by my captain. Now, if you will follow me, we are to be underway in less than fifteen minutes — the fleet awaits.”

As they joined the rest of the technicians and engineers in the back of a two-and-half-ton Bulgarian-made truck, Ryan was still angry at his assumption he was being allowed to wither away babysitting and not fighting. Sarah felt as angry as he but unlike Ryan she suspected they were a part of something that was extraordinary. She just smiled and patted his leg as the truck sped off. They were followed by the captain in a second transport with the remainder of the techs.

Ten minutes later the truck stopped and the tailgate was lowered. Two men in black Nomex, carrying the short version of the venerable AK-47 assault rifle, allowed them to hop down. They were soon joined by Captain second-rank Lienanov, who gestured them to follow him. They walked around the transport and faced a sloping hill that ran downhill toward the naval base proper. Ryan’s eyes widened when he saw the ship they were to make the passage on. He turned and faced the Russian, who was smiling.

“May I present to you, our latest naval achievement: the nuclear-powered missile cruiser, Pyotr Veliky.”

The warship was the newest, largest cruiser in the world. Ryan had heard the rumors of her launch and even seen mockup drawings of her design. But that could never compare to the gleaming gray hull of her massive shape. It was one of the most beautiful sights any naval man in the world could ever behold. This was the Russian navy’s equivalent to the Nimitz-class carriers of the American navy.

The Russian started to explain, but Major Korvesky beat him to it. She had known about this warship even before the Russian engineers laid down her keel for her initial construction.

“The flagship of your Northern Fleet, Kirov class, although that is more of a lazy designation because she is a class of ship all her own. She displaces 26,000 tons, about the same size as a World War II aircraft carrier. She has a suspected top speed of thirty-seven knots and has a crew of nearly eight hundred sailors. It is also suspected that her weapons arsenal includes, but is not limited to, twenty SS-N-19 Shipwreck missiles, designed to engage large surface targets. Air defense is provided by twelve SA-NX-20 Gargoyle launchers with ninety-six missiles and two SA-N-4 Gecko with forty-four missiles.” Anya looked down on the ship and was truly as impressed as Ryan. All Sarah knew was that this was one of the more beautiful ships she had ever seen, with her sharply angled and raked bow and gorgeous lines. She also noticed the roped down and secured, shrink-wrapped cargo on her aft decking where a helicopter would normally be — the alien power plant.

“Impressive.” Lienanov eyed the Israeli woman closely. He and Ryan exchanged glances. Ryan only grimaced as he suspected Anya might have blurted out a little too much knowledge.

“Just a hobby of mine.” Anya had been so impressed that she forgot just who she was in company with. She smiled at the captain, who didn’t bother returning it.

“As I said, your ship awaits.”

One hour later the Pyotr Veliky put to sea. She was joined by the most powerful assemblage of Russian naval power ever documented, her course heading south.

There were no less than three hundred agents from the FBI, the Secret Service, and the Capital Police on duty at the nondescript building, surrounded by even more armed U.S. Army personnel. Radio traffic was limited and the only outside communication came in from old-fashioned landlines buried deep underground.

Speaker of the House Giles Camden was sitting in an ornate room that was once used by former General of the Army George C. Marshall when he was at Fort Meyer for his weekly riding at the local stables. The senator saw the many portraits of the general and felt somewhat intimidated for the first time in his many years in Washington. The room was ripe with military history, a subject Camden was short of memory on, with the exception of military contracts and the rewards they could provide.

A light knock sounded at the door and his chief of staff entered. Lyle Morgan cleared his throat and then stepped up to the senator.

“The president was wheeled out of surgery ten minutes ago. Our friends at the White House are keeping the news of his condition secret for the few moments it will take to brief you on the situation.”

Camden looked up and grimaced.

“This should have been over with by now. The entire political system knows those people are just playing for time. What is the president’s real condition?”

“Right now it’s fifty-fifty that he recovers. He’s still in a medically induced coma.”

“I want his cabinet signed off on this, I want everything aboveboard. He obviously cannot fulfill the duties of his office at this time, so let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“We do have one slight problem in the works.”

Camden just stared at the young chief of staff and waited. He removed his glasses and then wiped them clean on a handkerchief.

“It seems the military has been placed on alert by the president’s National Security advisor and the Joint Chiefs.”

“Well, even I can see the need for that; after all we were attacked. I have no reason to call off the alert. I already have to bite the bullet for not believing any of this outer space crap to begin with. I will have to mend some very high fences.”

“That’s not the problem. Our own military forces have been placed on alert for actions in other parts of the world; it seems promises have been made to other countries in this so-called coalition formed by the president’s office and our allies, including the Russians and the Chinese.”

“And where did you come by this information?” Camden asked as his temper started to flare.

“I have my military sources. Some high-ranking officers are not pleased that we would designate forces to defend other territories outside of our own borders before we know just where any attack would happen. It’s all preplanned.”

“As soon as this official swearing-in ceremony is finished I want to speak with Caulfield, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. That man has been a pain in my side for nearly five years. This country comes first; I want to hear his reasons why that shouldn’t be the case. And don’t wait until I’m sworn in, I want you to get word out to the directors of the CIA and FBI that I would like their resignations on my desk an hour after I’m sitting in the Oval Office. Is that clear?”

“Is that wise? I mean, so soon in a time of emergency? My advice is to wait, and then if you have to, you sack the whole cabinet at once and bring in our own people. But after things calm a bit.”

Camden’s face soured at the thought of having to work with the president’s men. He hated them, but even more, they despised him as much as their boss.

He was about to speak when the door opened and most of the president’s cabinet entered the room. Camden almost smiled but caught himself when he saw that the last man to enter was the chief justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, attired in his long, black robes.

The Speaker of the House rose to be sworn in as the next president of the United States of America.

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was haggard as he waited inside his large office. Several doctors had checked him out from head to toe as he made his phone calls. As he hung up his call from COMSURPAC, the commander of Surface Forces — Pacific, the door opened and the president’s national security advisor walked in and started pacing. General Caulfield nodded that everyone should leave the office. He sat at his desk and waited.

“I guess you feel the same as I do? Pressing duties keeping you away from the swearing in of the new president?”

“Please tell me that Operation Cut and Run has been initiated to its fullest?”

“It has — all with the exception of Centurion. General Collins is enroute to Nevada to finalize plans with Magic. He will depart for Hawaii within the hour. His team is waiting for him there. The new president will soon have knowledge of the Overlord plan, with the exception of our fast-reaction force.”

“Good. You know how he’ll react — he’ll recall all naval forces as soon as he can. The president knew all along that Camden would never go along with the placement of U.S. troops in any land other than this one. We predict he will run scared and then cancel Overlord. If we are hit he will insist this country comes first.”

“I have ordered Admiral Fuqua to see to it that his forces remain on course for action in any part of the world. We may be able to initiate world defense before our new man in office can stop it.”

The national security advisor stopped pacing and then faced Caulfield. “It’s treason on a massive scale, but I’m willing to hang if Overlord can continue. I hope you’re of that same opinion?”

Caulfield just smiled and then sat back in his chair. “If our new president finds out, that’s the least he will do to us and a thousand others. In case we are caught, it’s imperative that at least Centurion is operational. That could assist our allies and not affect the readiness of our armed forces.”

“In case they are called upon, is this Collins up to the task of holding the flood waters at bay?”

“I believe so. At least he has the respect of most military organizations in the world — yes, I think he can.”

“Who in the hell is this guy that the president places so much faith in him?” the national security advisor asked. “I mean, between him and that little bald guy lying in the hospital, most of our fates lie in their hands.”

“That little bald guy Compton and General Collins have been there before, many times. If they can’t pull this off, then we won’t have long to suffer the new president. Our asses will be kicked as thoroughly as Custer’s was at Little Big Horn.”

Jack and Will sat inside the conference room. Both men had hurriedly packed and sat waiting for Matchstick to be brought in. While they waited Collins had requested that Pete and Europa try and contact Sarah McIntire. Pete reported just a few minutes later that Sarah and Ryan, and, to the surprise of both Will and Jack, Anya Korvesky, had put to sea six hours before and could not under any circumstances be contacted. The entire Russian battle fleet was off the air and would remain so. This all came from the orders pertaining to Overlord.

The conference room doors opened and Gus Tilly, dressed in a long robe, walked in holding the hand of Matchstick, who at the very least looked worried about Gus. The old man looked worn to the bone, which made Jack apprehensive about broaching the subject of trust with the small alien, as he knew upsetting Gus would do no good. Matchstick made sure Gus was sitting comfortably and then walked to a chair, where he climbed up and sat looking straight at Collins. Pete Golding, acting as temporary director of Department 5656, sat in on the meeting. It was he who spoke first.

“Jack, General Caulfield contacted us through the Oval Office. He is furious that you, Will, and Farbeaux haven’t departed for your duty stations yet.”

Collins only nodded his head. “Anything else?”

“Yes, Colonel Farbeaux is waiting in the hallway. His uniform’s arrived and he looks as if he’s miserable.”

“Good, he needs to be miserable. Thanks, Pete. Have a seat, you need to hear this too in case the new president throws Virginia in jail and Niles … remains incapacitated.”

Pete nodded and then slowly sat down. He didn’t bother to sit in Niles Compton’s chair. Everyone could see the computer genius was devastated that his friend was lying in critical condition in a Washington hospital. Jack hit the intercom to the outer office.

“Okay Alice, you can come in.”

Alice Hamilton opened the double doors and came in with several large photographs. She handed them to Jack and then sat down next to Gus Tilly, who had been adamant about being with Matchstick. Collins accepted the photos and then looked at the large and very long conference table. There were so many missing faces that he had to clear his throat.

“You haven’t been totally honest in your debriefs about the Grays, have you, Matchstick? We brought back a Gray prisoner from Camp David. You have had several hours with it. Now we need to know what you know because Alice and Pete say you have stopped talking.”

“What’s this about?” Gus asked as Matchstick remained quiet.

“Niles suspects that Matchstick is keeping something from us.” Jack had his eyes on the alien and not Gus.

“Matchstick, it’s too late in the game for you to hold back. In order for us to fight what’s ahead, we need the truth,” Alice said with a comforting smile.

“I think over three hundred and seventy hours was enough of a strain on this little fella to explain his actions,” Gus said as his temper started to rise. Matchstick reached up and easily patted the old man’s hand in an attempt to calm him.

Jack pushed a photo toward Gus and Matchstick. “Niles began to have doubts about his honesty when these showed up on the Hubble telescope.”

Gus looked at the photo, but Matchstick did not. It was the now famous photograph of the armada of saucers thousands of light-years away from Earth that had spurred the nations of the world to action. Jack tapped the photo.

“Why are they there?”

“I think he explained all of that stuff to you and every other egghead on the planet more than just once,” Gus said as he eyed Collins.

“Yes, we know Matchstick’s planet is a dying world; we assumed that was the reason for the mass exodus of saucers. Over seven hundred and fifty thousand of them, at last count. We understand that they plan to colonize this world and take it down for their own. The Grays do have a plan, which Niles is sure of. It’s just not what Matchstick told us their plan was in reality.”

“Look, you better explain,” Gus said tiredly, feeling betrayed by men he had come to trust. “Why is he being asked these questions? Does it really matter in the long run?”

“Matchstick,” Mendenhall said, trying to take some of the pressure off of Jack, “there are no less than five thousand habitable worlds just inside the Milky Way galaxy alone. Any one of them is suitable for habitation by yours and the Gray species. I think you better tell us, why Earth?”

Matchstick remained silent as his eyes traveled to Alice Hamilton, the kindest person outside of his best friend Gus Tilly he had ever known. She nodded her head that he should tell the truth. Still he remained silent as he dipped his head and squeezed Gus’s hand that much tighter.

Jack looked at his watch and then shook his head as he knew his secured flight to Hawaii was close at hand. He had to leave and he didn’t know if Alice and Pete were strong enough to force the truth out of the small green alien. He hated treating Matchstick like this but they had to know everything because it impacted the way Earth would fight this war.

“Every science fiction story ever written has the main reason for extraterrestrial invasion as a fight for our resources. Water, timber, minerals — but that isn’t it, is it? We have since discovered that fresh water is readily abundant throughout the galaxy. Minerals, there are whole worlds of precious metals just waiting to be discovered. Now, what do the Grays want?”

Matchstick released the hand of Gus and then wiped at his large eyes. Jack felt horrible as he realized he had never seen Matchstick cry before. Alice walked around the table and placed her arm around the small being, then looked at Collins and shook her head, indicating that he should stop the questioning. Jack returned the look and shook his head.

“Why would the Grays try to take out the chain of command? They have the power to come here and destroy whatever they wanted to destroy with practical immunity. They wouldn’t care who was in charge and they certainly wouldn’t risk a ground incursion. They would come in blasting and you know it. Now why did they do that?”

“That’s enough. Isn’t it ample that they have come, just like he told you in the past? Does it matter what they came for?” Gus stood from his chair as Mahjtic tried to stay him.

“Yes, Gus, they could come here and just start killing all. I mean, that is their main goal, is it not, the complete subjugation of the planet? Why would they kill the leaders of the world? There is no need.”

Gus sat back down and then took Mahjtic’s hand once again. The alien nodded his head at Tilly and the old man turned white as he couldn’t form the words. Matchstick looked from him toward Jack. A single tear fell from his large, obsidian-colored eye. He wiped it away and then with a final look at Alice he started to say something. Gus stopped him, and then nodded his head also.

“There is one thing … that … is not … abundant … in this … or any … other universe, Colonel Jack.”

Collins and Mendenhall leaned forward and Pete Golding stopped writing on his notepad. Jack nodded his head that Matchstick should continue. It was like the Green alien was hiding something that pained him to the extreme and he wanted to excise the thing so bad that its poison ripped him apart as he tried to say it.

“We’re your friends, Matchstick — always have been. And nothing you can say will ever change that.”

“My race is … all … dead. That Gray Master you brought … here … said so. They are all gone.

“What happened to them — did they die out?” Pete Golding asked, starting to feel sick for Mahjtic and his kind. Slaves to the death.

“Their … fate will be … our fate,” he said, looking from face to face.

“They were killed off?” Will asked, getting angry for the small friend before them.

“Yesss,” Mahjtic said, drawing out the answer as he lowered his eyes.

“What do they really want?” Jack said with a growing feeling of dread.

“There is … one … natural resource … not readily … available … in the universe, Colonel Jack. Not water, not minerals … but people.” Matchstick looked from Collins to his friend Gus and the old man nodded that he should continue. “They sent the Talkan to your world six years … ago, not to kill off your species … but … to study … your … close in … defenses. Your ground … attack … methods.”

Jack exchanged looks with everyone at the table and they all remembered the battle in the desert sands of Arizona where many a soldier had fought and died, killing a species of animal they had all assumed, and were told by Matchstick, was a war of extinction.

“I … I … was mistaken … that was not the truth.” He stumbled on his words. He looked at Gus for help as he choked up.

“Damn it, Colonel, the goddamned ugly bastards are here for one thing and one thing only.”

Jack stood from his chair and then paced with his back to Matchstick.

“What?” Pete asked, feeling ill himself.

“Food to feed their home fleet. They cannot take the planet while their own kind is starving.”

“Us?” Pete almost shrieked.

Jack turned around in stunned silence.

“The Greens, Matchstick’s kind, the slaves have all been consumed for the Grays’ benefit, Colonel. Their kind is starving on those saucers you see in that picture. Horrible but true. Now they are coming for the one resource only found here. Food. That’s why they are not attacking in force, they cannot afford to kill off the one thing that can sustain them — their food source.”

Gus took hold of Matchstick and they went silent as the small alien cried into Gus’s robe. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. He looked at Jack with guilt written on his face.

“When … their … starvation … is … relieved … they … will … come … in … force … but … first … they must … secure enough … food for … the major attack … Right now … they … are too weak.”

Jack turned and faced Alice. “Keep this quiet for right now. It won’t do anyone any good to hear this.”

Alice nodded her head, agreeing with his decision.

“Thank you, Matchstick. We won’t let it get that far.”

It was Mendenhall who stood and placed his hands on both Gus and Mahjtic. He patted them on the back and then left the room.

The horrible information was sickening, but to Collins it didn’t really matter what the motivation was for the attack. It just didn’t matter — one reason was as bad as the other.

“Pete, there is no need to pass this on to Virginia. She has enough on her plate for now.”

Pete stood and nodded his head and then held out his hand to shake. “Good luck, General, we’ll be working here for you.” He looked at Matchstick and Gus. “All of us.”

“I know that.” He shook Pete’s hand and then reached over and hugged Alice. As he did, Mendenhall walked back into the room and up to Matchstick and Gus.

“I’ve wanted to give this to you for a while now. I guess this is as good as time as any.” Will held out his hand to Matchstick. “Put these on your little collar. You’ve earned them, Captain.”

Matchstick’s eyes widened even larger than normal as he accepted the gift of the single silver bar of an Army first lieutenant. Gus smiled and patted his small friend on the back.

The new captain and Jack’s aide knelt down next to Mahjtic and looked at him closely.

“Do you trust General Collins and me?”

Matchstick wiped his almost nonexistent nose and nodded his large and bulbous head.

“I promise we’ll get those bastards for what they did to your kind. Isn’t that right, General?”

“Damned right.” Jack and Will started to leave for the Nellis airfield. He stopped short of the door and turned. “Alice, when and if you get a chance, get word to Short Stuff for me; tell her I love her and we’ll see each other again. Either here, or somewhere else where soldiers always meet after the shit of the world has been cleaned up.”

“I will, Jack, I promise.”

“Pete, find a way to help, if you can.”

Pete just nodded as Jack and Will left the conference room.

“What did he mean where soldiers meet?” he asked Alice.

It was Gus who answered for Alice as she choked up and wiped at her eyes with a Kleenex.

“It was his way of saying good-bye, Dr. Golding. The man doesn’t think he’ll see any of us again.”

Pete sat with a beer and a shot of Jack Daniels and stared at the shiny bar top. He was twisting a napkin into knots.

“Buy you one?”

Pete Golding looked up and saw Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III standing by the stool he was sitting in.

“I’ve already got one … or two,” he corrected himself as he noticed the untouched drinks in front of him.

Charlie got the bartender’s attention and waved him over to order more drinks. He sat next to Pete and then looked at the bottles arrayed behind the bar. Pete sniffed and noticed Charlie, the old Cal-Berkeley hippie, had indulged in a practice that Niles Compton ignored most times.

“That shit will warp your brain, Charlie,” Pete said as he downed the shot of Jack Daniels.

Ellenshaw accepted the drinks and then nodded at the bartender, a retired Air Force sergeant.

“Your point?” Charlie asked as he too downed his fresh shot.

Pete looked at the cryptozoologist and then shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I don’t have one.”

Ellenshaw didn’t say anything.

“We’re going to lose a lot of friends, Charlie.”

“Yes, I think you’re right, my friend.” He slid a fresh shot of whiskey toward Pete.

Golding looked at Ellenshaw, then nodded his head and downed the drink.

“Charlie, you didn’t think much of the military before knowing Carl, Jack, and the others, did you?”

“Well,” he said as he sipped at his glass of beer, “I was always a pacifist, you know that. I mean, Cal-Berkeley was not a haven for military leanings during the sixties.” Ellenshaw took another deep swallow of beer. “But the men I’ve known here at Group have shown me something that I never knew.” He placed the glass on the bar and turned to face the computer genius. “The people we serve with are the best men and women I have ever had the privilege to know. Now I’m just afraid I could never live up to what they stand for.”

“What do you mean?” Pete asked as he too joined Charlie in drinking his two beers.

“They stand and fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. They fight the bullies in the world that we”—he nodded his head toward Pete—“could never stand up to. I for one am going to move heaven and hell to get my friends home. That’s all we can do, Pete — fight for our friends and those other soldiers who are going into harm’s way. We have a chance here to help, what assitance that is I don’t know yet, but I for one will do anything to get these people home. That’s what hanging out with Jack, Carl, Will, Jason, and Sarah has taught me: try your best.” He looked at his friend. “And that’s what you’ll do too. You were meant to be one of them, you and Europa, and you will prove it once this thing really starts, because like Niles is smart, Jack is brave, you’re a genius, and you’ll do what needs doing.” Charlie finished off his beer and then looked at Golding.

Pete looked at Charlie and smiled. “You have any more of that crap you smoke? I think it’s time to embrace the radical left.”

“You bet. Let’s retreat to my inner sanctum and figure out how to help those boys and save the world.”

The two men toasted and then left the Ark.

Hiram Vickers stood outside the MGM Grand and waited. He had just watched the news broadcast and had been so shocked at the reports of the Speaker’s swearing in as the president of the United States that he felt like laughing. His luck had gone from bad to worse in less than twenty-four hours.

His cell phone rang. Looking at a few of the passing guests, he cautiously answered.

“It’s about time. I was wondering if you and the new president were going to call my bluff.”

On the other end of the line, calling from his private and secure cell phone, was Daniel Peachtree. “Do you think you can try and blackmail the new administration in the middle of a war — an interstellar war, at that?”

“You don’t think the press would love to hear that the man they billed as the most despicable man in the House was in an arms purchase, possibly even the murder and cover-up of a U.S. field agent? I would think again, Mr. Future Director. With the information I have on both of you making money buying up that new technology for a war the Speaker never thought was true in the first place, and then covering up the fact that your man, me, killed two American citizens? I don’t think you would be in your new office for very long, do you?”

Vickers was starting to think that the assistant director had hung up on him before he heard the man laugh.

“As it so happens, Mr. Vickers, there is now a need for a man such as you.”

Vickers eyed two men walking into the MGM and then turned away from them, careful to hide his face.

“And what special need is that — a target for one of your field agents?”

“Mr. Vickers, you landed at McCarran International at 7:45 this very evening. You are now standing in front of the MGM Grand looking rather nervous. If I had wanted you dead any one of three very despicable people would have sliced your throat a minute into this call.”

Vickers looked around nervously. He saw about a hundred people standing around the entrance of the hotel. Any of them could be the assassins Peachtree spoke of.

“Okay, you have eyes on the target. What do you want?”

“It’s what you want we’re going to discuss, Hiram.”

“And what’s that?” He avoided a small woman with a handbag the size of Detroit as she approached.

“You wish to have this nightmare end and receive the forgiveness of the new president — and of course myself.”

“What game are you trying to run on me? Ten hours ago you had half the agency tracking me down to kill me, now you want me to come back?”

“That was then, this is now. You know how quickly things can change in Washington. Before you left Langley, you contacted several members of your now-defunct Black Teams for assisting you in a delicate matter in the Arizona desert. Well, those men reported directly to me, and explained how you were going to gain leverage on us by taking a very secret military asset and holding him hostage until we saw things your way.”

Hiram Vickers had sorely underestimated the assistant director of Operations. The man had been five steps ahead of him at all times.

“What is it you … I mean Camden wants?”

“Why, nothing more than you and your Black Teams as originally intended. You see, there is a plan in effect that our former friend in the White House had devised with certain allies. This plan was thought up by the people who guide whoever you were tracking in Arizona. This asset, as you remember from your talks in Kansas with Mr. Hendrix — the man in prison with no official name — is code-named Magic. You see, Mr. Vickers, the new administration wants to speak directly to this Magic.”

“Why, if you follow Operation Overlord, you would undoubtedly get access to him, whoever he is, eventually.”

“Please stop thinking, Mr. Vickers, and listen. We want that asset in our pocket and not hidden away by any think tank the former president has hidden away. We want our military people to evaluate this war, and whoever this Magic is has the information they will need. Get him. If it takes three months or three years, get Magic for us. Your Black Team is standing by. May I suggest you stake out that house in Arizona; Magic will show up there eventually. And if this strange group is in charge of security there, I would be extremely careful.”

“And then I will be allowed back? The Black Team won’t have orders to kill me after we take him?”

“As I said, Vickers, we could have gotten you at any time, but now you are too valuable. Get that asset so we can get the information we need for this country, not everybody who has a gun and a few tanks. Now, accept the package the man behind you is holding and get to work. This is one mission you don’t want to screw up, because if you do a certain army major will discover right where you are waiting. And he will assuredly kill you in a most brutal manner.”

Vickers’s eyes widened when a rather large hand came over his shoulder. A plastic bag was there and he turned to see the leader of the last Black Team on the CIA’s books. The man shoved the bag at him and he finally took it. Vickers felt the weight of the weapon and took a quick look inside. It was a Glock nine millimeter and a cell phone.

“Be useful to us, Hiram, and all is forgiven. Use the secure cell phone and not the one you used to call me — we don’t want certain people tracking you down the way we did, and stop you before you secure this Magic. Good luck and don’t fail.”

The phone went dead as he turned and faced the man in the black T-shirt and blue jeans.

“What are your orders?” he asked as he tossed his old cell phone in a trash can.

“To follow your orders. Other than that, we have orders that if we can’t secure the asset in Arizona, we kill him, or her, whoever the case may be.”

“And then kill me.” Vickers frowned.

“It won’t come to that. You know how good we are. I guess you can say we never fail to get our man.”

Vickers frowned as the large man gestured for him to follow. He knew his men to be stone-cold killers if they had to be.

Now he actually felt sorry for the asset known as Magic.

The Pyotr Veliky signaled the Russian flagship of the Red Banner Northern Fleet by signal light. The night was warm and moonless and the giant silhouette of the missile cruiser was hard to discern. Aboard the Pyotr Veliky Sarah, Ryan, and Anya had been allowed out on deck to observe the highly dangerous maneuver that was about to take place. Sarah watched the skies and wondered if their movements were being tracked by someone other than the American NSA or the Russian Security Service with their highly technical tracking satellites. In all honesty she wished it were the Event Group’s KH-11 Black Bird ASAT, code-named Boris and Natasha. It would make her feel more at home if she knew family eyes were on them. But she did know one thing that was certain: the Pyotr Veliky was on her own from this point forward.

The sixteen warships of the Red Banner Northern Fleet made a sharp turn to the east and made for the coast of France while the giant missile cruiser heeled sharply to port, cutting dangerously close to a small Russian destroyer, so much so that the large cruiser sent the smaller vessel rolling high in her wake. The great missile cruiser was now traveling in the opposite direction as the flotilla.

The three guests standing along the stern railing had to hang on tight as the ship rolled hard at full maneuvering speed. Seawater cascaded onto the deck as the powerful warship heeled hard over in what was known as a slink-and-dive turn. This meant that she hadn’t slowed by one single knot as she made the maneuver.

“Whoa!” Ryan said as he made to grab both Sarah and Anya as they came near to sliding over the side of the railing.

The enormous missile cruiser finally straightened and then settled back deeply into the sea as her speed increased even more than western intelligence agencies ever thought possible.

They watched the darkened forms of the sixteen ships as they made for the French coast, hopefully taking any curious, watchful eyes from space with them. The ruse had started and they all hoped it worked because now they were truly on their own.

Sarah was the first to see the after-watch take their battle stations and she was curious to know why.

“We will run the rest of the way to our destination at action stations,” came the voice from the darkened area between the fantail and the aft missile mount. They looked up and saw the first officer as he stepped onto the fantail. Captain Vasily Lienanov nodded a greeting as he joined his guests. “I would have thought you would be down with the rest of the engineers and technicians.”

“We can only listen to so many sad songs of home,” Ryan said as he shook his head. “I mean, talk about gloomy.”

“This is a ship full of frightened men.” The first officer stepped to the railing and breathed deeply of the sea air. “They fear they will never see home again.”

“Strange, I have the same feelings myself, but I’m sure as hell not going to sing about it. Bob Dylan, I ain’t.” Ryan hoped to squeeze some information from a fellow seaman. “Speaking of said event, if we do die, just how far from home will we be?”

The captain smiled and then turned to face Ryan. He looked the small American naval aviator up and down and then turned away. “You should go below; they are fitting our passengers with gear from the ship’s stores.”

“Gear?” Sarah asked as she and Anya joined the men.

“Yes, you will have need of special equipment when you arrive at our destination.”

Ryan exchanged looks with the two women and frowned as he suspected the captain wasn’t going to volunteer anything.

“Can you feel them?” Lienanov asked, looking at the dark waters of the Atlantic.

“Feel what?” Anya asked after no one else inquired.

The captain turned around and faced them. “We have company out there. I don’t know what good they would do us if our Gray friends strike, but it’s comforting to know they’ll be along for the ride.”

“Who?” Ryan asked.

“Out there we have assembled no less than four Akula attack submarines, joined by a screen of two Los Angeles — class attack boats. They are riding shotgun for this little suicide run.”

“Submarines?” Anya asked.

“Yes, so you see, we shan’t die alone.”

The smile of Lienanov made them all nervous.

“Perhaps you should get below and receive your allotted equipment, and get some rest. You will need your strength in about four days’ time.”

Anya, Sarah, and Ryan started to turn. It was Ryan who stopped and confronted Lienanov.

“I know secrecy orders, Captain; we are in the same trade. But as you can see, none of us are ugly, and definitely not Gray in color. Where in the hell is this ship taking us?”

The captain lit a cigarette and then exhaled. “I gave these up when I graduated the academy,” he said, looking at the foul cigarette, and then he tossed it over the side. “Bad habit, smoking and…” He looked directly at Ryan. “Talking.”

Sarah watched the man closely, as did Anya.

“If you must know, Commander Ryan, you will be issued cold-weather gear and, when the time comes, also weaponry.” He turned away and made for the hatchway.

Ryan was stunned as he faced the women.

“You’re the navy man,” Sarah said. “What do you think?”

Ryan shivered in the warm night air.

“Antarctica.”

Greg Worth, a visiting atmospheric scientist from the University of Colorado, watched from the porthole on the hugely expensive international boondoggle known as the space station. He could never get enough of the view. He floated freely while his companions ate their dinnertime meal and laughed at the way the newcomer managed to look out of the window every two minutes.

Dominique Vasturi, an Italian photojournalist, approached Dr. Worth from her position forward. She held a freeze-dried bag of casserole in her hand as she grabbed for the support ring close to the window. She gazed through the glass and saw Earth far below. The sun was just rising over the Asian continent as she joined the curious American.

“I take it home is still there?” She offered Greg some of the terrible tasting casserole. He grimaced and shook his head.

“God, you really don’t appreciate the planet until you can see it from this vantage point,” he said, turning away from the offered meal and the gorgeous Italian photojournalist.

The woman agreed as she zipped the Mylar bag of dry casserole closed. “Well, let’s hope the news footage we saw tonight was not the beginning of something.” She looked out of the porthole. “Because it looks like a long way to fall.”

Greg finally pulled back from the window and then glanced over at the Russian and American astronauts as they went about their business. They were soon joined by Nemi Takiyama, another guest who had arrived only three days before on the same flight as Greg.

“Are you scared — I mean, being out here?”

“I think if they attack, I would just as soon be here as there.” The Japanese scientist glanced out of the window as he floated up to the two observers.

“Okay, everyone, it’s time to power down. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.” Peter Blasinov, a Russian Air Force colonel, started throwing switches that would send the expensive space station into sleep mode.

Greg frowned. The one thing he hated about being here was to be strapped into a sleeping bag — type device and hang from a wall just to get forty winks.

As the three young people moved from the window they heard a sharp alarm sound in module C-11, the next compartment down. They heard the call from one of the U.S. Air Force communications men.

“We have a hatch warning in the physical training module.”

“That can’t be, there’s no one in there.” The Russian maneuvered past the three startled people. The warning buzzer kept up its shrill call. “Shut down that alarm!”

The buzzer stopped and then they felt the entire station shudder.

“What in the hell was that?” Greg asked as he felt the shudder again. “Is it an open hatch venting gas to the outside?”

“No, we haven’t lost atmosphere.” Blasinov quickly took handholds and shot into the physical training module through the connecting tunnel. He saw immediately the hatch ring was turning. He hurriedly floated toward the hatch and tried to force the handle back into the locked position. It started to move back and then a tremendous force outside the door started moving the locking ring back to the open position. “Damn, help me, Lieutenant!” he shouted at the young American communications man. He was floating nearby and his eyes were as wide as spotlights.

“Come on, that’s impossible!”

“That seems to be a moot point at the moment. Something is forcing this seal open — now help me!”

The three young people watched from the module’s opening. Greg sprang forward, quickly traversing the exercise equipment, and then was able to take hold of the door’s locking ring located in the middle of the hatchway.

“Who’s out there?” Dominique asked.

The Japanese weather specialist floated over to assist. As he did he hit the window covering, sending it up and into the composite hull. His eyes widened as he saw just who it was that was turning the handle. He used his feet to spring backward with a small yelp of fear.

“What in the hell is that?” he yelled.

Blasinov looked up. Staring right at him was the most horrible thing he had ever seen. The Gray was helmeted but they could clearly see the yellow-ringed black eyes as they looked inside the station. The thing opened its mouth and he could swear the creature had smiled at him.

“Environmental suits and helmets, quickly!” Blasinov shouted. He fought to hold the handle closed. He was losing the battle. As he chanced another look he saw several more of the strangely dressed Grays as they floated up to the doorway. Too late, the handle turned and opened.

The atmosphere of the station vented outward with an explosive crash of passing air. Men and women were tossed and blown toward the open door. Blasinov was forced out through the three-inch gap between the hatch and the rubber seal. He was crushed as his large body was forced out into space, where it was immediately grabbed by one of the assaulting Grays.

Men and women quickly placed their helmets on in the midst of the flying paper and other debris forced into a whirlwind by the venting oxygen. The Grays opened the hatchway completely, and five of them entered the International Space Station.

Outside the large station, two of the silver-colored saucers held station. They were soon joined by a much larger alien vehicle as the station was raided.

The Gray assault on the blue planet below had begun in earnest.

Major General Walter Shotz watched the monitor and his face turned white as he and two hundred radar and imaging technicians witnessed the International Space Station explode. The devastation was silent as large pieces of composite material, aluminum, and plastic arched into the black void of space.

“Get me General Caulfield on the horn and sound the incursion alarm. We have a serious attack starting on our front door,” he said as calmly as he could, as the horror of what just happened etched deeply into his brain.

9

The blue and white Bell helicopter set down easily on the pad. Admiral Carl Everett, attired in his summer whites, watched as a small crowd gathered around the NASA helipad. They looked as if they were wearing Event Group blue jumpers and for the briefest of moments he thought about home. The illusion was quickly dashed when he saw the horde of Air Police surrounding the group of men and women. He allowed the two-bladed rotors to whine down before the crew chief slid the large door open. As he reached for his seabag the crew chief took it first.

“All this will be brought to your quarters, Admiral; you are scheduled for meetings throughout the night.”

Everett nodded, then reached through the compartment and tapped the pilot on his shoulder and nodded his thanks. He stepped from the helicopter and placed his saucer cap over his blond hair and then came forward. He was quickly approached by a young woman wearing the blue coveralls bearing the NASA emblem on her left breast.

“Admiral, we expected you two days ago,” she said, saluting.

Everett returned the salute and then saw the Air Force lieutenant insignia on her collar.

“Had problems arise, as I’m sure you’ve heard, Lieutenant.” Carl moved forward as the lieutenant caught up.

“Yes, sir, it’s just that one of the propulsion engineers has been screaming bloody murder since your original arrival date came and went. He’s been a real bear, sir.”

Everett turned on the young officer. “Look, Lieutenant…?”

“Branch, sir, Evelyn Branch.”

“Branch, I couldn’t give a damn about any civilian engineer who is upset that a small alien incursion has happened and I was delayed in transit. So inform this asshole, whoever he is, he can—”

“Toad, you son of a bitch, I knew I’d get you out here sooner or later!”

Everett froze. The recent past came flooding back on him as the young lieutenant smiled and then stepped out of the way to join the rest of her team watching the anticipated reunion. Everett turned to find one of his worst nightmares staring him in the face.

United States Navy Master Chief Archibald Jenks stood leaning on a cane. He removed the stub of a cigar and made a kissing motion by pursing his lips. He finally smiled.

The last time Everett had seen the master chief he was being carried off on a stretcher to a local Los Angeles hospital after the Event Group incursion into Brazil and the search for the not-so-mystical El Dorado mine. Jenks was now attired in a lab coat that did his rotund appearance no good at all. His eyes went from Carl to the young lieutenant who stood in line. His eyes wandered over her tight-fitting jumpsuit and then he again made eye contact with Carl and raised his brows twice in succession.

“Master Chief,” he said as he finally found strength in his legs to step forward. He eyed the man up and down and smiled. “Or is it Mr. Jenks?”

“Just Jenks will do, Toad, or if you insist, Professor Jenks, asshole.” He held out his hand.

Carl shook and then looked around at the young people he was surrounded by. “What are you running here, Jenksy, a day-care center?”

Jenks looked at the NASA men and women and replaced the cigar stub in his mouth. “Yeah, it’s like the Amazon all over again, huh? I mean, these kids are young enough to be in high school.” He grinned. “But we did get those kids in the Amazon home again, didn’t we?”

“Yes we did, Chief.”

The chief’s demeanor instantly changed. “After you and that crackhead army major trashed my boat, my baby!”

“Look, Master Chief, Teacher saved all our lives, and with my last look at my pay voucher I was still paying for that damn boat, one dollar a month for the rest of my life.”

“Hah! Got you there, didn’t I? It’s got to be hell at tax time trying to explain that one.”

Everett remembered the beautiful boat, USS Teacher, an experimental river craft of the chief’s design and construction. The genius little engineer had built the most magnificent and advanced boat he had ever seen, only to have Everett and Jack Collins ram it into an ancient gold mine and sink her in a bottomless lagoon. He coughed and cleared his throat.

“And that’s now General Crackhead, Chief,” Carl said, referring to Jack’s new brevet rank.

“Jesus, the military is really hard up, ain’t they?”

“Hard up enough to give me a brevet rank also, you old goat.”

Jenks eyed Everett up and down, his eyes finally settling on the admiral’s shoulder boards for the briefest of moments. Then he removed the stub of cigar and tossed it into the wind.

“Yeah, the navy always gives you the candy before the medicine, if I remember right.” He eyed Carl and then shook his head. “Well, this time I’m afraid you’ll earn it, Toad, my boy.”

The master chief gestured for the young NASA officers to scatter as he and Carl moved toward the elevator on top of the roof. The men and women all looked on in shock, as they had never seen the man that had driven them crazy for the past year so cowed by a mere man before. They immediately had respect for anyone that could do that with the old chief designer.

“Just what in the hell is going on, Master Chief?” Carl asked as Jenks growled at two lieutenants when they tried to get into the elevator with them, sending them scurrying for cover.

“These young folks are going to make you an astronaut, Toad. And the plan is we’re going to try and save this fucked-up planet.” He hit the floor button he wanted. “What for, I’ll never know, as I never found much use for it, or at least the species that occupies it much.”

Carl was ashen faced as the elevator doors slid closed. “Astronaut?”

“That’s right, my boy, a fucking astronaut. That’s what I call military preparedness.” He hesitated and then smiled wider than before. “Admiral.” He laughed all the way to the fifth floor of the astronaut training center.

The space arm of Operation Overlord had its commander.

Virginia Pollock sat next to the bed and reached over to take Niles Compton’s left hand, careful not to touch the cast of his right arm. The doctors had barely managed to save the limb after sixteen hours of complicated surgery. The entire right side of his face was covered in white-gauze bandages and that was the injury that made Virginia tear up. Niles had lost the eye and he would have a scar running down the side of his face for the rest of his life. He had not awakened since her arrival.

She looked up at the silent television as President Camden was seen visiting his comatose predecessor as he lay in bed in severe critical condition, as the multitude of specialists proclaimed he may or may not pull through. Many people saw the disgust in the face of the nation’s first lady as the new man in the Oval Office shook her hand in condolences. It was no secret that the first lady shared her husband’s contempt of the former Speaker of the House; the distaste was hard to miss.

Virginia turned at the sound of a light knock on the door. She crossed the room and opened it.

“Acting Director Pollock?” A small man with glasses stood massaging a briefcase that had seen far better days. Another taller and very much thinner man was standing behind him. He looked more nervous than the smaller gentleman.

“Dr. Pollock,” she corrected apprehensively, as she didn’t know these two in the slightest.

The tall man nudged the smaller man in front of him.

“Of course, my apologies.” The man eyed the taller, dark-haired Virginia nervously.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” she asked abruptly, not wanting to disturb Niles.

“Dr. Pollock, my name is Sanford, Max Sanford. I am the director of the National Archives, and this is Mr. Halliburton West, of the General Accounting Office.”

A light came on inside Virginia’s brilliant head and she stepped aside to allow the men in. They stood before the bed and looked down on Niles. The smaller man looked as if he were about to cry. The taller one moved to inspect Niles’s face. He also shook his head.

“God, look what they have done to him,” Sanford said. He straightened and then placed the briefcase he was carrying on a nearby chair.

“I take it you gentlemen are here because of the succession regulations?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes, Doctor.” Sanford looked from Virginia toward a departing shot of Camden on television as he waved his hands at the reporters gathered at the scene. “As you know — or may not know,” he corrected as he looked down on Niles’s still form, “we have to brief the new president on Department 5656 no later than ten days after he takes office. That’s the law as set down by President Roosevelt in the forties.”

Virginia turned away and cringed. The thought of an enemy of not only the president but of Niles Compton taking command of the Group made her almost ill.

“Doctor, we have no desire to do that, but according to law we have no choice. My job is to budget Department 5656 and hide just where that budget has come from. There is no choice but to brief the new commander-in-chief on your department’s charter and budgetary limitation, or its extremes,” said West.

“No.”

They all three turned. Niles was awake.

“Niles,” Virginia said as she hurriedly approached the bed.

“I will … order … Virginia to … blow up … my facility before…” Niles drifted away as Virginia took his good left hand in her own.

“What do you want us to do, Niles?”

The two men exchanged brief looks and then a conspiracy-laced mask crossed their features as they too stepped up to the bed.

“That man is not to know about us … until … Overlord is … off … the ground. He … is … never to … know … about Magic.”

“What’s Magic?” Sanford asked in a whisper.

“An Event Group asset that occupies the house you gentlemen paid for in Arizona,” Virginia said, just wanting the red tape boys to be silent as she got her orders.

Both men knew of the expenditures in time and material for something just south of Chato’s Crawl, Arizona, but had never thought anything about it. They nodded their heads, still not understanding.

“We … need … your … help … gentlemen,” Niles whispered. “Get lost until … until…” Niles coughed lightly and then opened his good eye against the pain he was feeling. “You’ll know when … the departmental briefing on … my … Group … can … take … place … Just watch the news.”

The two men exchanged looks. They had battled with Niles Compton for over fifteen years, and Senator Garrison Lee before him, on budgets and allocations for the top-secret agency. They grimaced at the thought of lying to the president, but nodded their agreement anyway.

“We’ll do what we can, Dr. Compton,” West said.

“Good … good,” he said as his good eye closed. “Virginia?”

“Yes,” she said as she leaned in closer.

“You have to … help … Overlord … make sure … our … people … do … their jobs. Carl and Jack will need … their help. The unexpected … will … arise … and I only … trust our Group, understand?”

Virginia backed away when Niles gestured for the two men to come forward.

“Thank you … I’m afraid all … I can … guarantee … you … is a … possible … hangman’s noose.”

West straightened, smiled, and then allowed the director of the National Archives to answer for them both. “A noose doesn’t sound that scary, Doctor. Have you ever been a bureaucrat?”

“It’s quite boring, I assure you,” Sanford finished.

The C-130 Hercules made a sharp turn to the starboard as the Air Force transport awaited clearance to enter Hawaiian airspace. The trip across the Pacific had been fraught with choppy weather and high winds. The main reason for that was the combat altitude they flew since leaving Edwards Air Force Base in the high desert of Southern California. The Hercules never once rose above two thousand feet of altitude, necessitating the extended flight time. They had four extra flight crews on board for relief because of the strain caused by flying so low an altitude.

The skies had been cleared of all civilian aircraft and the world travelers were not at all happy about that as people were all stuck in differing ports of call with no way to get home. The Air Force knew if they had any idea just what could be waiting for them they wouldn’t complain that much. Thus far the only thing the Hercules radar had picked up was the many combat air patrols the navy was running to protect the Seventh Fleet that had hightailed it out of Pearl two days before.

Strapped in his seat and dozing, Henri Farbeaux had relieved himself of his French Army uniform and replaced it with the desert BDUs — battle dress uniforms — of the United States Army. The only difference was the small French flag on the left breast. The colonel had slept through some of the roughest air of the flight.

Jack Collins, now dressed the same as Henri, and replete with two black stars on his collar, read from a thick file that had been delivered to him, left by a Pentagon courier at Edwards before they departed. Jack took a deep breath, then unsnapped the seat belt holding him into the barbaric canvas seat. He maneuvered around a few of the resting crew that had been relieved an hour before. The men were worn out and slept soundly. He sat next to Farbeaux and slapped him lightly on the knee. Will Mendenhall stirred across the aisle and moved his cap from his eyes to look at Collins. Jack nodded his head and slapped Henri once more.

The Frenchman woke and yawned. He saw Collins and sat up. Will noticed the Frenchman didn’t look thrilled to awaken to his old enemy staring at him.

“I would prefer to wake up to a beautiful woman, General.” He straightened up and yawned again.

“Yes, I suspect you would.”

“Are we there yet?” he asked.

“Almost.” Jack opened the folder and then waved Will over. “I need you to witness this, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.” Mendenhall crossed over and sat on the opposite side of Farbeaux.

“Colonel,” Jack held out an official looking document, “before the attack at Camp David, the president signed an order.” He gave the paper to Farbeaux. “This order was also countersigned by the French president.”

“Two men that are at this very moment very possibly dead?” Henri said with a smirk.

“Possibly,” Jack answered. “But that doesn’t make this piece of paper any less enforceable. It is a binding and legal document.”

Henri Farbeaux looked it over and his brows rose.

“Basically it absolves you of all crimes on U.S. and French soil. The price of this is your complete and utter cooperation in the aforementioned Operation Overlord.”

“Why such an honor, General Collins?” He saw Mendenhall roll his eyes.

“It was actually my idea. The alternative was seeing you taken away in handcuffs for immediate prosecution for crimes against both nations, and then for whatever nation was willing to wait in line to get at you.”

“I see. Am I supposed to say thank you?” he asked with not so much as a small smile.

“No, Colonel, you are not.” Jack closed the large file and sat back. “It was either you die in prison, or—”

“Die somewhere else?” he said, cutting Jack off.

“Exactly. But I’ll profess that your fate will be no different from mine or Will’s. I need you, Colonel, for what … I don’t know yet. But I suspect it will be dirty and in your field of expertise. You are going to be my dirty-deeds man, along with your duties as my chief of staff.”

“Oh, joy.” Henri folded the paper and placed in the large breast pocket. “Have you any idea what it is we’re assigned to?” Even Mendenhall leaned forward, hoping for an answer.

“Not a thing, other than we are a part of a fast-reaction force of very special soldiers.”

“Special? You mean expendable?”

Jack smiled and then relaxed. “All soldiers are expendable, Colonel, you know that.”

“That’s why I got out of the business and went to freelancing.”

“And look how good that turned out,” Will said with an even bigger smile. Then he looked at the silver eagles on the man’s collar and decided that maybe chiding him wasn’t the best idea at the moment. For all he knew the Frenchman had stolen a gun from one of his guards earlier.

As they relaxed an airman came forward with his mic cable dangling from his flight helmet.

“General, the pilot thought you may want to see this. Right over there on the port side.” The airman moved off back to the flight deck.

The three men moved to one of the few windows on the large transport and looked down. Three miles away was a sight none of them had ever been witness to before.

“Wow, I always wondered what Mr. Everett and Ryan played with when they were with the navy,” Will said.

In battle formation was the entire Seventh Fleet of the United States Navy Pacific Command, with the exception of the far eastern battle squadrons. In the direct center was the USS George Washington, flanked by her entire support group.

“They are scattering to keep the Grays guessing. The president and the other leaders were smart enough to get every warship in the world worth anything at sea at the first sign of trouble. This group is out of Pearl and every other Asian port of call and is now awaiting orders.” Jack returned to his seat as the Hercules started its climb to altitude for landing at Hickam Air Force Base.

As the George Washington battle group steamed beneath them far below, Jack Collins knew that the task force was more than likely headed to the same area of the world where they were destined to fight the war — and the new general had no sound idea where that was.

Giles Camden was wide awake at three o’clock in the morning. He walked around the Oval Office and paused to look at the ornate rug in front of the Lincoln desk that depicted the seal for the president of the United States. He smiled as he remembered the fight the past six years to occupy this office. Once called the most hated politician in the nation by the left wing and middle of the road newspapers and news outlets, until finally his friends of the more right-wing-leaning news organizations started distancing themselves from him, he now stood on the precipice of complete power. It was now time to consolidate that power.

He walked to the window and looked out at the extensive White House lawn and the many batteries of National Advanced Surface-to-Air Missile Systems (NASAMS) that crowded the green grass. Air Force personnel manned each battery and three companies of Marines had joined the force of capital police and Secret Service agents that stood a watchful eye over all. To cap off the entire defense were fifty Delta Force operatives spread throughout the grounds. The acting president placed his hands inside his pockets and cursed his luck that the very same action of the Grays that placed him inside the Oval Office was also the action that was going to keep him, although temporarily, out of it. The Secret Service director had informed him personally that he was to be moved to a more secure location within the hour. He had only come to express his condolences to the first lady in a more private manner.

Camden sniffed at the rebuke he received when the first lady refused to meet with him for the second time.

He left the window and paced to the boxed and sealed articles of the man he was replacing that were stacked in the far corner of the room. He sneered at the personal effects of the comatose man who had hated him beyond measure. He wanted to kick out at the sealed containers but refrained when a knock sounded at the door and it immediately opened.

A young Secret Service agent stepped aside to allow the new president’s press and public relations team inside. Two men entered and the Secret Service agent left without so much as a word or a glance back. Camden had noticed the tightness of the White House staff and security people toward him since he had arrived that afternoon. He knew he had caused considerable controversy when he abstained from staying at the temporary quarters they had waiting for him at Blair House, and had ordered the immediate transfer to his real offices. The first lady had moved with her children into the suite of rooms next to her husband’s at the hospital.

“Mr. President, we’re getting flak from CNN and NBC Overnight about your hurried entrance into the White House while the nation is still in shock over the attacks. We’re going to take some gut punches on this.”

Camden eyed the two men and then walked to the window, looked out, and then quickly sat down for the first time behind the Lincoln desk.

“I cannot project the power we need with other nations by hiding over at Blair House. For the good of the nation we need to be seen on the job. Besides, the damn Secret Service is moving me to a more secure facility very soon, so CNN and NBC can report that one if they want. In the meantime you people get some fodder of me at the White House and on the job to calm the people.”

“Yes, sir.” The younger of the two journalistic wunderkinds wrote in his notepad. He stopped and then looked up. “We had a call from General Caulfield’s office. He was concerned that your earlier statement undermined the seriousness of the attacks in Japan, Iran, and the International Space Station, by saying that the issues are not as clear cut as they may seem. You stated, without running it by us or your national security advisor, that the attack in Iran was unclear at this point as to who was involved or responsible. That the situation was still unclear because of a possible coup attempt by Ahmadinejad.”

The second man walked to one of the two couches and pulled a Washington Post from his briefcase. “Also, that an ‘accident’ had occurred on the space platform. Mr. President, it has leaked out everywhere that the so-called incident was actually recorded by Space Command. There is direct evidence undermining your statements.”

“Gentlemen, we need to slow this thing down until we get a grasp of what is really happening.”

The two young press gurus exchanged looks.

“Sir, wouldn’t it be wise to continue the military policy of the former staff and cabinet at this time? If anything goes wrong no one would hold you responsible. But if it goes right, you can take the lion’s share of the accolades.”

Camden stood and faced the men with his best Harry Truman pose as he leaned over with fists planted firmly on the desktop.

“From what I understand of this so-called plan of the former administration, we were to strip our defenses here at home and support operations overseas if the main attack occurs there. This I will not do. This country will not be attacked while our forces are out protecting former antagonists.”

“But sir—”

“That’s all, gentlemen. Please have a press release in my hands by no later than airtime for the morning shows to broadcast. I want to make it clear that we are responding accordingly and that the American people will be protected — so much so that I am going to partially lift the no-fly ban in the continental U.S. no later than noon today.” He smiled. “After all, America needs to go to work, don’t they? Now, you two find out from the Secret Service just where it is they are going to hide me, and get that statement prepared.”

The two young men stood and with one last look back at Camden, nodded their heads and left the office.

The younger of the two ran a hand through his hair and then looked at Camden’s secretary, who looked as fresh as the morning as she glared at them. Then he eyed the Air Force colonel sitting in a chair against the wall. He was holding a large aluminum briefcase. The young press secretary knew that the briefcase was called “the football”; inside it were the codes the president needed to launch the nuclear weapons under his direct command. He took his partner by the arm and steered him away when he too was caught looking at the officer. The Secret Service detail looked them over and immediately dismissed them, then stepped to the Oval Office door and opened it.

“Ten minutes, Mr. President.” The man closed the door and eyed the two press men closely as they moved away from the door and into the hallway.

“Do you know what that little meeting reminded me of?” the press secretary asked as he looked around him to make sure no one was in earshot.

“I can think of a few things,” the taller of the two said as he tossed the edition of the Washington Post in the trash receptacle.

“The last few days inside the bunker in Berlin. Why, I would—”

“That’s enough; we both know that our new acting president has ears everywhere.”

“That’s what I mean, my friend. This is a little frightening and this is no game that’s going on out there. An accident on the space station? Unclear what really happened in Iran? If he keeps that up he won’t have a military friend left in the country, because even those he’s influenced over the years will run for cover.”

“Well, come on, we have to go play Joseph Goebbels and get this press release ready.”

The younger of the two got a pained look on his face.

“Oh, that was a low blow.”

In the late afternoon the populace of India’s largest city went about their routine in the crowded confines of that nation’s most advanced and cultured metropolis. Home to its entertainment industry, and with its natural deep-water port, it was also the commercial center for the entire country. With a population of over thirteen million people it easily outsized the nation’s capital, New Delhi, by many millions.

Lieutenant Colonel Rahim Rajiv was on leave from the Indian Air Force and was in the city to visit his ailing mother. He had just left her small apartment and was waiting on a cab inside the crowded market district of the city. He saw a taxi a block down and started waving his hand. He was in uniform but that didn’t mean much inside India, as the military was not very popular and never had been among the vast population of the country. The men and women of India would never understand the expenditures of the government in the pursuit of new ways to kill their fellow man — even with the threat of Pakistan on their doorstep. The cab approached and then slowed and then immediately sped up and passed the uniformed colonel. He frowned and started searching for another when the loud rumble sounded far above the skyscrapers of the city.

Thousands of pedestrians and street vendors bent low as thunder boomed in a clear evening sky. Rajiv flinched as the rumble subsided and managed a look upward. Streaks of lightning suddenly lit up the sky, forcing the colonel to duck his head again, this time behind a cart of fresh fruit. He again looked skyward and saw that dark clouds were beginning to form out of the clear evening air. He frowned as he watched, thinking this weather pattern was anything but normal. The clouds went from white and fluffy to dark and menacing in a matter of mere seconds. He stood and walked out into the street, causing traffic to stop. People were honking horns and screaming obscenities at him as he watched the clouds start to rotate in a counterclockwise motion.

“What the hell?” He shaded his eyes as electrical discharges started in earnest. Yellow and white bolts streaked across the sky as the cloud cover intensified. The wind began and he lost his saucer cap, but didn’t notice as many more people started to leave their vehicles to witness the strange weather.

The clouds turned dark and then the first hailstone struck his exposed head. He ducked under a theater marquee as the hail pummeled cars and people as they broke for cover. The wind had increased to fifty plus miles per hour and the clouds continued to form what looked like a hurricane above the city. Only this formation was defined and clear and looked like a special effect from some multimillion-dollar science fiction film.

The colonel started to get a cold feeling in his stomach as the lightning increased in intensity. Blue, red, and yellow streaks that resembled no electrical storm he had ever seen before struck the tall spires of the city’s skyscrapers. He estimated the rotating clouds that were swirling above Mumbai were at approximately twenty thousand feet. He pulled his cell phone from his uniform jacket and punched in the number for his air force base just outside the city. The phone didn’t ring and as he looked down the lighted screen went dark, just as the power to the multitude of buildings blinked once and then went out.

A tremendous rumbling sounded and he heard a woman scream. She was soon joined by others as the lightning started striking the street and buildings around them. Colonel Rahim kneeled low as the most horrid sound he had ever heard pierced the dark skies above his head. It was like a deep, bass tuba had gone wild. The sound reverberated and shook the large buildings around him. He felt the sound through the soles of his shoes and then it broke windows in those same structures. He placed his hands over his ears as the tuba sound increased. It was joined by an ear-splitting crack, and as he looked up his eyes widened in terror as the first of six saucers broke through the bottom of the hurricane-like formation. Each time one was seen flying out of the extreme hole that had formed in the swirling mass above, the tuba sound and reverberation echoed, ear-splitting decibels tearing through the city. Six of the metallic saucers broke free and immediately spread over the city with Mach 1 speed.

Men and women started to panic and break their cover as the hail and noise increased. Men fell in their scramble to move someplace, anyplace other than where they were. Then the sound went dead. As Rahim looked up he was pushed to the ground by an air pressure wave that flattened everyone in the city who had been standing. Glass shattered and even the headlights on cars burst as the pressure changed so rapidly that the atoms that made up the glass broke free of one another.

Then the colonel saw it. A massive saucer, larger than three city blocks, broke free of the wormhole and as it did it took most of the clouds down with it. The ship was so large that the storm accompanied it through the atmosphere. Rajiv braced himself as best he could against an iron fire hydrant as the giant saucer fell through the sky and slammed into the tallest buildings in the direct center of the city. The buildings were crushed under the weight of the great saucer as it pancaked the Reliance Communications skyscraper at the heart of Mumbai. Two hundred buildings next to it disintegrated as the extreme weight of the saucer exploded into the city. It came to rest, crushing the lives of two hundred thousand people in the rubble of the skyscrapers.

The six smaller saucers split apart. While three of them hovered over the city-sized ship, the other three made for the Port of Mumbai and splashed into the deep water. The wave they created capsized three container ships tied to the largest dock in the world. They were smashed by the sea and sent to the bottom.

Colonel Rajiv stood, his head bleeding from ten large cuts and his eardrums burst. He looked at the devastation around him and knew the world had changed forever.

The lightning decreased and the cloud cover started to dissipate. As the city started to rise from the dust and the flying and falling rubble, the screams of people could be heard and then the panic started.

One of the largest cities on planet earth was now under Gray attack.

The extreme size of the Pentagon situation room was alight with massive projected high-definition screens that showed the world as it was on that first day. Army, navy and air force personnel manned every console in the theater-style complex inside the fourth ring of the building. The center was located sixteen floors beneath the hustle and bustle far overhead.

Marine Corps four-star general Stanley Roquefort stood on the upper balcony at a large glass podium and watched the main console in the center of the room. He saw the swirling weather pattern over western India start to dissipate. He pursed his lips and almost reached for the red phone beside the podium, but held his hand in check as he tried to see far beyond the national weather service satellite. He cursed under his breath as his vision was limited to nothing more than a cloud of smoke rising above the city of Mumbai. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the images of 9/11 when the twin towers had collapsed. The general’s frustration was evident in his tone. His words were straight but a little louder than he was known for.

“I need Space Command to get me eyes on Mumbai now, not later!” He adjusted his view to the naval assets the United States had in the immediate area and saw that the Nimitz battle group was too far south in the Arabian Sea to get eyes on target. “Do we have an Air Force asset in the area so we can get some drones in the sky?”

His adjutant walked up and handed him a slip of flimsy and he scanned it.

“The only thing we have are Predators and they’re in Afghanistan, too far off at the moment. We’re trying to get Pakistan to get one up in the air but it’s business as usual there. They won’t lift a finger at the moment to assist India until they know what’s going on,” the Air Force colonel said and then moved off.

“I want a full squadron of F-15s from Bagram Airfield in Afghanistan to get into the air with tanker support. I don’t care what territory they invade, I need real-time intel on this ASAP! Tell the goddamn Paks to get the hell out of our way. If they refuse over-flight shoot their aircraft down! Contact Space Command and get me a recon bird retasked for western India, now!”

The men sat at their consoles and started making calls. The projection screens started showing the displacement of the Indian Air Force as they started to scramble their fighters.

“I need Indian naval assets in the Arabian Sea projected. Come on, let’s move!” The general reached for the red phone on his podium. The direct line to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff connected immediately.

“Caulfield,” came the tired voice.

The general was a personal friend and fellow Marine of the chairman; they had served together in both Iraq and Afghanistan and knew each other and how they would react. Both Marine Corps men were not used to having to wait to make decisions.

“Max? Stan. We have an event happening real time in Mumbai. As far as we can see with only weather sats is a smoking hole in the center of the city. Whatever happened, it took out a good portion of downtown. We had a massive weather front that coincides with what we were briefed on to look for. Max, I think this is it.” The general went on to explain what he had ordered done and Caulfield agreed with the decisions thus far. “I recommend we go to DEFCON One and set our overseas status accordingly.”

Caulfield hesitated, which was unlike the general. “No, not at this time. Go to yellow and bring the alert level up, that’s all at this time.”

“India may be calling for assistance at any time. I would like to start to move at least the Nimitz battle group to a northerly station in the Arabian Sea.”

“You have permission to turn the group around, but no action is to be taken at this time. Listen, Stan, we don’t know if this is the only incursion that’s going to happen. So wait, I have to inform the president of what’s taking place. We have had major terror attacks in Afghanistan and the rebels inside Iraq are starting to smell the blood in the water. They think we’re too busy to fight so they are taking advantage. I have to tell the new commander-in-chief, and God knows which direction he’ll come out swinging. This may have a direct effect on our Overlord efforts.”

“Shit, good luck on that one,” he said with a frown. “I wish—”

“There is another severe weather pattern forming over mainland China!” came the loud voice of the weather and atmospheric officer for Asia and Asia Minor. “It looks like we have another event.”

“Hold on, Max.” Roquefort scanned the data streaming across the far-left screen. He again turned to the phone. “We may have another incursion, Max. This one is forming … Oh, shit, it … it’s forming right over Beijing.”

The alarms started sounding and even more military personnel started running to other stations.

“Got to go, Max. Get some clear definition of our orders, especially our ROE when it comes to defending other nations’ territories.” He was asking for direct Rule of Engagement parameters for his overseas commands.

The line went dead but Roquefort was unaware as he lowered the phone. He watched the hurricane-like formation begin in earnest over China.

“God help us.”

It was still evening when the multitude of citizens rallied in the streets and squares of the capital. The nation was still in mourning and shock over the sudden death of the president. Signs and posters bearing the man’s likeness were held high in recognition of the forward-thinking man who had replaced a tyrant four years before.

As the million-plus men, women, and children milled the streets, few noticed the surface-to-air batteries as they motored into the city. They did become somewhat apprehensive when the Chinese National Army started to take up positions on every street corner and darkened alley, and hundreds of citizens of China’s capital city thought it was beginning to look as if the acting president was getting ready to start a crackdown on the rights and privileges they had started to receive under their dead leader’s sponsorship.

The attack on Camp David had aired live in China, and most were aware of the devastating news that it was an attack initiated by an extraterrestrial source. Thanks to the advances of the World Wide Web and the country’s new right to use it freely, the idea that the attack had been conducted by an alien enemy was not as farfetched as it had once been. Most citizens had watched in quiet fascination as the president of the United States had explained the timeline of events leading to the historic meeting of the great powers at Camp David.

Xiang Lei, a newspaper reporter for the Xinhua News Agency, the equivalent of the Associated Press, watched the soldiers dispersing into the crowded streets with trepidation. He took out his cell phone to call his editor about the developing deployment of troops inside the capital. As he connected with his office he heard a click and then nothing. He looked at the phone and tried several buttons again. The battery was fully charged but the face of the instrument had gone dark.

“Damn, now’s not the time for this,” he mumbled. He looked around for a phone kiosk. As he did he saw several other men and women trying their phones and he could tell from their reactions and cursing that they were also having trouble. Suddenly the street lights went out and as he looked up he saw that dark clouds had rolled in. There had been rain earlier in the day, but the skies had cleared just before the sun started to set. Now it looked as if the storm was returning. He cursed his luck again and began to walk.

“Look at that,” he heard several people say as he crossed the wide avenue in front of the National Ballet of China. He saw that the many citizens who had been watching the evening performance, along with some of the dance company, had moved out of the large theater and were pointing to the sky. He again looked up and saw that the clouds had doubled in size and were now moving in a slow, counterclockwise pattern against the increasing winds. His hair was tousled by static electricity, and then he felt the first raindrops.

The crash of thunder sounded and he heard the nervous laughter of the few dance troupe members still braving the rain. The clouds increased in size and speed of motion and then the first lightning strikes burst from the formation. Soon a blaring warning sounded that momentarily drowned out the blast and crash of lightning and thunder from above. The air raid sirens that stood dormant since the Vietnam War began to sound. Lightning again flashed as the newspaper man ran for cover.

He turned as the first frightened screams joined with the cacophony of noise as fist-sized hailstones struck men and women as they also started to run for cover. Two million people had been caught in the open and even the soldiers broke and tried desperately to find shelter.

Blue, yellow, and white lightning lit the early evening as if a million large artillery pieces had gone off at one time. Buildings were struck and several hundred mourners died in an instant as the tentacles of electricity reached for the ground. Like fingers of a terrible octopus they reached out and fried anyone near the strikes.

Xiang Lei had to brave the danger to be an eyewitness to the event happening in the capital. As the air raid sirens sounded he stepped out of the protection of a store awning and looked skyward. His eyes widened when he saw the impossible pattern in the sky. The clouds were moving at an incredible rate of speed in that horrifying circular path. Tendrils of dark cumulus broke free of the high winds, dissipated, and then more, darker and thicker clouds formed to take their place. The center was directly overhead and he accidentally let out a moan of despair when he saw stars inside the clear center of swirling moisture.

The deep sound of bass drums and horns seemed to come from everywhere, enough so that he had to cover his ears at the assault. It reverberated through the capital, drowning out the frightened screams of the populace. Windows shattered and dead streetlights burst and fell into the throng of people. Xiang Lei watched in awe at the amazing spectacle. He was bumped and pushed aside as soldiers broke in earnest from their posts. Missile batteries and gun emplacement crews, along with the crews of armored personnel carriers, ran in abject terror.

With a loud explosion of a million bass drums and a vibration the likes of which the newspaper man had never felt, the first saucer broke into the skies over Beijing. It was soon followed by five more. Then the world was turned upside down as the saucers started firing infused-light weapons at specific targets throughout the city. People panicked as they fled into any building they could. Soldiers tried to fight the rising tide of humanity and return to their batteries after being harangued by their officers, but it was too late.

The skies erupted and the swirling clouds burst apart as the largest object Xiang Lei had ever seen fell from the sky. It looked like it wasn’t under any form of power. It fell like a rock. The giant saucer hit the speed of sound just as it struck the China Central Television building and the International Finance Center. The bulk of the massive ship slammed into and crushed the Natural History museum in the center of the city, pounding it to dust along with the accumulated knowledge of five thousand years of Chinese history. The middle and southern seas, lakes that had stood the turbulent test of time at the heart of the city, burst into mist as the saucer came to rest. Steam exploded from the moisture of the large lakes and the waters evaporated in an instant. Fifty square blocks were crushed. A million and half Chinese citizens were crushed or burned to death in the resulting fires.

Xiang Lei never saw the impact of the saucer as the pressure wave preceding the strike had crushed anyone exposed to the sudden downrush of air. His body had turned into a fine mist, blown away on the winds.

Three of the hundred-foot-diameter saucers broke from the city and made for the deep-water port of Tianjin. The three vehicles were fired upon by coastal batteries, twenty-millimeter rounds bursting against the hulls of the speeding ships. The rounds glanced off the smooth surfaces of the metallic saucers. One by one they smashed into the sea. As ships were capsized and dock workers were swept away and killed by the small tsunami created by the impact of the three invaders, the UFOs sank deep into Bohai Bay.

The three remaining saucers came low to the ground, hovering just above the larger object as it continued to settle into the crushed city center beneath.

A loud crack was felt and heard as the top of the giant saucer exploded outward. Cables the thickness of telephone poles burst from the vehicle. On the tip of each was a pointed arrowhead of an anchor as they pierced the evening with a scream. They rose to an altitude of seven thousand feet. The apparatus resembled a basket as it covered the skies. After reaching their highest arc, and then starting down into the outskirts of Beijing, they slammed into the ground, buildings, and homes, and then buried themselves deeply with an explosion of earth, concrete, steel, and humanity.

A half hour after the fall of the giant saucer into the center of Beijing, twenty of China’s latest generation of fighter jets, the Chengdu J-20, overflew the strike area. What the pilots saw was a glowing mass of lines that covered the entire city. The bluish glow emanated from the tendrils of cable that had been launched from the saucer. The entire city looked as if it had been covered in a large woven basket that glowed blue in the darkening skies of China.

The second assault on the planet had taken place. The nations of the world trembled as the true power of the enemy was demonstrated with extreme violence.

Jack Collins, Will Mendenhall, and Henri Farbeaux had been met at Hickam Air Force Base and escorted by Humvee to Schofield Barracks. As they passed through the main gate they saw elements of the 25th Infantry Division loading gear onto two-and-a-half-ton trucks. It was Farbeaux who noticed that the busiest area they had seen on their drive through the post was the activity at the main armory. Jack also saw but didn’t comment on the fact that the division was loading up live ordance. He also noticed that they were being escorted by four Humvees with the 2nd Stryker Brigade Combat Team designation on the bumpers of the vehicles. He exchanged looks with Will, who just raised his brows from the front seat.

Before they had offloaded from the C-130 Hercules they had been briefed on the events in India and China. Since they had left the west coast of the United States the world had become a battleground.

The five Humvees drove to the oldest section of Schofield and pulled onto a gravel drive that had seen better days. Jack recognized the area as the oldest barracks still standing in the state of Hawaii. The last men to occupy this area left their souls and their lives in the most horrible places on Earth: Bataan; Corregidor; Luzon. The area had not seen live activity since the end of World War II.

Jack stepped out of the back space of the Humvee and started to reach for his bag and briefcase, but was halted by the staff sergeant who had accompanied them from Hickam.

“Sir, we’ll take responsibility for your gear. You’re needed inside ASAP.”

Jack took his briefcase with a nod of his head and without comment as the occupants of the other four Humvees exited with M-4 automatic weapons. They took up station at the front door of the old wooden structure.

“I think the last time I saw one of these old barracks was at a museum at the site of old Fort Ord in Monterey, California,” Will said as he saw the peeling light green and brown paint that once covered the building.

“Hey, my father graduated basic training from there, Captain, watch it,” Jack chided as they were escorted up the old wooden stairs.

“I think you people love old things so much they obviously felt at home bringing you here.” Henri touched the old wooden railing of the stairs and snatched his hand away when he picked up a splinter. “But then again, rank has its privileges,” he grumbled as he followed the two Americans inside the dimly lit and dusty barracks.

Jack stood for a moment and then removed his sunglasses against the dimness of the old building. His sense of history was alive and well as he saw a worn picture of the World War II pinup girl, Betty Grable, back to the camera, looking over her shoulder, in her famous pose that had excited men since 1944. Her legs — the bottom half of the print — were missing.

The sergeant gestured to three chairs in the center of the once green linoleum. As the three men looked around, the sergeant from the 2nd Stryker Combat Team went from window to window and pulled down the hastily installed blinds. He nodded his head and then left the barracks through the back door. The lighting was yellowish and reminded Will of an old classroom, one that he was not particularly comfortable in. A man in a black suit entered and placed a tray of coffee on a small table. Jack quickly noticed he had the credentials of the FBI hanging from his neck. Without a word the man left and the three were left alone.

Henri walked over and poured himself a cup of black coffee, and then returned to his seat. Will also sat but Jack remained standing. Soon two more FBI agents entered, wheeling in a large stand, and set up a fifty-two-inch monitor they plugged into a long extension cord.

As they left they saw a figure enter the main barracks from the old room in the back that used to be the quarters of the platoon drill instructor. The gentleman was short and stocky with a head of distinguished gray hair. He was wearing a brown suit of good style and an old-fashioned bow tie. His glasses were thick and his beard as gray as his hair.

He walked up and studied Jack for a moment, then nodded his head at Mendenhall and Farbeaux.

“As imposing as I was led to believe,” he said in a thick British accent, placing his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. He smiled and turned his attention to Jack. “I once knew a man, a rather big gentleman, he had the kind of stature that you have. Oh, he was a bear of a man, blind in one eye and mean as a snake. You remind me of him.”

Jack looked down on the man and didn’t say a word, not knowing if he were friend or foe.

“He had the odd name of Garrison, and the poor sot chose a life of military adventure over the thrills of politics many years ago. I believe he ended up running some sort of boring think tank underneath some desert or other in the States. Does this sound familiar to you, General Collins?”

Jack saw the stern look that replaced the smile for the briefest of moments before the friendly grin returned.

“Sir, I have never heard of such a man, and am not aware of any think tank under any desert, in America or any other country.” Jack remained still, watching the man who had just tested him, for what reason he didn’t know. He chanced a glance back at Will and Henri and saw that they were both stone faced.

“Yes, I believe you are just like this man, this Garrison Lee, General Collins.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir.”

“Yes, that’s a position I prefer, but alas I don’t have the luxury of time to play my little games.” He held out a soft hand for Jack to shake. “In my country I am known as Lord Harrison Durnsford, of Her Majesty’s MI6.”

Jack shook his hand and then released the manicured fingers. He gestured to the two men seated behind him as Mendenhall and Farbeaux stood. Henri continued to sip his coffee with his cold blue eyes on the English lord, one of the queen’s spies.

“May I introduce Captain—”

“Newly promoted Captain William Mendenhall.” He shook Will’s hand. “A soldier who has risen through the regular army ranks, which I admire very much.” Lord Durnsford slowly turned to face the Frenchman. “And this is Colonel Henri Farbeaux, a man I am most familiar with, as he has recently been absolved of many, many crimes inside the borders of the Empire. I learned to become a grand admirer of your exploits, Colonel, even though my organization once had a kill order out on you.”

Henri sat his coffee on the vacated chair and stepped forward and to shake the Englishman’s hand. Jack noticed he remained quiet, as a man under scrutiny should.

Lord Durnsford turned his attention back to Jack. “General, we have little time before your rather dangerous flight to the south. I pulled my strings and then even stamped my feet to get this meeting with you before your departure.”

“Well, then, I guess you won out,” Jack said as he sat down in his chair.

The man from MI6 again rocked on his heels and waited for Jack to get comfortable.

“Gentlemen, it is most fitting that our first meeting takes place here. After all, it was at this very post and at the naval base in the harbor that World War II started for the American race, and most fitting that your war begins here also.”

Henri felt the setup even before Jack did. Mendenhall knew something was up but wasn’t sure what it was.

“Gentlemen, since the assault on your Camp David, we have lost the services of not only the driving force behind Operation Overlord, the president, but also a man we now know will be desperate for support from the world — the president of China. The German chancellor was officially pronounced dead at three A.M. These men were three very important cogs in the alliance.”

Lord Durnsford paced away from the three attentive men and then lowered his head with his hands still behind his back, like a college instructor lecturing a group of students, which was exactly what Jack felt like. Henri was taking it like he did when he was in War College in France — bored. He took a drink of his coffee.

“Gentlemen, the alliance will not stand in the face of these attacks.” Durnsford turned and gave the three a tentative smile. “My department says so, and so does your CIA, or at least the director of said agency. The biggest threat outside of the Gray incursion is the acting president of the United States. We surmise that this … gentleman will not fulfill his obligation as laid down by the men before him. He will call it ‘national priorities,’ of course, and most likely he will ask for and receive the backing of the American people in this time of crisis. He is very persuasive that way.”

“Lord Durnsford, we know and understand what the temporary man in the White House is capable of. He’s a hawk and lover of the military, but only when it suits his needs. He will make friends very quickly in the halls of the Pentagon with men of equal ambitions.”

“As I said, General, you are Senator Lee’s double, or at the very minimum, related to him in some way. Well, we have an answer for him.” He pulled a gold pocket watch from his vest and snapped it open. “We are short of time, so I will not beat around the proverbial bush as you Americans like to say. The director of your … think tank, Dr. Niles Compton, is a very dear friend of mine, one I have had many run-ins with, but a man immensely respected in my offices. You, General Collins, are the answer to the alliance falling apart — a little more so since the Camp David incident.”

Jack was stunned that this English lord knew about Niles Compton just as he claimed to know Garrison Lee, but he remained silent, not revealing his surprise.

“He foresaw this happening in the event something took place — not that he predicted the attack and the succession of power in your country. He was my friend and if we lose him we have lost one of the best hopes for our world. You gentlemen will be tasked to end the threat against us with a volunteer force of the best-trained and well-equipped soldiers in the world. You will have men selected from most nations on Earth that will be dedicated to the destruction of our enemy, and not even their own governments can pull them back. They are even now awaiting you at your final destination.”

“Your brief is as confusing as the past four days, Lord Durnsford.” Jack again looked at his watch, wanting to get to the secure computer center located at the headquarters building. He was hoping Pete Golding had fulfilled a small request he had asked of him and his supercomputer, Europa.

“Calm, General, I have arranged your phone call with your young Lieutenant McIntire.” Durnsford gave Collins a look over the top of his glasses. “I suspected you would wish to know your people are safe. They are — at least for the moment, as they are transiting some quiet waters. Their ordeal will soon start as our little ruse to get them free of the North Atlantic has worked, but I’m afraid the Grays will catch on eventually and the very power plant they are escorting will lead the Grays straight to your friends. I suspect a rather large engagement at sea before too long.”

Will looked at Jack. The concern for Sarah and Ryan was evident.

“I suspect you will keep that to yourself when you speak. Remember, I am granting you this privilege, General.”

With one nod of his head Jack knew he was cornered and could not warn Sarah and Ryan what might be coming.

Durnsford reached into a coat pocket and used a small remote to activate the large monitor that had been set up. Two split-screen views of the attack zones in Mumbai and Beijing illuminated and they saw that they were live views.

“Your Lieutenant McIntire and the others are transiting the sea in one of the most powerful warships afloat, and they will meet other, even more impressive assets the closer they get to their destination.” Durnsford again looked at his watch and then snapped it closed. “I am sure I have confused you enough. I just need a man like you to know, General, because you are known to follow your orders to the letter.” He smiled at the three men before him. “At least to a point, and that is the point I wish to expand on.” He leaned over and looked Collins in the face and became deadly serious. “No matter what orders you receive to the contrary, General, you and your men will do the job that is assigned to you. You will possibly be pressured by higher influences, even be threatened with courts-martial and death; be called a traitor to your nation, as will the men under you. But stay the course, General, stay the course. If you do, the odds of our world climbing out of this bloody mess will increase a thousandfold. Far worse than the view you see here.” The small British spy gestured at the two smoldering cities.

Jack knew he was talking about the changes at the highest levels of government in his, and other nations. That deals had been struck in order to make Matchstick’s grand plan of Overlord become reality. He also knew that he would come down on the side of Niles, Lee, and — as he looked at the small man before him — Lord Durnsford.

“Stay the course, no matter what, General.” He finally smiled as he toyed with his pocket watch. “If I’m still breathing, and if needed, I promise I’ll have your court-martial littered with sympathetic ears. You still may be shot, but you’ll receive a much better last meal.”

Mendenhall looked at Henri and then Collins and shook his head. “I knew this Hawaii thing wasn’t going to last.”

“Precisely, young captain.” Durnsford opened his watch and looked at the time. “Gentlemen, good luck and God’s speed. You have a rather large Galaxy transport aircraft to catch and again you have to fly rather low to the ground. You may make your phone call enroute, General.”

With that Lord Durnsford nodded his head toward the back of the room and a door was opened. With one last sad smile and nod of his head the man from MI6 turned and left.

The three men stood as a man gestured for them to follow him outside. And again it was Will who put things into proper perspective, as young soldiers usually do.

“I am so very glad we now know what’s happening and are totally clear on our mission,” he said in mock understanding as he placed his cap on his head. “I think they are out to kill us in the most dramatic way possible.” He looked at Farbeaux with a sour look. “And why do I think hanging out with you, Henri, has something to do with it?”

“For the first time since I’ve known you, Captain, I find myself in total agreement. I understand nothing.” Henri turned toward Jack. “I imagine it’s far too late to accept that invitation for that long stay at your Leavenworth prison?”

Jack shook his head. “I think it’s too late for a lot of things, Colonel.”

One hundred Russian-manufactured Su-27SK “Flanker” fighter aircraft flew at Mach 1 toward their designated target, which was entrenched at the center of Mumbai. The entirety of the strike force was going to lay waste to the four targets painted on their radar screens. The flight leader of the strike orbited at twenty-seven thousand feet in an Airbus A20 radar and defense aircraft, a cheaper variant of the American AWAC. It was on the Airbus where the air assault would be coordinated.

The large saucer had deployed the same apparatus as the vehicle in China. It was glowing a soft blue hue in the dark nighttime skies. And thus far all attempts at breaching the defense shield had been fruitless. Probes by the thirteen infantry divisions deployed around Mumbai had found that any form of contact with the alien cable network had been met with no resistance or event.

The airstrike was in support of elements of the 50th Parachute Regiment (Special Forces) and the full force of the 411th (Independent) Parachute Field Company (Bombay Sappers) who had been on station since the incident began six hours before. The infantry divisions would be the follow-up strike after the Sappers had gained the interior of the alien shielding.

The 411th Bombay Sappers had started testing the thick cables that had been buried deeply into the ground since ten that evening. The barricade was crisscrossed in three-foot squares and the Sappers thought they could get the entire regiment through under the cover of the Air Force fighters when they arrived. The fence had been tested and thus far appeared dormant. It looked as if it was just a steel cable fence. They had managed to get over four thousand of the city’s residents out through the less than formidable shield. One of the regiment’s helicopters had even managed to land on the structure and thus far had repeated the maneuver sixteen times in differing areas, giving them hope that when the airstrikes began they could blast holes through the steel “basket” and bring in the many attack choppers of the 125th Aviation Battalion that had been quickly recalled from the Pakistani border.

General Jai Bajaj, commander of the combined 1st and 3rd Armored Divisions, stood atop the tallest building outside of the city. The American-owned Century Records Building was thirty-five stories tall and afforded him an excellent view of the city and the giant saucer sitting in its crushed and still-smoking city center. The utility companies had arranged emergency lighting and over five thousand high-powered spotlights were illuminating the giant craft.

The general moved his glasses to the streets below and saw over two hundred of India’s newest main battle tanks, the Arjun Mark II. They were joined by four hundred Tarmour AFV armored personnel carriers with over three thousand men awaiting orders to advance into the city. They would be his spearhead.

“Inform the strike coordinator to start the air attack, please,” the general said as he moved the glasses to the caged-in city. “This ought to provoke a response,” he said under his breath.

The glow of the giant “basket” remained constant and the Sappers lining its outside started using cutting torches to break their way in while army tunnel teams began digging underneath the shielding. Men stood at the ready as the sparks of hundreds of torches shone around the entire circumference of the three-square-mile shield as Sappers started to penetrate the pretty but ineffective cage.

The shriek of jet engines pierced the clear sky above as the Indian Su-27 fighters made their initial runs on the center of the city. Their target was the very center of the large saucer on the two-city-block-wide upper dome. One by one the incredibly fast fighters dove on the target ten thousand feet below. The general had chills as he watched the Air Force start its music from above.

The initial weapons to be released by the first ten aircraft were the latest in Indian technology: the Sudarshan laser-guided bomb. The commander watched the sky but all he could see was the ten fighters as they swooped low and then climbed after releasing their loads. Immediately cheers erupted around him as two of the bombs struck the thick steel mesh and detonated high above their target with a bright flash of explosive force. The rest of the eight laser munitions penetrated the cable shield and struck the enormous saucer directly on its top-most section where the giant cables had deployed from earlier. More cheers sounded as men saw what looked like large chunks of the vehicle fly skyward.

“That’s it!” the general yelled as loud as the men around him. “If you want to just sit there and take it, we will accommodate you!” he yelled enthusiastically.

Three more of the weapons made it through the mesh while others detonated far above the saucer. More cheers. The general switched his view to the men using cutting torches far below. It looked as if they were making good progress.

“Armored lines three and four, open fire!” he called out. “Artillery, commence fire!”

His radioman immediately made the call and an instant later the main battle tanks of the Indian Army started their barrage as the first line of tanks started firing point-blank into the shield where they detonated, ripping huge holes in the pattern. More aerial bombs fell; these were the old-fashioned dumb iron bombs that hit everything — saucer, buildings, and even the smaller alien vehicles that were there to protect the larger. The one thousand artillery pieces of the Indian army opened fire from the small rises of hills around the city and from the docks of the city.

Explosions rang out loudly throughout Mumbai to the cheers of the infantry soldiers waiting to breach the iron shield.

General Jai Bajaj watched as the top dome of the larger saucer seemed to be withering under the onslaught of pinpoint bombing. He saw pieces flying high into the sky and was hoping it was the material the craft was made of and not just the shrapnel from the old-fashioned iron bombs.

“Our Sapper units report that they have opened sixteen gaps in the shield and ask permission to enter in force,” his adjutant said, holding the phone close to his ear.

“Permission granted. Order the cease-fire of all aerial bombardment and get me my paratroops on top of that shield for entry from above, now!”

The adjutant passed on the order and the general moved his field glasses toward the base of the enemy shield. He couldn’t believe an advanced race of beings would ever think that a wire fence would keep his forces from entering the city. He hissed approval as he watched elements of the 1st and 3rd armored regiments start to pour through the gaps in the line.

“Inform the prime minister that we have breached the enemy defenses and are advancing into the city. No enemy resistance thus far detected.”

The information was passed on to Delhi as the troops entered the holes the Sappers had cut.

“Okay, gentlemen, get the first element of tanks through as soon as the holes are widened.”

Overhead, four of the Indian Air Force’s mighty transport planes, the Russian-built IL-76 aircraft, started to disgorge the airborne units of the proud military. Some units were designated to land on the shield cables and place explosives, then rappel down to the top of the saucer’s dome and the surviving buildings of the city. The remaining units would penetrate the shield directly from the air and land atop the vehicle and place charges at the anchor points of the cables, the direct apex of the center-most dome. The Indian army and air forces were about to take the fight directly to this barbaric enemy. The airborne units would be supported by the armor of two full divisions. The general estimated full incursion in less than thirty minutes.

“There they are,” his adjutant said as he pointed to the first chutes of falling airborne. The white of their canopies shone brightly in the light-blue haze of the enemy shield and the reflection off the saucer of the thousand high-powered spotlights.

“Excellent,” the general said as he turned his glasses skyward. The powerful main battle tanks that remained outside of the steel-like fence kept up their fire. Rounds were now striking the three hovering saucers and it looked as if they were being rocked by the detonations against their hulls. The general watched as the leading saucer in front of the larger platform wobbled, and then straightened as two armor piercing dart-like Sabot rounds caught it along the centerline mass. He was amazed it recovered so quickly, straightening and then rising back into formation.

“They won’t last long after our infantry and airborne troops start hitting them with Dragon Missiles.”

More cheers sounded from below as men started pouring through the widened gaps in the shield.

Before anyone realized what was happening, the shield went brilliant blue. Men caught entering the gaps in the line immediately ceased to exist, vanishing micro-seconds before they could even feel the searing heat that caused their deaths. The holes that had been cut in the cables started to regenerate and connect once again with the squares of cable directly above, beneath, and at the sides. The system of defense was actually healing itself, looking like growing snakes as they regenerated and connected once more. It was as if the cables were living things that had sprung to life.

General Bajaj’s heart skipped a beat as he turned his attention to the falling chutes of his airborne. His fingers tightened on the field glasses as men started to land on the upper portion of the shield. In magnificent flashes of blue and white light his brave men started bursting into flame. As he zoomed in the general could see that it wasn’t the men flaring and burning, but their clothing and equipment. The flesh of his soldiers had immediately turned to ash as they hit the shield. They were being exterminated just as bugs in an electrically charged zapper would be when they ventured too close. All around the city above and below the shield was healing itself and his infantry started disintegrating by the thousands before his eyes.

As he shook in rage at the enemy ruse, he heard as well as saw the three smaller saucers start to move over the city. He watched as the round vehicles started to fire on his infantry inside and outside the shield. Large bursts of an energy weapon, the likes of which he had never seen before, started blowing men apart from their insides. They exploded as if they had swallowed a grenade. The few tanks that had entered the city were cut in half and the men inside died in the resulting explosions of their ordnance. The large saucer also flared to killing life as thick, purplish light fired from the upper dome. The sky illuminated with exploding and falling aircraft, both fighters and the transports that were still dropping men from their doors. The defense by the saucers was like watching a western light show as bolt after bolt of energy was cut loose.

“Oh, no, no, no,” his adjutant said as he gestured wildly toward the bottom half of the large saucer.

Large doors that were at least a thousand feet wide slowly opened and large rounded shapes of chromed steel rolled out like balls from a pinball machine. Thousands of the objects rolled through and over the rubble of the buildings, surprising the three hundred men who had gotten close to the seemingly dormant craft. The soldiers started hitting the rolling machines with small-arms fire and then fifty-caliber weaponry from the few armored personnel carriers nearby. That seemed to stop them. The general had his hopes raised only momentarily as the sixteen-foot-diameter balls stopped suddenly as if they were stuck in the asphalt of the street and the crumbling concrete of the destroyed buildings; then they sprang open like an animal trap. His eyes widened further when he saw that the balls had expanded to manlike shapes. The automatons were chromed steel monsters. Their bulk was tremendous as their heavy weapons started to open up on his exposed troops. The machines were firing high impact, exploding kinetic rounds directly into flesh. Men were exploding into bright red bursts of mist as they were struck.

“Look!” men started shouting from their vantage point of safety outside the shield.

The general looked through his glasses as the Grays showed themselves for the first time. They charged through the open portals in a mass concentration, but didn’t start attacking the remaining ground forces inside the shield. They charged directly into the standing office buildings and apartments that were abundant in Mumbai. They streamed into homes, the subway, and other places of sanctuary where the population had taken shelter.

“What are they doing?” his adjutant asked in a stupefied and frightened voice.

The tall, thin Grays, dressed in their purplish clothing and carrying long weapons of a sort that was unknown to the soldiers, entered the buildings by the thousands and to everyone’s horror they started dragging people from the safety of their homes and places of work where they thought they had survived the opening assault. They were pushed and rounded up like herds of sheep and made to walk, crawl, or die. The Grays were taking them into the large ship thousands at a time.

The general lowered his field glasses and felt his blood run cold. The enemy had lain in wait just to demonstrate their power. Now he didn’t know what the enemy plan was. The metal machines walked on two legs and started to track down his men who had escaped the initial confrontation; they too were taken by the hundreds. They were dug out of small pockets where they fired their weapons to no effect. He saw several of the walking machines go down after being struck by the old Dragon Missiles given to India by the Unites States, but he saw that the remaining men would not have a chance of taking down thousands of the evil, mechanized brutes. They were slaughtering men at every street corner and every hastily prepared position, even as the citizens of Mumbai were being dragged into the large saucer.

The carnage continued above as well. Airborne troops, who had managed to start their assault by rappeling down lines, were shot by laser fire and burst into small fireflies of flame by the gunnery located at the top dome of the large saucer. They fell like embers from a bonfire until their remains littered the top of the dome.

The shield glowed brighter than ever as the power of the grid increased, causing his tanks that had come too close to melt under the intense heat of the mesh-like cage. Men jumped from their burning and melting armor and were cut down by the mechanized monstrosities that were now at the shield wall, firing into soldiers and equipment that were still outside the trapped city.

The main strike force, the most powerful assault element ever assembled by an Indian army in the field, and its proud air force had been defeated in less than fifteen minutes after the enemy had shown itself for the first time.

The largest city in India was delivered to the Grays with the loss of over eighteen thousand men and forty thousand tons of equipment, and the Indian air force had virtually ceased to exist.

Mumbai was now lost to the world and its millions of citizens taken for reasons that would shake the planet to its eternal core.

10

The Pyotr Veliky had set a new world record for a southern Atlantic Ocean transit for a ship of war. She had surpassed her top speed of thirty-seven knots no less than six different times as she made the southern crossing. Her nuclear reactor had gone into the red twice when the giant missile cruiser had hit bad weather, this just to keep her speed over thirty knots. The crew was exhausted after their 50 percent alert status had gone into effect after she had departed the fleet. Thus far the ruse had worked as they had received flash radio traffic that the 123-ship Northern Fleet had been overflown five times by a craft they never laid eyes on. The rumor that they were being hunted had quickly spread throughout the ship. Jason Ryan had reminded both Sarah and Anya that the Russian Navy was no different from any navy on earth — believe only 10 percent of all rumors and you should come out ahead on any bet made.

As he stood looking at the tarp and plastic covered alien power plant, Jason was fearful that he had been overzealous as far as his rumor estimate. As he looked skyward into the crisp late afternoon sky he had the distinct feeling that the Pyotr Veliky was now entering a kill zone. That naval officer feeling that comes on career sailors who have seen death up close. He felt that was what was stalking them — death.

Jason watched as five of the Russian and Polish nuclear technicians checked the tarp covering the power plant, making sure none of the sea spray had compromised the sealing plastic underneath. The technicians looked short and bulky in their heavy arctic parkas as they moved about. Jason got a chill and placed the fur-lined hood over his head. He had been on deck for twenty minutes to avoid Sarah’s sad eyes as she spoke to Jack from the radio center of the large missile cruiser. Anya had also excused herself, wishing she had an opportunity to speak with Carl, but she figured that the new admiral had plenty on his plate at the moment.

Soon he realized he wasn’t alone. He turned and saw Anya standing beside him as she stared out over the railing. Jason walked three paces over and joined her.

“Homesick already?” he asked.

“Already?” She smiled and then lost it as suddenly as it had arrived. “I’ve been homesick ever since I said good-bye to Carl. He’s my home, not some barren patch of land.” She turned back to look at the sea and shivered. “So in that sense, yes, I am extremely homesick.”

“I miss my friends. I think I may go on missing them too.” It was Ryan’s turn to look down and away from Anya’s eyes. “When we got that report that Niles was seriously injured in the Camp David attack it was like a portent of things to come, and I realized then just how close I had become to all of my people at Group.” He looked at her. “I mean friends.”

“Mumbai has just fallen,” came a small voice from behind them. “The Indian Army was defeated in just a little over twenty minutes after they had thought they had the upper hand.”

They turned and saw Sarah as she came from the upper decks, careful to avoid the six sailors coming off of watch. The men were in a hurry to get out of the cold air that was increased in misery by the ship’s torrid speed.

Jason and Anya saw the worry on the young lieutenant’s features as she pulled the drawstrings of her hood tighter to fit her small head.

“How is the colonel … I mean the general?” Jason asked.

“Alive at the moment. He, Will, and Henri are in transit, wave hopping south.” She smiled finally. “They are wave hopping on a southern course trying to evade prying eyes. And you know how he hates flying anyway.”

“Yeah, so does Mendenhall. I imagine he may even be frightened enough to be sitting on Farbeaux’s lap right about now, which would thrill that thief to no end.”

The moment of tension was broken and the three laughed.

“You know, if they are heading south, it’s possible they have the same destination as ourselves, which means you might just see Jack real soon.”

“I know,” Sarah said. “But is that a good thing or not? I mean, where we are going might not be the safest place to be.”

“Any word on Beijing?” Anya asked, changing the bleak subject to an even blacker one, but also one that wasn’t as personal as the current question.

“No, satellite images are showing the city is ringed with the largest Chinese army ever to take the field. But after the Mumbai disaster they are holding. The enemy hasn’t made any move like they have in India, and the Chinese right now like it that way.”

“Unlike India, they have a massive troop presence inside the city already. Someone over there was forward thinking enough to get about a hundred thousand men and some heavy armor into Beijing before the Grays’ arrival. Captain Lienanov said that their intelligence shows about a thousand tanks and half that in artillery pieces. But right now the commander of Chinese ground forces is satisfied that the Grays haven’t budged.”

“How about the new president — how is he taking the news?” Ryan asked.

Sarah turned and looked at both Anya and Ryan. “He’s talking about pulling back all American forces to protect the homeland first. Virginia is going to sit in on a meeting with the British, French, Russian, and Chinese delegates and present Matchstick’s analysis of the attacks thus far.”

“No, they can’t expose Matchstick to that man in office, at least right now.” Ryan saw a confused look cross Anya’s face. He ignored her ignorance and stared at Sarah.

“Camden and the others won’t know exactly who they are talking to; a few of them, like the British and Chinese, know about our asset, but all most of them will learn is that he is an asset with vast knowledge of the enemy. Most have guessed, I think, but don’t know for sure we have him in our corner. He’ll be speaking through Europa. Virginia has seen to that. As long as the president is alive she will keep Matchstick away from the Speaker of the House.”

Ryan finally smiled. “That ought to give everyone a thrill, to have Marilyn Monroe explaining things to them. I would like to see their faces on that one.”

“Who is this Matchstick Man?” Anya asked as she couldn’t hold the question any longer.

“You mean that the great Mossad is actually in the dark about something the United States is doing?” Ryan laughed. “God, the world is in a tailspin.”

“Maybe not the Mossad, but I am,” she answered.

“Let’s just say he’s a friend that would give his life for his new home,” Sarah said, warning Ryan with a look about security. “Anyway, I would like to hear what he has to say myself. We may be able to—”

Sarah was cut short by a blaring announcement over the ship’s speakers. Anya turned to the railing once more and leaned over just as the alarms sounded abovedecks. Before they knew it sailors were rushing to stations. The speed of Pyotr Veliky increased just as she started to heel to starboard. She turned so sharply that Ryan had to reach out to keep Anya from being flung headfirst into the sea. He pulled her back and they both slammed into the steel decking. Sarah immediately saw why the giant warship made such a severe turn.

“Oh, my God,” she said as the saucer surfaced in front of the Pyotr Veliky. Water was running off the one-hundred-foot-wide metallic vehicle and she seemed to be stationary in the calm seas. Before Sarah could say more the three were practically lifted off their feet by four burly Russian seamen and hustled to the stairs that led to the second deck. Sarah was in the rear as they rushed up the slippery steel steps but she could not take her eyes off the saucer as it remained in the path of the missile cruiser.

“Get inside and to the evacuation stations immediately!”

Ryan was pulled inside along with Anya by Captain Lienanov.

As Sarah finally entered the hatch the door was sealed and dogged tight.

“Hurry, we have just gone to general quarters. I must get to the bridge!” The captain left the three.

As the captain made his way forward they heard the rumble of four Granit SS-N-19 “Shipwreck” antiship missiles leave their tubes. The entire cruiser shuddered under the launch of the heavy weapons. Then the deep rumble of the ship’s twin AK-130 130-millimeter/L70 gun opened fire. The ship was still leaning heavily to starboard.

On the bridge second captain Lienanov joined the commander of the vessel, Captain Andre Vileski, a no-nonsense and by-the-book man. He was watching the saucer take hits from the heavy-caliber 130-millimeter weapons and just as Vileski ordered the helm hard to port, they saw the four missiles strike the alien vehicle. Two of the Shipwrecks hit the uppermost, raised dome of the saucer and the next two hit the curving edge where the rounded metallic edge met the sea. They were all direct hits.

As the Pyotr Veliky completed her turn five more of the Shipwrecks struck the saucer, and still the craft made no defensive move to save itself from the hard-punching offense of the Russian missile cruiser.

Captain Vileski watched through the large bridge glass windows and nodded his head as the saucer was momentarily blocked from view as several missiles and 130-millimeter rounds detonated at the same moment against the enemy’s hull. The vehicle vanished under a bursting cloud of smoke and debris.

“These bastards will soon learn the difference between battling the Indian Air Force and the Russian Navy!” he shouted. His men on the bridge started to take heart that the brand-new Pyotr Veliky would possibly survive the encounter.

As the warship completed her turn to port and straightened her bow into the light wind, Lienanov tried to remind his commander of the tactic they had been warned about directing them to keep up concentrated fire on the enemy and to not let up. The saucer had obviously taken damage because Lienanov had seen large chunks of flying metal being torn from its upper half before the whole scene became obscured with smoke.

“Captain, we must maintain fire and try and move off as fast as we can. We have orders to avoid a confrontation!” Lienanov knew the missile tubes had gone silent as the fire control teams in the command and control section far below on deck six awaited the order to continue. Only the 130- and twenty-millimeter weapons kept up a constant fire. Lienanov had a distinct feeling they were witnessing the exact same thing that the Indian commanders had in Mumbai — the enemy was waiting for the right time to make their move. “Captain, put up a defensive screen of torpedoes in the water as a shield and allow us to digress, give the trap a chance to work. This action is not in our orders!”

“I think you need to learn your place, Second Captain Lienanov. We are to take advantage of the situation. We will—”

“Look!” his lookouts on the bridge wing called out as they caught sight of the ship, the last of the smoke whisked away by the winds its bulk and engines were creating.

The hearts of the men on the bridge froze momentarily. Instead of seeing the saucer in pieces, it was slowly starting to rise completely from the sea. The water beneath the enemy ship was being pushed aside as her engines whipped the freezing ocean into frenzied white caps. But the one thing they all saw at once was the last of the holes created by the Shipwreck missiles fast closing, healing over like a wound forming a scab. The metal that replaced the damaged areas was lighter in color, but it was metal just the same. The saucer was now undamaged from the massive strike of the missile cruiser.

“Lock on missiles and continue fire!” the captain yelled, and ordered another hard maneuver to starboard.

Too late the mighty ship heeled over, exposing her waterline completely toward the enemy. A straight line of light shot from the upper dome as the saucer made a course correction to match the turn of the Pyotr Veliky. The intense beam struck the bridge section and then sliced through with blinding quickness downward toward the water line and then hissed as it struck the sea. The great warship shuddered and large plates of hull simply fell off as if it had been sliced by a large knife. Water cascaded into decks five, six, and seven. The bridge burst into flame as the laser sliced cleanly through Vileski and his helmsman. The bridge wing with the lookouts came apart and the men fell into the freezing sea, yet still the missile cruiser continued her heel to starboard.

After hitting the deck Lienanov felt the heat as the thick laser beam passed over his prone body. His uniform jacket began to burn and he rolled over in an attempt to smother the flames. All around him men were being fried as the enemy weapon continued to pummel the Pyotr Veliky.

On deck five Ryan rolled on top of the two women and they angrily pushed him off. They felt the electricity produced by the laser as it came into contact with steel and aluminum. Sarah was screaming that she didn’t want to die in the belly of the ship if she started to go down.

“Come on, if we get hit again we’ll lose the ship and the power plant!”

“You want to go out there?” Ryan struggled to regain his feet under the shuddering deck.

“We have to cut the retaining ropes on the power plant or she’ll go down with the ship. She’ll float, Jason. We have to give it a chance to be picked up by another ship!”

“Okay, but it’s going to be a mess outside.”

“I agree, I don’t want to die in here,” Anya chimed in as they heard one of the missile tubes abovedeck cook off as another laser strike hit the launcher. The cruiser shuddered again as she was starting to feel every hard blow of the enemy. The great ship rocked and actually left the water as her aft missile mount and loader exploded in a blinding flash of light and power.

The three started to fight their way against the tide of sailors running to and from their posts as the lights flickered. If the ship lost power from her nuclear power plant the vessel didn’t have a chance in hell of making it out alive.

Jason ran into a roadblock of dead and dying men as they made it to the outer hatch that would take them to the ship’s fantail. He struggled trying to move the sliced and burning bodies of men that blocked the hatch. It was too much. Every time he tried to move one of the poor boys the body would simply separate into pieces.

“Back, go back!” he shouted just as a large explosion rocked the fire and control stations on the deck one. The Pyotr Veliky shook as if it had been grabbed by a rabid dog. As the three tried to run back the way they had come they all felt the temperature rising around them. The steel bulkheads started to heat up from being struck with the laser weaponry of the saucer.

Jason knew the Pyotr Veliky was done for.

The saucer completed its maneuver, successfully blocking the path of the ship that was three times the size and weight of itself. The waters were being churned in a froth of green sea as her engines provided the power to keep it in the air and produce the energy needed to attack. The missile batteries had gone silent but the brave Russian sailors kept up the 130- and twenty-millimeter assault. Even the torpedo tubes lining the lower deck came to life as the weapons officers for each harangued their men to fight. Whatever happened to their ship they would fight until they had nothing to fight with.

Eight VA-111 Shkval supercavitating torpedos were the fastest in the world and carried a punch like no other western or NATO weapon. It was designed to be fast and unstoppable. Its design was made for antisubmarine warfare, but could be detonated electronically by sight if need be. Each of the torpedo tube weapons officers now had direct control of the weapons they launched from tubes that had been angled out from the lower deck of the missile cruiser. As the eight torpedoes traveled under the now hovering saucer they entered the choppy sea directly underneath. The weapons control officer and their tube captains detonated each of the eight. They exploded with the power of a ton of high explosive force, bringing the sea up to meet the saucer’s underbelly. Again the enemy disappeared from view, only this time by seawater.

Sarah, Anya, and Ryan finally cleared the last obstacle to the fresh air outside. Just as they opened the hatchway at the stern they felt the sea rise up around them as the ocean erupted. They were thrown to the wet deck as the water was so churned up by the detonations of the eight torpedoes they thought the final death blow to the missile cruiser had been dealt.

Jason gained his feet and assisted the women to theirs. They saw a horrible sight as the wave of water washed many of the Russian and Ukrainian nuclear scientists over and under the stern railings as the fantail became a hell of green seas. The explosive wash of water had cleaned the deck as efficiently as a fire hose cleaning a parking lot.

“They had the same idea,” Ryan shouted as he ran toward the strapped-down power plant. Several of the ropes had already been cut away and the large engine was held in place by only six of the thick straps that held her to the deck and railings.

“We have to cut the rest!” Sarah yelled as seawater cascaded from every direction.

Captain Lienanov finally staggered to his feet inside of the smashed bridge. Bodies and parts of bodies of the bridge crew lay on and over their consoles and equipment. He struggled to get an assistant helmsman to his feet.

“Get this ship moving!” he ordered the young and very frightened seaman.

The man struggled to his feet and swiped at the scorched area of his forehead and then struggled to the damaged helm station.

“Course?” He screamed to be heard over the din of dying men asking, praying for help.

“Ram that son of a bitch!” the captain shouted. He never realized that the first and only command he had ever given inside the bridge in the midst of battle would be to destroy his ship and everyone onboard. He would ignite the thirty remaining Shipwreck missiles in their launch tubes directly under the saucer, creating the force of a nuclear weapon. Lienanov could not allow his ship to go down with their precious cargo without taking the enemy with him.

The new captain of the Pyotr Veliky fought his way to the 1MC microphone and hit the switch as he unceremoniously kicked out at a young man who had grabbed his legs begging for help.

“Weapons, set your safeties to zero, set your warhead to automatic. I will detonate from here,” he screamed into the mic. “Helm, all ahead, flank speed, direct line of sight, ram her.” His eyes blazed with angry fire at the imminent death of the proud missile cruiser. “We’ll see if this fucker can play the Russian way!”

The Pyotr Veliky, with her engines pushed to their limit, started forward, her bow digging deeply into the sea as her large bronze propellers bit the water. She was heading directly for the saucer sitting in her path at two miles.

The saucer waited and readied for the final death blow her weapons would bestow on the Pyotr Veliky.

The world exploded around the saucer. A naval warhead, the likes of which had never been used before in an act of war, penetrated the saucer’s hull at over Mach 7.5, almost 7,000 miles per hour. The warhead burst open like a morning flower meeting the sun. Its petals spread wide as it pushed through the saucer, ripping a massive hole in her side. It tore through and continued to rip the insides of the enemy warship. It passed completely through the unknown metal and exploded out of the opposite side. The saucer wobbled, then straightened, and the hull began healing itself once again. But this time it didn’t have a chance as four more of the strange warheads erupted inside her. Again she shook and struck the sea with a loud hissing noise. More of the rose petals opened and began forcing themselves into the interior and began breaking the saucer apart. Naval rounds struck the silverish skin and began ripping the guts out of the enemy.

Unable to heal itself fast enough, the power systems of the saucer started to melt down and her ability to reatomize the hull ceased. Internal explosions ripped her apart and in one blinding flash it vanished in a large mist of expanding metal. The remains of the enemy saucer rained down upon the hard-charging Pyotr Veliky.

Lienanov could not believe what had just happened. He scanned the area in front of his speeding ship and saw one quarter of the saucer bob in the churning sea; then it sank into the Southern Atlantic and exploded below the surface.

He quickly grabbed his binoculars and scanned the seas to his stern. His eyes widened in amazement as he saw the strangest sight he had ever seen in his twenty years in service. He lowered his glasses and said a silent prayer as he started to shake in near shock at seeing their savior for the first time.

At the stern of the Pyotr Veliky, Ryan was actually smiling as he too spied the strange vessel emerging from the mist of battle. He dropped the restraining rope he was attempting to cut and grabbed Sarah and Anya and pointed. He shook his head as the rumors he had been hearing out of the Department of the Navy had been confirmed for the first time. The people that had been stationed here in the South Atlantic had finally came to their aid.

“Thank God,” was all he could say.

The USS Zumwalt was unlike any destroyer that had ever plied the oceans of the world. It was the first of her class and the only warship that was completely stealth in nature. At $3.5 billion, it was also one of the most expensive weapons platforms ever invented and was one reason why the injured president of the United States had become embroiled in arguments over military spending. With its strange angled shape she was a sight to behold.

The most amazing part of her design was the equally strange turret mounted on her angled decking. It was two-barreled and resembled two clear plastic ballpoint pens. The barrels were actually the twin alternating weapons that generated opposing electrical fields that launched an Argon-based projectile, or solid shot. In this case it had been what the U.S. Navy had dubbed “the Blossoming Rose,” a kinetic warhead that had been seen ripping the insides of the saucer apart.

The weapon was called a rail gun, the latest in naval weaponry, and it had just saved the lives of over six hundred sailors onboard the Pyotr Veliky.

The United States Navy had arrived on station.

The situation room was unlike anything in the western world. Designed originally as a war room to administer American military conduct of a global world war, it was equipped with every piece of modern electronics tracking and communications available. It was staffed by over two hundred of the brightest military technicians in the American armed forces. Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine personnel ran the communications boards that were connected directly to the heads of every foreign government in the world. It also provided real-time communications with the commanders of NATO and the Pacific, Indian Ocean, Mediterranean, and Atlantic areas of responsibility. The same mix of men and women operated the many situation boards spread along the walls that had every continent, every capital, and every city on the planet scanned into its computers and operated on holographic images to give the commanders, or in this case the remaining leaders of the allied coalition of Operation Overlord, the advantage of real-time data.

The leaders of France, England, and Russia were joined by the representatives from China and Germany — men sent to take the place of the late chancellor and president. They sat with Acting President Camden as they watched the satellite imagery of the action in the southern Atlantic Ocean. The images from last night’s battle of Mumbai were weighing heavily on everyone’s minds. The bulk of the allied coalition was very concerned because of Camden’s stunned look. Utter shock had been etched on the face of the man ever since he had witnessed the massacre in India. The sight of seeing so many innocents being captured and led into the large saucer was hard enough that even the supporters of the Operation Overlord plan had cringed at the despicable turn of events.

The men at the main conference table had watched in awed silence at the dramatic rescue of the Pyotr Veliky by the USS Zumwalt. The small man with the bow tie sitting next to the prime minister of Great Britain, Lord Durnsford, tired after his long flight from Honolulu, leaned over the PM’s shoulder.

“Finally something went according to plan. Stationing the Zumwalt in the area has paid dividends. I’m glad something has worked in this bloody mess of a day.”

The prime minister looked at his intelligence chief of MI6, raised his brows, and nodded toward Camden, who sat with a stern look on his face as he shot General Caulfield a cold and withering look.

“I don’t think our newest member liked the fact that one of his warships was doing something he had no knowledge of, even if it was his predecessor’s idea and plan,” the PM whispered. “I think I’ll throw a line in the water and see how our new member reacts.”

The prime minister cleared his throat and stood. A satellite image showed the USS Zumwalt holding station guard against another saucer attack as two American Perry-class frigates came alongside of the Pyotr Veliky to tie up and tow her to her destination. Her nuclear propulsion plant had scrammed and she was sitting there like a dead duck in the Atlantic, with only enough battery power to keep her out of the dark.

“Mr. President, congratulations on a most satisfying conclusion to this dastardly attack by the enemy. Your newest weapons platform performed most admirably,” the PM said with a nod toward the man sitting at the head of the conference table.

The men from Germany, France, and Russia rapped their knuckles on the tabletop in support of the comment. The new representative of China remained still as he eyed the group with something akin to suspicion.

Camden looked at the men around the table. “I’m glad we could assist our friends at sea,” was all he said as he nodded toward his British ally.

The prime minister remained standing as he returned the stiff reaction to his comment.

“Now, gentlemen, we are close to the time that you will have a chance to speak directly with the asset that has provided this group with so much valuable intelligence. Who was also instrumental in formulating Operation Overlord, along with our good friends, the late Senator Garrison Lee, and Dr. Niles Compton. And by the way, we all pray for a speedy recovery of both Dr. Compton and the president. This esteemed gathering will miss their valuable guidance.”

Again, all but Camden and the representative of China rapped their knuckles on the shiny tabletop. With a glance at the thick glass that separated the conference room from the frenzied activity below, the prime minister continued.

“Gentlemen, the asset that is so very valuable to our efforts against the Grays has requested that his identity remain anonymous because of the very real chance that he would be tracked by the enemy to his secret location.” The PM looked at the faces around the room. He knew that the only people here who knew of Matchstick’s real heritage were he, the Russian president, and the leader of France. The gentleman from Germany and the new man from China were kept in the dark. No one was to know the Mahjtic secret but a very select few. “The ability of the enemy to track down our valuable assets has been demonstrated by the attack on the Iranian University, where the alien power plant was being tested. We will not challenge the enemy’s willingness to destroy anything that will help us survive this fight. As a group we have given this asset full cooperation in keeping his identity secret. Even his voice will be disguised, as will his person. He will be speaking through a computer-generated voice, but will answer any and all questions or concerns you may have.”

“Let me understand this. You want full cooperation for this audacious plan that you have kept from certain members of this panel, and you are unwilling to supply us with his real identity?” Camden looked harshly again at his military advisor, General Caulfield, who held up admirably against the hate-filled glare of his new commander-in-chief.

“Mr. President, I don’t even know, nor does Mr. Devinov, nor Mr. Arneu, the exact identity of the man that the president before you and the one before him, trusted implicitly,” the PM lied. “We trusted the president in his judgment, as I’m sure you, Mr. Klinghoffer, and Mr. Xiao, do also.”

Camden was maneuvered perfectly by the prime minister. What was he to say, that he despised the president who sat in this very chair and that he was the last man in the world he would trust? No, he was caught and had to nod his head at the man from Number Ten Downing Street, whom he knew to be extremely close to the former president.

“We have a moment before our asset’s representative arrives to take part in the discussion, so why don’t we take a small break. I know I can use one after that dramatic rescue by your magnificent new warship.”

Camden was cornered again by the praise and could do nothing but lean over and tell his aide to get in contact with the one of the only allies he had in Washington.

“Get Assistant Director Peachtree in here immediately. I need him to sit in on this, and then I want the identity of this so-called asset on my desk after this meeting of the new order dismisses,” he hissed under his breath.

The acting director of the Event Group, Virginia Pollock, was standing outside the E ring of the Pentagon. She paced as she smoked a cigarette, a bad habit she had given up just after college twenty years before, but now found she needed the distraction — after all, it wasn’t every day that you came to see the president of the United States and knew beforehand that you would lie directly to his face. Virginia was a rabid constitutionalist and despised the idea of not allowing the chain of command to operate as it was designed. But she knew that this man Camden was an enemy of everything the Event Group stood for — their forward-thinking philosophy.

She angrily mashed out the cigarette in the receptacle and then saw the man approaching that she had been waiting for.

The gentleman was of medium height, black, and wore a tailored suit from Harrods’s of London. Virginia recognized him immediately as the former congressman from the state of Pennsylvania, Lee Stansfield Preston. She had heard he was in private law practice with a very select clientele. His briefcase was made of alligator skin, which depicted his extremely good taste in the finer things in life and immediately placed Virginia on edge. She didn’t admire anyone who used animals for decoration.

Virginia had been ordered by phone from Pete Golding at Group Center to wait on this man to arrive, as he would be joining her before taking her place with the leaders of the coalition for their clandestine meeting with Matchstick.

“Dr. Pollock?” he asked with his million-dollar Hollywood smile. His beard was expertly trimmed and he wore just enough jewelry to show his success.

“Yes,” she said, becoming concerned.

“Lee Preston.”

“I know who you are, Congressman. I have seen you on television quite often since you left office.”

“Yes, the camera does seem to seek me out on occasion.”

“Mr. Preston, can you tell me why was I instructed to await your arrival before entering the situation room? It’s bad enough that I missed most of the meeting, but our new president is a bear and also a man that particularly despises my boss.”

“So I understand. I have been retained by Mrs. Alice Hamilton, and she, Madam, is a particular friend of mine.” He mocked her slightly as he smiled. “So, President Camden has been ‘checked’ in that regard. He has his peculiar group of friends and so does Mrs. Hamilton. I am one of them.”

“Just what are you doing here?” She removed a cigarette from her pocket and started to light it.

“I am here to protect you and certain other people we both know from implicating yourselves in treason, Doctor.” He removed the cigarette from Virginia’s lips and tossed it away into the receptacle. “You will say nothing in that meeting unless I say to do so. You work clandestinely for the president; I, however, most assuredly do not. You are bound by your oath; I, again, am not. Stay silent and follow my lead, and Mrs. Hamilton can have her friends back in one piece after this mess is sorted out.”

Virginia swallowed as she listened. If Alice Hamilton had sent this arrogant man to assist in getting Matchstick through this, then she had no choice but to allow Preston to do his work.

“Now, shall we go see the great men of the world conducting the momentous work of our times?”

Virginia stood rooted to the spot next to the former congressman.

“I know, it’s mind-boggling to be so close to great men in perilous times.” He gestured toward the door and the Marine guard standing there.

“Some of them inside are great. Others? Well…”

“Who’s talking about them? I meant me.” Preston walked to the door and held it open for the shocked and staring Virginia.

Virginia and Preston were issued Pentagon identity cards and allowed past the posted Marine guards. They both noticed that the Marines were attired in battle dress and wore menacing sidearms in holsters strapped to their chests.

“Makes one feel rather warm and cozy doesn’t it?” Preston said.

He and Virginia were directed to two seats facing the table, but far enough away that they felt like eavesdroppers. “I haven’t had seats this bad since the Lakers-Celtics game in ’89.”

They both sat and it was time for Virginia to ask herself if Alice Hamilton had made the right choice in selecting Lee Preston as her consul in this rather serious game of hiding the real truth from the new president.

The members of the allied council had reconvened as still shots of the siege at Beijing and Mumbai flashed across the one-hundred-foot screen in the center of the situation room. As the members settled into their seats an Air Force officer and two men came into the room and set up a high-definition screen so all could see. Virginia wanted to smile as she saw the likeness of Pete Golding appear. He was in a suit and tie, clothing she had never once seen the computer genius wearing, and it looked as if he were about to crap his pants. The committee would never know that Europa, Pete’s supercomputer, was streaming the live feed from over one and a half miles below the desert sands of Nellis Air Force Base.

It was the British prime minister who took the lead as he and the French and Russian presidents were the only members left inside the Pentagon besides Virginia who knew the full details of everything concerning Magic and Operation Overlord.

“Gentlemen,” the prime minister started, and then in deference to Virginia’s presence, nodded her way. “And lady. I believe we are ready to begin our question-and-answer session with our main asset in this war against our Gray enemy. May I introduce Dr. Peter Golding of the Garrison Lee Institute of Strategic Science, a broad-based and voluntary group sanctioned by the office of the president of the United States for the gathering of intelligence on the hostile force we are now facing.”

President Camden scribbled something on his notepad and slid it over to Daniel Peachtree, who had joined the meeting. The move had not gone unnoticed by Peachtree’s boss, Director Harlan Easterbrook, who knew Camden was starting to consolidate his power base and place people that only he trusted in certain key positions — replacing the director at the CIA was going to be one of his first moves in that regard.

Peachtree quickly scanned the note.

“It’s that damn clandestine group out west again. Find out who this Golding is.”

Peachtree nodded and then sat back as the PM continued.

“Dr. Golding will be acting as liaison with the subject, code-named Magic.”

On the large monitor there was a picture of a blacked-out shape of a man as Pete’s image vanished.

“Dr. Golding, is the subject ready?”

“Yes, he is, Mr. Prime Minister. You may ask your questions.”

Camden became uneasy as he was not used to having others run the show, especially a foreign national inside his country. This was proof the former president had gone too far in relinquishing the role of the United States as the leader of the world.

“Magic, thank you for taking the time to answer some questions for our newest members of this esteemed council. Just be straightforward in your brief and we’ll try and let you return to your work as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.” Europa spoke for Matchstick as he typed the answers on a keyboard with lightning-fast speed. The members of the allied coalition exchanged glances around the table as the synthesized voice of Marilyn Monroe came through the speakers.

Virginia couldn’t help it, she had to smile as even Lee Preston’s brows rose at the sound of the synthesized voice program.

“I think I would like to meet this Magic face-to-face.”

“I think you two would make a good match,” she said as she finally got a brief moment of levity in on the arrogant but brilliant counselor. “You’re both very clinical in the things you do. Yes, I believe you and she would get along just fine.”

Camden gave the two people sitting against the wall a look and then returned his eyes to the screen.

“Magic, I would like to start out by asking what many here are desperately curious about.” The PM sat back down in his chair as he tried to guide the meeting in the direction he and the former president, along with Niles Compton, wanted. “We expected a full-scale invasion by the enemy. Why have they initiated full attacks in only two parts of the world?”

Camden watched with interest along with Peachtree, who was guessing the video stream was coming in from that rumored base in Nevada. He didn’t mention this to Camden as of yet, as he wanted to know what game was being played by Niles Compton and the former president.

“The extensive civilian population of those two cities and the density of that populace are the driving forces for their initial attacks. After the attacks have succeeded they will move on to another major population center for exploitation.”

“Magic, why is the civilian population so important in a matter of world domination?” The PM watched the faces around the table, paying particular attention to Camden.

There was a long pause as Matchstick needed urging from an off-camera Pete Golding to continue and tell the council the truth. Virginia could picture Matchstick at his small keyboard banging away and Europa synthetically reading his answers. She couldn’t help but smile at the simple subterfuge.

“The Grays are starving. The attacks initiated on the Earth since 1947 have been geared to dominate until such a time as they can consolidate a foothold for processing the populace and wildlife, domestic plant and animal life of the planet, for transport back to their home fleet to feed the remainder of their kind.”

As the sensitive voice of Marilyn Monroe answered, the room erupted in outrage. The PM rapped his knuckles on the table to get everyone to calm down. Only Giles Camden remained silent as he looked at the screen.

“Why doesn’t the enemy attack in force against many cities at once, why piecemeal?” asked the French president as the PM nodded his thanks in assisting with the questioning. “And what I see is a major flaw in the Gray tactic is the fact that they have left our entire inventory of communications satellites in orbit. Why?”

“They are limited by power restraints. Generating the power to open up a transit wormhole takes a vast amount of energy. They can only send through a limited number of warships and processing plants at one time before their power base can regenerate. This will eventually be solved by the Grays when they take certain areas of conquered territory by utilizing the nuclear facilities of these fallen countries. As to your query on why they have left the Earth’s communications satellites alone, that is simple — it is their way of gathering intelligence. They have found that the Earth is quite talkative when it comes to secrets. This is why Overlord utilizes—” Again the men around the table heard Pete Golding admonish Matchstick about saying too much.

The leaders and representatives around the conference table were shocked by the brutal truth being told to them.

“Gentlemen, I would like to pause the questioning only momentarily and show intel on something that may interest you. It seems we may have caught a break with the satellite footage you are about to see.” The prime minister nodded his head at Lord Durnsford, who in turn gave an Air Force lieutenant the okay.

On the large screen the view of the blacked out Matchstick and Pete Golding vanished, to be replaced by a green-tinted night view of Mumbai. It was the man from MI6 who explained what they were about to see.

“The footage we will see here is from one of Great Britain’s satellite systems that was retasked over India last evening.” The view was on the city and the saucer sitting in its center. “This was one hour after the attack. As you watch, the three smaller vehicles are dormant as they keep station watch over the larger; now you see another saucer enter the shield area from the south. It was discovered through independent observers that this saucer entered the city from the bay only a few miles away. Electrical readings of the shield had shown a 70 percent power loss after the attack by the Indian Air Force and Army. Now as you see, the shield has dimmed somewhat since that attack. Now watch the approaching saucer as it lands on the very top dome of the larger craft. You see it has landed.” The view showed a mating of the smaller and larger vehicles.

The next scene came on and the PM explained further. “This was an hour later; you see the smaller craft lift off and then exit the alien-controlled area. See the brighter, stronger glow of the shield once this mating was complete? British Intelligence had the readings verified. The shield was back up to almost 100 percent efficiency after this mating.”

“Are you saying that this smaller craft transferred power directly into the large one?” the German representative asked.

“Yes, that is our belief,” Durnsford said. “The battle of Mumbai, although a failure, has given us some rather valuable insight into our enemy’s limitations. The fighting and defense of the three ships inside the shield were drained in fending off the attack.”

“So what if we use special weapons? Would that not drain their power source completely?” the German representative continued.

“That is a question for another time and men such as yourself who are policy makers, not a simple man such as myself. But I would believe the question that stands before us is how do we save lives, not destroy them. A nuclear strike may disable the attackers, but would also completely destroy the city under attack. Rather wasteful, I should think.”

“Thank you for that insight, Lord Durnsford,” the PM said, trying to get the subject of the matter out in the open. “Magic, are you there, sir?”

“Yes, and I agree with the gentleman. The use of nuclear weapons unless out in the open will cause irrefutable harm to the planet and only hasten the downfall of mankind. You will die long before the Grays run out of invasion ships.”

“So, let’s move on, shall we? What you are saying is that the Grays do not want this planet for her natural resources as we suspected, but are treating our world as a food processing plant for their fleet of warships. Why not just come and take the entire planet after our military has been subdued?” The PM’s eyes stayed on Camden.

“Their populace is in need of nourishment; they are a dying race. Once they have a healthy diet they will come in force and take all animal life on Earth.”

“Magic, based on your calculations and those of the Garrison Lee Group, and after studying the Hubble telescope images, what do you estimate the Gray population onboard their home fleet to be?”

There was a long pause as Pete was heard admonishing Matchstick that he had to answer the question. Finally Europa interpreted the query for him.

“Over seventy billion.”

The group sitting at the table erupted as they realized what it was they were facing. The PM allowed the men to state their fears in the open, as he knew this could only scare them into action and possibly sway President Camden into the Overlord camp.

“Once a power base has been established they will land in force and overwhelm not just the military, but the entire world population. Then the Grays will move on. They have already killed many, many species, including—”

Pete was heard stopping Matchstick from elaborating.

“This is kind of disconcerting,” Lee Preston whispered to Virginia.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Magic, does the plan code-named Overlord have a chance of succeeding?”

A very long silence came through the television monitor and the PM hoped Magic would fudge the answer like it had been discussed weeks ago by Compton, himself, and Mahjtic. The small alien’s answer threw that right out the window.

“Ten percent chance of success.”

“Only 10 percent?” the PM asked, disappointed that Matchstick had not been reminded to exaggerate their chances of success to a point where there was hope.

“Yes, the variables and design of the weapon have not been established or tested. The alien power plant recovered in Iran has to be adapted to the working model and is far from guaranteed to supply the—”

Again Pete Golding stopped Matchstick cold before he said too much.

“That’s about enough of this dog and pony show, sir.” Giles Camden stood and then paced to the monitor and snapped it off. “I must admit, I was never a believer in this alien attack, and have been made the fool in its obvious reality, but I will not sit here and allow the people of my nation to be the subject of an experiment in defense when we don’t even know who”—he looked directly from the prime minister to the two people sitting away from the table, Virginia Pollock and Lee Preston—“this asset — this so-called Magic is. I have taken an oath to protect the citizens of my nation, gentlemen, and I will not strip her defenses for something this man”—he slapped the top of the monitor for emphasis—“claims has only a 10 percent chance of working. Whatever this weapon of yours is. No, I will recall all forces of the United States back into home territory and fight them our way.” He turned to General Caulfield. “General, we need to talk after this meeting is adjourned.”

Caulfield nodded his head as he chanced a look at the PM.

“Gentlemen, I recommend that you also prepare to defend yourselves.” Camden walked back to his chair and took a seat.

Now it was the time for the Chinese representative to stand. He was solemn and had not uttered a word since sitting.

“The People’s Republic is under direct assault by this race of barbarians, and now you propose to leave us at the mercy of their onslaught, to allow our population to be taken away, all to benefit you so you can consolidate power back home. This act, gentlemen, is unacceptable. You have lured the People’s Republic and our dead leader into this undisclosed Overlord plan to give your nations time to fight your own battles at home. China’s obligation to this council and this alliance is at an end. We will most assuredly test this power theory advanced by your intelligence services, we thank you for that. Good day, gentlemen.”

The representative started walking from the room, quickly followed by his aides.

“Mr. Xiao, please—”

The doors closed as the German representative stood, bowed, and then also left without a word.

Camden was not finished.

“Who are these two people?” he asked, as he gestured toward Virginia and Preston.

“Mr. President, if you would direct your questions to me, I will be happy to answer all you wish to know … to a point.” Lee Preston stood and faced the president.

Camden grew furious as he took in Lee Preston. There was no need to make the introduction as he was well aware of the former congressman’s name and his reputation as a bull dog. Most of the time his attitude had been directed at people like himself.

“What do you mean ‘to a point’? I am the president of the United Sates and you will answer any and all questions I choose to ask.”

Daniel Peachtree cringed at the way Camden was speaking to a very deliberate and smart man. Preston was no one to have a pissing contest with. The counselor looked at Camden but didn’t respond as he waited for a question to be asked.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Preston? This is a closed military evaluation committee and you are not welcome.”

“From what I’ve heard here today, I believe this concerns everyone on the planet, not just the military.”

“I again state my question, Mr. Preston: why are you here?”

Preston pulled out a document from his briefcase, stepped to the table, and slid it down unceremoniously to Camden, who didn’t bother to reach for it.

“I am here to represent the asset you now know as Magic. To preserve his rights as a free citizen of this country, and his right to remain anonymous in the face of the situation he is involved in. He is a private citizen. I represent Mr. Mahjtic Tilly, and his legal guardian, Augustus Tilly, both residents of the State of Arizona.” He took his seat once more.

Daniel Peachtree was shocked but kept the emotion in check, as he had just confirmed the fact that this Magic was the asset that was being hunted by Hiram Vickers and his Black Team. He placed a hand on the president’s arm and patted it lightly, indicating that he should hear Lee Preston out.

“As to Dr. Virginia Pollock, she is here because she has been tasked, through presidential order, to look after and secure the subject known as Magic. And at this moment she is under the protection of that same presidential order.”

Camden didn’t like the smug look on Preston’s face as he held eye contact with the counselor. He quickly decided to allow the matter to rest as he knew that Peachtree wanted to pass something along to him later.

Before Preston could continue the men inside the glassed-in conference room saw the activity in the strategic center below pick up as several screens came alive with a satellite view of Texas. At that moment a Marine courier entered the room and passed a note to the president.

“This is why we are pulling out of any agreement my predecessor has made to this council.” He held up the note just as the red alarm lights started flashing below in the information center.

“What is it, Mr. President?” the prime minister asked, fearing the worst.

“First, the Pakistani Air Force has gone to full nuclear alert for preparations to defend themselves against the attack in India. They say they will not allow the saucer to move on them after they have finished in Mumbai. They said they will destroy the landing craft before they can move against Pakistan. They claim the Indian government has not done everything in their power to stop the enemy. Thus, the Indian government has reciprocated and brought their border forces to red alert for action against their neighbors if they move to strike at the alien assets at Mumbai.”

The prime minister lowered his head as he saw Overlord vanishing before his eyes.

“What else, sir?” Peachtree asked. His assessment of the situation as explained to the president earlier had come to fruition.

“Houston, the Johnson Space Center in particular, is now under full-scale enemy attack.”

With that short and blunt announcement that history may never record, the coalition of allied nations disintegrated.

11

Admiral Carl Everett watched the drill being conducted by SEAL Team 5 out of San Diego. The action was taking place underwater in the large Space Center pool. Everett was there also, wearing the bulky spacesuit that had been trimmed down from its nominal requirements for space excursions. He hated the feeling of restriction the suit added to an already difficult training exercise. This was coupled with the simple fact that he was still in the dark as far as his mission parameters were concerned. He was working closely with a mix of navy personnel and Delta Force of the U.S. Army.

The specialized commando force was working as a team. The SEALs were the access assault team and the Delta personnel the action team that would enter the target and set an explosive device that the military had yet to explain. Carl’s job was to make whatever their mission truly was go off without a hitch. Thus far they had been training in a near-weightless environment against a mockup of a metallic access point that the SEALs would breach and then secure the interior compartments of an as of yet undisclosed alien location. Before breaking ties with the coalition, the Chinese had forwarded the specs for the entranceway through photo recon of the Beijing craft. Still, Everett came to the conclusion that because of security, or the fear his units would be captured because of the events at sea and in Iran, his mission would undoubtedly fail because of a lack of free-flowing intel.

He had spent very little time with Master Chief (retired) Jenks as the mad engineer was off in the simulator area working on one of his strange vehicles. Everett thus far was not pleased at what he had been seeing as far as cooperation between the Army and the Navy. The Delta men complained bitterly that it was taking the SEALs far too long to gain access to the mock-up of the two large metallic doors, and that they, the interior team, were being left exposed outside whatever craft it was they were assaulting. Instructors inside their small cubicle kept blowing horns when the team, in their estimation, had been wiped out before entering. Where these fail-pass parameters came from Carl didn’t know, but he was determined to find out. He could not train men like this.

The Delta team was limited as far as the weapons they carried and complained bitterly that the SEALs had all of the serious firepower. Delta carried strange-looking sidearms that were mocked up in plastic and they resembled no handgun they had ever seen. The SEALs had a much stranger shoulder-fired assault weapon and had no idea how it worked. Again, training blind was the way Carl looked at it. He was becoming furious at the strange compartmental way the secret project was being run.

The design bureau at the DARPA — Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency — complex next door said they would have working weapons within the week. Everett wasn’t so sure about the estimate when he saw Master Chief Jenks raise his brows in doubt at the claim while attending a design meeting. When they asked the master chief about the progress of the assault platforms he shook his head and smiled.

“Well, if you consider the fact that we have blown up in simulation no less than fifty-seven times, and the two ships have collided only twelve times with the simulated loss of all onboard, if that’s progress, then yes, the Asimov and Heinlein are almost certainly ready to go.” That comment was the forbearer of the explosion of temper from the master chief claiming that he couldn’t run his shop like this.

Carl was as lost as ever as Jenks had refused to divulge the nature of the project he was in charge of. He had hints when Jenks had claimed on more than one occasion that the NASA, Boeing, Lockheed, and DARPA engineers he was working with were a bunch of candy-asses that were good for nothing other than protecting their own skins. He knew it was a vehicle of some kind and that his men, his uncooperative assault element, would use the two vehicles to enter some sort of alien craft. He was lost after that as the “need to know” was driving him crazy.

Everett slapped the side of the clear visor — encased helmet when his communications shorted out. He shook his head inside the environmental suit as this was the fifth time he had lost communications with his assault teams.

As he slapped his helmet again, he saw one of the SEALs turn and shove away the Delta commando who was looking over his shoulder and giving his unwanted advice as he was trying to assist laying the explosive against the mock-up of the entrance point. Several other SEALs joined the first and then they were soon at odds with five more Delta team members as they all came together in a shouting match. Everett shook his head and then pushed off from the bottom of the giant water-filled tank. Two navy divers hooked his breathing pack to a hard point and then hoisted him up and out of the pool. As the divers released him to the deck team, Everett pointed harshly to the helmet as it was removed.

“The goddamn radio shorted out again. Tell whoever designed this fucking thing that it’s for shit. It may work well in space, but a water environment? It leaves a lot to be desired. Now someone get on a radio that works and get those idiots to the surface!”

The assistant handlers had never seen the admiral lose his temper before and they were humbled as they moved off to get his commando teams out of the pool.

As Everett was stripped out of the tight-fitting environment suit he was approached by the man running this insanity, General Perry Cummings, commander of the Space Center special training unit.

“Look, Perry, I need to know what in the hell this fucked-up team is supposed to assault. I haven’t a clue and don’t hand me this ‘need to know’ bullshit. In case these boys or I are captured before the mission sets off, we’ll blow our own damn brains out. Now get me some answers.”

“Carl, I really don’t know. This shit is so compartmentalized we’ll be lucky to have men that speak the same damn language.” The general, a Marine Corps two-star, the same rank as Everett, helped him slip on a white robe with the NASA emblem embroidered on the breast. “All I know is that the men we were given is all the Army and Navy can spare. The Air Force commando teams have been secured for whatever project is happening with the alien power plant. The rest of the Navy and Army units are off gallivanting around with a general named Collins somewhere in the world.”

“Collins? You mean Jack Collins?” Carl’s astonishment was written on his face.

“That’s the scuttlebutt I hear. Do you know him?”

“Yes, I do know him, and now I wonder what new and inventive way the Army has designed for killing him.”

“Probably not as inventive as what NASA has planned for you, would be my guess.”

Everett nodded and smiled briefly at the general as he tossed the man his towel. He heard the argument reconvene on the surface of the pool between the SEALs and Delta teams. He regained his land legs and slowly and deliberately walked to the far end of the giant pool as the men were hoisted from the water.

As the admiral approached the men still arguing over the finer points of ingress into a sealed target, they noticed the admiral had a very serious scowl on his face. The large, former SEAL took in the men as they were mostly in a state of undress. They turned and halfheartedly stood at attention. Everett saw the sloppiness their basic training was displaying.

“Is that how the Army teaches you to stand in the presence of your commanding officer?” he asked the young Delta captain in the center of the group. “You assholes have been off in the wilds of Afghanistan far too long. Back in the world you are soldiers again.”

The man stood ramrod straight, as did his bearded Delta team. Everett turned next to the lieutenant commander leading the SEAL detachment.

“And the last time I commanded a team, we didn’t start fights with other team members.”

“I … I…”

“What, Commander, are you having trouble speaking?” Everett admonished. “This crap has to stop and stop now. Delta, you stay clear of those hatchways until you are called in. SEALs, get that damn hatch open faster, these men are sitting ducks to enemy fire while you play with that explosive. If you don’t work together you’ll all get your asses flamed in the first minute of the assault!” He saw a young SEAL with a blond beard that had yet to see any thickness to it. He was too damn young. “What is it?” Carl asked, making the boy flinch back.

“I … well, we heard, sir, that this was a one-way mission.”

“So, aren’t SEALs and Delta used to that? Every time you put on assault gear someone is trying to kill you, both on the enemy side and ours. Now get over it. We have millions of people dying out there and they expect you to do something about it. You want out?”

The young SEAL looked insulted. “No, sir, of course not.”

“Do any of you want out?” Everett demanded as he looked from bearded face to bearded face. No one moved or answered. They all looked at their bare feet. “Now get that fucking gear back on and the next man that doesn’t cooperate with his brother — and you are all brothers regardless of pretty uniforms,”—he thought of Jack, Will, and Ryan—“I will personally make sure his life is a living hell, because I will ship all your asses off to military reservation land reclamation. That means you’ll be draining swamps for the rest of your worthless careers. And believe me, gentlemen, it will take approximately a decade to process your resignation requests. Am I getting through to you prima donnas?”

The two officers leading the assault teams stood rigid and that told Everett they did indeed understand. The two captains were stunned to be dressed down in front of their men.

“Now, get back in the water. And remember this, you assholes: you’re not going up against a bunch of backward-assed terrorists on this one. These things will have new and inventive ways of killing every one of you. Then after that they will come down here and use the same methods on little Sally and Billy and Mom and Pop, got it?”

Before the men could answer alarms started sounding throughout the complex. Air Police and NASA security personnel started running and warning men to get to their designated shelters.

Everett grabbed ahold of the first passing airman he could reach. “What is it?” he yelled over the din caused by the alarms.

“Houston and the Space Center are under air attack. All of your men must get to the hardened shelters immediately!”

Carl didn’t know how, but the enemy had discovered the fact that a plan was being worked out, no matter how bad that plan was, and decided to put up a fight.

The Grays were striking at the heart of the American space program.

Everett, instead of running for the designated deep shelter for his command, made sure his men were secured and then sprinted for the roof of the large training facility. He had to be witness to the defense of the Center. He had to know the capabilities of what his team was up against firsthand.

The first explosions rocked him as he struggled to climb the steel stairs. Carl lost his balance and started to fall backward as the loose-fitting robe tangled his legs. He thought he would tumble down the two flights of steps when two large hands grabbed him and pushed him forward.

“Come on, twinkle toes, don’t want to lose you now,” Jenks said, and ruthlessly pushed him up the stairs.

The master chief too was climbing to the roof to see what they were up against.

The twisted form of the wormhole had started over the Galveston area. It had snaked and crawled the distance between the island and the outskirts of Houston. This time as soon as the formation of clouds was recognized for what it was the combined strength of the 149th Fighter Wing lifted off the ground. The Air National Guard unit had been brought together in one spot for a combined strength of over forty fighters, eighteen F-15 Eagles, and twenty-two F-16 Fighting Falcons. They would support the ground element made up of the Army’s 3rd Cavalry Regiment.

Someone had actually planned for the defense of the Space Center, and placed the regiment inside the Center to protect the men being trained there and the experimental craft Jenks and his team were working furiously on. The nickname of the cavalry unit was the “Brave Rifles”; today that name would be put to the test. At last count, ten of the smaller attack saucers had entered the atmosphere and bypassed the civilian population centers of Galveston and Houston and shot straight for the Space Center. The two sides would collide to bring about the largest land engagement on the American continent since the Civil War.

The first of four saucers spread out and concentrated their laser fire on the mission control center. Blast after blast of the bluish-green light punctured the thickened walls of the building. The high-intensity beams smashed through the cinder block and cascaded through the billions of dollars’ worth of equipment.

M1 Abrams tanks wound their way through the streets fronting the many buildings of the Center and took up station, hiding themselves the best they could with only their 120-millimeter smoothbore cannons exposed. The saucers were moving too fast for the tanks to traverse their turrets to aim properly, so the Cavalry Regiment opened fire with small-arms and heavy-caliber weaponry.

Four more of the saucers started attacking the personnel quarters of the Space Center to devastating effect. As Everett and Jenks broke through the roof doors of the training center they saw over a hundred men of the 3rd Cavalry Regiment holding station. They flinched as five man-portable Stinger-B antiaircraft missiles left their launch tubes. The five missiles struck the second saucer as it tried in vain to maneuver away from the infrared seeker of the small warheads. All five of the missiles struck the aft quarter of the vehicle and sent it wobbling, momentarily out of control. That gave two M1s their chance to lock on the target. As the saucer started to straighten and climb, two sabot rounds struck the craft and sent it spinning into the Interstellar Sciences Building. The depleted uranium rounds penetrated the thin skin of the attacker, ripping out her guts until the dartlike projectile struck its power source. The resulting explosion tore out her entire bow section and the ship cascaded in pieces into the building.

As Jenks pointed skyward Carl saw three of the saucers strafing the personnel center and family housing located just outside of the training facility. Everett felt helpless as he saw at least eight Stingers track and then lose lock on the fast-flying ships. Before he realized what was happening the logistics center blew skyward as the laser fire hit the main gas lines connecting the underground lines leading to the next. A series of explosions rocked the next building and then the next, until the entire personnel housing area was in flames.

“Goddamn things are kicking our asses,” Jenks cried as he watched more men on the roof open up with more Stingers and small-arms fire. He heard the Abrams tanks far below open up with their turret-mounted fifty-caliber machine guns. Soon Stingers and tracer rounds stitched the sky in a vain attempt to bring down the remaining alien craft.

“Get down!” Carl yelled, and pushed the master chief away from the edge of the roof. A line of laser fire burned through the concrete and threw up large chunks that peppered both men. As the saucer rose after the strafing run, they were stunned as two AMRAAM missiles struck the stern section of the vehicle. Two large explosions shook the building as the saucer very quickly lost altitude as it struggled to stay in the air. Before they could mentally wish the saucer to crash, six more of the long-range deadly missiles struck it and sent it spinning crazily into the NASA museum pieces lining the lawn of the flight control building. The remains slid into the welcome center and then came to an abrupt halt.

Carl leaned over the side of the building and saw at least three surviving Grays as they tried to exit the burning saucer. They were met immediately by heavy cannon fire from six M1s. The HE — high explosive — rounds were different from the dartlike sabot shots as these large, armor-piercing rounds blew the craft to pieces. The Grays were caught as they struggled free of the wreckage. Heavy weaponry from fifty-caliber rounds to grenades dispatched them with a vengeance only shocked and angry soldiers could provide.

Two Abrams and three Bradley Fighting Vehicles broke cover as their gunfire and cannon discharges brought them unwanted attention from two low-flying saucers. Before the five vehicles could find more cover, laser fire started to take them out. A Bradley Fighting Vehicle took a direct hit in its personnel compartment and the tracked machine careened into the side of a building as the men tried to scramble free over the now-exposed rear ramp. One of the Abrams tried to turn sharply to give the men cover fire, but it too was struck in its hind quarters and immediately exploded, with a force that tore her turret free from the armored chassis.

“Damn it!” Everett cursed. He felt helpless as he watched with nothing more than a bathrobe on. Jenks stood and with his cigar clenched in his teeth shook an angry fist at the climbing saucers that had killed at least thirty men with the two strikes.

He didn’t have long to curse as the cannon fire from an F-16 Falcon connected solidly with the domed upper section of the lead saucer, damaging it just enough that it slammed into the grassy front lawn of the Sciences Building. Everett flinched as at least five Sidewinder missiles slammed into the metal body of the saucer. The resulting explosion once more knocked the men down. They ducked again when an F-15 Eagle slammed nose-first into the guard post at the front gate. Everett looked up and saw the pilot’s chute as it billowed three hundred feet above their heads.

Jenks once more screamed in anger as one of the remaining enemy craft slammed into the pilot as he tried desperately to get to the ground. A red mist marked the spot of the Air Force pilot as his chute fell free and gently floated to the ground, twisting inside out and then coming to rest on the museum grounds.

Everett cursed as loud as the master chief and pulled him away from the wall. As he did he was amazed to see the saucer that had slammed into the building slowly start to rise, even as an AMRAAM missile struck it again. It wobbled, fell back to the earth, and then with its entire aft quarter still aflame it started to rise again.

Three hidden M1s added their firepower to the assault on the damaged vehicle. Carl grimaced as the saucer returned fire, striking the first charging Abrams. The cannon was cleanly sliced away as the beam adjusted and then bit into the frontal armor of the heavy tank. The beam punctured and passed by the driver and impacted the ammunition storage area in the back. Carl pushed Jenks down hard as the Abrams blew up, heavily damaging the second and third M1s close by. Three tanks had been knocked out of commission by a single laser of the enemy.

Everett gained his feet and again started pushing Jenks back toward the roof door as men continued to fire at the downed saucer. Again it rose and to everyone’s amazement it was starting to scab over with new material. Finally at full power once again the fires were extinguished and the vehicle shot back into the air. As Carl pushed Jenks through the door he turned and counted a total of five saucers still in the air, striking every building more than once. Every ship they thought they had destroyed had regenerated and risen to fight again.

A second squadron of navy fighters joined the fray from the naval air station at Galveston. The FA-18 Super Hornets came in low and were carrying heavy ordnance. Several of the armored cavalry units started lasing the saucers from the grassy area just below Carl and Jenks. Everett had to watch the men below as they braved the low-flying craft as they used the large laser designators to paint the saucers that flew low to the ground, and then Hornets let loose their laser-guided weapons. As the lone alien vehicle hovered near the smoking ruin of the flight control building, eight 500-pound bombs struck it directly on the top. The bombs traveled from the just-regenerated stern area to the center dome and then the undamaged front section. The saucer evaporated, taking one of the Hornets with it. The jet had come in too low after load release, and the blast slammed it into the earth, creating a massive fireball.

Two more saucers launched a withering barrage of light at the main training center, the first of which struck next to Everett and Jenks. The concrete and gravel roof burst open like an eggshell and peppered both men. Carl saw the ground personnel of the 3rd Cavalry Regiment take heavy losses as the laser cannons blew them apart.

SAM batteries finally found their targets and at least five of them started streaking after the remaining five saucers as they tried to climb and evade the fast missiles. Two of them didn’t make it — the large warheads struck and blew them apart, turning them into falling debris. The power of the ships must have been decreasing rapidly after the attack because the powerful warheads of the SAMs hit hard enough that two of the alien craft couldn’t regenerate and fell in pieces to the ground. The mission control building was completely destroyed, taking over a hundred of the Armored Cavalry infantry units with it. The resulting explosions once more knocked Everett from his feet, skinning his bare legs against the steel doorway. The master chief was once again lying across him.

Still the saucers attacked.

Carl sat up and realized he wasn’t hurt, then assisted Jenks to his feet. Immediately they were knocked down again as a tremendous explosion ripped through the training center. The roof gave way and Carl found himself flying in midair. He struck the steel stairwell and his head hit the steps with a bone-jarring impact. All went dark as the carnage raged around him. The last thing his conscious mind picked up was the sound of streaking jet fighters and the boom of cannon fire from the remaining Abrams tanks.

The Johnson Space Center had been totally knocked out of commission and the men who would assist in the combined efforts of Operation Overlord were either dead, scattered, or buried alive in the rubble of America’s only advanced center for space exploration. The training center with all of the alien mock-ups was destroyed, and the only hope of salvaging the precious training records was seriously dashed.

The one thing that went right for the entire planet was the fact that it was Houston and the Johnson Space Center that were hit, and not the main Overlord base in the south, in Antarctica. Garrison Lee’s plan to use the world’s communications satellites to keep the aliens guessing had worked. They had tracked the heavy radio and satellite traffic to the wrong base by listening in on radio calls from the military. There was almost no electronic communication engaged at Overlord; it was all done by old-fashioned dialing.

The obsolete landlines of the old AT&T phone system had saved the world for the time being.