Darwin Air Force Base - Northern Australia

        It was hard to believe that the world was at war. Late twentieth century men and women had grown accustomed to war, a simple channel selection on the television, something to discuss over dinner, raise the ratings. War was hell, everybody knew it, but war sold. It sold prime time and it made money. CNN and other media giants understood this well: Grenada, the Gulf War, Panama.
        War was about people dying, yes, rarely justified but sometimes excused. Demonstrations for and against, Congress hearings, late nights in front of the TV. The enemy known, his position identified. His cause understood and rejected.
        But this one was different. The enemy was alien, in nature and in every other aspect. Politicians, military men, ordinary citizens, nobody comprehended the reason behind the assault. The enemy’s location was unknown, his tactics, needs and motives unclear.
        It felt like mankind was involved in a bewildering war of terrorism.

        Pat Mitchell padded downstairs to the kitchen and turned the automatic coffee pot off. The aroma inundated the first floor of his house, dragging him from sleep into the land of the living. He selected his favorite mug from a cupboard and poured some liquid into it, his other hand automatically opening the fridge. He felt his wife creep up behind him and lean her cheek against his back, arms wrapping around his waist.
        She mumbled.
        "Morning, hon," he said. "Coffee?"
        She mumbled again, bringing a smile to Mitchell’s lips. Married for only one month, he had discovered more of his young bride than in their three year relationship.
        "You have to let go, though."
        "Uh-uh." He turned in her arms and kissed her softly.
        "Morning again." She buried her face against his T-shirt.
        "It’s Saturday. You get up too early. If I’d know this..."
        "What? Wouldn’t have married me?"
        "No chance, buster." She snuggled closer.
        "Have to go to the base today." Corine disengaged herself. "We’re on alert every day now, and yours truly pulls the weekend patrol." She groaned.
        "This wouldn’t have anything to do with going to my parents, would it?"
        "Sure. You know how hard it is to convince a bunch of aliens to invade the Earth so I can skip dinner with your mother? Cost me a fortune." She smiled and hugged him again.
        "Okay, so I’ll go shopping. Where’s your VISA?"
        Mitchell laughed. "Not in a million years, you spending maniac."
        A car honked outside and Corine closed her eyes.
        "Pete?"
        "Yeah, he’s picking me up so I told him to come over for breakfast. But it’s okay we’ll eat any old leftovers. Maybe something the cat neglected to eat yesterday."
        "Blackmail at this hour. Okay, okay. Eggs?"
        "Thanks hon," he said as he walked to the front door.

        Mitchell watched his support personnel give his aircraft the last quick inspection and then waited for the go-ahead from his chief mechanic. Once received, he released the Hornet’s parking brake and pushed the throttles slightly forward. The aircraft rolled forward towards runway 23L of Darwin AFB, ready to start patrolling the skies.

        Terran Solar System

        The massive Nova Destroyer decelerated as it approached the out most planet of the Terran Solar System, known as Terra Ten. A freezing cold, inhospitable and mineral poor planet it held little interest for them. Terra Four, on the other hand, constituted the perfect staging post from where to coordinate operations, establish mining operations on Terra Three and launch the attacks. The underwater bases would remain in operation if undiscovered.
        The SubCommander consulted his screen, grunting in satisfaction with the confirmation that all Fleet vessels were in position. With annoyance, he noted the Ethereal vessel move in between two of his escort ships.
        The Fleet continued its journey.

        Orbiting 370 miles above the Earth’s atmosphere, the Hubble Space Telescope rotated its Wide Field Planetary Camera slowly, panning through an arc of 5 degrees, capturing as many shots of the immediate space as possible. Sun glinted brightly off the double 40 feet long solar panels, a flash of light powering the telescope.
        On this occasion brilliant supernovas thousands of light years distant or super dense Black Holes hidden in the vastness of space were not the target of HST’s scrutiny. Onboard cameras transmitted their prize down to NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland, where dozens of scientist crammed into the Mission Operations Room.

        The White House - December 12th

        "Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get right to business." President Hartman took position at the head of the table and sat down. He opened a folder and extracted a series of papers and photographs. "Before we get into these," he said tossing a stack of prints on the table, "I want an update on the situation here. Admiral?"
        The JCS nodded and cleared his throat.
        "Over the past weeks we’ve noticed an increase in alien activity, particularly around and in civilian areas. Current consensus is that the aliens are mining some kind of mineral from our soil but so far we’ve been unable to establish the nature of the mineral."
        The president held his hand up.
        "Nothing at all, Dr. Richards?"
        "One of our teams has spent the last month at Nazca and Reykjavik analyzing the soil, using every technique known to us. Nothing out of the ordinary."
        "Couldn’t the aliens be extracting a common mineral, um, copper for example?" asked Senator O’Donell.
        "All minerals in those areas are quite present in other planets in our Solar System. Among most asteroids, as a matter of fact. Why go to the trouble of armed confrontation?"
        The president gestured the JCS to continue.
        "There are now ten fully operational X-COM teams: Cheyenne, New York, Britain, Spain, Australia, Brazil, France, Germany, Sweden and India. The Finnish team took a beating in Reykjavik but they’re re-assigning troops. Within a month we should have four more teams up and running. Our greatest worry at the moment are civilian targets."
         "Can we expect an escalation in that area?" asked the president.
        "That’s my opinion, yes."
        "All right. In light of recent events I want to upgrade to DEFCON two. JCS?" Several eyes were directed down the length of the table. Defense Condition two - on level away from full scale war - had not been reached in a long time.
        "Yes, sir." He nodded to his aide, who stood up and quietly left the room. The president turned to the VP.
        "Margaret?"
        "Conditions are deteriorating worldwide. There’s been looting in several South American cities," she grabbed a dossier, "I have the complete list. Plus, riots in Russia and some heavy demonstrations in Europe. Public opinion is divided fifty-fifty; the aliens are real or it’s all our fault."
        "Great," mumbled Hartman. ""When’s the NATO security council scheduled?"
        "Tomorrow."
        "We have to force them into passing a strong resolution supporting defense action. Call the council ambassadors and setup a meeting for this afternoon." The VP nodded.
        Hartman pushed his glasses up his nose. "I want all armed forces, including the National Guard, police, firemen," he waved a hand, "etcetera, to be on full alert. All leave should be canceled." He took a deep breath and reached for the color photographs. "Now, what should we expect? Dr. Richards?"
        "The prints clearly show an armada of sorts moving towards us. We’ve identified a total of twenty five ships, one of them very large. At present speed, they’ll arrive at Earth in six days." He turned a photo and pointed with his pen. "They could be foes, friends or from a different planet, for all we know."
        Senator O’Donnell’s eyebrows rose. "Are we considering that they not be the same menace that we’re dealing with here?"
        "We don’t know," said Richards.
        "I see two options available," Hartman said. "Either we consider them hostile or we attempt peaceful contact." He raised one finger. "Friendly, obviously we should try to establish contact." A second finger. "Unknown, same thing." A third finger. "Hostile, we can wait and see, go with a pre-emptive attack or try a diplomatic solution. Ideas."
        "Contact is feasible," said Richards. "SETI’s radio antennas could start sending a message immediately, a multiple band broadcast."
        "What if they can’t understand our signals?" asked O’Donnell.
        "We’ll go with something extremely simple, it’s been done before. Broadcasting around 1,420 megahertz, hydrogen’s natural frequency."
        "Now, let’s consider we receive zero response. What possibilities of a first strike do we have?"
        "Precious few, Mr. President," said JCS. "But we have a couple of birds in orbit with the capability of stopping the larger vessel."
        O’Donnell straightened. "I thought that project was scratched before it began."
        "Not the same one. This one is non-military." He turned to Hartman. "For years we’ve been tracking NEOs - Near Earth Objects - comets, rocks, asteroids that could pose a serious threat to us. An asteroid with a diameter of one kilometer could collide with Earth with a potential impact energy of a million megatons. On a smaller scale, an rock with a diameter of 20 meters," the president noted that the General had done his homework, "could wipe out New York."
        The president lowered his glasses. "Twenty meters? What are the odds?"
        "Some people estimate that the number of Earth crossing satellites could be as high as one hundred million. However, considering the, uh, diameter of our orbit, the chances are small. In 1989," he continued, "an asteroid passed by our planet, a near miss. But had it arrived six hours later, it would have ripped into our atmosphere creating an explosion in the ten thousand megaton range. To quote a famous person, it would have been like stockpiling all of our nukes and pulling the trigger."
        "I’m sure you’re reaching the point relevant to his committee," said Hartman.
        "Yes, sir. In order to protect ourselves, we put two satellites in orbit. Their mission is to blow up the rock or at least change it’s orbit. One of them has a nuclear-tipped warhead, the other one, developed by Lawrence-Livermore National Lab borrows its technology from Star Wars’ Brilliant Pebbles strategy. The nose cone of the warhead contains tungsten balls capable of pulverizing a medium sized asteroid." The JCS paused. "They’re both out there and they may be our only chance."
        "If, and let me stress this, if we decide on this course of action, what’s the procedure?"
        "The satellites have enough fuel to reach the moon. If they alien craft closes in on us," he let the sentence finish itself.
        "It’s a possibility. Make the preparations in the event it becomes necessary. But SETI is our first priority."

        Terra Four - December 20th

        One by one the Fleet’s vessels positioned themselves in orbit around the red planet. Instruments on Science Ships were turned towards Terra Three, making sure that all was as planned. Probes were dispatched and placed in high Terra Three Orbit, sensitive scanners making sure that the previously discovered mineral deposits still existed, initiating scans in order to try to find new ones. Several barges had been encountered on the way, carrying large quantities of ore but still not enough, not nearly enough to save their starving economy. If final reports were correct, the amount of ore on the planet, recently discovered, dwarfed their most optimistic expectations.
        The SubCommander walked into the Conference Room where his superior officers awaited. He regarded the half dozen faces, Kraals and a single Sectoid Science Officer. Ethereal mercenaries were strictly forbidden.
        "What is the mineral report?" he sneered at the Sectoid.
        "Probes report all deposits are untouched. Probe One discovered a further deposit upon arrival at the planet. We will have enough to return triumphant!"
        The Sectoid disgusted the SubCommander, as did all weaker forms of life. A single blow from his scaled arm could easily rip his head from his slim shoulders.
        "We shall see," he forewarned. He turned towards the Security Officer, a Kraal like himself.
        "Orbital security is totally established and all vessel parameters are well within bounds. Terran satellites are being constantly monitored and we’re awaiting orders to commence destruction of them."
        The SubCommander nodded and directed his gaze to the right.
        "Instructions have been sent to Terran Command to commence operations immediately in Site Sector Twelve. Estimated production tops fourteen barges, but it will be necessary to maintain the area for a period of ten Terran days."
        "Commander," cut in Security. "We will have to be aggressive. Military forces in the area are considerably stronger than those previously encountered. Further, Site Sector Seven also lays in a high risk region. Terran forces have already caused considerable losses in the advanced units."
        "Then we will be aggressive," said the SubCommander. He spread his arms wide. "Do we not bring sufficient strength? If we must annihilate Terra Three, so be it."
        "Commander, if you please. I’d like to suggest an alternative idea. A consideration that you might contemplate in the overall plan."
        The Kraal SubCommander turned towards his second in command.

        Slowly, Earth geared itself for war.
        Armed Forces around the world increased their readiness status, leaves canceled. All military units on maneuvers were sent to their home bases. Special operations personnel from all nations were told to be ready for dispatch at a moment’s notice.
        Four days had gone by and the aliens had not acknowledged their hailing.
        The worst was expected.

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X-COM: UFO Defence is copyright 1996 by Microprose Software, Inc. All rights reserved.