Island Pulau Kepu - Timor Sea between Indonesia and Australia - December 26th

        It was a magnificent day for General Manu Hassan. The first anniversary of the glorious revolution that had cleansed his country and had driven him to power. His enemies, real or imaginary, had been exterminated in the most horrible fashion imagined. And he possessed an ample imagination. Loyal troops brought terror to the population, maintaining a vicious hold on order. His order.
        Today would mark the coronation of an Emperor. It was Allah’s will that he rise above his people and gain divine status. Before him, in the dust covered arena surrounded by the palace walls, a large gathering of his people crowded to see the event, bright colors marking the festive atmosphere. A group of men banged with amazing gusto on logs, rhythmic bass thumping into the morning air. Sweet fragrances lingered in the air, carried from the sea and thousands of flower petals laid before him. The sun shone brightly in the morning sky, not a cloud in sight.
        His throne was set up high on one of the terraces overlooking the arena, to his right his favorite wife, to his left his chief advisor. An erection started in his loins as he thought of last night’s activities. It was a shame that the young girl had been hurt so.
        Armed guards patrolled everywhere, ready to shed the last drop of blood for their soon-to-be Emperor.
        Manu Hassan stood majestically and raised his hands. The noise from the plaza quieted, part from interest part from fear of being dragged into the infamous presidential prison.
        "My people." His deep voice carried perfectly in the hot air. "Today is a great day."
        Ragged cheers rose from the crowd, prodded on by the soldiers.
        "Heavy has the injustice of past years been on our shoulders, vexatious the tributes paid." It didn’t matter that his people understood little of what he said. It was his moment, and by Allah, he would bask in it. "But fairness has finally come, prosperity reigns in our fair island as never before. Did I not liberate my people from the tyrants of yesteryear, bringing peace to your hearts?" he bellowed, his bass voice thundering against the walls.
        On indication, the crowd cheered wildly.
        General Hassan let his gaze travel slowly from left to right. He breathed the morning fragrance and stopped. A slight hum disturbed his thoughts. He looked sharply down, trying to identify the culprit, death in his eyes. Gazes wilted before him, panic freezing everyone around him. The hum grew gradually louder, transforming itself into a low throb, ending in an ear shattering sonic boom.
        The escort vessel roared into the square, ground lasers blasting the earth, raising great columns of dirt.
        Chaos erupted.
        General Hassan gawked at the UFO for a second and then retreated into the palace.
        Outside, the crowd was fleeing wildly, running this way and that to escape the hail of fire from above. A few of the braver soldiers fired their aging rifles at the alien machines, only to be cut down, deathly prize for their efforts. And as suddenly as it began it stopped.
        The general ran past the alcove, into a large room and through it into a wide corridor, shock clearly registering in his face, towards the lower reaches of the palace. His only chance, his small mind reasoned successfully, was reaching the escape tunnels of his dungeon. There he would be safe.
        General Manu Hasssan failed to notice the Sectoid step from the shadows and aim a stun blaster at him.

        Consciousness slowly rising. Swimming higher towards clear waters.
        Fright.
        He screamed and rose with a start.
        He saw the monster in front of him and fainted.
        The Kraal officer smirked and ordered the terran awoken.
        General Manu Hassan sat dejectedly on the chair before his magnificent desk in his royal office, his hands firmly clasped on his lap to avoid shaking from fear. What were these monsters, his mind screamed. Part of his evil mind noted with hatred that the monstrous apparition was seated at his desk, looking at him as he had done so many times before at his hapless victims.
        A second alien sat a portable computer before him, similar to the one he had given his favorite son for his birthday, and punched the keyboard. He read the message, confusion filling his eyes.

        WE HAVE COME FOR A SHORT TIME. COOPERATE AND WE WILL PROVE GENEROUS. RESIST US AND YOU WILL DIE.

        The Hornet banked lazily, sun drawing patterns on the canopy. Mitchell was in love. In love with his wife, in love with his job and in love with life.
        "Ranger One, over." His callsign.
        "Go ahead Wizard."
        "Authenticate kilo-november-six."
        Mitchell looked down at his log book and silently found the code. He clicked his radio and read it.
        "Change course left three-zero-five, angels twenty. Recon for possible weasel." Alien activity to the northwest. He pulled the yoke back and to the left, changing course rapidly and gaining altitude. Glancing quickly to his right, he spotted his wingman imitate his movements.
        The F-18 rose quickly and picked up an AWACS emissions somewhere to his left. Damn, it was seriously burning the airwaves with its radar.
        Minutes passed as he continued north, until the radio jolted him.
        "Mayday, mayday. AWACS Five is under fire. Guard One is down," the anonymous voice screamed. Mitchell clicked his radio on.
        "Ranger One for Wizard." Involuntarily, he pushed the throttle forward slightly.
        "Clear."
        "Advise I’ve just picked up a distress call from AWACS Five."
        "Affirmative, Ranger. We have it also. Turn left to two-nine-zero and go echo. Weapons yellow. Advise." He punched his afterburners in, the General Electric GE-404-402 engines rocketing the aircraft forward.
        "Roger."
        He turned his forward-looking camera on but left the powerful APG-73 pulse-doppler radar on standby. As he progressed forward, he began to pick up scraps of conversation of the AWACS and the remaining fighter cover.
        "AWACS Five is damaged. We’re on emergency evac," came the distressed voice.
        He clicked his radio open. "AWACS Five, this is Ranger One. Estimated arrival time in three minutes."
        "Guard One is down. Guard Two is hit!"
        "Go low, AWACS. Hold tight." It was all that he could say. He pressed his lips together and wished his aircraft faster. Two and a half minutes.
        "Oh shit, Guard Two is down. We’re at five hundred feet. One engine out."
        Mitchell turned his radar on, slamming high energy waves into the air in front in him. Damn if the enemy could see him, maybe he could save the turboprop. He picked up the stricken radar bird on his scope and behind it a single fast moving blip. Fifty miles away.
        "Jesus, we’ve been hit again. Right wing is on fire. We’re ejecting, we’re..." and the transmission was cut.
        Mitchell yelled with rage. Too late. He selected an AMRAAM and closed the distance to the UFO quickly, but it turned and fled in the opposite direction, putting distance between them.
        A light blinked on his central console, indicating that he was bingo, that he had enough fuel to return to base, but no more. He cut the afterburners and watched with anger as the UFO slowly pulled away.

        The Fleet spent a full Terran week stationed at Terra Four, its long range probes scanning the surface on the blue planet. Regions were mapped out carefully, mining zones charted with pinpoint accuracy. The information fed into computers, stored for use.
        The Kraal SubCommander smiled. The Terrans had had their moment of glory, fighting back, a slight sting against a giant. But the time for learning was upon them. He turned, anticipating his second in command.
        "Yes?"
        "The probes have all reported in and Science has informed that the report is concluded. We are ready."
        "How many mining areas?"
        "Fifty eight very large, over two hundred medium and a host of smaller ones," he answered without hesitation. "Orbital bombardment trajectories have been calculated. As per your orders, we’ve targeted all major population areas and eighty four military installations."
        The Kraal SubCommander brought up a 3D globe and watched as red dots distributed themselves over the surface of Terra Three, a white line drawn above the planet indicating the orbital path. The SubCommander reclined in his chair, pleased. Once all major cities and defense positions ceased to exist, Terra Three would be powerless to defend itself. The population would be enslaved and forced to work extracting the precious mineral. Those who remained, of course.
        "How many bases established?"
        "Five subaquatic and two on land. The local leaders are cooperating nicely."
        "We commence, then. Give the necessary orders," he said briefly.

        President Hartman strode quickly into the Oval Room, where half of the crisis team awaited. The first thing he noted was that Admiral Rourke’s face bore a very preoccupied look.
        "Gentlemen," he said, sitting down.
        "Mr. President. These photographs were taken three hours ago by Hubble." The JCS pushed a stack of prints towards the President. "They’ve been confirmed by NEAT astrological telescope at Maui. What they show is the alien fleet leaving Martian orbit and moving towards us." The NEAT project (Near Earth Asteroid Tracking), a joint JPL-Air Force effort, consisted of a camera mounted atop a one-meter telescope in Hawaii.
        Hartman regarded the pictures.
        "I don’t intend to second guess you, but are we certain that they’re headed this way?"
        "NASA says it’s out of the question, sir. At present speed, they’ll reach us in three days."
        Hartman turned to his chief of staff.
        "I want a meeting with all major ambassadors. Get the VP. Right away. Also, schedule an emergency meeting at UN Security Council for tomorrow." The President turned to his top military man.
        "Educated guess. What’s going to happen?"
        "We’re going to be heavily attacked, sir."

        NEAT telescope - Maui, Hawaii.

        The one meter dish rotated slowly to follow the alien fleet. A Charged Coupled Camera piggybacked on the dish took precise photographs of the alien vessels, feeding it into a computer that was connected to Harvard’s BETA installation (Billion Channel Extraterrestrial Assay). The twenty six meter Harvard-Smithsonian radio telescope swept through the heavens, listening to more than 250 million channels, riding a frequency spectrum of 500 megahertz. The daily twenty thousand gigabytes of information were classified by a supercomputer and the results sent to NEAT.
        Earth emitted continuos messages of peace.
        Silence came back

        Cheyenne Mountain - December 31st

        Lieutenant Ridge strolled into Cheyenne’s Ready Room and sought Keller out. He spotted him standing in conversation with Colonel Sachs. What was going on? He moved to the front row and sat next to Gator. The large southerner pivoted his head slowly.
        "What’s up?"
        "Not a clue," he said succinctly.
        The commandos shot from their seats, standing at attention as General Sachs walked in.
        "At ease," he said. "Take your seats." He strode to the podium and faced his men, arms clasped firmly behind his back.
        "Gentlemen. As of oh-nine hundred hours the alien fleet is in Earth orbit. Twenty five spacecraft, including one very large vessel, parked themselves this morning four hundred miles above us. NASA reports we’ve lost scores of satellites, mainly Brilliant Eyes Recon birds, Brilliant Pebbles killer sats and a host of NOSS Ocean Surveillance. Our allies are also informing of similar events. In a matter of days our space coverage will be reduced to practically zero."
        General Sachs had been stunned at the full report. A third of their communications satellites were gone. The Navy was struggling after having lost two of their four Fleetsatcoms and a Leasats bird, leaving half of the fleet without communication. The Defense Satellite Communications System had been hit hard, losing most of its operability, as well as the Early Warning DSP program. Milstar had also lost hardware, and some Elint sats, also know as ‘ferrets’, were missing.
        "As you know, US Armed Forces alert level is at DEFCON Two. We, of course, are at Alert One. From now, whenever a siren goes off, we’re under attack. No more drills. Gentlemen, it is the opinion of the president and the Joint Chiefs, opinion that I subscribe, that the aliens are going to unleash their full power on us. It is a strong possibility that the aliens will try to inflict severe damage on our armed forces, as well as on our civilian population in order to undermine our moral and fighting capability. All cities are currently on Evac Status Yellow, that is, in preparation of evacuation.
        "We’re contemplating two possible scenarios. The first you’re all familiar with. A localized attack in which case procedures are as normal.
        "The second one involves a city under major attack. If it becomes necessary to evacuate, local police and National Guard will be in charge and we will coordinate with them. Our mission will be to contain the alien threat in a certain area. If it is possible, destroy it. If not, hold it and wait for reinforcements.
        "Gentlemen. Our planet is in great danger. We could be at the very verge of the destruction and disappearance of mankind. Tremendous sacrifice will be asked from each of you. I have confidence that you will not let me down. Colonel Hammet will answer your questions. Thank you." With that he strode off the podium and marched quickly through the door, leaving a stunned audience. Hammet took his place.
        "Questions?"

        NORAD - Space Control Center - January 1st

        The console operator kept his eyes glued to the screen, barely daring to help his hand search for the coffee mug.
        The alien fleet was moving slowly, braking geo-stationary orbit and accelerating the pulse of those in the room by an order of magnitude.
        Basically, the NORAD Space Control Center supports the space control missions of space surveillance and protection of North American assets in space. The center, formed in March of 1994 through the combination of the Space Surveillance Center and Space Defensive Operations Center, is tasked with detecting, tracking, identifying, and cataloging all man-made objects in space. Since 1957, over 24,000 space objects have been cataloged, many of which have since reentered the atmosphere. Currently, there are about 8,000 on-orbit objects constantly being tracked.
        But today, twenty five objects were the center of attention.
        Thousands of telescopes, radar antenna, and cameras were turned towards the upper reaches of Earth’s atmosphere.
        The operator brought the mug without looking to his lips and sipped the lukewarm liquid. A red light pulsed above the screen and he spluttered.
        "Colonel," he said loudly. "Object detached from main UFO."
        "On screen," ordered the Colonel loudly. Instantly, the central screen depicted a radar enhanced image of the alien fleet, a single small object streaking towards Earth.
        "Analysis," barked the Colonel.
        "Uh, small cross section, moving at Mach two-zero, on course to enter atmosphere in ten seconds. Wait a minute, sir. I read further objects emerging from the main craft. Five, no six."
        "Let’s get a trajectory estimate," said the Colonel. Then to an aide. "Get me CINCNORAD on the double."

        The White House

        The National Security Advisor burst into the President’s office without stopping to be announced. Secret Service agents flanked him.
        "Mr. President. Five minutes ago several objects detached themselves from the alien fleet and are heading towards us at high speed. We could be under attack."
        "Attack?"
        "Yes sir. One of the objects is headed for New York. Estimated time of impact in five minutes."
        "Possibility it is not an attack," asked the president.
        "Unknown, sir." He handed the chief exec. a paper. "But, this is the list of the other impact points."
        The President grabbed it and scanned it quickly. He blanched.
        "Dear Lord. All are major military command posts." He looked up. "Have they been notified?"
        The NSA nodded.
        "Can we do anything about it?"
        "No, sir. NORAD informs that the objects are moving at very high speeds and there’s no chance of an intercept." The NSA stopped and looked around. "Mr. President, we should get you out of here."
        The president shook his head "Not unless it becomes absolutely necessary."
        "Sir, I..."
        "We’re not under attack, am I correct ?"
        The NSA hesitated. "No, sir. Not yet." He knew when he had lost an argument.
        "OK, this is what we do. Notify all Command Centers to go to prewar alert. Have we alerted NY National Guard?"
        "Yes, sir."
        "Execute Planet Defense, but keep it in standby until I say so."
        The President beeped his secretary who appeared instantly at the door. "Get Captain Berring in here." A uniformed man dashed in carrying a complex case full electronic equipment.
        "Patch me into NORAD. John," he said looking at the NSA, "turn the TV on. Tune into a New York channel." The President crossed his arms on his chest and prepared to wait out the longest five minutes of his life.

        Two minutes later, a full squadron of F-15s lumbered into the sky under the heavy weight of modified ASAT missiles, the ugly antisatellite weapons hanging ungainly under the fuselage.
        At the same time, NORAD Space Defense initiated the sequence to warm up and arm all systems on the three killer satellites in high Earth orbit, including the NEO buster.
        Operation Planet Defense was under way.

        Cheyenne Mountain

        Keller looked around the room as his men tried on the improved Stage Three armor. The commandos should have been happier than kids with new toys, rowdy and animated. But on this occasion, tense was the word that best described the situation. His men strapped the Duritium alloy protection on and hefted the plasma rifles seriously, jokes absent.
        He looked at Catherine who caught his stare. She tried a feeble smiled but failed miserably and decided to walk over.
        "It feels a like funeral." She winced at her choice of words.
        "Yeah," said Keller softly. He looked around his men, his friends and wondered how many would come back. He pushed the thought from his mind.
        "Duritium alloy on chest, back, legs and arms. Capable of withstanding a direct plasma shot." She reached down and pressed a button on his belt. "GPS tracker," she explained. "We’ll have you under control every step of the way." She pressed another button. "Emergency signal. It’ll call in the cavalry faster than you can say ‘Katie’."
        Keller smiled and inched closer. "How ‘bout, Katie I love you?"
        She looked into his eyes with a grave expression.
        "Don’t joke with me."
        "I’m not. I don’t know if it’s the suit, but my heart is overclocking." He smiled. Catherine stepped slightly back and reached her hands behind her neck, her hands dipping under her long auburn hair..
        "Here," she said. "Good luck amulet." She reached up and clasped the gold chain around his neck. "Bring it back," she warned. Then she turned and said in a loud voice.
        "The armored suits are very valuable. I want each and every one of them returned without a scratch, understood?"
        Smiles bounced from face to face, tension easing.
        The alarm went off, blaring suddenly, startling them.
        "OK, boys. We’re up," said Keller loudly. He noted the fear in Catherine’s eyes.

        Gandalf watched his computer screen in horror, his hand frozen on the mouse. He stood and ran downstairs, shouting at the top of his lungs.
        "Mom, Dad!" He tore into the living room and raced under the astounded looks of his parents to the TV. He looked around frantically and spotted the remote on the armrest of a sofa.
        "Dad, get CNN. You’re not going to believe this!"

        "Lord All Mighty," breathed the President. With the rest of the room, he was watching the twenty-four hour news network, half numb half in horror. The Antimatter Torpedo struck downtown Manhattan with a force of nuclear weapon, burying itself into the ground a hundred feet before releasing the force field that held the negative matter particles. The results were instantaneous and catastrophic.
        Pavement gave way under the destructive combination of matter-antimatter, buckling the buildings above it, creating great shock waves throughout the city. Any building that had not been specifically designed or modified to withstand high Richter earthquakes collapsed under the violence of the shock, ruble, steel and cement raining of the terrified people below.
        Fires erupted from exploding gas lines or broken electric poles, showering sparks and tongues of hot air on the sidewalks.
        "I am at loss for words," said the reporter. Behind her, smoke rose in thick, black columns. "As you can see, Bob, something has exploded in Manhattan creating widespread destruction. We haven’t been able to speak to the authorities yet, but it seems to me that nothing short of a nuclear bomb could do this much damage. At least, the range of the explosion indicates this." The reporter was clearly shaken, hardly measuring the extent of her words.
        The camera switched briefly to the studio headquarters, where an immaculately dressed anchorman sat flabbergasted. Just a few minutes ago he had been talking with the reporter about the cold spell in the city and now this.
        "Nuclear?"
        "I’m just speculating, Bob. But you have to be here to understand the magnitude of the explosion. This isn’t just an ordinary gas leak."
        "Could this tie into the alien spacecraft currently in orbit?" asked the anchorman.
        "Well, Bob, so far no one is saying.. But what I can tell you is that, as we speak, the Army, Police and National Guard are mobilizing. From here you can see military helicopters already over flying the damaged area."
        "Turn it down," ordered the president. "Did I hear the word nuclear?"
        "Negative, sir," said JCS. "I’ve just got word that radiation levels are nominal."
        "Execute Planet Defense," he said, rage in his voice. "What about the other target areas?"
        "No word as of yet," said a General.
        The president turned to the screen. "How long until we know if we’ve hit the UFOs?"
        "About thirty minutes, sir."
        An aide, a Captain, walked into the room and handed his superior officer a piece of paper. The General read it and cleared his throat.
        "Mr. President. East coast radar stations have just picked up a large UFO closing in on New York. Parameters indicate a ground raid."
        The temperature in the room dropped as visions of Lima crept into the minds of the assembled group.
        "What forces do we have in the area?" asked the president softly.
        "National Guard helicopters are moving in. Local police are cordoning off the affected areas and directing traffic away and Police Rapid Response and SWAT teams are already stationing themselves around Manhattan. New York X-COM team is twenty minutes out and the Cheyenne team is in the air, fifty minutes away."
        "Army?"
        "No chance of mobilizing them at such short notice. It’ll take a full day to move any sized force into place. But the Air Force is stationing a squadron of fighters above the city."
        "How about other Special Force groups?"
        "Delta and East coast SEAL teams are ready to move. We can have them in the area in twenty minutes, as backup for X-COM."
        "I’ll leave it to you, General. But give those people all the help they can get." "Yes, sir." The General stood and left the room quickly, shooting off a staccato of orders at his aide. The President turned to the NSA.
        "Any further attacks?" he asked.
        "None so far."
        Wrong.

        Flight Zulu-One-One - Somewhere over North America

        The pilot of the lead Eagle eased his yoke slowly forward breaking the climb at thirty thousand feet. He checked his GPS and inertial navigation satisfied that he was at the correct point. "Zulu One at point Alpha. Standing by."
        Thousands of miles away, at NORAD Space Center, radars tracked the alien fleet as it moved eastward, towards Europe. The firing sequence had to be accurately timed, the attack window opened only for a matter of seconds.
        "Zulu One. Initiate on my mark in ten." The pilot counted off the seconds in his head.
        "Zulu, two, one ... mark!"
        The Eagle driver punched his afterburners in and pulled back on the yoke, lifting his nose into a sixty degree climb. Beside him, the other seven aircraft rose in unison.
        The pilot selected the ASAT from his weapons display and armed it, the lock-on signal coming a clear green. He checked the altimeter; forty five thousand feet and climbing quickly. At sixty thousand feet he jettisoned his external fuel tanks. A eighty thousand, the pilot was breathing rapidly. C’mon baby, he wished, and pulled the trigger.
        Eight 5.5 meter long missiles dropped from below the climbing Eagles and ignited their motors, extending stub-like wings and exploding forward under the power of their rocket motors.
        "Break," called Zulu Lead. "Birds are away."

        At four hundred miles altitude a lone satellite received the final instructions, arming its onboard weapons and warming its nuclear reactor to 105% nominal power.
        It rotated slowly towards the correct heading and fired its rocket engines in a continuos burn, launching itself forward at twenty thousand miles per hour.

        Hyper-X

        Gator returned from the lavatory and sat in front of Keller. He smiled. The big guy always needed to go when he boarded a plane.
        The transport was screaming towards New York city, already having covered half the distance.
        "Any news?" asked Ridge from the other side of the aisle.
        "Nope," answered Keller. "Radio’s as silent as a mute."
        "I gotta tell you, I’m glad your little lady is handy with this new techy stuff," said Gonzalez from behind him. "This new armor is cool."
        "Little lady?" asked Keller, turning his head.
        "Better half?" he offered.
        "Gonzalez, you wanna parachute into New York?"
        The Hispanic laughed silently and reclined into his seat.
        "What the hell?" exclaimed Keller suddenly.
        The engines had changed pitch, the transport veering hard to the right. Next to him, the command radio came to life.
        "One, this is base. Over." Keller grabbed the radio as faces turned in his direction. It was Hammet.
        "Go ahead."
        "One, Cheyenne base is under attack." Keller’s stomach lurched. "Detected a large UFO five minutes out. We need you back here." Keller’s mouth went dry.
        "Jesus," he breathed. He clicked the transmit button. "Sir, we’ll be there in twenty minutes."
        "Affirmative. No time to evacuate. I’m assembling everyone in the lower floors. NORAD is sending some security personnel over to help with defense. Stout heart, Captain. Will resist till you get here."
        Keller switched the radio off, his heart pounding in his chest. Team Two would have to make do on their own.

        Cheyenne Mountain

        The HUMVEE skidded to a stop in front of X-COM’s main gates and the group of men jumped out. The Captain raced forward to the first of the sandbagged machine gun nests.
        "Heads up, guys. The bugs are one minute out," he said raising a finger. He ran inside.
        Red lights flashed in the empty corridors as he ran towards the first secure door. Other soldiers crouched in doorways or behind what cover they found. The civilian and scientist community had fled to the lower floors.
        The UFO came in fast, its size dwarfing the terran constructions. Sleek and beautiful, painted in a dull gray, it had an air of unmistakable menace. In the machine gun nest, a group of soldiers started praying silently, eyes wide open. The vessel settled itself slowly one hundred yards away and several shapes dropped to the ground, leaving dents on the asphalt.
        The machine guns opened up, tracers flying true towards the aliens. The Tanks fired together, plasma obliterating the group of soldiers in a bright flash. A ramp lowered to the ground and dozens of aliens emerged, Sectoids carrying heavy weapons first.

        The Alien Fleet

        A second volley of Antimatter torpedoes sped towards Earth, a dozen shots fired at a dozen locations.
        Alarms came on as the Defense Systems picked up the rapidly climbing ASATs.
        "Terran torpedoes coming at us," said a Kraal officer.
        "How many?" asked the SubCommander
        "Eight units, Commander. Time of impact in fifteen seconds."
        "Shields up, engage them," he ordered. A loud hum reverberated across the hull of the Nova Destroyer as powerful energy shields enveloped the threat axis. Ion Batteries calculated the course and speed of the terran menace and started firing, pulse after pulse screeching into the atmosphere leaving red blazing trails.
        "I’m detecting a secondary threat, Commander," said the Defense Officer. "Two Terran satellites are converging on us."
        "I thought all military satellites were destroyed!" said Commander loudly. The subject of the Commander’s wrath wilted and stuttered.
        "Uh, yes, sir. But ..."
        "How long?"
        "Ten seconds, sir, to impact."
        "Engage them," he ordered. "The torpedoes have priority." He gave the officer a murderous look.
        At seven seconds to impact only two ASAT missiles remained, the rest blasted to fragments, explosions marking their demise. A single Ion Battery rotated and engaged the killer satellites, destroying one, and then re-assigned itself to the remaining missiles. Red streaks blazed from the Destroyer, creating a wall of nearly impenetrable energy. Another ASAT exploded soundlessly, shards of metal clashing against the shields. The final missile detonated against the shields, its several megaton warhead illuminating the sky.
        The Nova rocked as its inertial stabilizers failed to cope with the violence of the hit. The Ion Batteries turned in unison on the final satellite, pulverizing it.
        "Damage report," bellowed the SubCommander.
        "All threats neutralized. Shields are down, but there is no further damage reported," said a relieved Defense Officer.
        "We have been lucky. The same will not be written for them in the pages of history. Fire off the remaining volley!"
        An alarm beeped on the main Defense console. It had just picked up the NEO buster.

        The alien torpedoes screamed through the atmosphere and struck in military centers around the nation, destroying hundreds of war machines - tanks, airplanes, artillery. Killing many troops.
        But the Earth struck back.
        The NEO buster satellite sped on a direct collision course towards the Nova Destroyer. Flashes of light pulsed by as the Ion Batteries sought to destroy it and at five hundred meters, a single Ion blast ripped through it. The satellite detonated.
        But not due the alien’s blast.
        On board computers calculated the precise moment for an optimal discharge and activated the satellite’s explosive charges. Thousands of tungsten balls mushroomed into space forming a flat array, hundreds of feet across. The combined velocity of the Nova and the metallic curtain was tremendous, both objects coming together fiercely, the balls’ kinetic energy transforming into thermal energy as they slowed against the hull of the UFO.
        Hundreds of small explosions rocked the craft, shocks propagating throughout the Destroyer. Alarms came on all over the ship, power failing and being replaced by emergency generators. Vacuum seals clicked on throughout the vessel.
        "Damage report," ordered the SubCommader.
        "Extensive damage in Engineering, Computers and Engine Room, sir. We’re down to twenty percent power, negative on shields and Defense Systems are inoperative. We can maneuver but if we get hit again ..." the officer left it that.
        "Are there any other terran objects coming at us?"
        "Unknown, Commander. Defense Computers aren’t responding."
        "Calculate a path to the lunar orbit and move us out of here on the double. All other vessels continue as planned."
        "But, Commander," said the Military Officer. "Without the Nova, they’ll be..."
        "Silence!" bellowed the SubCommander. "If you had done your job correctly, we wouldn’t be in this position. The plan continues as specified."

        Cheyenne Mountain

        Catherine raced down the corridor, passing armed security officers busily preparing the base’s defense. Up ahead she spotted Peter Chen and Carol Yeng running hand in hand, lab coats swirling behind them. A technician pushed a trolley with stacks of computer disks, presumably months of hard work.
        She turned a corner and followed her colleagues down a flight of stairs to the lowest level of the base. Trapped like mice, but with no better place to go. She thought of Keller and wished him to arrive in time.
        On the first level of the base, other men were also running. Retreating to the second line of defense. The three flying disks, cyberdisks they had been named, flew into the base through the main hangar doors at high speed, firing pulse after pulse of incredibly powerful plasma. Behind them, two black triple-axle Tanks rolled smoothly on, Rapid Fire EM Guns filling the air with Elerium pellets, creating havoc amongst the security ranks.
        Finally, those who dared stay, caught fleeting glimpses of scores of Sectoids and Kraals, heavily armored and carrying plasma rifles and frisbee launchers.
        The attack was devastating.

        Hyper-X decelerated strongly, pushing every man against the restraints. Scorch marks were visible on the exterior of the base, where a brief but bloody battle had taken place. Keller glanced at his watch. Eighteen minutes had passed. Eighteen agonizing minutes. An eternity.
        He spotted a couple of Air Force F-16 hurtle by them, top cover for their assault. The UFO was long gone, tracked over into the Rockies. Presumably, it was to return later for the alien ground forces. The plane touched down with a strong thump, finesse thrown to the winds, and reversed its engines with a thunderous whine. A Tank stepped from the building and fired a stream of plasma at the rapidly slowing craft, catching it squarely in the cockpit.
        Metal screeched as the nose gear gave and the plane toppled forward, smashing against the tarmac and tossing unrestrained equipment around the cabin. Keller lurched against the restraint of his harness. The engine roar was substituted by the grating of metal on concrete. A second salvo ripped into the front of the transport, leaving a gaping hole. Wind rushed in.
        Keller managed to unbuckle himself and lurched forward.
        "Everybody out!" he yelled.
        The aircraft dragged slowly to a stop, friction with the cement halting it brusquely. The emergency doors exploded outward as the automatic emergency systems kicked in. Keller leaped through the door, even as the inflatable ramp ballooned out. He landed in a mess on the floor and rolled to a kneeling position, whipping his rifle to his shoulder.
        The Tank fired again, singing Keller. He aimed and fired a dozen shots on automatic, catching the Tank in the left axle. It shuddered and nearly toppled over, missing its next shot. Another commando landed beside the Captain and fired a burst at the Tank, striking it full on. Another two rifles joined the fray, spraying the machine with energy until it fireballed spectacularly. Yes, thought Keller, these things fucking work!
        Without a word he took off at a dead run towards the base entrance, Gator already on his heels. They reached the destroyed machine gun nest and side-stepped the remains of the Tank, glancing inside the wide double doors. Other X-COM commandos arrived, forming up by squads. In the brief minutes before landing, Keller had outlined the plan. Squads One, Two and Three were to descend as fast as possible to the lower levels, seek the civilians and secure the area. Squad Four, Wales leading, was tasked with base clean-up, sweeping slowly through the floors until every last alien was dead. If it proved too much, they were to evacuate the base and wait for reinforcements to arrive.
        Keller moved in, his men running swiftly behind him.

        The alien force advanced quickly through level two (underground) flattening out the light opposition and prepared to descend into the lowest level. Most of the equipment had been destroyed but the prize goal were the scientists and technicians that composed the thinking force behind the base. Destroy the mind, and you will have destroyed the body. Destroy the possibility of scientific advance, keep Terra Three in the dark, and their military will cease to function.
        The raid commander organized his troops. Owing to their size and their inability to descend through the stairs, the Tanks he had left on the primary level, a surprise for the terran force he was informed was entering the base. Excellent. A secondary prize.

        The main corridor on level zero led on towards the administration section of the base. Half way down it a second corridor led off to the left, at right angles, towards a wide reception area at the end of which the main elevators and stairs could be found. From it, Keller mentally checked, another corridor connected with the hangars and maintenance facilities.
        Keller rounded the corner moving into the second corridor and dove into the closest room, the plasma burst obliterating the door and frame of the waiting lounge. He landed against a low table. "Robot in the reception," he said into his mike, picking himself off the floor.
        He poked his head out and just as quickly ducked back in, the wall exploding around him as the Tank fired a stream of plasma into the room, forcing him to duck low. Gator whirled into the corridor and fired his rifle at the machine, dodging back quickly.
        "Problems," he said.
        The Tank stopped firing, silence interrupted by the distant sound of gunfire.
        "Boss," said Ridge. "You there?"
        "Yeah." Keller raised his head and saw the dark outline of the Robot through a hole in the wall. "’Bot’s still there too."
        "We ain’t going to get enough shots into it from here," said Ridge. He crept to the corner and shoved a small fiber optic camera around it. A small monitor showed the Robot unmoving in the middle of the wide reception. "I don’t think we’re going to be entering this way."
        "Shit," said Keller. "Alternatives."
        "Precious few if we want to go down. Unless we backtrack and enter through the hangars."
        "Probably another ‘bot waiting for us there. And we don’t have enough time."
        "I’ve got an idea," came Gonzalez’s voice. He explained. Ridge looked at him with a dubious expression and shook his head. Gonzalez smiled and rushed past the corner, kept going and launched himself flat on his face as the Tank fired at him. The plasma struck the wall behind him causing chunks of cement to fly in every direction, but he was safe on the other side of the corridor. He picked himself up and moved into the security office, pausing carefully at the entrance to verify that he was alone. He looked around until he located the appropriate buttons and punched them. Then he exited the room and held his thumb up.
        "OK, everyone, get ready," said Ridge easing the tiny camera around the corner.
        Behind the Tank, the elevator light started to rise slowly from level three, illuminating each number as it passed the floor. After a few seconds the doors whooshed open. The Tank whirled around, its plasma guns firing wildly into the open cabin.
        Thirty yards away, five commandos moved into the corridor, aimed and fired a continuos volley of energy at it. The machine bucked violently as one of its axles gave and started to topple, landing with a thump on its side. More fire rained on it, rupturing the hover gas lines and destroying the internal power source. The Tank collapsed, steam and vapors gushing from its frame.

        The head of base security ducked as the cyberdisk exploded, metal fragments pinging against the walls around him. It took a TOW rocket and some serious firepower to down those things, but it could be done. But, the cost was awful. More than half his men were dead.
        The base consisted of four levels, each connected through a set of elevators and stairwells located on opposite sides. To gain time, the defense teams had destroyed the stairs alternatively on each side so that, in order to descend, the aliens would have to completely transverse each level.
        Through the smoke he saw shapes moving. Beside him, a young soldier fired his M-16 into the haze. Someone yelled behind him and he tapped the young man on the shoulder.
        "Fall back," he said. The only alternative against such opposition was to leapfrog backwards, stopping at each defensive position to slow the aliens, buying time for Keller and his men, until further retreat was impossible. Then they would have to stand and fight. And die.

        Catherine sat on a bench in the gymnasium, arms crossed on her chest, her hands shaking. She looked up and saw the terrified expressions of her colleagues, nervous, darting glances thrown around to see who was holding up. Fifty two people total.
        The silence in the room was punctuated by the sounds of battle above their heads. Carol huddled in Chen’s arms crying softly.
        She missed Keller.

        Retreating, running crazily through tight corridors, smoke billowing around them, plasma blasts ripping into the walls at their sides, explosions. A body crumpled with a scream, a gaping hole in his back. The soldiers and security men ducked past the final corner before the last set of stairs, cringing as glass and walls exploded about them. The head of security stopped and crouched around the corner, his M-16 firing a long stream into the smoke. A few plasma shots pulsed back, missing.
        He ripped a grenade from his belt and tossed it into the smoke.

        Keller ran down the stairs two at a time, jumped the final four and stopped in his tracks. The rest of the stairwell was gone, metal blown to bits by high explosive charges. He understood. He clasped the door and darted through, training his weapon around him. Nothing. His heart pounded in his throat. Gonzalez tore past him, another commando hot on his tail.

        Catherine looked around her. The gym, a large pool, wooden rafters escalating up three walls to a high ceiling, crisscrossed with metal beams. A sauna at the further end, next to the changing rooms. No where to go or hide.
        She thought as hard as she could. How could she add a little bit of time? How could she delay the aliens just a few precious seconds?

        The frisbee came without warning. A low pitched sound echoing down the halls as it negotiated the tight bends of level two corridor, still out of sight.
        Gonzalez launched himself flat on the floor and screamed a warning. Too late to avoid it. Keller looked around wildly for cover but found none. He hefted his plasma and ran forward, leapt over Gonzalez and stopped. Gator appeared at his left and Ridge skidded to a stop to his right.
        "Fuckin’ cowboys," growled the southerner. Keller’s throat felt dry as sandpaper.
        The frisbee dashed around a bend in the corridor, corrected its course and aimed itself at them. In unison, the three men fired their weapons, streams of high energy throbbing towards the bomb. It exploded violently, the concussion rocking the corridor and sending them flying backwards.
        Keller landed with a thud on his back and lay still for a few seconds. He rose slowly, blessing the armor and clearing his head from the tremendous shock wave, finding Gator already on his feet. "Missed, ya pieces of shit," said the southerner through clenched teeth.
        "You OK, Gonzalez?" asked Ridge. But when he looked back up, he noticed his boss, the southerner and the rest of the squads already dashing forward.
        "Damn," he spat.

        The head of security set up a hasty defensive position next to the last stairwell and raced down to organize the last line of resistance. The soldiers contemplated the cyberdisk float around the corner, opening up with the large bore M-60 caliber machine gun, a loud thumping noise resonating down to the lower level.
        The cyberdisk bucked violently, fired, missed and disintegrated the wall to their right, dust and cement blowing around them.
        The soldiers held their ground, firing back until the disk blew. Through the smoke they spotted gray aliens taking firing positions, plasma already cutting holes around them. Seconds later they were dead.

        Keller raced forward, spurred by the dread of thinking about Catherine. It was a race against time, and he was on the losing end. The signs of battle were devastating. Men lay everywhere, torn to shreds by frisbees or broken by plasma blasts. Glass and cement crackled under their feet as they raced forward.
        In front of him, Gator jumped over a body and rounded the last corner, caution lost. The plasma shot caught him in the chest and made him lose his balance, tripping and ending up splayed on the floor. A squaddie dashed behind him, his rifle firing wildly, catching the Sectoid in a limb. Keller dashed in on the squaddie’s heels, firing a long burst and the toppling bug.
        Five other Sectoids started to fire at them. Keller went down instantly, hit in the side, the air coming from his lungs in an explosive whoosh. The squaddie dropped also, screaming.
        For a fleeting moment, Ridge thought: no, no, NO. Against procedures. Don’t rush wildly into a fire fight, think intelligent. If you have to, retreat and live to fight another day. We can’t waste a whole X-COM team on a suicidal dash to save a bunch of scientists. Then he spotted his boss round the corner and drop as the plasma caught him. Ridge bolted forward yelling wildly, weapon firing from the hip followed by three other squaddies. The grays were taken by surprise, fired inaccurately and then died.
        Last floor.

        The head of security watched as the last group of his men prepared the final position. Dear Lord, how many men had died? Through the smoke he saw a new shape lumbering towards them at high speed. He had seen pictures but it was the first time he actually saw a Kraal. He fired his weapon ineffectively against the alien and then watched in horror as it cut down his remaining men.
        The aliens bore down on the final door and burst in.

        Ridge smashed through into level three, jumping lightly over scores of fallen bodies. Jesus H. Christ, he thought. Gun fire came clearly down the corridor, closer now. An alien, a Sectoid carrying a rifle fired a shot at him and he dove sideways out of the way.
        "Bug," he yelled. A squaddie crouched around the door and fired at the alien, missing but making it scamper for safety. The squaddie moved into the corridor.
        "Clear," he said.
        Keller raced down the stairs, the shot to his side hurting like hell, smoke still billowing from the heat of the impact. The armor had held the blast, but he was pretty sure he had a couple of cracked ribs. At least some extensive bruising. He burst into the corridor. Up ahead, a group of bugs assembled around the destroyed remains of a cyberdisk.
        Oh, shit, he thought.

        The officer in charge of the raid looked around the dark room in surprise and checked a small monitor with a schematic of the base. His information had to be correct, this had to be the last room. There was no place else to go. The lights were out, but he could make out a door at the further side and he consulted his screen. A small space but still...
        "Get some light in here," he yelled. "And check that door!"

        Plasma burst around the commandos as they dove for the ground, firing off their own weapons. The fusillade lasted brief moments and unstoppable, the X-COM squaddies moved on. Only a ragged few left, armor blackened in places, smoking in others. Gonzalez sent a grenade from the 40mm launcher into the bunch of bugs and plunged to the ground as the corridor erupted around him.
        A squaddie raced into the smoke, firing from the hip.

        The raid commander whirled around. The explosion had sounded right outside the door. He seethed in anger. His information had been incorrect, a trap.
        "Kill the terrans," he ordered.
        He suddenly realized where the terran scientists hid. Maybe the mission could be saved after all. He began to raise his rifle.

        Gator slammed past Keller towards the gym door and careened into a Sectoid. The small alien was knocked backwards into the wall, his frisbee launcher dropping from his grip. Gator stepped forward and slammed the butt of the rifle into the gray skull, a sickening thud spraying gray matter and green blood. Two squaddies plunged recklessly into the gym.

        The raid commander watched in horror as the terrans burst into the room, red fire belching from their guns. Failure.

        Keller limped slowly forward once all the aliens lay dead on the ground. His side hurt like Hell, but he was alive. Bewildered, he scanned the darkened room. Where was Catherine and the rest of the group? "Steve!" He recognized the voice instantly, and let his gaze drift upwards spotting the figures in the dim light, nearly fainting with relief. He closed his eyes and thanked God.
        The fifty two men and women of the Science and Engineering team of X-COM Base One had climbed up to the ceiling using the wooden exercise bars fixed to the walls as makeshift ladders, hiding in the unlit higher reaches of the gym. The aliens had failed to look up until it was too late, a simple hiding place, but an effective one. He remembered his instructor’s words: remember to always think in three dimensions. A room has six sides; check them all.
        Exhausted he sat on a wooden bench.

        Cheyenne X-COM Base was found virtually destroyed, useless in its present state. The labs had been burnt, explosive charges caving ceilings and collapsing walls. Computers and scientific equipment had been smashed beyond repair. A Robot had been discovered and neutralized in the hangars, but too late to save the captured UFOs or their own Osprey transports.
        Hyper-X lay in ruins outside, engulfed in flames.
        But the thinking minds had been saved.
        Team One needed a new base.

Thanks!

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