Niger. The Tenere Desert. October 20th. 0300 hours.

        X-COM Team Two lay perfectly concealed in the gorge in front of the bases’ entrance. A river, long since dry, had cut a deep scar through the face of the dry hard land and centuries of wind and scorching sun had deepened the canyon until the shear walls rose hundreds of feet above them. A little vegetation peppered the canyon’s floor, valiant bushes fighting a losing battle against the elements. Crawling silently at night, ghosts in the shadows, Captain McCormick had positioned his team with an excellent view of the circular metallic entrance. The commandos had dug holes using small shovels, lining them with insulated sleeping bags to protect against the cold night air. For two days they had remained immobile, urinating in special air-tight bags in order to contain the telltale smells. Insects crawled over them and died silently when they became too irritating.
        On arriving the first night, McCormick had ordered his men to deployed the IREMBASS (Improved Remotely Monitored Battlefield Sensor Systems). They had set the small black boxes containing magnetic, seismic, acoustic and infrared sensors in hidden positions around the gully; nothing was going to move without them knowing it.
        At night, they peeked their heads carefully from their hideouts. Special thermal Night Vision Goggles helped them detect movement around them. A few coyotes had come and gone, missing their presence. McCormick monitored the nest of a desert hawk of dozen feet above his position without being discovered.
        On regular intervals, gray aliens wandered out with what resembled communication equipment. McCormick and the rest of his team held their collective breaths on the those occasions. The captain checked his watch: 0300 hours. Team One’s ETA was ten minutes away.

        Keller looked around the cabin of the C-130 at his men. Covered by their special ceramic-plastic body armor and hooded under respirators with built-in radios, they resembled high-tech knights more than anything else. They Hyper-X transport had flown them to Niamey’s International Airport where a waiting C-130 had taken them aboard and into the night sky. From there they had flown the four hundred miles to the DZ.
        As they approached the Drop Zone, the jump light glowed a bright red in the darkened cabin. The jumpmaster stood by the open rear section of the plane, ready to give them the signal. Keller was first in line, as was his custom. The jumpmaster raised his hand displaying five fingers, closing them sequentially in a countdown. When all but one had finger had retreated into the palm, the jump light turned green.
        Keller stepped forward into the night.
        At 35,000 feet, he could clearly see the curvature of the Earth. Darkness enveloped him. Breathing through his oxygen mask, he adopted the classic HALO (High Altitude Low Opening) free-fall position; arms and legs splayed out to minimize speed and obtain better control. The wind rushed around him as he fell at over 200 feet per second, buffeting his body and deafening him.
        At 10,000 feet Keller checked his altimeter, the buzz in his head somewhat clearer. He had fallen for about two minutes. Half a minute later, at 3,800 feet, the automatic opening device sent the M-T IXX parachute billowing behind him. Grabbing two toggles dangling at his shoulders, Keller steered towards the DZ, barely visible below him. Suddenly, the ground arrived to meet him. Keller pulled gently on both ropes and slowed his descent until he touched down gently fifty feet from the gorge’s edge. Quickly, he recovered his ‘chute, pulled off his harness and bunched them into a tight ball. He checked around and found his men doing the same and then running towards him. All present, he noticed.
        Without a word, four commandos extracted penetration spikes from their equipment bags and fired them into the ground near the edge. Soft pops were heard as the explosive drove the spikes deep into the ground, climbing rope trailing. They ran to the cliff and hauled the ropes over the side. Next, one by one, the team members hooked their harnesses to the ropes and dropped into the night.

        From his concealed position McCormick watched the four ropes sail down and hit the ground. He looked up through the green world of the NVGs and spotted the X-COM members rappelling down. Movement caught his eye and he glances quickly at the base’s entrance. Damn! an alien was stepping out. What in the hell for, he asked himself. In any case, he was bound to notice the dangling ropes. The captain slid his silenced MP5 silently and took aim through the laser sight. He allowed the humanoid to move away from the entrance and then squeezed off a single shot, blowing the alien’s brains out onto the ground. Then clicked his radio on and whispered.
        "Moccasin, this is Mamba, over."
        "Go ahead Mamba." McCormick noted that the voice was short of breath. Well, he realized, the guys had just jumped out of an airplane and were now sliding down a sheer vertical wall. Not a bad way to start the night.
        "One hostile down below you. Entry is clear. Be right behind you."
        "Roger," came the muffled reply.

        Keller pushed himself off the cliff and let the rope slide through his fingers as he sailed the last twenty feet to the ground. He undid his harness and crouched quickly next to the entrance. In front him, somewhere, Team Two lay hidden. Twenty two seconds later the rest of his squads were assembled around the access door ready to enter. Inside bright lights made the NVGs unnecessary. He took them off and dumped them on the ground.
        "Go," Keller said quietly.
        The first in were the breachers, followed closely by the rest of the commandos. Running swiftly, they negotiated the first corridor and arrived at a large double door. Open. He peered around the frame and glanced into a large room the size of a basketball court. Empty. No wait, a single alien posted towards the end, armed with a plasma gun. Keller drew back and raised a finger. Then he counted back from three and watched his best shooter pivot around the corner and fire off a triple tap at the alien’s forehead. The shooter still carried the trusty MP5. Keller wasn’t sure how his troops would react under fire with the new laser rifles and only two squads had been issued them.
        The shooter nodded and squads Bravo and Charlie bolted into the room, fanning out immediately. Keller looked back down the corridor, seeing Team Two’s men setting up explosive charges down the corridor. If they needed to get out in a hurry, the corridor would turn out be on hell of a surprise for the bugs. Man, he thought, those guys had spent the last two days in holes in the ground and where now moving around as if nothing. Talk about cramps.
        Squads Delta and Foxtrot followed, then his own squad. Each squad was a three man team, except for Foxtrot that counted an extra commando. Thank you for the extra guys, Hammet.
        The room ended in another door, this time closed. Keller motioned his explosive man to the door. The scientists at Cheyenne had cooked up a concoction of C-4 and Semtex that had enough power to cut through the alloy doors. Down side was it made one heck of a bang. Oh well, time to advertise their presence. As the explosives man approached the door, it whooshed open, catching them by surprise. What the Hell, though Keller. Doors were only supposed to open with the alien’s brainwaves. Then again, maybe they could be set on automatic. In any case, Keller gave it no further consideration and dashed into the room, eyes scanning for hostiles. None. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t an ambush.
        Whereas the previous room had been empty, this one housed innumerable equipment. Banks of strange instruments lined the walls in an orderly fashion. The lighting seemed to emanate from the ceiling, but he could spot the source. The walls were a light brown color. Nice engineering feat, he conceded. Cutting this place from solid rock must have been quite a job. Or maybe not with the plasmas.
        Two doors, one to each side. Alpha, Bravo and Charlie one way. Delta, Foxtrot and McCormisk’s squad, code named Mamba One, the other. Mamba Two remained as backup in the corridor and Mamba Three outside.
        The side doors also opened on their own accord. Keller moved quickly inside seeing nothing, wondering if the base was empty. His heart thumped like crazy, hairs raised like spikes on his neck. It wasn’t an electrifying adrenaline-induced sensation like HALO jumping. It was more like moving through a physical wall of fear, molasses slowing you down. He pushed through his fear as he always did.
        Another door, another room. This time not empty. Squad Bravo shot into the room and started firing as soon as they spotted the aliens. Three small humanoids. It was over in seconds. Keller moved over one of the fallen aliens and stopped in the center of the room, his stomach revolting.
        Jesus Christ, he thought.

        X-COM Base - Colorado.

        Hammet eyed Catherine suspiciously.
        "You’ve got to be kidding," he said.
        She closed her eyes. Damn military. "Of course not. Don’t you see? There’s no danger and we could gain incredible insight. This could be a definite ace in our sleeve."
        The Colonel sat back and glared at the young scientist through his one eye. He selected a cigar, lit it and chomped on it.
        "Tell me again," he ordered. Catherine smiled.

        Niger. The Tenere Desert.

        The room was a nightmare out of Stephen King’s imagination, some kind of experimental laboratory. Human corpses lay on tables dissected, mutilated beyond belief. Some had obviously suffered immensely, their faces contorted in rictus of fear and pain. Glass vials held various organs and body parts. A large glass container, or something that resembled glass, stood at one side filled with a dark red liquid. Keller realized with disgust that it was human blood. To the right, several machines were unidentifiable, but surely served some sinister purpose. He averted his eyes from the naked corpse of a young black girl tied on a table, the skin stripped from her lower body.
        In front of him small metal boxes pilled high against a wall. He shuddered to think what was in them. He thought back at his first alien mission aboard the SS Caribbean, where no-one had been found, neither alive nor dead. This is what the aliens had in store for prisoners and abductees.
        Then, all hell broke loose.
        A door to the left opened with a rush of air, plasma fire raining in.
        "Down," screamed Keller as he launched himself behind a table. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of plasma bolts, equipment overturning and crashing against the floor and the zipper fire of the X-COM MP5s. Screams erupted from his men, directing fire towards the aliens.
        "Shit," someone yelled, "bugs coming in..."
        "Cover the door," he recognized Gator’s voice. "Fire back!"
        Keller abruptly rose from behind his cover. Three humanoids had entered the room, firing their large plasmas. He swung his laser on the closest one. The subrifle was relatively light, weighing a little under 3 kilos, somewhat more than an unloaded MP5 and measured 690 millimeters. Subconciously, he reflected that it was a beautifully well balanced piece. He pressed the trigger and sent a hail of concentrated blue light towards the bugs, the weapon bucking slightly in his hands. A second humanoid went down shrieking as a squaddie let loose with his submachine gun, 9mm slugs blasting its thorax open. The third jumped to the left and fired point blank at a commando, missing unbelievably. It died, his shriek replaced by the sound of a frisbee.
        Keller started to shout a warning but it died in his throat. The frisbee entered the room and slammed into a metal box that had been knocked in its path. The explosion disintegrated the box and tossed the nearest X-COM commandos into the air like puppets. The blast echoed in Keller’s ears as he fought to clear his head. He had been far away from the door and yet he was stunned. He thought about those closer to the blast. God, he pleaded, no more casualties.
        "Move," bellowed Gator. "Go, go, go!"
        Instinctively Keller rose and ran towards the room the fire was coming from. They needed to neutralize the frisbee launcher fast. He had no doubt that the next shot would not miss. In front of him, squaddies picked themselves from the floor and lay down covering fire through the door, noise growing in intensity.
        "Cease fire, "yelled Gator. Someone tossed a stun grenade into the adjoining room. It exploded with a tremendous thump, galvanizing Keller into action. He dived through the door, curling over his shoulder, standing up in one swift movement. Time seemed to stop. In front of him, two gray bugs started to turn towards him, one of them carrying the launcher. To his left, a larger alien, scales covering its body reared itself and began to run towards him. Keller mashed the trigger on the laser as a squaddie slid beside him, MP5 cutting into the third bug. His light beams obliterated one of the humanoids, the other twisting away from death. He heard the squaddie scream.
        "Die, motherfucker!" Keller saw the larger bug just keep coming on. But in front of him, the other gray was lifting its weapon as it dove to the ground. Ideas, thoughts flashed through his mind. His instructor at SEAL training driving one thought into his mind, binding it with his reflexes. Your asshole, the instructor had explained, is very important. Center yourself on it, use it as a pivot point and it will guide your shots. Keller flexed his knees and rotated his hips, training the laser on the gray. A shrill scream and it died. Keller didn’t stop, he kept rotating with the same movement, bringing his rifle to bear on the larger bug. It was almost on them, the MP5’s bullets cracking the outer scales but not stopping it. Too late, he thought. No way he’d swivel his sights in time.
        A series of rapid fire laser shots cut into the bug’s side, ripping the scales open, blasting it sideways with the force of the impact. The inertia carried the dead alien careening against Keller, knocking him violently over. He thudded against the floor as a commando jumped over him. Others rushed into the room and took stations in different positions. Shouts of ‘clear’ rang in the room. Gator ran over.
        "You okay?" he asked.
        Keller made a gesture with his hand. "Yeah, yeah," he replied. "Cover the exits," he continued in a woozy tone. He pointed at an unopened door. "Keep those doors secure at all times."
        The captain moved back into the previous room. The squaddie that doubled as first aid man was checking on his fallen comrades. He looked up as Keller walked over.
        "Zero KIAs, Cap’n. Szekelly and Brooks are out, concussion probable. We should get them out," he recommended. Keller nodded.
        "Mamba Two this is Alpha One, over." He spoke into his mike.
        "Go, Alpha One."
        "We have two wounded," he spotted a squaddie kneeling next to a sitting man raise his hand, "...correction, three down. Need assistance evacing."
        "Affirmative. We have you localized. On our way."

        X-COM Base - Colorado.

        The alien sat on his bunk eyeing his captor sullenly. So far, he had been unsuccessful in contacting High Command and as time went by, his desperation escalated. The terrans had attached wires to his head for some strange purpose, and they where bothering him, itches flaring continuously. He had to get out. How? Surely his superior brain could come up with a solution.
        He observed with disgust the terran that had entered his prison room to bring him nutrients.
        Suddenly, the base’s sirens came on, blaring loudly through the loudspeakers. The alien instantly recognized it for what it was; the terrans were under attack. A rescue mission. Hah! his rescue mission.
        "Alert. Condition Red. Alert. We are under attack from extraterrestrial forces. All base defense personnel report to your stations. All non-combatants report to shelters. This is not a drill!"
        The terran bolted upright, fear inundating his eyes. The alien didn’t understand the words coming from the communications box but quickly grasped the urgency of the tone. A few days ago he had baffled the terrans by communicating with them on their primitive computer. Learning the terran’s written language had been easy, but trying to modulate his voice (they obviously couldn’t communicate telepathically) was a feat he had no desire to accomplish. Likewise, his hearing systems were incapable of adjusting to the rough vocal pronunciation the terrans emitted.
        His guardian turned and ran towards the door, swinging the door roughly. The door slammed close and bounced open, ricocheting from the force. The aliens eyes bulged as he watched the door and beyond a corridor. Swiftly, he raced to the door and peered out. A few terrans ran madly in an opposite direction. He turned and considered his options. Maybe his comrades would be unable to rescue him. He had to act, jump on the opportunity. Then he remembered the stricken UFO. Stupid terrans, he smirked. Didn’t they know the whole forward section could detach itself from the main body as an emergency pod? When they had taken him for food, he had noticed that although the main drives were inoperative, those of the pod were intact. Escape!
        A terran soldier came running towards him, weapon ready, no doubt to correct the cowards error. Damn. No, no, no, he screamed inwardly. Then a stroke of luck. A laser bolt caught the terran in the back, toppling him over. The alien pocked his head farther out into the corridor and watched a door slam shut, a group of terrans opening fire against it and then racing in pursuit through it. His comrades! In any case, his escape route was clear.
        He grabbed the terran’s weapon and ran towards freedom.

        Niger. The Tenere Desert.

        Lieutenant Ridge crouched low behind a wall and watched it disintegrate from a high powered plasma shot. He gasped at the terrible heat and felt the concussion knock shards of metal pinging against his armor. "Oh, shit," he breathed to himself. Pinned, he flattened his body to the floor.
        "Cover," he yelled. A series of plasma blasts erupted against the floor not three feet from his face, leaving scorch marks and deep burns in the metal. He cringed.
        A grenade sailed over his position towards the enemy. He heard the bugs shriek a second before it went off, rocking the large room. The air reverberated around them.
        They were in a lousy position, not sure how he had gotten himself into this mess. The aliens commanded the balconies overlooking the fire zone and lay concealed in tight positions in the farther end of the room, fifty meters away. The room looked like some kind storage area, lacking the polished appearance of other sections of the base. The walls were composed of brown alloy but reached only half way to the ceiling. The rest was rock. The balconies hung high on the walls, made from tubes of alloy metal. Large cans and metal containers littered the area.
        Mamba One was trapped in an adjacent room receiving heavy fire from another group of bugs. His team cringed behind what cover they could find as superheated blasts came their way.
        He reached for his mike to call for assistance then perished the thought. Keller would have enough trouble of his own.
         "Gonzalez," he yelled. The trooper kept his head low behind a pile of crates.
        "Still here, my man," he shouted back. The roar of the machine guns and advanced weapons competing with his voice.
        "You got any flashbangs left?"
        "Two," he responded. Flashbangs were commando slang for stun grenades. "Awright. Topcat," he yelled trying desperately to organize a defense. "Keep the bugs in the left balcony down. Gonzalez, toss ‘em when I give the word. The rest lay down covering fire down the length," he instructed. "All set?"
        A chorus of answers came back. Ridge grabbed two smoke grenades from his belt and pulled the pins. He flipped them over his cover as far as he could and waited a couple of seconds for the smoke to start billowing.
        "Cover!" he said loudly. ‘Topcat’ Maddigan raised his head from behind a crate, caution lost in the fray, and sent a wall of lead towards the bug’s high ground. Plasma fire disintegrated a crate close to him but he held his ground. The rest of Foxtrot squad hefted their weapons and fired towards the bug’s positions, silencing the plasma fire. "Flashbangs," yelled Ridge. Gonzalez kneeled up and tossed the grenades into the aliens hideouts. The men from Delta squad raced forward under the heavy fire diving into safe positions. One of the commandos dashed up a pyramid of crates, climbing swiftly to gain higher ground. From the elevated post, he opened up with his laser rifle on the bug’s cover. The rest of the squad leapfrogged forward, cutting down the aliens as they rose to retreat.
        From the corner of his eye Ridge saw a door open at the farthest point of the room. He trained his rifle on it and waited for the bug to show it’s ugly head. What came out sent a chill down his spine.

        X-COM Base - Colorado.

        The alien moved swiftly down a deserted corridor. The terrans had inadvertedly shown him his escape route days before and now he wasted no time. He reached a stairwell and opened the iron door cautiously. Nothing. The alien grew excited as he ascended to the upper landing bay and hangar, his skin turning a darker color. A door flew open in front of him, making him jump in fright. The soldier stood frozen not six feet away, shock registering on his face. The alien swiveled the terran weapon on him and squeezed the trigger, feeling satisfaction and hatred as the disgusting life form flew back and landed twitching face down.
        A noise came from the lower floors and he whipped his head around, the electrode wires attached to a box they had affixed to his belt tugging on his scalp. Damn idiots. A female terran had glued them on in such a way that the only remedy was surgical.
        Pocking his gray head into the hangar he found it empty. The sirens still blared and red emergency lights flashed at regular intervals. No doubt his comrades were giving the enemy a lesson. In any case, his escape pod lay ahead. He ran out, darting towards the craft and jumped through the hatch. No-one saw him. He climbed into the command chair and sat staring at the hangar doors. The alien turned a dark color and shook violently. He was laughing.
        The doors were wide open. His plan had considered that the doors would be closed and that he would have to use the powerful plasmas to bust through. Now escape was but an order away.
        The alien quickly turned the emergency sub-systems on and brought the pod’s configuration on screen. All systems nominal, power readings a little low but more than sufficient. Excellent.
        He threw his head up, victorious. In a short time he would be back in High Command, boasting with his companions of his escape, reaping the rewards of bravery.
        The pod’s drive came on and he ordered the tether hooks to release the emergency cabin. Felt a shudder as the pod detached itself from the now useless main section. Hah! Next time, we will see what happens, worthless creatures, he smirked. The alien issued the orders for pod emergency take-off.
        Nothing happened. Re-check the settings. Power at 0.31 nominal. Set for rapid departure. What was wrong?
        He reset the system and started over, slowly making sure that he ordered every step correctly. Nothing. The alien mentally increased power to 0.45 and then to 0.60. The pod shuddered under the drive’s force but remained immobile. The alien looked up and shock raced through his black eyes. The hangar doors were closing rapidly! What was happening? Terrans were emerging from every direction, training large weapons on the craft. The large doors closed with a bang, blocking off the exterior view. Had his comrades been repelled? Impossible, not enough time had gone by. Then he realized that he hadn’t actually seen his comrades.
        In desperation, he called the weapons configuration on screen and selected the forward plasma cannons. The readings showed zero power. They wouldn’t fire. What was going on? his mind screamed.

        "You know, Katie, you’ve got a sneaky mind," said Chen, beaming broadly. Catherine returned the smile, elated. She spotted Colonel Hammet walking over. Behind him, base security personnel swarmed towards the UFO.
        "Well, Doc," he said. "Hope you’ve got what you wanted." Did she detect a faint smile?
        "Colonel, I’m impressed. You mistook your career. You should have been a theater director."
        The base sirens switched off and groups of men and women came out from their hideouts smiling like children.
        The idea for the whole operation had stemmed from a video taken by the RAF of a UFO chased down by a squadron of Tornado F3s. The beaten alien pilot had escaped from certain death in an emergency pod. After the incident, Catherine’s team had re-examined their UFO and found a second Elerium power source in the forward section of the vessel. Careful analysis had also detected the pod’s tethering system, drive mechanism and individual support systems.
        Timing had been essential when orchestrating the faked deaths from extremely low-powered laser shots and blanks from an MP5. Coordinating with the Engineering department, she had welded the whole forward section with carefully camouflaged titanium beams to the floor and, for better measure, to the rear section. The pod would be unable to detach itself from the main section.
        She beamed. Actually, she hadn’t expected the alien to go all the way. She was just counting on it to activate the doors and try to use the ship’s communications gear. In itself, that would have constituted a great success. The ruse had worked out better than expected. Hell, she thought, a zillion times better.
        "It’s entirely possible," she continued turning towards the UFO, "that we’ll be able to give you a ride soon."
        Hammet’s eyes twinkled. "It’s a date." His impassive face broke into a grin.

        Niger. The Tenere Desert.

        The Tank entered the room and in milliseconds scanned its surroundings. Its Phase Four Semi-Artificial System examined the information acquired by its radar, infrared and optical sensors, classifying targets in order of threat and importance.
        The recently modified Type Zero-Zero circuitry instantly picked up six moving targets, cataloguing them as Terran Units Class Eight, danger level medium. No further targets could be found. The artificial brain passed information to the weapons system: Eliminate Class Eight Units immediately.

        Ridge’s heart missed a beat when he saw the robot enter the room. He still retained a clear recollection of its capabilities from the Pearl Harbor attack and was well aware of its firepower. It seemed the same type as the one they had confronted in Pearl, only slightly smaller. Man-sized and painted black, it rolled forward on triple axle legs. With a quick glance he spotted cannons protruding from its sides, snapping forward ready to fire.
        "Clear the room," he yelled. "Everybody out!"
        Ridge skidded behind a large crate and then turned back towards the exit, firing a barrage of shots as he ran. Around him commandos fled their positions, dropping grenades to cover their exit.
        The Tank fired.
        Pulsing blue beams of light flooded the room, felling two of his men. A third man had a supporting crate blown from under him and came crashing to the floor, cracking his head on the hard metal.
        Ridge felt a series of beams shoot by him, blasting large holes on the wall ahead of him, the concussion knocking him sideways. He ducked and lunged through the door into the adjacent room, careening into a sprinting McCormick.
        "We had some trouble with some bugs..." began the ex-Delta Force captain.
        "Move. ‘Bot’s right behind us," panted a breathless Ridge. "Fire lane." He referred to the booby trapped corridor. They’re only chance against the superior firepower.
        The three remaining commandos bolted from the room.
        "Go, go. Outside," yelled the lieutenant.
        The door frame fizzed briefly and then erupted outwards under the combined plasma cannons of the robot. Ridge landed on the floor his breath exploding from his lungs. He picked himself up and dashed behind his men towards the exit. Thank God for the protection of his armor.
        "Mamba three," said McCormick urgently into his mike. "We’re coming out. We have an armored robot on our tails. Call Specter."
        Outside, an X-COM squaddie pulled his radio and made a call. Then he grabbed his LAW from the equipment pouch and sighted on the door.
        Ridge turned a corner and skidded to a halt. He looked back the way he had come and spotted the robot gliding menacingly on its triple axle legs through a door. He started to run again.

        The Tank turned into the last corridor and stopped dead. Ahead lay the large circular exit from the base and, its systems detected, nineteen terran Class Eight Units. Such a large force constituted a sure menace. Elimination was warranted.
        As it was about to advance and engage the enemy its warning receivers flashed on, halting it. Radar analysis found seven possible explosive devices attached to walls at different heights. Careful Optical Tracking discovered the devices well camouflaged but definitely there.
        The Tank’s laser cannons flashed briefly, eliminating the threat.

        McCormick lay huddled behind a rock, his MP5 machine gun trained on the robot. Come on, he wished, move into the tunnel. Suddenly, the robot fired against the walls, triggering the C-4 explosives. Fire rushed from the tunnel, shacking the earth beneath them as hot air slapped their faces.
        "Oh, man," spat the captain.
        Through the fire and black smoke he spotted the dark mass of the robot advancing towards them, a black ghost stepping through Hell.
        "Specter, this is Mamba One, over," he whispered urgently, fear rising in his throat.
        "Go ahead, Mamba," came the reply.
        "Get ready, boys. We got company. Black robot at the entrance."
        The Tank rolled out into the night, its systems re-confirming the count of the Class Eights. Its Defense computer picked up a further contact, airborne and flashed a warning. It scanned the air above and detected a large, slow moving airvessel, Class Four-Four, threat ‘low’. Possibly a transport. Engage as last priority.
        Actually, the Tank made a mistake. The overhead quadruple turboprop C-130 variant H had indeed been born a transport but had graduated to a Special Operations gunship. Inside the darkened interior, an operator cross-checked the data coming from the Hughes digital fire control radar with the infrared sensors and centered the cross-hairs on the target. The Low-light TV projected an image on the Fire Control Officer’s screen.
        "Fire on target," ordered the officer.
        The operator simultaneously activated the Scepter’s 40mm Bofors gun and the 105mm Howitzer. Nearly at the same time and 1,000 feet below, McCormick and his squad launched a volley of LAW rockets. The combined effect was devastating, turning the robot into a smoking wreck.
        "Good job, Specter," he called when the raining debris allowed him to raise his head. "We have some wounded. Advise Angel we require med. evac."
        "Roger that, Mamba."
        The captain raised himself and ran to the door, calling behind for Mamba Two to follow.

        Inside, Keller reorganized his remaining five men into two squads. The other three had been carried outside but were relatively unharmed, except for varying degrees of concussions. Wary of the doors, he stationed a squad covering each of them. Not a minute too soon. As the doors opened, both squads starting firing, laser beams mixing with lead, stitching the incoming bugs. The fight was soon over, silence cutting harshly after the noise.
        "Clear," someone yelled. Gator Kowles quickly thrust his head into the room and just as quickly withdrew it. A half a second later, another commando mimicked the gesture, looking in the other direction.
        "Left, clear," said Gator.
        "Right, clear," said the X-COM squaddie.
        "OK, move in." The men slipped into the room, instinctively searching for doors. They found none. A dead end.
        The room resembled a control center of sorts. A semicircle of large black chairs, similar to those found in UFOs occupied the center of the floor space. Thin screens perched in front of these, no doubt acting as monitoring and I/O devices. Unfortunately, all the equipment was useless. The interior had been systematically destroyed, each screen melted under the action of superheated plasma shots. A cylindrical structure off to one side had witnessed the destruction and then had gone the same way.
        The first alien base had been captured. A question remained. Would they find any valuable information intact?

The next chapter is in the works! A few technical breakthroughs should be expected.

If you feel like contacting me with criticism (constructive, I hope) please do so at fsch@elpais.es