The Second Fleet

        After having spent considerable time at the distant mining colonies of Paars, fighting a ridiculous guerrilla war with the rebellious colonists, the Fleet instead of returning home to some well deserved rest, had been ordered to move at full speed towards the Terran Sector. The colonization of the planet was going badly and the sector commander required assistance.
        The Commander of the arriving fleet was far from pleased. It was astounding how the inept SubCommander of the terran expedition had managed to botch things so badly. A third rate, underdeveloped bunch of animals were actually fighting back and, in some cases, wining. It was ludicrous.
        But that would certainly change, especially considering the one hundred and forty modified T-1 gas torpedoes in his, and his accompanying ship’s, holds. The terran SubCommander had argued against its use, probably itching to destroy the humans in a more direct manner. But, High Command had turned absolute command of the situation to him and he harbored few qualms about inconsiderate victories.
        Unfortunately, the modified gas, adapted in a hurry to sustain oxidization in Terra Three’s atmosphere, was just as lethal to the animals as it was to their own troops. The planet would have to be evacuated before extinguished and they would de forced to wait in orbit fourteen terran days before safety levels were reestablished.

        USS Independence

        "Sir," said the radar operator. "Contacts on scope. Classify as Bandits, range one hundred, speed plus five Mach. Bearing zero-nine-five. High altitude contacts."
        CIC suddenly became very tense.
        "OK, son," said the Warfare Officer, coaching the young man on. "Evaluate contact."
        "Uh, contacts are alien craft entering atmosphere on direct course towards us, sir."
        "Advise all ships of the situation. Tell everyone to turn to threat axis and unmask batteries," said the officer. "All ships break formation."
        At the same time the Air Warfare Officer turned to the combat controller.
        "Vector squadron two-seven in." F/A-18C Hornet Squadron 27, Dambusters, received the call seconds later and turned towards the threat.
        "Vampire, vampire, vampire," said another voice loudly. "Missiles detaching from bandits. Probable Ion Torpedoes. Uh, twenty five ... correction, thirty incoming. Time of impact at present speed fifteen seconds!" The Captain rose from his seat as if on a coil.
        "Sound the collision alert. Inform the Hornets and the rest of the Fleet."
        Dear God, he thought. Had they been caught in the open? He racked his brain to discover where the error had slipped in, where he’d left a gap in his defenses. But, no, the aliens were pouncing on them from above, superior technology coming into play.

        Aboard the Vincennes, the twin SAM launchers located forward and aft rotated to the correct heading and queried the air search phased arrays for information on the targets. But the AEGIS system was having difficulty tracking the oncoming torpedoes due to the velocity of the threat. The radar signature from the high-Mach threat was being received too quickly and the system, designed for slower targets, constantly lost the signature against radiation clutter.
        "AEGIS isn’t locking, sir!" said a seaman nervously.
        "Fire on manual," yelled the Missile Officer. And pray the semi-active radar on the SM-2MR’s locks on in flight.
        At forty nautical miles from target the launchers started firing wildly into the air. The deck became blurred with the smoke of the departing missiles intermingled with chaff canisters as the ship tried to hide itself behind a curtain of aluminum.
        The SAMs scored fourteen hits, proximity radars detonating the warheads in front of the descending torpedoes, slamming tungsten pellets into the pressure fields and releasing anti-matter into air. Explosions filled the sky and slowly the thunder rolled down to the Fleet.
        "The fighters are within range. Twenty miles to target," said an operator.
        "Secure the AEGIS," said an Officer. The Hornets were too close to the action and shooting them down became a real risk. The Captain grabbed an overhead phone.
        "Captain to bridge. Hard to port and make turns for flank speed." In seconds he felt the ship heel over and sensed the rumble of the turbines increase.
        "Sir, still tracking sixteen torpedoes," said a seaman.

        At ten thousand feet the Hornets thundered in a near vertical climb. Sparrows and Sidewinders filled the air as the airplanes closed the distance between them and the alien torpedoes. When they were done, eight torpedoes remained.
        They blasted by the powerless F-18s seeking their prey and created havoc on the Fleet. Two slammed into the deck of Independence, another struck Vincennes on the bow, two against McBain, two against Wilbur and one struck the water. The torpedoes, fortunately smaller and less powerful than their counterparts on board the Nova, smashed into the steel decks and exploded violently, twisting metal like putty, melting iron like butter. Captain DeWitt arrived on the bridge in time to observe a helicopter jump ten feet in the air and flip over the side. Jet fuel caught fire and ignited, spraying luckless deck hands with liquid fire. A pair or great rents billowed smoke where the two torpedoes had struck.
        "Damage report!" he ordered.
        An officer cradled a phone.
        "The torpedoes went straight through us, skipper. Deck, hangars, hull and out the other end. We’re taking water aft."
        The Captain checked himself about to order the area isolated and dry compartments locked shut but he knew professionals were on the job, the tasks already underway. The fire crews would be arriving on scene shortly, but instinctively he knew that the damage was not great.
        "Deck’s shot, sir. But communications, CIC, radar and all major systems are still functional."
        "It’s not over yet," said the Captain grimly.

        USS Independence

        "Sir, Bandit contacts continue on bearing, speed unchanged. Range fifty miles."
        Did they have enough left to deal with the alien vessels?
        "Where are the F-5s?" asked the Air Warfare Officer.
        "Stationary on last position east of Indonesia."
        "Our Hornets?"
        "One ninety five has been detoured to Darwin and one ninety two is moving towards Kuala Lumpur." All squadrons had been detoured to other landing bases. "One ninety two is low on fuel but we’re well within range. Missile situation is about half complement."
        "Tomcats?"
        "Moving towards Darwin. Range, one fifty, sir," replied the tactical operator.
        "Damn," muttered the AWO. He quickly made a decision.
        "OK, recall anyone that has fuel and a missile left. Call the F-5s and request assistance."
        The tactical warfare officer toggled a microphone. "Air action on same axis. Unmask batteries and fire."
        Once again, the Fleet shuddered as a new wave of SAMs left its holds.

        Palau Kepu

        "Frisbee!" yelled Keller.
        Men froze for an instant and then galvanized into action, those who could, retreated hurriedly up the stairs. Keller and a small group were caught too far down and he launched himself forward towards a large wooden door on the opposite end of the landing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dull metallic menace flying straight towards them. Firing from the hip and at a dead run, he blasted the door into fragments and dived in.
        The floor disappeared from under his feet. Wooden stairs led to a lower area and he tumbled all the way down, cracking his head at the bottom. That and the concussion from the blast left him woozy.
        "Oh, man," he groaned as he fought to stand. Through a haze of settling dust, he watched the remnants of the stairs topple to the ground. Around him he could sense a large room but it was dark, as if the darkness was sucking up the light that came from above. A head appeared at the door twenty feet above the floor.
        "Boss?"
        "OK, Gonzalez. You get the frisbee bug?" His head pounded and he pulled himself to his feet. Also his side was starting to hurt.
        "Gator. Moving forward to secure the area. Want a hand?"
        Keller grunted. "I can manage."
        He felt more than saw the rush of air.

        "Watch out!" screamed Gonzalez.
        Keller whirled and fired instinctively, the plasma rifle kicking up and catching the lurching Chrysalid in the midriff. It jerked and fell against him, spraying his armor with a viscous and foul smelling liquid. "Jesus," he muttered. Chrysalids. He absence of bug opposition had nagged him but he’d had a feeling they were going to show up sooner or later. Probably sooner.
        "Get rope," he said keeping a close eye on the darkness.
        Gonzalez left and reappeared moments later, a knotted rope snaking down from above.
        "Come on up," said Gonzalez.
        "Not exactly. Passage leads off to the left and I’m picking up a faint hum. Get a squad down here."
        "You got it."

        East

        Eng felt an urge to reach for the NVGs but perished the thought. It would ruin his night vision. But he was almost sure he had seen something move to the right of the barracks where the jungle bordered the town. Maybe a monkey or bird. Maybe not.
        With the departure of the fighters the night became strangely quiet, interrupted briefly by the occasional detonation in the distance. A bird took flight noisily from a nearby tree, startled by God knew what. Inside the barracks, the prisoners lay bound and gagged.
        His instincts were going crazy, alarms and bells ringing wildly against his sixth sense. It felt like one of those stormy nights when electricity glows electric against your clothes and ozone tingles through the lungs. The blast came without warning, sucking the air around them and demolishing the wall of a low construction behind him.
        Eng picked himself off the floor somewhat stunned and watched in horror as a second building caved in. What the hell? That certainly wasn’t a plasma shot. But he knew where the shot had originated. He hefted his piece and fired at the jungle.
        "Spread out," he yelled. The line of trees bordering the nearby field disappeared as shower of plasma and 40mm grenades obliterated them. "Cease fire," he said into his shoulder radio. He listened intently to the reports from his men and cursed. Two casualties.
        "Squads two and three stay here. The rest follow me." Racing forward he reached the first line of smoldering trees and dashed behind cover. Branches crackled and burned softly and a burnt smell invaded the air about him. But no dead bug.
        "Deploy at thirty feet and sweep forward," he ordered. "There’s a bastard somewhere around and we gonna find him."
        Eng started to move slowly forward ducking the low vegetation that grew thicker as he advanced. Every few meters he stopped and listened carefully. Nothing. A few birds resumed chirping angrily. Nature always kept moving on. If the human race were wiped out, he reflected, Nature would still keep on keeping on. He sidestepped a tree, already his heart beat accelerating like a Ferrari on high octane. The jungle seemed to press around him and he momentarily lost sight of the man to his right.
        "Tighten it up, guys," he whispered into the radio.
        The ground to his left shook and vegetation evaporated in a flash. He tumbled and rose behind the safety of a large tree, leaves cascading slowly to the ground. His senses came to slowly, flashes firing in his eyes and a dull ring in his ear. Somewhere up front, but from the angle...
        He looked up and caught sight of movement at tree top level. A large bug, red and aiming a gun at them was definitely what he called bad juju.
        "Bug, high up", he yelled and dove forward. The trees behind him dissolved in a thump and he landed, rolled and fired from the ground, back resting uncomfortably against a branch. The bug wasn’t there anymore.
        "Move, move," someone yelled to his left. A figure dashed beside him, blasts of plasma cutting the foliage in front. Shouts came in quick succession.
        "There!"
        Braaaaap.
        A scream.
        It was over.

        USS Independence

        "Bandits are at one-five miles and converging rapidly sir. Tracking fourteen targets."
        "SAMs?"
        "Impact imminent," said the operator.
        At fifteen miles the first SM-2MR appeared in front of the descending UFOs and slammed into the shields of the lead. A bright explosion lit the sky, but the power held and the craft bucked violently but escaped destruction. Two UFOs exploded as the hail of anti-aircraft missiles reached them but the rest continued unscathed.
        At two miles from the outermost ships, the attacking craft’s ground batteries open up, the air filling with plasma and defending rounds from the Close In Weapons Systems. The UFOs weaved and jinked as they approached, blasted by unscathed and continued their mad flight towards the carrier.
        A few seconds later, a volley of high energy plasma struck the bridge of the carrier square on, killing all hands instantly. The XO was caught climbing the stairs from CIC and the blast flung him back down. Sirens blared as new fires erupted.
        The alien craft shot over the carrier. Two disintegrated in mid air as hundreds of rounds from the CIWS successfully traced them. The ten remaining UFOs split and lined for secondary runs, trailing the remaining SAMs from the carrier. Another UFO lost control from a missile and crashed against the ocean.
        "Get those fighters in, now," yelled the XO.
        The UFOs came in at blinding speed, negotiated the nearly depleted CIWS and left the deck and superstructure twisted and ablaze. Explosions thundered close by and the ship shuddered around them. A junior officer rushed into CIC, blood streaming from a gash in his head.
        "Sir, she’s sinking," he told the XO.
        "Where’s the Captain?" asked the Exec, grabbing him by the shoulder.
        "Dead, sir. He was in the bridge when it took the hit." The young officer pointed back and up. "She’s sinking," he repeated.
        "Get a grip," ordered the XO. "I’ll tell you when she’s sinking. Now, get me a damage report."
        "I already spoke to the fire chief. Damage crews say there’s a large hole aft, water level. They can’t contain it." Another explosion rocked the ship as the UFOs cruised by them again. The XO turned to AW officer.
        "Where are the fighters?"
        "Two minutes out, sir."
        "Too fucking late," he spat. "I’m going aft. Pass me a radio."

        Palau Kepu

        Keller moved forward scanning the stone tunnel through the NVGs. Somewhere up ahead, warm air filtered through tinged with a faint electric hum. The tunnel, tall enough that he could walk upright and with a curved ceiling, led straight for a few hundred feet and ended in another large room. Water dripped continuously around them, hollow plonks amplified by the echo effect. The group peered into the empty room and crept in. Another tunnel led away at the opposite end. Keller moved forward and froze as he heard Gonzalez’s voice.
        "Uh-oh, boss. We’re not alone." He glanced at the Hispanic and followed his gaze towards the upper reaches of the chamber. Through the eerie lighting he spotted several dark holes, circular and about four feet in diameter. Large enough to accommodate the Chrysalids that silently emerged from them.
        "Sheee-it." The group opened up, a barrage so fierce that the whole cavern lit up, the rhythmic sound of the rifles competing with the bug’s screams. A squaddie bucked next to Keller and landed in a heap five feet behind them. A large Kraal appeared suddenly at the furthermost tunnel, his weapon firing shot after shot at them. Another squaddie doubled over and fell forward. Keller aimed his rifle in the general direction and fired, missing as the alien ducked back into cover. In the center of the room, Gonzalez and the last squaddie fired at the Chrysalids as they continued to pour from the walls. A shadow flew over the captain’s head and landed squarely on the squaddie, toppling him over. Gonzalez kicked at the Chrysalid but failed to dislodged the beast from the squaddie. More and more of them were pouring from the walls. Keller rushed over, pressed the rifle against the back of the slimy creature and fired two shots in quick succession.
        "Keep us covered!" He leaned down and pulled the dead bug from the squaddie, grabbed a handful of the uniform and dragged him towards the tunnel entrance. The squaddie’s armor had held against the beast and the plasma, but had burned him savagely in the chest.
        "Any units," he said urgently into the shoulder radio, "this is Keller. We’re in deep shit down here. Need help fast."
        "Roger, boss," came the characteristic drawl of Gator. "On our way."
        "Come on. Let’s get back to the entrance," yelled Keller. They both staggered back towards the tunnel they had recently crossed, firing without pause at the mass of slithering bugs. Jesus, how many were there? A Chrysalid rushed from the cave, dodged a series of shots and using of the walls launched itself at the group of three men. It landed of the half conscious squaddie, wrapping its sinews about the body. Other bugs raced towards them, their snarls echoing against the stone walls of the corridor.
        "Let’s go, Gonzalez," yelled Keller backing up and firing another series of shots.
        "No!" He moved towards the squaddie keeping the other bugs at bay. Keller grabbed his arm and pulled.
        "Let’s go!" he said forcefully. "He’s dead." Gonzalez looked at the kid and saw a fountain of crimson spurt from his mouth, his scream dying in his throat.
        The two men turned and fled down the corridor, the frothing beasts on their tail. Hearts pounded in their chests as the raced in front of the horde. As they reached the room where Keller had toppled down the stairs, a squad of men greeted them with beams of light pulsing from their weapons.

        Keller assembled his men and looked down the corridor. Dozens of crippled shapes lined the floor, blood oozing disgustingly where the plasma had severed limbs. A repulsive stench reached them, adding negatively to the closed confines of the tunnels. He clicked the radio on.
        "Two, report in."
        "Topside secure, Steve," came McCormick’s familiar voice. "Nothing here but some rooms and a bunch of bugs."
        "Leave a squad and get the rest of the men down here," ordered Keller.
        "You got it."
        A couple of minutes later fourteen men assembled in the crowded space. On Keller’s indication they fanned out and moved forward. Within minutes they arrived at the large cavernous room, the bodies of the two rookies lying split down the middle.
        "Watch for bugs coming from those openings," cautioned Gonzalez.
        "And for a mean asshole past that entrance," added Keller, remembering the plasma wielding Kraal.
        A squaddie poked his head briefly round the entrance of the farthest tunnel. "Clear." He entered the passage cautiously, half crouched and advanced.
        "Spread out," warned Keller. A tight group was a ripe target for a well-placed frisbee.
        They quickly traversed the next corridor and stopped as a loud boom shook the airwaves in front of them. The air seemed to vibrate about them and bits of rock and dust floated down from the ceiling.
        "Point," said Keller into the mike. No response. "Gator, take a look." Up ahead, he distinguished the large bulk of the Sergeant rise and creep towards the tunnel’s exit. He waited impatiently.
        "Boss," came the whispered voice. "Point and second are down. Twenty feet down. Blast traces along the walls."
        Shit.
        "Can you get them out?"
        "Don’t know what hit them. Need two guys for cover."
        "Roger." Keller sent two squaddies creeping forward. A few seconds later the air shook again. Oh, God, he thought. Not Gator. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears.
        "Gator," he said urgently. Damn, damn, damn. He stood and moved forward, noticing Gonzalez rise behind him. He reached the last bend in the corridor and peeked around. Five figures lay prone on the floor. "OK. I’m going forward. Keep the damn exit covered. You see anything, I want a solid wall of neutrons hitting the wall."
        He hit the deck and started to crawl slowly forward. Fifteen feet towards the nearest commando. Fifteen feet of dust, fear and sweat. At ten feet he stopped and listened intently. He wanted to look back, check that Gonzalez was keeping him covered but dared not take his eyes away from the tunnel’s exit. He inched forward another five feet and stopped again. His nerves felt like they would break, tension already playing hell on his battered side and head.
        "All clear," came the whispered voice in his ear, the reassuring tone of the Hispanic calming him somewhat. Another five feet and he reached the unconscious squaddie. Gator was further up. He checked for a pulse and found it, faint and erratic but there.
        "OK, conscious but …," he caught sight of shadow, a flicker of movement up ahead. Please, God, let Gonzalez see it. The weapon started to appear around the bend, the unseen attacker covered by the wall. The barrel moved towards him and he started to lift his own rifle. Too late.
        He heard a shout and what felt like a thousand watts of energy blast over his head, chewing great chunks from the wall in front. The weapon was destroyed, broken into pieces by the barrage of plasma. Keller felt a figure bound over him as the fire stopped and he watched Gonzalez, as if in slow motion, reach the bend and duck around it. A second squaddie raced behind him. He heard more plasma and he began to pick himself up, but not before a full squad had already left him behind.
        "Clear," he heard.
        "All right. Get the medic over here," he called into the radio.

        The backup point arrived at another tunnel and stopped. The place looked like a labyrinth, a last ditch hiding place built centuries ago as a last resort against pirate attacks. But the alloy door that blocked their path certainly didn’t have a sixteenth century look about it.
        "Rig it," said Wales. The explosives team member connected a charge to the door and trotted back trailing wires. The dust hung heavy in the air and the blast still echoed down the cavernous corridors as the squads raced forward.
        The point dashed into the room in a rolling dive that attracted most of the defending alien’s fire. Two other team members rushed in right behind him, expertly picking off the remaining aliens, two Sectoids and the Kraal.
        Wales dashed in fourth and briefly caught sight of the last alien as it lurched towards a panel in what looked like the central computer console. He watched it twitch and finally topple silently as a squaddie took it down.
        "Clear," yelled someone.
        Wales poked his head into the corridor.
        "Secure," he said.
        "Good," said Keller. "Secure the area and get the tech guys over here."
        Cole dropped from the BlackHawk’s door and nearly puked. The pilot had hugged the terrain all the way from the north of the island, and really hugged it. I mean, he could practically feel the helo lift for tall grass.
        He tried to steady himself, get the world back to a normal spin rate and accepted the soldier’s offer for help.
        "We haven’t got much time, sir," said the blackened face.
        "Yeah, let’s go."
        The group of techs and escorting X-COM troops negotiated the maze of tunnels at a run and arrived at the control room.
        "Holy …" said one the techs, as he caught sight of the rows of computer consoles.
        The control room was about fifteen feet in diameter, a circular space carved directly into the rock and strengthened with familiar alloy. The furthest wall was hidden behind rows of computer consoles and holographic projectors, closely resembling technology found in laboratories on Earth, advanced labs granted, but nonetheless familiar. The alien corpses had been dragged out but the viscous blood still stained the metal surfaces. Lights blazed and blinked around the room, and a 3D image flashed data at dizzying speed.
        Cole hurried to what apparently constituted the main terminal and gazed intently at the projection.
        "What’s going on?" he mused. Absentmindedly, he tore his light coat off and sat at the main chair, black unfamiliar material creaking under his weight. He glanced at the instruments around him. "Uh-oh."
        "What?" asked a young man kneeling in front of a half open metal suitcase. "Seen this before. Transmission. I think they’re dumping data, erasing files." Cole looked around the panels in some desperation. He had never seen any of this before. "Hurry up with the equipment."
        "Coming," said the tech. He hefted a laptop and passed it to Cole. Cables trailed back to the suitcase. Cole fired it up and waited impatiently as the operating system booted. Behind him, the two techs pressed button hurriedly inside a second suitcase and attached cables to and fro. Keller watched on impassively. The last item out was the alien computer from Area 51 - Big Bertha - already hooked up and trailing wire.
        "We ready to echo everything from the terminal?" asked Cole.
        "Just a sec," said a kneeling tech. "OK. What ever you do, we store." Anything they did, any information that passed through the laptop or Bertha would be stored on drives for further evaluation.
        "How do we connect?" said another voice.
        Cole snorted. He hadn’t figured it out yet. He sat the alien device to his right and the laptop to his left. He hunted for some kind of connection device while machines clicked and hummed to life.
        "Hey, Cole. Check this out!"
        Big Bertha was scrolling figures like crazy, matching the central control’s own galloping transmission. Cole’s fingers flew at the laptop’s keyboard, remotely controlling Bertha.
        "Bertha’s sending data someplace. Remember that transmission tracker we installed? Well, it’s counting outgoing qbits like there’s no tomorrow."
        "They’re closing this place down, sending all their info to another site," said a tech excitedly.
        "Yeah, and we gonna stop them," snorted Cole. He pulled the familiar main menu on the laptop and gasped.
        "Will you look at that!" he exclaimed. The main menu, normally displaying a few functions fruit of hard weeks of work by the combined Earth hacking forces, was now full with other options. "It’s picking stuff off the central machine."
        Cole scrolled down the list.
        "Holy Moses," he practically choked. "Alien forces. Composition, size, units, everything. We better be taping this."
        "We are, we are," assured a tech. "But time’s running." He indicated the completion bar on the transmit tracker, already three quarters of the way down.
        How do I shut this down? thought Cole. He scrolled down the list of enemy units, not knowing what they were exactly, selected one and was surprise to see - among others - a TERMINATE option flash before him.
        "You gotta be kidding," he said, and pressed the mouse button.

        "Commander! Unit One-One-Fourteen has been eliminated."
        The SubCommander turned his head.
        "There’s damn battle down there," he said, his patience already worn thin. "So what?"
        "No, Commander. Not destroyed. Eliminated by Terran Command," communicated the Sectoid operator.
        "What?"
        "And another!"
        The SubCommander raced over and gave a wild, questioning glance at his second-in-command.
        "Specify unit," ordered the XO.
        "One-one-fourteen is a Tank at Base Five, Sir. Eight-three is a transport barge in deep ocean hiding."
        The Officer gave the SubCommander a curious look. "Those places are not under attack, that we know of."
        "Who is giving those orders?" bellowed the SubCommander. The Sectoid cringed.
        "Don’t know, Commander," his brain stammering. "Tracking transmission to Terran Command."
        "Terrans!" roared the SubCommander. "They’re using our computer to terminate units."
        "But how?" asked a bewildered XO.
        "Somehow they discovered how to use our computers. I can’t believe this!"
        The Second-in-Command turned to the Sectoid. Terrans had learned how to use their system, destroyed the base forces and were actually randomly terminating their units. Preposterous.
        "Regain control of the computer. Close off that option."
        "Yes, sir," thought the Sectoid turning to the console.

        "Damn," spat Cole. He clicked around the screen but the killer option had disappeared.
        "Hey, tracker indicates activity to our port."
        "Someone’s inside," assured Cole. "I think we’ve been discovered. We need to close the system down, now."
        He pulled another menu and spotted an active SHUTDOWN option and pressed the mouse over it, just being obnoxious. What the heck was EMGCY T-1 CTMNT?
        "OK. Do it."
        A tech pounded the keys on the laptop and issued the system down command. He whistled as everything turned itself off suddenly.

        "Terran command is not responding, Commander." The Sectoid shied away from contact with the superior officers leaning precariously over his post.
        "Get them back online, then," ordered the SubCommander.
        "Yes, Commander."

        The lights came back on, stunning them. Systems whirred on and a 3D globe popped up in front of them once again.
        "What the ... "
        "Think the bugs are switching us back on?" asked a tech.
        "Martian standoff," joked the other. He pulled a face and turned to Cole. "Martian, get it?"
        "Hilarious. Do the honors, please," said Cole slowly. The tech reached over.

        "Again, Commander. There’s no way to win this. Every time we switch on, they shut the system down."
        "Another approach, then. Can we destroy the information they have there?"
        "If we send a high energy surge to the antenna, it is theoretically possible," said the XO.
        "Do it," ordered the SubCommander.
        "We’ll lose everything not transferred to the secondary base, sir."
        "We’ve already lost it and ..." Both Kraals simultaneously turned on the Sectoid. "What is it?" asked the SubCommander slowly. The Sectoid had turned a dark crimson color and every wave his oversized brain was emitting screamed emergency.
        "A signal has just bounced off us, Commander." The Kraal remained motionless. "It’s headed towards the Fleet." He said no more; the new commander’s Fleet, currently at Terra Six.
        "What kind of signal?" asked the SubCommander.
        "Shutdown of low containment force fields, Commander."
        The XO turned towards his superior officer. "Doesn’t correspond to Anti-Matter torpedoes."
        "No, sir." The Sectoid was trying to disappear in his chair. "Gas containment."
        "Intercept it," screamed the SubCommander.
        "Can’t, sir."

Thanks!

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