The White House - October 5th.

        General Sachs arrived at the back gate of the White House in an official car. Light drizzle fell, graying the morning as he rolled down the window. Puddles formed on the ground, black and blue from spilled oil. The marine guard bent over and accepted his id, checking it against his clipboard. Using a telephone inside the guard post he spoke briefly and then hung up. Handing back the papers, he came to attention, saluted and then waved the car on. Two weeks ago, the regular White House Police detail had been substituted by Marines.
        The driver let the car roll forward towards the visitor's parking lot where a bull-sized Marine waited, pistol very prominent in his belt. The staff was taking no chances.
        "General Sachs, sir, right this way," said the bull.
        Sachs followed through the door. They entered a small foyer, passed a second door into a narrow spartan corridor. Three marines stood guard at rigid attention. Leaving the corridor, Sachs followed the bull into a larger and more luxurious lobby. Large paintings decorated the wall depicting past presidents and historical cross-points of the nation. Sachs spotted four Secret Service members to his left, eyes riveted on him. The marine stopped in front of an elevator and entered as it's doors opened. Two floors down. The door opened into a final corridor ending in a large door. The White House Situation Room. Sachs paused briefly to straighten his uniform and entered.
        The room was practically full. The President was deep in conversation with the National Security Advisor and didn't notice him. Admiral Rourke, however, did. The Joint Chief of Staff had a reputation for being a hard nosed bastard, but a fair one. He stood and met Sachs, his outstretched hand clasping his.
        "Jim, good to see you," he smiled.
        "Same here, sir. Circumstances could have been better, though," he said grimly. The JCS nodded. Someone informed the President that all members had arrived and he called the meeting to order. Everyone took their seats, quietly.
        "Ladies and gentlemen. This is the third Extraterrestrial Crisis Management meeting. I think you all know, or have at least heard of General Sachs, acting commander of X-COM forces." A few nods of welcome. He recognized Senator O'Donell of the Armed Forces Committee from the meeting in his office with Keller and Hammett. It seemed like an age ago.
        "All right. Let's get this started. General," he said looking straight at Sachs. The President was a small man, somewhat chubby and balding, very different to the handsome actor-style Chief Execs of previous decades. Many had said that without the good looks the chances of winning an election were slim at best, but President Hartman had tenaciously fought his critics and presented the better program. He had wooed the American people towards his point of view, selling his ideas as the best way into the twenty first century. The only way. The right way. "What's the situation?"
        Sachs steadied his breathing and recollected his thoughts.
        "Mr. President. As you know, we haven't detected any further extraterrestrial activity after the Pearl Harbor attack, which of course isn't significant." He selected a manila folder, opened it and passed out a copy to each present. "This is the final report on the attack. It includes base casualties, damage and a complete recount of the Special Ops actions. Additionally, we're confirming the alien's attempt of seizure of the nuclear Tomahawks. No other material was touched. As we reported yesterday, seven TLAM-N missiles were found dismantled, their nuclear payloads stripped. All were recovered." He glanced quickly around the table and noticed expressions relax. The President kept his gaze unblinking on him.
        "This is a diagram detailing the structure of the Tomahawk. It is composed of four major sections: guidance, warhead, fuel tank and propulsion and control. In order to gain access to the warhead, the forward guidance section, Tercom (Terrain Contour Matching) unit, inertial navigator and computer must be removed. This requires a skilled professional. Owing to the short amount of time they spent in the depot before the Apaches neutralized the, uh, UFO, we believe they had pre-entry information. Question is, Mr. President, how did they acquire this information?"
        "Oh," said the President blinking. "What are you suggesting?"
        Sachs waved his hand. "Good research. Or surveillance. Either one, they did their homework. My conclusion is that this isn't the last attempt on a nuclear arsenal."
        Nobody stirred around the table. Sachs continued.
        "Three extraterrestrials were able to evacuate the area, leaving one robotic unit, nine dead humanoids and one survivor."
        "Excuse me?" exclaimed the Secretary of Defense.
        Sachs looked at him. "Yes, sir. X-COM operatives secured a live humanoid. Wounded but very much alive."
        "Oh, my God," breathed Senator O'Donell. "Where is it...he..." she waved her hands exasperated.
        "X-COM base in Cheyenne Mountain, ma'am."
        "Senator, we'll get back to that later. Go ahead General, " the President said, waving unconsciously at Sachs .
        "Sir. This is the third confirmed attack on a military installation so far. You'll remember the Rota incident in Spain and the St. Petersburg Naval base disaster. This time around, we managed to keep the winning edge but we are at a loss to predict their next target."
        "What about the New York Base?" asked Hartman.
        "Ahead of schedule, sir. But still a month from operational status. We're going to cut some corners and station a team there as a rapid deployment unit, but it will remain totally dependent of Cheyenne until mid November."
        President Hartman steepled his fingers in front of his chin and gazed directly into Sachs' eyes.
        "Conclusions on alien military capability," he ordered.
        Sachs was caught of guard. He hadn't expected the question. "Sir, I'm not sure I can..."
        "Off the record, General. Whatever you think. Whatever your men think." Sachs hesitated. "They're not vastly superior to us, sir. Technologically, they're ahead of us," he conceded. "But they still utilize weapons similar to ours, albeit more powerful. They have shielding and protective mechanisms that use physical laws and principles familiar to us. Unless we're just seeing the lower end of their arsenal, it's my personal opinion that we're definitely on fighting terms. Our main problem is lack of intel. We don't know who they are or what they want. That's their advantage." Sachs' instincts screamed 'going way out on a limb' but he didn't care. If it wasn't the truth, his career would be over due to different causes.
        The President turned to his NSA. "What about other X-COM bases? Our allies?"
        "Most of NATO is already up to speed. A lot of info has been unilateral - from us to them, but we're starting to receive hard data from Mediterranean countries and some stuff from Japan. The Spanish listening devices are operational again and they're picking up unidentified signals near the straights of Gibraltar. Italy is aggressively patrolling the Tyrehnnian and Adriatic Seas. Israel isn't, uh, committing as of yet. The Arab crisis is still very much their main concern."
        "If something develops in the Med, how fast can we get there?" he asked.
        The NSA turned to Sachs.
        "The New York Team could be in central Med in under eight hours," responded the General. Silence.
        The Secretary of Defense cleared his throat. "Mr. President. Hyper-X is fully operational and will receive NASA green light in one month. Outfitting Cheyenne Mountain with the necessary telemetric equipment and maintenance facilities can begin as soon as this week."
        Hartman glanced at the Defense Secretary, the JCS and Sachs in turn and said: "Hyper-X is a 'go' then. Fill me in later."
        The SoD nodded and turned to Sachs. "General, a word with you immediately after to coordinate delivery."
        "Additionally," continued Hartman, "I want some conclusions on what's behind the attempted theft of the nuclear devices. What do the extraterrestrials want? Secondly, let's get our allies moving on this. Advise them that nuclear facilities could be targeted in lieu of their failure in Pearl. Initiate a transfer program between X-COM teams. See if we can secure higher involvement."
        "Admiral, what's the status of CTF60?" The President referred to Task Force 60, the carrier-based battle group of the Sixth Fleet operating in the Mediterranean Sea.
        "Currently berthed in their home port in Italy. Taking supplies and crew shore leave. They'll be moving in three days. We've coordinated with the Spanish and Italian navies a full grid search around the Med. If there's anything out there, they should be able to find it. Further, NASA is moving a Keyhole and NOSS satellite into an operational support orbit." The NOSS satellites (Navy Ocean Sensing Satellite), referred to as Project Whitehead, are the core of the US Navy's ocean surveillance satellites. Coordinated by Goddard Space Center, the two ton sats orbit the planet tracking surface ships using radar interferometry and homing in on the warm water wakes left by submerged nuclear subs.
         He nodded and turned to rest of the room. "Admiral Rourke has an operational plan laid out involving three extra bases by the end of quarter one of '98. Europe, Japan and South America. I'll sign the orders this afternoon."
        Hartman slapped his hands down on the mahogany table. "Next," turning to an aide. "Let's get the video conference up." The aide rushed to a large screen TV and picked up a remote. He pushed some buttons and tuned into the correct channel. On the upper right hand corner, a legend read X-COM 1. Dr. Richards was already on-line, waiting impatiently and fussing with some notes. He looked up sharply as the NSA spoke.
        "Dr. Richards?"
        "Oh," he mumbled startled. "Aha, yes. The picture is coming through just fine. Splendid."
        The President leaned forward and smiled. "Dr. Richards. Firstly, I have to commend you on an excellent job to date. I, uh, can't stress how important your job is."
        "Yes, yes, thank you," somewhat embarrassed. "Our team is working hard and I'm happy to say we're obtaining excellent results. Just last night..."
        "Sorry to interrupt, doctor, but we're slightly short on time. Our, um, visitor. Is he well?" asked Hartman.
        Richards seemed taken back. "Of course, yes. He, I think we've positively ascertained it's a 'he', is presently in the containment quarters. This morning he was subjected to a complete physical with satisfactory results. The head concussion is minor and all vital signs appear to be normal, or at least normal from our point of view."
        "Have you been able to communicate with it ...him," the President corrected himself.
        "Well, not as of yet, no. But Dr. Van Bert of Harvard is flying in later today."
        "Dr. Van Bert?" inquired Hartman.
        "Ah. He's the world's leading linguist. We've managed to drag him away from a trip to Egypt. Haven't told him anything yet but I'm sure he'll want to join the program." He beamed. The President leaned back, thanked Richards and signaled the aide to cut the transmission.
        "Wow," breathed Senator O'Donell. "This is staggering."
        "It could constitute a major ace in our sleeve," conceded the NSA.
        "May God provide," said Hartman somberly. "Let's move on. Margaret, domestic situation?"
        "Not good, sir." The Vice-President, Margaret Bloomenthall was a striking woman of fifty with a brilliant mind. No longer the traditional administration puppet, it was said that she was the first VP to actually count on Capitol Hill. "The press is having a field day with this. Cameras caught some of the alien activity in Honolulu and God knows how many witnesses are popping out from under every stone - some real, some fake. Armed forces personnel, despite tight security, are leaking like a sieve. It's on every news report, talk show, every minute of the day. Same story for newspapers. Sir, I definitely recommend a state address before panic ensures."
        The President thought for a second and then tightened his lips.
        "Absolutely. Right away. I don't think there's anyway we can keep this secret any longer. Margaret, Congress is going to want a closed hearing. Let's anticipate. See if we can get it organized for tomorrow. I want a preparatory meeting for this afternoon, say eight sharp." Well, thought Sachs, that was it. All hell was going to break loose once we went public with this, but then again, how in the world did we think we could keep alien attacks on military bases a secret?
        "Ladies and gentlemen," concluded Hartman. "So far, good work. We don't know what's coming our way but I believe we should be prepared for the worst." He looked around the table. "Anything else?" He waited for a heartbeat and then continued. "All right, thank you all."
        The meeting over, everyone trooped out of room silently. Sachs waited outside for the Defense Secretary, who arrived in conversation with the JCS.
        "Jim, a moment. Are you familiar with op status of Hyper-X?" he asked. Sachs shook his head silently. Having been heavily involved in DARPA, the General was well aware of the program but the delivery agenda and flight testing was outside his security clearance
        "Okay, I'll have a team fly over this week to brief you in full. Expect people from Langley and NASA. They'll be coordinating the arrival and installation of necessary equipment."
        "Assigned to me?" asked Sachs. The SoD regarded him thoughtfully for a second and then made his mind up.
        "No, sorry." It was traditional that all special op personnel, including pilots, aircraft and support personnel, report directly to the JSOC (Joint Special Operations Command) and Special Ops Exec Commander. "Langley retains authority."
        Sachs nodded. Didn't like it one bit but, what the hell, just having Hyper-X made up for it a hundred times over.

        Some hours later in Colorado, Keller entered the X-COM briefing room. All surviving members of the Pearl Harbor operation were present, moods somber, quiet a few blinding hangovers from the previous night's drunkenness. The men spoke softly, grim faces, hardly joking. Comrades had fallen two days ago, friends. Three brave men. Keller looked around the room and breathed deeply.
        "When I first joined X-COM I knew this would happen. We have to prepare for this. Hell, we've all had friends leave. Special ops ain't no garden of roses and you all know that. Only this time it's gonna be harder. We're outnumbered and outgunned. But we sure as hell ain't outclassed. Last night we bade our farewells. Today, guys, we have to keep going. This may sound corny, but the whole damn world is depending on us!"
        Ridge, sitting on a reversed chair, leaning on the back rest, said softly: "With you all the way, Cap'n. The bugs have just made it personal." A few muttered curses.
        "Fuck, yeah," someone said.
        "All right. You all did a great job. God knows what the bugs could've done with those nukes. Szekelly," one of the new recruits. Kadinski, the other new guy, had bought it. "You just earned your battle patch," he said, tossing a black shoulder patch to the young man. "Congratulations. Peterson, you did a fine job in the nuke room." The medics were keeping Gonzalez in observation for a couple of days. Concussion, they explained.
        He paused sensing the change in the room morale. He pushed aside his own numbness, and fought to recharge his troops, cajole them into a fighting attitude. C'mon guys, he prayed.
        "All right," he said raising his voice. "Roll it in!" The back door swung wide and a young tech entered followed by Michael Roberts, head of Engineering. The tech pushed a man-sized mannequin covered in a dark suit. The suit protected the whole of the plastic body, from neck to ankles.
        "Guys, meet your new armor. Armor meet the guys," he said smiling. Heads turned. "All yours," he told the Engineering boss.
        "This is the Stage Two full-body ceramic-plastic armor. It is designed to withstand a medium range blast of a frisbee and most laser shots."
        "How 'bout plasma," growled Gator.
        "Unfortunately, not strong enough. The plasma beam is too powerful. Well," he hesitated, "that's theoretically."
        "Theoretically," asked Ridge.
        "We've never fired a plasma at one. Actually, we've never fired a plasma, period. But, believe me, it won't stop a full plasma shot. In any case, it's the best we can do right now and, I can assure you, a heck of a lot better than what you have now." Slightly on the defensive. A squaddie walked over a rested his hand on the mannequin's right arm.
        "What's it made out of, again?"
        "A combination of super hardened plastic and special ceramic materials. The chest plate has a light titanium alloy coating for higher protection. The next step, or what we're trying, is to replace the titanium with the alien Duritium alloy. But we're still waiting for word from Los Alamos. Note that the joints are articulated." Different sections, elbows, knees, waist were connected by a darker plastic accordion structure. "This is a weak spot. It won't stop anything higher than a .38 slug."
        "Better than nothing," said a voice.
        "Say that again!", said the tech. "This is Stage Two. Maybe if we reach Stage Ten you'll be able to walk through a nuclear blast," he joked. Keller smiled inwardly as another of his men rose and starting asking questions.