16

EVENT GROUP COMPLEX

NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

Matchstick was again at Gus Tilly’s bedside as the old prospector slept a rough sleep. Every so often Mahjtic would reach up and take Gus’s hand when the old prospector started to awaken. Once the long, green fingers wrapped around the man’s hand, he would go silent and let out a long breath and then he would breathe normally. Matchstick really couldn’t fathom his friend growing old, he had been so vital in his introduction to Earth and her ways. The man had not rested since he had arrived so many years before.

Matchstick would watch Gus’s closed eyes with own obsidian, oval-shaped ones, and then he would see the eyes under his lids start to move rapidly as Gus started to dream. Mahjtic didn’t know what he was dreaming about, but he sensed whatever it was made the old man happy, and that was good enough for him. He released the wrinkled, liver-spotted hand and then started to read the briefing from NASA on the destroyed space station.

Matchstick reached over and popped another pizza roll into his small mouth and crunched down upon it. He found eating allowed him to concentrate far better as a writer would consider smoking in the same regard. As he chewed the frozen snack he tapped the photo of the debris field as captured by earth-bound telescope with the tip of his long finger. While he did this and chewed the ice-covered pizza roll, he hummed the old song that Charlie had introduced him to that he was now hooked on and hummed constantly without knowing it: “The Purple People Eater” by Sheb Wooley. The fifties’ novelty hit was a favorite of Charlie Ellenshaw when he smoked that strange tobacco Matchstick always wrinkled his small nose over.

Suddenly Matchstick tapped the debris field as he noticed the full moon in the background of the starfield. It was the moon that had caught his attention and the small alien sat up in his chair. He looked closer and then it dawned on him why the Grays had gone out of their way to destroy the International Space Station when they had left all of the other earth-orbiting objects like satellites alone. The space station provided real-time visuals of the moon and it would have an unobstructed view of it from their position. That was why it was destroyed.

Matchstick spit out the frozen dough and cheese and made a beeline for the door.

The target area for the IP point of the Gray invasion had been discovered, and now Matchstick knew where the Power Vessel and the saucer armada would gather for the attack on Earth: the far side of the moon.

*   *   *

It had taken Europa only minutes to break into as many as two thousand telescopic devices the world over. Pete had been confronted by a very excited and incomprehensible Matchstick in his office just as he received the warning from Virginia in regard to getting Matchstick and Gus back to Chato’s Crawl. But all that was forgotten for the moment as Pete was now in the computer center scanning the area around the moon, selecting the satellites and telescopes that would give him the best view of any dimensional wormhole that would form in space to announce the arrival of the vanguard of Grays and their irreplaceable power-producing saucer. He realized that the Grays weren’t that stupid—why risk entering the atmosphere of Earth and open themselves up to attack, when all they had to do was come in covertly and strike at will from anywhere and never announce their presence with the forming vortex of the wormhole?

Alice Hamilton, who was staying on at Group, came in and traversed the steps to the center’s main floor. She raised her glasses and studied the still shots of the moon provided by Europa and her stolen signals.

“Do you think Matchstick has something?” she asked, looking over at the alien as he popped another frozen pizza roll into his mouth.

Pete looked at their small friend. “Yeah, I think he’s hit on something. His evidence is flimsy, but the attack on the space platform didn’t make any sense at the time. Now it does.”

Alice smiled at the chewing Matchstick and winked as she lowered the glasses on their chain.

“Looks like you may have a starting point for Operation Overlord,” she said to Mahjtic. He smiled and nodded his bulbous head. Alice patted Pete on the back. “Let’s get this out to Camp Alamo, tell them they will have a target very soon.”

“I just checked the status. Since you briefed me, Charlie and I kept an eye on the landline communications down there. It’s a damn good thing I never ordered Europa to dump her memory discs of the analog phone system. As I understand it now, they’ve had some kind of accident down there.”

“What accident?” she asked.

“After Matchstick verified that the power plant would work, some tech down there hooked something up wrong and they nearly lost the entire ship when a coolant line ruptured.”

“God, what next?” she asked herself.

“What’s next is that Virginia says that Matchstick and Gus are in danger because the president and the new head of the CIA want our little friend here in the worst way and will breach our security if they have to. We have orders to get the little guy back home, where we believe he’ll be safe, because no one knows about Chato’s Crawl.”

Matchstick continued to eat and then began humming “Purple People Eater.”

Both Alice and Pete looked over at Matchstick.

“I don’t know about you, Alice,” Pete said, “but I can really live without that.”

CAMP ALAMO

ANTARCTICA

On the fifteenth try the mixed units of Delta and SEALs finally broke through the composite hatch of the power distribution vehicle mock-up. Everett was pleased when he realized that combining the teams and mixing specialists had paid off. Doubly pleased thanks to the Chinese government, which had been so pleased by the return of the 7th Fleet to assist in rescue operations of their seamen that they had sent several large fragments of the downed saucer from the wreckage of Beijing. That made the ingress into the power supply ship realistic in that regard. They had found out that their protective shield was only good when the cables were deployed and a grid was activated because, as the DARPA and General Electric technicians had explained, the shield grid was only viable when the interconnecting cables were in contact with the next, and the next, and so on. So if they hadn’t planned on setting their shield up in space, Carl’s men actually stood a chance of breaking in with the explosive teams.

Carl was drying his hair with a towel after exiting the freezing pool and was approached by Anya Korvesky. She was smiling as she pecked the admiral on the cheek. He looked up and saw to his relief that his men were still in the process of being lifted from the pool and hadn’t seen.

“Okay, I give up, Major. What’s got you so happy?” He tossed the towel at her, wrapping it around her face.

She laughed and removed the damp towel. “Because the whole time I’ve been on this mission I couldn’t understand why I was chosen to be here by the general. Now I do. I thought I was going to be condemned to sit here like a frog on a log while everyone else was doing something worthwhile.”

“That’s bump on a log, darlin,’ not a frog.”

“What? I always thought it was a frog,” she said in all seriousness.

“Again, why so happy? And no witty Americanisms, please,” Carl said, finally breaking out in a smile.

“I have a gift of the Israeli government for Operation Overlord,” she said as five SAS soldiers rolled in a large wheeled cart with four bright yellow aluminum containers strapped down to it. Carl saw the nuclear warning device emblem stamped on them and stood up with his eyes locked on the containers.

“Okay, you have my attention.” He glanced at the major out of the corner of his eye. “And if you want a frog on the log, that’s okay too, because any woman that carries around that kind of firepower can say whatever the hell she wants.”

Anya Korvesky smiled. “Good.”

“Now, explain your gift,” he said as his men started to gather around in various states of dress. They saw what was on the four-wheeled cart and one of the SEALs whistled.

“General Shamni realized, once he read what charge would be used on the power production saucer, that your battlefield ‘backpack’ nukes were a little small and rather bulky; the megatonnage was lacking, in his opinion. So after conferring with your General Caulfield he decided to give you one of Israel’s most guarded secrets: the Horn of Gabriel. Or rather, Horns of Gabriel, plural. Ten times the size of your American backpack nukes for each of the twelve units and packing one hell of a lot bigger punch.”

Everett and the team leaders of both the SEALs and Delta approached the cart and looked the boxes over. Each man had been briefed and had trained on setting off the American versions of the weapon, but were now doubly anxious to see this rather bizarre Israeli surprise.

“How big of a punch?” Carl asked with due respect.

“Twenty megatons each. Each unit can be carried by one man. I believe that will be double the amount needed to blow anything up.”

Both SEALs and Delta teams smiled as they exchanged looks, knowing they had just found a new best friend in Major Anya Korvesky.

*   *   *

The arrival of Lord Durnsford caused quite a stir among the hierarchy of the Overlord staff. Sir Darcy, Admiral Kinkaid, and Admiral Huffington watched along with the gentleman from MI6 as he studied the training exercise in the large mock-up of the number one gun turret. The sides were cut away to give the Royal Navy evaluation teams clear access to view the loading and firing procedures of the gun crew, all fifty-six of them.

They had already lost one of the real mounts on HMS Garrison Lee’s number five turret on the underside superstructure that placed it out of action early this morning, when one of the shipyard workers inadvertently struck one of the thick coolant lines with a cutting torch, touching off a large chain reaction when the explosive gases mixed together in the oxygen-rich environment. The resulting explosion killed sixty-one yard workers, most of whom were working on the outside of the turret while performing their jobs on the elevated scaffolding that was needed to get to the upside-down superstructure. These were yard personnel that could not be replaced due to the time restraints and the strict requirements of the security background checks involved.

Lord Durnsford, the leader of the world’s effort on Overlord, watched the gun crew inside the mock-up insert the particle canister into the large-bored breach and then slam the tube closed. They stepped back and covered their ears as the power surge from the generators began to pump over a thousand cubic feet of Argon gas into the mixing chamber just forward of the gun’s breach. As the power built to 100 percent the first blast of nitrogen gas was injected into the tungsten-lined barrel, effectively freezing the hybrid steel before the shock of the blazing hot laser fired. The simulation went off without a hitch as the blank round of canister shot pellets, small steel ball-bearing-sized shrapnel injected into the barrel to be carried by the electrical impact of the light weapon and then pushed through the thirty-five foot gun. Once it neared the tip of the crystal the pellets were redirected around the light enhancement crystal so as not to blow it apart, and then once outside of the barrel the light wave would carry the particle beam shot at the speed of light to its intended target. The bolt of steel-infused light, a particle beam in essence, would slam into an enemy vessel, ripping its target area like a shotgun blast. Then a blast of nitrogen coolant would be flushed through the barrel to cool it before the next loading process began anew.

“I’m glad to see we worked out the damaged crystal mishaps,” Durnsford said. “That was fast becoming an expensive proposition.”

The gunnery officers had made adjustments to the redirection of the canister shot after numerous mishaps had not directed the steel pellets far enough around the expensive light enhancement crystals, causing them to be smashed by their own gunfire.

“Yes, it took our American colleagues at Raytheon far longer than we would have thought to reverse-engineer the barrel openings. The rifling that sent the pellets around the crystals were installed backwards from the original Martian design.” Sir Darcy hoped the explanation didn’t bring on the famous temper from the gentleman from MI6.

“What is the status of the number five turret?” he asked as he watched the two hundred welding machines at work trying to repair the platform.

“Not as fast as we would like. After all, the men have to work precariously upside down and it gets rather tiresome, I am told. We are having to switch crews far too often. The turret may not be available when the time arrives.”

“In other words, due to tired crews and careless workmen we may have lost one-third of her firepower?”

Lord Durnsford took a deep breath and then looked away from his battleship. He needed Niles Compton here to assist him in holding his famed temper at the lack of progress. He faced his number two man in Sir Darcy Bennett.

“Tell me the fame that preceded our infamous Professor Jenks has paid dividends?”

“I’m pleased to say that the former naval master chief was everything he was advertised to be. The escape pods for not just half, but the full complement of crewmen have been installed ahead of schedule. The two assault craft are complete and ready to go.”

Lord Durnsford raised his bushy brows in surprise.

“It’s just that Jenks is the most disagreeable bastard I have ever had the displeasure to know.”

“Yes, Dr. Compton warned us about that.”

“Yes, that may be, but I wish we had ten more engineers like him, regardless of his feelings toward the established way of doing things.” Admiral Kinkaid defended his Navy man as best he could, no matter how hard it was.

Durnsford stepped back from his elevated view of the dockyard and faced all three men. “When will the power plant test take place?”

It was Admiral Huffington’s turn to speak. “We have already powered her up and it didn’t blow up the bloody ship, but now I’m afraid to push our luck.”

“I am not in the mood for humor, Admiral. I’m quite tired and still have to meet with General Collins and Admiral Everett and field their vast concerns.”

“It wasn’t an attempt at humor, my lord, but the God’s honest truth. All we have in hand is the plans supplied by Dr. Compton. If that alien bloke is off by the smallest parameter in his engineering, we could very well blow up half of the bloody continent of Antarctica.”

“Admiral, Mr. Mahjtic has been right on with all of his calculations thus far, has he not?”

“But something with this much power…” Huffington stopped when Durnsford held up a restraining hand.

“He was an engineer in his slave capacity, was he not? He was also a crewman on a saucer, was he not?”

“Yes, so the Americans claim.”

Durnsford shot Huffington an angry look and then narrowed his eyes underneath his glasses.

“Niles Compton believes everything Mr. Mahjtic has said in his many thousand hours of debriefing. I have had a chance to personally do so. I will not hear another excuse about your having doubts on his ability. As I recall you two forward-thinking geniuses were adamantly opposed to having a mere Navy master chief on your design team.” He paused for the briefest of moments and then exploded. “And he’s the only engineer that delivered what he promised!”

The men lowered their heads as they realized how wrong they had been to doubt the small alien engineer.

Durnsford calmed himself with a look to his friend, Sir Darcy.

“Gentlemen, I expect the test no later than 2200 hours this night. Due to unforeseen developments our timetable for launch of the Lee has been pushed up. The enemy has made a mistake caught by the very being you have doubted all along. We know where they are going to place their power disbursement vessel, and the HMS Garrison Lee is going to be there to meet it.”

All three men were stunned at the announcement.

“Now, no more delays, gentlemen. I appreciate the hard work and sacrifice, but now is the time for action and not doubt.” He turned and looked down at the men working and those training. “We owe them that, don’t you think?”

With that Lord Durnsford turned and left with Sir Darcy in tow.

“My old friend Dr. Compton is awake in Washington. We have hopes that the president will soon follow, but he may not be awake in time to stem the crazed orders of that madman occupying that particularly powerful office. General Collins will have his hands full if he has only the air cover of our very limited Sea Harriers. Now I have to go and tell Collins that good news.” Durnsford paused and then eyed his friend closely. “Tell me the crew of that bloody ship is ready and that Commodore Freemantle can do the job.”

“He’ll be meeting with us, General Collins, and Admiral Everett. I think that question has to be put forth by you, my friend. Freemantle will know the true gravity of the situation then.”

“Why will he meet with the Americans?”

“Because the commodore needs to look in the eyes of the men that will be responsible for allowing him the time to get the Lee in the air, and once it is there to make sure his one-way trip is not for nothing. Also because he needs to see two Americans that don’t give a good goddamn who he is or what his reputation for being a hard-ass is.”

*   *   *

Jack had toured the storage areas for the equipment and logistics needed by the two airborne divisions and inspected armor in place at the dispersed location where the Army Corps of Engineers had dug out emplacements for the Panzer division. Without maneuvers, his men were as ready as they would ever be. He and Everett, who said his assault teams would never be prepared enough for their mission, sat and waited for an important meet and greet with the commander of the HMS Garrison Lee. Jack turned to his friend.

“You’re going with your men, aren’t you?”

Everett smiled and then looked at Jack from across the table. He knew before the meeting what was going to brought up between his friend and himself.

“I can’t let them go out there without me, Jack, just like you’re going to place your ass on the line up there when the time comes. I’m taking Ryan with me, if that makes you feel better. The little bastard gave me those hurt puppy-dog eyes when he learned I’m going. Besides, the commander can keep me company on that flying death trap they named after our friend. Can you see Lee right now if he knew what the name was on the fantail of that crate?”

Jack snorted laughter at the thought. Garrison Lee would have screamed bloody murder over the honor and then limped up a scaffold and personally scratched his name from the fantail.

“I clandestinely took a picture of the name and secretly used Europa to send it to Alice.” He looked away for a brief moment. “I think she’ll get a kick out of seeing it.”

Carl removed his wristwatch and looked at it. He then offered it to Jack.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, go ahead and keep it for me until I get back.”

Again Jack laughed lightly. “No, as Henri said, time paradox and all of that Isaac Asimov crap. Just bring it back in one piece, swabby.”

Everett looked at the watch and then slid it back over his thick wrist. “I’ll do what I can to do just that, General.”

At that moment a lone figure strolled through the door and Jack recognized him immediately. He had first met the man at Aberdeen Proving Ground, where he had been a guest instructor on the theory of astrophysics, and then a second time at a NATO conference on the interaction between naval forces and army special operations. The sudden recognition explained why Carl Everett was doing the mission he had been assigned. This man’s pet theory was that Special Forces combined with naval tactics could achieve more by stealth and audacity than a large-scale invasion. Jack Collins despised the arrogant British naval man like no other allied officer he had ever met.

“Oh, crap,” Jack said under his breath as Lord Commodore Percy Freemantle, the Third Lord of Sussex, entered the room. Jack and Carl stood up.

The tall, thin figure took in the two American officers, then stepped to a chair and placed his bag on the top of the table. Without looking at either officer standing at attention, he sat.

“At ease, gentlemen, at ease.” The commodore opened his briefcase and pulled out some papers.

With a worrisome sideways glance at each other Jack and Carl sat.

They studied the blond-haired graduate of Her Majesty’s Royal Naval Academy, a man who had graduated number one in his class; who would look down upon Jack for finishing third in his West Point class, and definitely down upon Carl for finishing tenth in his at Annapolis. He was dressed in the new blue computer-designed print camouflage BDU, which looked quite out of place on the prim and proper naval genius, but still enough of a difference that Jack and Carl simultaneously noticed their own wet and filthy white camouflage that had already seen better days.

“I want you gentlemen to know, in the interest of being honest, and my nature of full disclosure, I was against your appointments to your current duties.” The commodore didn’t show the professional courtesy of even looking up from the paperwork he was perusing. “General Collins, I know that you are a capable officer, but your duties away from the army of your country has … well … let us just say you may be a little rusty. And that fact, coupled with your limited knowledge of large-scale defensive tactics, I believe is a hindrance to giving me the time to get my ship off the ground.” He finally looked up at Jack to see his reaction. There was none. The commodore smiled at something only he was privy to.

Carl looked at Collins, who sat stoically and silent. Everett raised his brows and waited for the insults to his appointment to commence. The commodore returned to his papers, making Carl think he wasn’t important enough to address. He was wrong.

“Admiral Everett,” Freemantle said, and to Everett the word admiral sounded as if the commodore had just taken a large bite out of a shit sandwich. “I am so disappointed that Lord Durnsford chose a political appointee over my suggestion for an SAS regimental combat team to achieve the goal of gaining access to the power replenishment vessel.” He looked up at Carl. “The impact of this decision, in my humble opinion, could lead to disaster.”

The two men exchanged glances and then smirks as the commodore continued his reading. Or acting job, Jack thought, if you would prefer that description.

The double doors opened and an SAS commando stepped inside. He looked at the occupants of the room.

Jack and Carl stood as a line of Gray captives entered with only pants covering their disjointedly backward-working legs. All five had black bags over their heads and were shackled together. The line of Grays was flanked by heavily armed SAS men who had their short and compact Heckler & Koch HK-417 automatic assault weapons at the ready. The Grays were ruthlessly shoved into the meeting room. Everett and Collins relaxed while Commodore Freemantle never even turned. The captives were followed by Lord Durnsford and Sir Darcy Bennett, who strolled in as casually as you please. The Grays were made to sit on the cold floor along the wall. Several of them hissed and snapped underneath their hoods.

“I see you gentlemen are getting acquainted?” Lord Durnsford sat at the head of the table while Sir Darcy remained standing, looking at the captive Grays with distaste.

“Yes, I was just telling the general and admiral what a pleasure it is to be to working with them. I am truly excited about our chances.”

“Please, Percy, cut the crap, I know you a little too well.” Lord Durnsford shook his head. “General Collins, Admiral Everett, Commodore Freemantle is the right choice for the command of the HMS Garrison Lee, but his manners and professionalism are at most times called into question.” He looked at the commodore, who only smiled up at him. “Even Her Royal Majesty thinks he is a bloody pain in the bum.”

“Thank you, Harrison, a better introduction could not have been written more profoundly by myself.”

“Time is short and I wanted to meet with you gentlemen and wish you luck. Your timetables have been advanced, hopefully before the Grays make their initial move. We now know, thanks to your little friend in the desert”—he looked and Jack and Carl—“that the Grays are going to seek the protection of the far side of the moon, thinking we cannot get at them from here. That is the reason for the attack on the International Space Station. We plan on surprising them.”

The Grays in the corner started hissing and kicking out with their legs, as if they understood what Lord Durnsford was saying. Sir Darcy stepped back next to one of the SAS guards.

“We have brought these creatures in for your benefit, Percy”—Durnsford eyed the naval man closely—“to show you what will be inside every city, every village, and every home if you fail. I hope your arrogance doesn’t cloud over the fact that you have one hell of a lot of people on this planet depending on you.”

“There is no more capable man in the service of Her Majesty, I assure you of—”

A member of the SAS suddenly burst through the doors and handed Sir Darcy a slip of paper. The small man grimaced and then handed Lord Durnsford the message.

“Gentlemen, the time for demonstration is at an end. You must now go to your commands. It seems our enemy is moving far faster than we thought. A dimensional wormhole has been seen developing in space, two thousand miles above the surface, on the dark side of the moon. Good luck, my friends.”

Jack and Carl stood, but Collins hesitated a moment as he eyed Lord Freemantle as he quickly gathered his papers. He then looked at the SAS men gathering their captives.

“Lord Durnsford?” Jack said.

“Yes, General?”

“Were these prisoners meant for anything other than demonstration purposes for the sake of the commodore?”

“No, as a matter of fact.”

Without saying another word Jack paced the twenty steps to the now standing and struggling Grays. He quickly pulled out his holstered nine millimeter and before the SAS guards could react, shot each Gray in the head, dropping them to the floor, and then fired three more times into the hearts of the hard-to-kill prisoners. An SAS soldier started to reach for Collins’s weapon, but Durnsford stopped him.

Jack Collins holstered the Beretta and then faced Commodore Freemantle.

“That’s what you can expect, Commodore—ruthlessness.” He took a step toward the shocked naval genius who had never fired a shot in anger in his entire career. “Now, are you up to the task?” Jack joined Everett and they both walked out to the smiles of Lord Durnsford and Darcy.

“Damn, Jack,” Carl said as they both bounded down the steps.