17

112 MILES ABOVE ANTARCTICA

The dimensional wormhole formed out of the thin upper atmosphere. The powerful event was tracked by weather satellites the world over and immediately reported to their corresponding stations.

Europa was the first system to know what the wavering displacement of atmosphere meant, and the first system to announce the dimensional rift to the command and control element at Camp Alamo.

The first line of defense put into action was the vanguard of missiles hidden away inside five different communication satellites that had been decommissioned five years before and then refurbished by the European Space Agency, under the guise of saving the platforms from a decaying and thus dangerous orbit.

Twenty 100-megaton warheads were targeted at the mouth of the dimensional rift that started the initial forming of the wormhole. As the first saucer exploded out of the tunnel-like tornado in the upper atmosphere, ten of the warheads, in anticipation of the appearance, detonated after launch from two hundred and fifty nautical miles above the Earth. The resulting heat wave in space knocked the first small attack ship backward, where it collided with the next two, which in turn exploded, taking out six more of the attackers. The next ten warheads caught the second formation as they made the initial entrance into Earth’s atmosphere. The first missile was a direct hit, disintegrating the saucer, and then the rest of the missiles detonated in quick succession, destroying no less than sixteen of the attackers. The violence was recorded from a KH-11 operated by the Pentagon. This information flashed across the screens inside the situation room far beneath the E-Ring of the Pentagon where several officials watched, including the acting president of the United States.

THE PENTAGON

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Acting President Giles Camden was far more comfortable with the replacement staff of military men that he trusted. He had worked closely with these men in his time on the Senate Armed Services Committee and they had been extremely loyal to the House Speaker beyond those days. After all, the new president had made most of them a hefty sum of money geared toward their retirement.

The president watched from the upper tier through the thick glass as the men and women below went about their duties tracking the forming dimensional rift. He felt the eyes on him from below as the soldiers, sailors, and airmen waited for him to give the orders that they expected for him to issue. On the big board, a three-dimensional map of the world, the 7th Fleet-Asiatic Squadron was still conducting rescue operations with the Chinese navy. Camden had come to terms with the admiral commanding that particular task force and through the offices of his new chairman of the Joint Chiefs had even managed to make him look good, as it was reported that the president had sent the large force in to assist their friends in their time of need. Some of the press had accepted and reported that it was a brilliant and gracious move on his part, but others, more than he cared to admit, felt the president was only trying to save face after a major policy blowup with his military chiefs.

He stood with his hands behind his back as the White House official photographer snapped picture after picture, depicting the commander-in-chief in complete charge of the situation. When the photographer was finished instructions were given that the images should immediately be sent out to the AP and Reuters news agencies as soon as possible in an attempt to get his latest and dismal approval ratings up.

Daniel Peachtree entered the situation room and went to the president’s side.

“The president is awake,” was all he said. Camden tensed.

“I need the attorney general and the chief justice brought here immediately. I want the truth about the laws regarding that man retaking power and I want it now.”

“I’ve already done that. They’re enroute.”

“What progress on the asset in Nevada?”

“The FBI has basically refused to enter the grounds of a federal installation unless a legal warrant signed by a federal judge is issued. Until then we are helpless. But I did find out that they may be in the process of moving our boy to another location.”

“I need…” Camden caught himself as he saw Peachtree flinch at his loud voice. He mentally forced himself to be calm. “I need that thing now. Is there any hope the asset will return to where our people are waiting?”

“I am a firm believer they will take him to what they think is a bigger secret than their own complex, Chato’s Crawl.”

“This is not just about me hanging onto this damn office any longer; it’s about going to jail. Now get it done,” he hissed.

Peachtree went to his chair that was situated around the long, oval conference table.

Camden relaxed and looked at the situation in Antarctica. The two battle groups were still moving away from the continent and would soon be too far away to assist in the defense of Camp Alamo and whatever project had been hidden from him.

“Sir, the first saucers have exited the rift and are approaching the south pole at a high rate of speed,” an airman said as he read the sit-rep coming from Space Command three floors up. “McMurdo Station, Antarctica, is requesting assistance.” The young Air Force officer looked at the president’s back.

If the president had been facing his new subordinates inside the military arm, he would have seen them shift in their chairs uncomfortably when he remained silent. Finally he turned and faced the communications officer.

“Inform McMurdo that the situation is currently being evaluated, and assistance will be forthcoming.”

“Sir?” the airman said with his pen poised above his pad.

“Send it, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

The new chief of the Joint Chiefs looked at his Air Force commander and frowned. They might owe Camden for their sudden rise to power, but it was tearing their guts out not going to the aid of American forces calling for assistance. Lefferts nodded for the Air Force commander to meet him out in the hallway and they were soon joined by the Marine Corps commandant.

President Giles Camden never noticed that a few of his rats were considering jumping ship.

WALTER REED NATIONAL MILITARY MEDICAL CENTER

BETHESDA, MARYLAND

The door to Niles’s hospital room burst open and without ceremony a civilian-attired Maxwell Caulfield entered pushing a wheelchair. Virginia—who had been speaking with her boss and relaying the bad news about the early attack by the Grays that was currently in progress—almost peed herself as the general threw back the sheet and blanket covering Compton’s battered body. He tossed the director a pair of glasses he had absconded with from his personal belongings that had been recovered from his quarters at the ruins of Camp David.

“Mr. Director, we’ve been ordered to attend an emergency meeting, now!” The general assisted Niles up, careful not to hurt his broken left leg and his shattered right arm. Virginia, meanwhile, placed the director’s replacement glasses onto his heavily bandaged face. “The chief justice and the attorney general are already there, along with the directors of the FBI, the CIA, and the rest of my staff.”

“A meeting with whom, may I ask?” Niles weakly asked as he was carefully lifted by the large Marine into the waiting wheelchair.

“We are going right down the hallway. When the president calls, we act. Now hang on!”

Caulfield turned Niles and out the door they went with the president’s Secret Service detail clearing the way. The entire hospital was abuzz with relief as the news quickly spread that the commander-in-chief was awake and talking his head off with the assistance of his first lady. Secret Service and capital police were busy wheeling large television monitors and communications equipment into the president’s hospital suite. They even saw the president’s two young daughters carry armloads of bottled water inside.

The political war was also just beginning.

CAMP ALAMO

ANTARCTICA

Jack almost slammed into Sarah and Anya just as the action station alarms started blaring their warning. She was on her way to his quarters as he and Everett had sprinted to get to their stations. They both stopped and out of breath couldn’t say anything at first. Collins looked at Carl as he quickly kissed Anya and then pushed her at arm’s length.

“Gotta go, baby,” he said and then kissed her again. Then he quickly turned to Jack and Sarah.

“Take care, McIntire.” He then faced his friend and held out his hand. Sarah quickly pecked him on the cheek and then backed off. “Jack, tell Will—hell, just tell him something.” Carl took the general’s hand and briskly shook. “See ya, ground pounder!” With that Everett jumped upon a speeding tram. Before Jack could say anything his friend was gone.

Anya quickly slapped Collins on the chest, giving him a quick and soldierly good-bye, and then turned and watched the tram with Carl inside disappear downward into the tunnels.

“Short Stuff, get to your bunker and keep your ass down.” He quickly kissed Sarah and then held her a moment.

“I love you, Jack,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the blaring horns.

He smiled and then before Sarah realized it, he was gone.

Anya turned back and took Sarah’s hand, then started pulling her away in the opposite direction they had been told to go when the shit hit the fan.

“The bunkers are in that direction!” Sarah said.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m a soldier and I intend to die out there, not in this frozen icebox.”

Sarah started sprinting. “I knew I liked you, and thought Carl couldn’t do any better.”

The two women sprinted for the SAS arms locker that Anya had accidentally stolen the key to.

*   *   *

Admiral Everett met up with his team at the main elevator leading down into Poseidon’s Nest. As they traveled downward he saw the young face of the SEAL he had chewed out at the Johnson Space Center. His face was now clean-shaven and he looked even younger than he did four days ago. Carl winked at the boy of twenty.

“Ready, son?”

“Not at all, sir!” he said loudly as the others laughed—SEALs and Delta together.

“Now you’re a SEAL!” Everett said as he slapped the boy on the back.

*   *   *

The view from above was one of organized confusion as yard workers started cutting the fifty-six enormous ten-ton braces that held the battleship upright when the British engineers had freed her from 700 million years’ worth of ice. Scaffolding was being cut with acetylene torches and was falling free to crash onto the frozen seabed. Fuel specialists scrambled to load the full complement of liquid nitrogen into her vast tanks and live ordance was being loaded by giant cranes to feed the large 70- and 105-millimeter rail guns. Yardmen were quickly tearing away the tent structure they had erected for the installation of the alien power plant that had been seated inside a ten-foot-thick wall of titanium alloy to protect it from enemy cannon fire. The workers knew that the alien-designed engine had yet to be tested but didn’t really care, as their yard supervisors urged them on with their destruction of the support systems.

Commodore Freemantle stopped and turned as the doors for the elevator opened. He faced Lord Durnsford and Sir Darcy Bennett.

“Good luck, Percy, old man,” Sir Darcy said.

Lord Durnsford held out his beefy hand to a man he had very little love for but respected immensely. “Look, I know we’ve had our differences, old boy,” Freemantle said, “but I wonder if you’ll do me a favor. I was caught off guard and forgot to say good-bye to my wife. She frets ever so much.”

Lord Durnsford realized the man before him was saying good-bye in the only way he could. He nodded his head and then shook his hand. Freemantle smiled and then saluted the two men. Then he turned and hurried to the upper gangway.

The two men stepped out on the elevated platform and watched the 4,000-man crew scramble aboard. Lord Durnsford glanced up toward the area where the engineers had tunneled out four square miles of tundra and frozen seawater and then filled it in again with a pattern of much thinner and well-disguised ice.

“I hope Niles Compton was right about our General Collins.”

“All we need is an hour, one bloody hour.” Sir Darcy Bennett stepped by Lord Durnsford and entered the elevator.

With one last look at the enormous battleship, Durnsford joined his friend inside the lift. The last view they had was of the American SEAL and Delta teams hurriedly loading their special gift from the government of Israel.

MCMURDO STATION

ANTARCTICA

The twenty-five saucers streaked low over the frozen earth as they hit the speed of sound after their dive from a hundred and fifty miles up. They flew in a V formation as the powerful attack ships blew snow and ice in their wide path toward Camp Alamo, a location they had discovered while tracking the Super Galaxies two days before.

As the first attack craft breached the coast, the lead saucer broke formation and sped toward the one base in the direct line of communication to the Alamo: McMurdo weather station. As men, women, and weather observers ran for hollowed-out bunkers, the saucer struck. Its rapid-fire cannon burst from the lower dome at the center of the ship and stitched a pattern that tore the 100-year-old base to shreds. The insulated metal buildings rocked and then burst into flames as the powerful laser cannon did its deadly job.

When it was finished the saucer didn’t even slow down. It jumped back to altitude and reformed at the rear of the assault flight.

The twenty-five saucers were now on a direct line of attack to Camp Alamo.

TASK FORCE 227.90

USS GEORGE WASHINGTON BATTLE GROUP

SOUTH PACIFIC

Admiral Jim Sampson sat on the admiral’s flag bridge, drinking a cup of coffee when the captain of “Big George” handed him a message. The commander of the carrier watched the admiral’s reaction as he read the note. He looked at the captain and set his cup of coffee in its holder on the arm of the large chair.

“Now?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, he’s on the command phone.” The captain was pleased to see the blood drain from the man’s face. “The message relaying the time has been decoded and authenticated as coming from National Command Authority. It is the president.” He removed the heavy phone from its cradle and held it out to the admiral, who then took a deep breath and reached for the instrument.

“Admiral Sampson,” he said into the phone. The captain, standing by the admiral’s chair, could hear everything because he had turned the volume to full before handing the phone over.

“Admiral, do you recognize my voice?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

“Glad to hear it,” came the tired but firm words. “Admiral, it seems you backed the wrong goddamned horse in this particular race.”

“I was following orders from the commander-in-chief, sir, I would never have—”

“I don’t buy that just-following-orders crap, Admiral, and you know that. Now turn those two groups around immediately and steam at flank speed for the coast of Antarctica. Assist the ground element on station in the defense of American and allied lives. Is that clear, sir?”

“Yes—”

He was speaking into a dead instrument.

A short time later, the George Washington Battle Group, with the USS John C. Stennis Group in tow, made a dramatic full-speed course change to the south.

CAMP ALAMO

ANTARCTICA

The first three advance scouts crossed the outer markers without any defense being thrown at them. The scouts slowed to subsonic speed as they came low. One stopped to take heat emanation readings while the other two sped ahead.

The entrenched men of the 82nd Airborne observed but did not report, as per their orders from General Collins. They were to report only when the main element arrived. It was tempting to send the battery of TOW missiles toward the slow-moving targets, but the men realized they would have plenty of saucers in their laps soon enough.

The advance element of Airborne waited.

*   *   *

The three saucers rose in height and hovered, waiting. The hidden 23rd Panzer Division was targeting these ships but had no orders to fire. The same went for the fifty emplaced and well-disguised M-109-A12 Paladin Self-Propelled Artillery. The specially modified Paladins had recently been redesigned and had their 155 Howitzers replaced with M-9780-A2 Standard Rail Guns, the exact same weaponry that had completely gutted the saucer that had attacked the Russian missile cruiser in the South Atlantic. The trick would be for the saucers to slow down enough for the geopositioning targeting systems to function correctly.

Collins was watching with his staff in a specially prepared bunker two miles from Overlord. He watched the close-looped monitoring system and saw the three saucers just silently hovering near the exact center where Poseidon’s Nest lay. It was excruciating waiting for the real assault to begin. It was the silence before the storm that precedes every major battle and Jack Collins knew the game well—it was knowing when to make the other guy flinch.

Colonel Henri Farbeaux was monitoring the technician that watched the advance BQPP-7 special radar system built to pick up the barest minimum trace of a stealthy aircraft by reading trace elements of the environment—in this case, snow and ice as it was disturbed by a speeding aircraft from almost any altitude. The Frenchman watched the scope intently as he was unprepared to die in this frozen hell.

The Air Force technician, a volunteer from Edwards Air Force Base and now a part of the general’s staff, pointed to his scope silently. He looked up at Henri and nodded his head.

“We have contact, General,” Farbeaux said confidently as he patted the airman on the back.

“Positive contact?” Will Mendenhall asked.

“Unless a flight of giant pterodactyls just flew over the warning line,” he said as Henri placed his web gear on and then charged a round into his nine millimeter handgun, “I think the enemy has arrived.”

Tram and Major Krell did likewise and made ready to evacuate the general when and if it were called for. Will Mendenhall stayed close to the phones and radios to relay the orders as the situation dictated. Collins leaned forward and studied the twelve battlefield monitors at his disposal.

“Inform Alamo and Poseidon’s Nest, we have incoming.”

Will relayed the information and then swallowed, wondering how in the hell everyone could be so cool. But as he looked at the many faces inside the command bunker he saw the same fear in their eyes as his own.

The radio monitored by 101st Airborne personnel sprang to life. “Incoming, seventeen ships behind the first scouts, crossing into zone 1187,” came the excited voice.

Jack calmly looked into the appropriate monitor and saw the snow being churned up before he saw the saucers. The three scouts remained in their hover. Collins nodded and Will responded as calmly as he could with the radio.

“Fire Team Bravo Five, take out the scouts. Fire at will!”

*   *   *

Six TOW missiles streaked into the air from two different hidden locations as fire teams from the 101st opened fire.

The wire-guided weapons made a beeline for the saucer at the forefront of the hovering vehicles. The first three struck its metal body and knocked it sideways, but it quickly recovered—just not before the second set of three hit it. This time the saucer dipped and dug its nose into the snow and ice. It came to rest just as thirty more TOW missiles broke free from camouflaged positions. Missiles struck the two still in place as at least five missed altogether. The alien craft now reacted and streaked toward the line of fire, firing their laser cannon as they went. Carefully prepared positions started to explode in a hail of ice and snow as men and equipment were blown apart.

“Eighteen saucers on the scope.” Henri turned to face Jack.

“All positions, open fire, fire at will!” Collins said, a little louder than he had intended.

All hell broke loose as the Paladins opened fire. The rail guns were the only thing visible as the mobile weapons system moved far enough forward to uncover their twin-barreled batteries.

“Order the 23rd to scatter and confuse!” Collins calmly commanded as he watched his orders being carried out.

Mendenhall shouted into the radio and Jack looked at him and mouthed the word calmly. Will immediately lowered his voice. Tram, after loading his old M-14 American-made rifle, smiled as his adrenaline started pumping as fast as the young captain’s.

“We have ground movement from the first downed saucer,” Major Krell said as he watched on the perimeter monitor.

Jack watched as the 23rd Panzers broke cover with their armored bodies breaking free of the camouflage netting and snow. It was a magnificent sight as the large main German battle tanks opened fire even before they were free of the earth they had been buried in. They immediately scattered to try and make the saucers spread out their fire to protect the troops on the ground. Collins switched views and then saw at least fifty Grays breaking free of the downed saucer.

“What are you waiting for, Major?” Jack said to a stunned Krell as the German officer saw the Grays for the first time. He quickly snapped out of his trance and then grabbed the radio and the map.

“Victor Seven, Victor Seven, we need you at…” He looked at the premarked map for his grid designated points. “Coordinates 27-89. Fire for effect!”

The line of buried 155 Howitzers of the 82nd Airborne fired all twenty of their large guns at once. The heavy shells arced into the sky and came down directly on top of the slow-moving Grays as they attempted to get away from the small-arms fire from the entrenched infantry to their sides and rear. The ground around the twenty survivors erupted in a hell storm of shrapnel as the Grays were engulfed with fire and death. When the wind blew the smoke away there was nothing left but a large hole in the ground.

The Paladins were taking their toll. The remaining two scout ships had succumbed to the twin rail guns’ rapid rate of fire. The two vehicles lay in pieces as the radios were crackling to life with the sound of targeting requests coming in.

Several of the attacking enemy broke free as they started becoming more coordinated in finding their own targets. Laser cannon erupted and several of the expensive Paladins exploded deep in their revetments.

Calls from calm but determined groups of Airborne began to get more frequent as the enemy started stitching the frozen world with far more accurate fire. Men started to break cover, running from one protected position to the other.

Jack looked at the Frenchman and nodded that it was time. In the din caused by the loud discharge of the rail guns and artillery, Farbeaux made the call to the orbiting British Sea Harriers.

“Eagle flight, Sentinel. I repeat, Sentinel,” he said matter-of-factly into his headset.

The American Airborne troops wanted to cheer out loud as the British air arm made its dramatic appearance in the skies over Camp Alamo. Missile after missile struck the saucers from above as they attacked the maneuvering tanks and Paladins, not realizing they were being hunted from the air they thought they had under control.

The enemy recovered quickly as even the first of the downed craft began healing faster than the defense was led to believe they could. The damaged craft slowly spun up into the air. It was like a shooting gallery where the little ducks kept getting up. Collins didn’t know how long his forces could hold out against such technology.

Mayday calls began streaming in as the Sea Harriers were starting to succumb to the rapid-fire lasers of the enemy. Smoking ruins marked the grave sites of the Royal Navy aviators as they rode their antiquated birds into the ground. Vapor trails and missiles along with cannon fire filled the blue sky as dogfights broke out and then quickly ended for the Harriers as their Sidewinders and AMRAAM missiles had little effect against the advanced technology of the Grays.

The enemy had quickly regained control of the skies around Camp Alamo and was now free to stalk and kill the fast-maneuvering Panzers and the men they were there to protect.

General Collins ordered both the 82nd and the 101st to use their TOW missiles and then break for the fall back positions code-named DiMaggio.

Henri Farbeaux called into his radio as Will helped lieutenant Tram and a young airman start to gather their gear.

“All units, DiMaggio. I repeat, DiMaggio!”

The defense had now retreated to only a mile from Poseidon’s Nest.

*   *   *

Everett secured the weapons next to the arms locker in the assault team’s ready room, where his men hurriedly started dressing in the layered plastic suits that would protect them in the hard environment of space. Carl followed suit. He started with the blue long johns and that was covered by an ultrathin layer of chest armor made from Kevlar and other dense carbon fibers. Then the suit itself: the nylon-based clothing was not much different from the atmospheric suits the shuttle astronauts wore, but were far more lightweight in nature. He placed the oversized boots on and then zipped them up, but left the combat gloves dangling by hooks from his wrists. He checked his thirty-man team and saw that they had completed their dressing in far less time. He checked them one at a time.

Carl then ran to the forward bulkhead to check the status screen of his area of responsibility and saw that all of his personnel were accounted for. Along with the assault element, his weapons specialists would wait until the giant battleship gained the unrestricted confines of space before arming the fifteen nuclear devices supplied by the Israeli government.

The warning alarms were silenced from the outside but the red blinking call to stations was still active throughout the ship. Everett turned and ordered his men to strap in to the Velcro-secured stations where the team would ride the initial flight into space, braced by nylon and canvas straps. He made sure all were secured, starting with the ingress team who would be the first to enter the assault craft. He examined his men as they were lined up against the forward bulkhead like tin soldiers. He made sure each was holding their helmets and they would stay that way until ordered by the ship’s crew to don the expensive acrylic 360° vision visors for takeoff.

When he was finished he turned and ran for the automatic bulkhead doors that remained open until the ship’s captain called for all doors and hatches to be closed a minute before launch. His feet were sticking to the deck as his boots were designed with microfiber Velcro that adhered to the same hook-style fabric that clung to the soles of his boots like a cocklebur to a sock. The admiral ran through the companionway until he reached the large launch tubes that were the home to the two assault craft that would be used to take his men to their assignments. The six-man crew of each was going through their final checklists and the Air Force pilots were doing it rapidly. The great warship started to shudder as the alien power plant was brought online for the first time.

Every man in visual range stopped as their hair came up as static electricity coursed through them from the decks and bullheads. A swirling sense of dizziness struck every one of the four thousand crewmen and all to a man or woman wondered if that was a normal thing—and no one really knew the answer.

The shuttle bay was wedged into the girder system of the main decking superstructure and looked out of place. It was nothing more than two separate pressure chambers that were not part of the original Martian design. As Carl crossed the connecting ramp he saw that if he missed a handhold he would tumble more than a thousand feet down to the cave’s bottom that was fast being evacuated far below. He ran across the connecting bridge and saw Jenks struggling with the main engine bell of one of the shuttles. A large chuck of ice from above was wedged into the housing as he started kicking at it. Carl wondered if the crazed bastard knew that he was actually dangling a quarter mile above an abyss. As he started to say something the chunk of ice fell free and Jenks turned and ran for the safety of the girders that held his two shuttles secured. Everett reached out and grabbed the master chief by the arm and pulled him through to safety.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Carl screamed over the powerful noises coming from three hundred feet aft as the six main engines came to life. The ion-based technology was the reason for the electrical discharge that had coursed through the vessel.

“That goddamn vibration from the battle above is knocking ice from the tunnel down onto everything. I warned the damned limeys about it. I told them they have to erect shielding, but the pansy-asses think they know everything!”

“Well, don’t you think once this thing starts rising with all of those thrusters out there it will melt anything that isn’t steel and composite material, you old goat?”

Jenks stopped and the looked as if he were considering the monumental thought that Carl just passed on. He unzipped his shoulder pocket on his coverall and popped the stub of a cigar into his mouth, then shook his head.

“No, I didn’t think of that,” he said as an angered admiral pulled him back into the companionway. He resisted and then told Carl to be on his way, that he was going to ride the rocket from his place in the number one shuttle. He said he felt safer there.

“Okay, you stupid bastard.” Everett held out his hand. “I’ll see you up there!”

The two men quickly shook hands and then Jenks smiled and tossed his cigar out through the extensive steel girders that made up the ship’s superstructure.

“Watch your ass, Toad, my boy.” He vanished into the raised doorway of shuttle number one. As the door closed Everett saw that someone had painted a name across the shuttle’s heat-reduction tiles: Virginia. Carl shook his head, realizing that the master chief was still carrying a torch for the assistant director of Department 5656 from their time together in Brazil.

“Hey, I know I’m only excess baggage on this little cruise, but don’t you think you better get back to your station?”

Carl looked at the next shuttle station where Jason Ryan was hanging out of the doorway like a small monkey.

“I ordered you to the command bridge with Captain Lienanov where you might be useful, you little pain in the ass!”

“Borrrring,” Ryan said as he acted the insulted commander.

“You better hope this ship blows up and we’re all killed, because … because—”

“Go get ’em, Admiral.” Ryan quickly ducked back into assault shuttle number two.

Everett cursed and then had to laugh as he ran back across the connecting bridge to the relative safety of the pressure hull. The second officer called over the loudspeaker from the sixteen-story bridge high above.

“Defensive force has fallen back to the DiMaggio line, enemy penetration is imminent. All personnel secure for launch sequence. Security detail standby on the main deck to repel borders until final countdown begins. All hands, man your launch stations.”

“Repel borders?” Carl said to himself over the noise surrounding the ship as her ion engines were at station keeping.

“All hands standby, commence charging boosters.”

Everett knew that was the last resort as the electrical connection was made to all one hundred and twenty dry chemical booster rockets attached to the Lee’s outer hull, along the massive girders that made up her main deck.

“Oh, shit,” he cursed. The rumble and clanging of steel restraint started in earnest as the full weight of the battleship came down on the remaining support structures keeping the Lee upright. Everett realized that gravity was starting to take effect on the 125,000-ton structure.

“All hands, final warning: secure all decks for launch in ten minutes. Defensive command reports Gray penetration of safety zone is under way. Defensive line DiMaggio has been compromised.”

“Damn it, Jack, get the hell out of there!” Carl spat out the words just as he reached his launch station on the uppermost deck, which was the most exposed area of the Lee. As Everett strapped himself in next to his men, he could see clearly outside as men hustled from her decks. He and his men would have the best view as the colossal battleship rocketed into the sky.

*   *   *

On the upper command bridge, Commodore Freemantle looked over at his new aide, a man who had virtually no training on bridge operations but might come in handy if he lost immediate communication with his command technicians monitoring and operating all the shipboard functions thirty feet below. Freemantle strapped himself in the upright position and braced with a steel station so he could remain standing at all times during launch and battle.

He examined the Royal Navy seamen below and was pleased with the calm approach they had during the most stressful event of their young lives. They called out shipboard status of all thirty-two decks. Freemantle knew that the HMS Garrison Lee was launching light, meaning to say the ship was carrying a minimum of food, water, and other necessities needed for an extended stay in space. Freemantle and the planners had figured the great battleship could only last less than an hour from launch to assault. Their job was to give the Americans time to reach the power refurbishment saucer.

“Rather exciting, isn’t it, Captain Lienanov?”

Lienanov stood next to the Englishman, in awe of what he was seeing through the large plates of thick, triple-paned glass that made up the bridge windows. Black Hawk and Gazelle helicopters buzzed like small bugs in and out of view above the Lee’s wide decks.

“Strap yourself in, Captain.” Freemantle saw that the Russian was frozen in wonder at the events he was now a part of.

“‘Exciting’ wasn’t the word my limited English would have chosen, Commodore.” Lienanov sat in his plastic chair and pulled the triple harness over his head and snapped it into place.

Next to him Freemantle laughed heartily as the pressure of the past four years bled away as the moment approached. His number one, feet sticking to the material-covered decking, stood rigid next to Freemantle and held out a flimsy.

“Flash message from the States, sir.” The first officer held firm to the railing lining the upper battle bridge.

“Read it please, Number One.” The commodore watched the activity outside the large windows. He reached over and made sure his helmet was nearby and then faced his first officer.

“‘The hope of the world rides with you, good luck,’ signed, the prime minister.”

“Rather nice of the old boy. Now enter the message into the ship’s log, Mr. Jennings, and take your station.”

“There is one more, sir, a warning from NASA. The United States Space Command and the European Space Agency have long-range telemetry showing the invasion fleet is now moving away from the dark side of the moon. Course is plotted and confirmed; they’re on their way here. Estimated time of arrival is twenty-five minutes.”

“Bloody cheeky bastards, aren’t they? Not waiting and hiding. Well, let’s give them what for, shall we?”

“Yes, sir!” the first officer answered. He momentarily stood at attention, then quickly moved away to his launch station.

“All hands, prepare for launch, five minutes until power-up. The DiMaggio line is in full retreat.”

The commodore heard the announcement sent from his communications center and then grimaced and was mumbling to himself, but Captain Lienanov overheard nonetheless.

“I must apologize personally to General Collins, he gave me ten minutes longer than I needed or expected.” Commodore Fremantle lowered his head. “Good show, old man.”

*   *   *

Jack had watched his command being mowed down one unit at a time and knew that over a quarter of his men lay dying in the snow and ice. The German Panzers had finally been decimated as they fought to give the 101st and 82nd Airborne time to break from their defensive positions on the DiMaggio line and head for the deep shelters that had been designated for complete withdrawal. It had been hard for Collins to have the order issued.

“General, it’s time for you to go.” Will Mendenhall thrust Jack’s web gear into his arms. “We’ll get the rest out, now go, your Black Hawk won’t last long out there. We just received a message; we have over a hundred Super Hornets heading in from the Washington and Stennis Battle Groups. Go, General.”

Collins nodded for Farbeaux and the others to get to the Black Hawk. Sebastian and Tram gathered their gear but refused to move until the general came with them; he was now their responsibility. Jack locked eyes with the Frenchman as he eyed the young captain.

“General, a ground attack force of Grays, over a thousand strong, is heading straight here and are only three minutes out.”

“Okay, get out,” he said to the young 101st Airborne communications man.

The soldier looked at Mendenhall and the Frenchman. “I’ll stay, sir.”

Henri removed the nine millimeter and chambered a round, then holstered the weapon. He looked from Collins to the young black man he had never cared for. Now he knew the reason why: he never liked the perception of lacking in dedication to his craft, as he saw from the young officer studying him. He nodded at Will and then turned back to Jack as laser blasts started shaking loose ice from the last control bunker still operating.

“I’ll be staying as well, General,” the Frenchman said, to the amazement of Mendenhall and a stunned General Collins.

“It’s not your style, Henri,” Jack said as he was starting to be pulled away by the remainder of his staff to get him to leave. He angrily pulled away.

“It once was, Jack, now kiss little Sarah for me.” He picked up the radio to prepare to make the call that would call down death from above.

Jack turned to Will and stuck out his hand. “The best damn soldier I’ve ever known. So long, Will.” He dropped the offered hand and hugged the young captain.

“Sir,” Mendenhall said, knowing that anything else would be pointless. He had to give the general time to leave. “Kick Ryan in the ass for me.”

“Damn you, Captain, I should have left you at home.” Jack Collins released Will and took a step back.

Mendenhall smiled and looked back at Henri, who had turned away and was leaning heavily on the desk where the radio sat.

“You know I wouldn’t have accepted that. Now go, and when you get home, tell Doc Ellenshaw to keep swinging away, the rest of the world will catch up to him eventually.” Will smiled and then looked at Farbeaux. “You know, Jack, he’s not Ryan, or the rest of my friends, but I could go out with a far worse soldier.”

Jack nodded, unable to say the words he so wanted to say to a friend, so he turned and left. He ran hard toward the waiting Black Hawk as if the running would stop the feeling of utter despair.

Will zipped up his parka and then faced Farbeaux and the 101st Airborne lieutenant. He then removed his own automatic and chambered a round, then nodded to Henri, who raised the microphone to his lips as the sound of the Black Hawk started moving away. Jack was safe for the moment to fight again. The Frenchman waited until Collins and his team were clear and the Grays thought the line was still holding the defense. He made the call.

“St. Bernard, St. Bernard, this is Raven’s Wing, this is Raven’s Wing. Broken Arrow, I repeat, Broken Arrow,” Henri called and then gently placed the radio down. “I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I would prefer to be outside in the fresh air.”

Will nodded in total agreement with the man he had hated for many years, who was now going to be with him for a very long time.

“After you, Colonel—sir.”

*   *   *

Jack looked out of the Black Hawk’s large door window as Tram and Sebastian lowered their heads in shame for leaving the three men behind. They knew it was a necessity to delay the Grays as long as possible to bring them into the killing zone, but that didn’t make the two professional soldiers hurt any less.

As Jack Collins watched, over a thousand Grays surrounded the last remaining bunker on the DiMaggio fallback position just as the roar of the attacking air wings of the United States Navy was heard four miles distant. Then the world exploded right over the top of his friends.