The Xtranda Chronicles Survival

By Colin D Grimes

The appearance of an alien race called the Xtranda causes a prolonged war to breakout between the United Nations and a coalition of countries called the Alliance. The war devastates Earth to such an extent that remaining peoples, under the protection by United Nations, are compelled to evacuate Earth for a new home in a faraway galaxy offered to them by the Xtranda. But should the Xtranda be trusted and what new horrors will the modern pioneers encounter on their new home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colin D Grimes
• Release date: Mar 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311457752

Colin D Grimes

I am a UK resident and work in IT support.I only started to write at the age of 44.In my free time I like to watch old movies and TV shows.My favorite authors include Tom Clancy (Red Storm Rising), H.G.Wells (War of the Worlds), Raymond E. Feist (The Riftwar Saga) Bernard Cornwell (Sharpe series) and Tom Sharpe (for laughs - Piemburg, South Africa series)

Book preview

The Xtranda Chronicles

Survival

By Colin D. Grimes

Copyright 2014 Colin Grimes

Cover Art By Abigail Hulse

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapters

01. Survival

02. The Xtranda Proposal

03. Preparations

04. Alone

05. Nashville

06. New Camp

07. Uninvited Guests

08. Operation Freefall

09. Lost And Found

10. The Best Job In The World

11. Gateway To Hope

12. Contact

13. Fresh Faces, Fresh Meat

14. Into Darkness

15. Playing In The Devil’s Garden

16. Revelations

17. Baptism Of Fire

18. I Spy

19. Shutdown

20. Wired For Sound

21. The Long Count

22. Silence Is Golden

23. Kicking The Hornets’ Nest

24. Iron Pass

Epilogue. Sixty Seconds Ago

Chapter 1, Survival.

Brace for impact! the headphones screamed.

Damn! Not again thought Ross as he folded his arms and bowed his head. The other eight passengers in the cargo hold of the Blackhawk transport helicopter did the same and a few added their own prayers.

The mission had been a disaster from the start. Not enough planning, not enough Intel and not enough luck, but they had managed to complete it through sheer blood and guts, sweat and tears. This was supposed to be the easy part, the way home.

The Blackhawk slammed into the dirt, two kilometres from home. Wake up ladies it’s time to leave shouted Ross above the screeching of the two dying engines. From here on in we walk. Parker! Check on the package.

Specialist Parker reached over and shook the only none uniformed passenger in the cargo hold of the downed bird. He got no response. Placing two fingers against the man’s neck he checked for a pulse. With a despondent look Parker spoke into his throat mic. Sir, package is damaged.

Damn, this just gets better. Ross keyed his own mic Is it damaged or none returnable?

Sorry sir, none returnable the deadened reply came back.

Right, you and Atwell are the deliverymen. Pass your kit to Stone. Phillips, you’re on point. I want to be eating breakfast in the mess in an hour.

The seven man rescue squad, four crew members and one dead package made their way across the desert. It may have been only two kilometres to the base, but this was some of the most hostile land this side of Berlin. And ever since Berlin was taken by the Alliance none of the United Nations forces ever ventured anywhere near there.

The Algerian part of the Saharan desert had become one of the most fought over pieces of land in the world; since it now held the world’s last remaining reserves of oil. And no one needed it more than the United Nations. With the North Sea’s supply empty, the oil producing states in America irradiated, Alaska in control of the Alliance and the Middle East nuked back into the Stone Age. Algeria was the only girl at the dance and everyone else was a horny teenage boy with a pickup truck.

The squad moved off, slower than Ross would have liked, but with two of his men having to cope with the package, it was never going to be a sprint. Ross found himself next to the pilot. So what brought us down? he enquired.

Some mechanical fault with the rear rotor. Shit, the bird was more spare parts than original. Hell, we even had a pair of Sally’s pantyhose driving one of the turbo shafts! the pilot looked at Ross and beamed a smile. Ross did not smile back.

You and your crew are slacking, pick up the pace. Ross ordered them. He then moved up the line to see to the rest of his team. The pilot knew that his crew was keeping good time with the rescue squad, but still got his crew to move up the gears. Maybe the LT likes Sally? whispered the co-pilot into the pilots’ ear.

I think that he just don’t like halos crashing on him. By all accounts that was his fourth.

The blip went out and did not return. Captain Rogers looked over the radar operators’ shoulder. How far out are they?

About two clicks east of the main gate, sir Rogers picked up the phone on the operators desk. Get me the gate. The operator keyed in the number. Harry, they’re down, about two clicks from your position, get your team moving. Within five minutes of the Blackhawk hitting the dirt, a snatch squad was on route to pick them up.

Three M2 Bradley’s, The UNs armoured personal carrier of choice in Africa with their 25mm chain gun and tube launched optical wire-guided missiles (TOW), sped out of the east gate. The time for stealth was over; there were men out there that needed help – fast. Lieutenant Jameson peered through his independent viewer, whilst his gunner scanned using his direct-view optics. You see anything Jones?

Negative, Just a lot of desert, sir The Bradley’s drove on.

Ross and the rescue team had halted. Point man Phillips had signalled that he had contact dead ahead. Ross belly crawled his way up to Phillips. Phillips signalled to his Lieutenant that he has seen five men moving in and out of a shack loading up a truck. Ross suspected that they had heard the Blackhawk come down and were going to investigate. Ross knew that in a few minutes that the truck would pass right next to their position. He looked around to see if there was any place that he could lead his men out of their path, but could see no hiding place. He decided that they would have to fight their way out.

Leaving Phillips to watch the men, he crawled back to his squad. He directed the flight crew to look after the ‘package’ and split the rest of his men into two fire teams across the road. They then waited for the truck to arrive.

The large explosion came as a shock to four groups of men, the snatch squad in their Bradley’s, the rescue squad in their ambush positions by the road, the men in the truck heading towards the ambush and the poor souls who had just set off the booby trap on the downed Blackhawk.

Ross cursed more bad luck. The truck was still too far away to trigger their ambush and it had now stopped. He also knew now that he had an enemy to his rear. He was just about to order his men forward when he heard the distinctive sound of a chain gun firing a burst of shells to his left.

Lieutenant Jameson’s Bradley’s had just reached an old shack when the Blackhawk exploded. The light of the explosion illuminated the truck a hundred or so yards up the road. Jameson’s gunner reacted first and pumped a burst of rounds from the Bradley’s 25mm chain gun into the back of the truck. The third round ruptured the fuel tank and the fourth; being a tracer round, set the truck ablaze.

Once the truck exploded and Ross saw the Bradley’s on the road he ordered his men to uncover their orange identity strip on their helmets and to raise their weapons. Then, praying that the gunner of the Bradley’s were not trigger happy, he got up and walked on to the road in full view of the armoured fighting vehicle.

The three Bradley’s halted and scanned the area, no one got out of the truck alive and there seemed to be no one else around. Jameson ordered one of the Bradley’s to move forward whilst the other two provided cover.

Movement, dead ahead one hundred yards beyond the KO’ed truck squawked the radio from the advanced Bradley. About to engage target...

Jameson’s gunner tapped him on the shoulder. The commander looked up to his gunner and saw him shake his head whilst still looking through his optics. Negative on the engagement Joe, hold up for a minute. Jameson replied back through the radio. Switching to his gunners radio channel Jameson enquired What is it Jones, what can you see?

It doesn’t look right, sir... I can see multiple targets appearing from beside the road. In what looks to be ambush positions for that truck. It could be... Wait a minute... It’s Lieutenant Ross, sir; I can make out their ID strips.

Good work, Jones. Jameson switched the radio back to his vehicles channel. Friendly’s dead ahead, hold all weapons! Reverse your turret. Show them that we have ID’ed them. The turret on the lead Bradley rotated to face the rear. Right, lets pick these men up before any more hostiles get here.

Ross breathed a sigh of relief on seeing the Bradley’s chain gun go from pointing directly at him to pointing to its own rear. Okay, they have recognized us. Get up and move out. The rescue squad, now all fully on the road, quickened the pace to the Bradley’s sensing that home was only now a short ride away.

Contact! One thousand meters east. Two targets. Jones was already selecting the TOW option on his fire control and rotating his turret before he finished the sentence. Confirmed targets are T90’s. Selecting TOW, on its way. Jones had gone into full automatic pilot mode. Before waiting for his commander to order him; he had located the enemy, confirmed that they were the old Soviet Union built T90 main battle tanks and unleashed one of the Bradley’s anti-tank missiles. The TOW missile streaked towards the first T90 with its command wire trailing behind it. Jones watched the missile through his optic and made slight adjustments to its flight path using his thumb controlled joy stick.

Jameson keyed the radio to the other two Bradley’s in his troop Ignore the contact, just get the passengers loaded then bug out. He then looked through his own optics. He could just make out the two tanks slowly advancing down the road. Then he caught sight of the Bradley’s missile heading towards the first tank.

Jameson headphone crackled into life. All bar two of the rescue squad picked up, they are heading over to you LT. Me and Smith are heading back to the ranch. Joe out. Jameson turned his optics towards the other two Bradley’s just in time to see them fire off their smoke grenades and start their run for home. He could also make out two figures making their way to the back of his vehicle. He pressed the ramp release button to lower the ramp, before returning his attention back to the tanks.

The two men entered the back of the Bradley and raised its ramp, just as the TOW missile hit the first tank. Shit! the missile impacted the tank full on, but failed to detonate. It’s a dud. Selecting second TOW, on its way! Again Jones was just relaying to his boss what he was already doing. Double shit! We got a ‘failure to launch’ on the second missile!

Smoke grenades, Jones. Nash, get us the hell out of here. Jameson commanded to both his gunner and his driver. The commands were not necessary, Jones was already selecting to fire the grenades and Nash, Jameson’s driver for two years, had the Bradley reversing once he heard that the second missile had miss-fired.

Two armoured piercing rounds from the T90’s hit the space just vacated by the Bradley. Nash spun the Bradley round like a sports car and jammed it into forward drive. With a jerk the thirty ton vehicle leaped forward then sped down the road.

Knowing that the T90’s would not follow them anymore as they were so close to the UNs main base, Jameson relaxed a bit and without turning to face his passengers said Hello Carl, Why are you in here, jinxing my pride and joy? Jameson was referring to his Bradley which he had managed to keep fully operational for two years despite all the UNs supply problems.

Ross, now seated in the back looked up at his friend Harry Jameson, As Jameson finally turned around to face him. What makes you think I had anything to do with your lousy missiles?

I know what you are like with anything hi-tech. You sent out those ‘bad vibes’ and it screws them up causing them to malfunction or crash.

You just don’t know how to maintain your equipment Harry. I am surprised you have lasted this long in this heap of junk.

Really? So what happened to that nice Blackhawk you had not four hours ago? You know the Captain is going to start deducting the cost of all these out of your pay soon.

Go to hell Harry, and get me home

Harry Jameson laughed, turned his back on Ross, "Relax Carl, we will have you back home in time for breakfast.

The three Bradley’s drove into the compound of the United Nations main base in Algeria, which, as it turns out, was once their national football stadium. The once hallowed turf was now none existent, being replaced by steel sheets to make walkways and parking lots for an assortment of armoured vehicles. Workshops and bivouacs covered the perimeter of the ‘field’ whilst mechanics and engineers moved from vehicle to vehicle performing their own minor miracles keeping most of the AFV functioning.

The Bradley’s pulled up outside one such workshop and lowered their ramps. The passengers and crews dismounted from the M2’s. Lieutenant Jameson was sitting on the turret of his M2 watching the rescue squad gather their kit and checking their weapons when he spotted a tall blond haired engineer in orange overalls talking to his gunner Jones Chief Evans! The engineer looked up. You gave me two dud TOWs. One bounced off a T90 and another is still hot in the tube here.

There is nothing wrong with any of my missiles LT. Are you sure that Jones here remembered to arm it before pressing his fun button. You know how excited he gets playing with my fireworks? Jones shoved the engineers shoulder, and then whispered in his ear. We had Lieutenant Ross in the back of the wagon.

What, That Luddite? No wonder my baby’s didn’t want to go boom boom! He then climbed on to the M2. Let’s see if I can at least save this one. He started work on the miss-fired anti-tank missile.

Ross found Specialist Parker and Atwell; they still had the ‘package’ held between them. Ross looked at the limp body then directed the two men to the field medic tent situated where the goal posts would have once stood. We would save a lot of time just taking him straight to the morgue, LT. But we will get the Doc to give him the once over. Ross silently agreed with Parker, but could only stand and watch the two men head off to the medical tent.

He was still standing there when he noticed his Sergeant standing next to him. What is it Philips? Ross asked and in doing so acknowledged the waiting Sergeant.

Permission to have the men stand-down, sir?

Permission granted Sergeant, and get yourself some food too. I will catch you up once I have reported to the Captain. Philips turned and marched off to dismiss the rescue squad. Ross, again, stood for a moment catching his thoughts before he started to make his way towards the command tent.

Captain Rogers sat behind a trestle table covered with maps and assorted papers. He looked up from studying one particular document. Well Lieutenant, I take it that I am not going to get my helicopter back that I kindly loaned you this morning?

It developed some mechanical difficulties that prevented it from performing its primary function, sir.

Its primary function? I take it that you mean flying, Lieutenant? after a short pause he continued. Do you have any good news for me then?

Sir, only one casualty and I have sent him off to the med tent. It was now Ross’s turn to pause Truth is sir, the man’s dog meat, but I just need the Doc to confirm it.

Please tell me the casualty was NOT the package. Ross didn’t say anything. Shit. Rogers visibly slumped in his chair and raised his left hand to his face. Well, it seems that it won’t matter much anyway. We have just been given our marching orders; The UN is pulling out of Algeria. Go get yourself some food and rest. You and your team are out of here on the first A330 in the morning bound for San Paulo.

What about the rest of the division? Sir, the UN doesn’t have enough air lift capability to jump the lot of us home.

The rest of the division has a nice long cruise ahead of them, Courtesy of what is left of the British Royal Navy. Ross knew that this would be a near death sentence for the division, for no matter how well the British carrier HMS Queen Elizabeth has survived the war up to now, the Alliance, with its attack subs, now ruled the waves. Ross saluted his commanding officer, waited a moment to be dismissed, turned on the spot and left the command tent.

Ross headed for the mess hall and was joined on the way by Lieutenant Jameson. So what’s the news Carl? The old man has been wound up tighter than a gnats arse all day.

Haven’t you been told? We have given up on Africa. The UN is bugging out back to Brazil. You, my friend, he stopped and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, Will have to get your sea legs on. He smiled and continued to walk to the mess hall. Shit thought Harry, and then looked towards Carl.

What about you? Where are you going?

I am going to get some breakfast, if there is any left.

Harry chased after Carl and grabbed his arm. No, I mean if we are going back to Brazil, where are you going?

I am going there as well, but I get to fly...

Harry started to laugh You! Fly all the way to Brazil! I think I will join you for breakfast, it could be the last one for both of us. They both then proceeded into the mess hall together.

The mess hall was full. Carl’s rescue team was there, as was Harry’s snatch squad. All talking amongst themselves about what had happened in the last four or so hours. Carl and Harry headed towards the counter and found the Blackhawks pilot and crew already there. Sally Perryman, the divisions’ best cook by far, was working behind the counter. Hi Sally, told you that I would bring him back in one piece. Purred Harry.

Hello Harry, still having to have young Nash drive you everywhere? When are you going to learn how to drive yourself? she beamed a big smile to Harry whilst loading his tray with scrambled eggs. She then turned to face Carl. Her smile, whilst still beaming somehow changed slightly to become more personal. Hello Lieutenant, what will it be?

Just the same as everyone else, please Sally. Carl replied in a surprisingly bashful fashion. Once their trays were filled they headed to the nearest bench. Back at the counter the Blackhawks co-pilot whispered to his pilot Looks to me Captain, that LT has got the hots for Sally! And there’s you making light of her pantyhose.

Doctor Evelyn Sinclair wetted her mouth with the tepid glass of water. She had been delivering her brief to the select member of the UN security group for the last two hours. She shuffled her notes and began to speak again. In conclusion, ladies and gentleman, the findings of the environmental research team are thus – Even if the war against the Alliance was to end now the damage to the planet has been far too great for it to recover within the next one thousand years. The radiation across Europe and North America has rendered those lands uninhabitable. The residual heat caused by the thermal nuclear detonations has caused the temperature in the polar ice caps to rise in such a rate unrecorded since the last ice age. It is no longer a question of IF they should melt; it is now WHEN they will melt. The lunges of the Earth, the rain forests, are no more, since they have been decimated for fuel to power our war machine and to provide living space for the refugees from North America. I could go on, but you all have the reports in front of you. She took another sip of water and started to nervously collect her papers.

Doctor Sinclair, what are the recommendations of the research team? enquired one of the select members. This took her by surprise, she was not expecting to answer any questions just deliver the findings. She did not even know who asked the question. She looked up at the twelve council members sat in front of her. Her eyes darted from each one in turn trying to find any indication on which one asked the question. She cleared her throat and was about to speak when the President of the council spoke for her I think that you will find that it was not and is not the objective of the Environmental Research Team to draw any recommendations from their findings. Their role was to just collate the data and then to brief the council, of which, I believe, they have now completed that task. Thank you Doctor Sinclair, you may now leave. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, she collected her papers and without placing them in her folder turned from the lectern took two steps forward and tripped.

Her notes and papers spilled onto the marbled floor of the council chambers. Doctor Sinclair swore under her breath and knelt down to pick up her notes. Whilst on her hand and knees collecting her papers, she noticed that a pair of highly polished boots had appeared by her side. A strong hand took hold of her arm and helped her to her feet whilst saying in a very low and soft voice Don’t worry about your papers Doctor Sinclair; I will collect them up for you. Evelyn looked at her ‘helper’ and found that it was a tall man in a plain army dress uniform and peaked cap who had been standing throughout her two hours brief about ten feet to the left of her. She had thought, at the start of her talk, that the man must have been a security guard, but as to why the Security Council would have a security guard actually in the chamber of a top secret briefing was beyond her. But she was grateful of the help and the chance to leave the chamber. The uniformed man gently, but with purpose guided her to the door of the chambers which was being held open by a security guard that she had meet on her way into the chamber, in what now seemed an age ago. Thank you she managed to crock out of her dry mouth.

Just wait in the corridor; I will bring your papers to you in a moment. He let go of her arm once she reached the corridor, smiled to her and went back into the chamber. The guard that held open the door for her now closed it behind the man as he re-entered the chamber. She noticed that she could now not hear a single murmur from inside the chamber. How good the sound proofing is on that door she thought and then in the same instant thought – how does the guard know when to open the door?

The guard took on the classic on-guard pose with his back to the closed door facing Evelyn. Evelyn stood facing him for a moment then looked around and saw a bench behind her. She crossed over to the bench and was about to sit down when a sudden movement from the guard caught her eye. The guard left hand had come from behind him and touched his ear. He then turned to open the chambers doors.

Ah! Thought Evelyn he must have received a signal to a hidden ear piece from within the chamber to open the door. Simple and obvious, she thought like most solutions. She started to walk towards the now open door and was met half way by her ‘helper’ with her papers bungled in his arms. He handed over her papers to her. Here you are Doctor, all your notes. Very good briefing I thought, although perhaps a tad too long. He then gave her a second smile, turned on the spot and walked back into the chamber. Leaving Evelyn more than a bit puzzled as to his comments.

The door guard closed the door and took up his position again. Evelyn stared at the closed door for a moment, then shook her head and started to walk back to her office with the comments from her ‘helper’ still bouncing around in her head. A tad too long, really! What would a security guard know about my research and as to whether the briefing was too long or not? He was probably more concerned with how long he had to stand on guard than the environment or the state of the planet!

It took ten minutes for Evelyn to walk to her office. After travelling down endless corridors her temper had not abated so by the time she reached her office, she was mad with rage. She burst open the door and slammed it behind her. The six members of her team all looked up from their computer screens, but knew instantly not to say a word to her.

Evelyn looked around the room and was about to say something, but her words just came out as an incoherent group of sounds. Dismayed by her inability to form a coherent sentence together, she screamed MEN! and stormed into her private office. Closing the door behind her with such force that a picture fell off the wall cracking the glass.

Her team members, all male, looked at one and other, then went back to their computer monitors.

Back in the Council chambers the meeting was starting to break down into a squabble with most of the council members tying to speak at once. Two calm heads took in all the chaos that was unfolding around them. Until the first of the two decided that he had heard enough. The Secretary General of the UN stood up and called for silence. Ladies and Gentlemen, please a little decorum if you don’t mind. The chamber grew silent. He then turned to the second calm head in the chamber. Major General Frost, can you please take the stand and, briefly, present your report.

Doctor Sinclair’s ‘helper’ allowed himself a wry smile at the Secretary General’s use of the word ‘briefly’ in his introduction, knowing full well that this could be the shortest, but most important report in the councils history. He then turned sharply to face the lectern; marched four steps forward and ‘took the stand’.

Major General William Frost was the most senior member of the armed forces left within the UN and, for all intents and purposes, the commander in chief of all the UNs armies. Even though the Secretary General, on paper, was his boss, the Secretary General would not make a military decision or any other decision for that matter without first discussing it with Frost. The fifty-nine year old Texan had been in the army all his life. At the start of the war with the Alliance he was a lowly Brigade commander with the tenth armoured division in Europe. After the fall of Europe he was the most senior commander to make it to Algeria with most of his Brigade intact. Which, considering that his Brigade was also the last out of Europe, was no easy feat to accomplish. Whilst in Algeria he managed to gather around him the ragtag remains of any and all UN units that passed his way and formed them into the ‘new’ tenth armoured division. That division held on to Algeria for four years through many attacks by the Alliance and was now the only true division that the UN had left in Africa.

Secretary General, council members. He began, Five hours ago, I received a report from Algeria stating that the attempt to rescue Doctor Jamel Tanzir had failed. Doctor Tanzir was pronounced dead at camp Alpha X-ray at 06:12 this morning. This means that our last chance of brokering a lasting peace with the Alliance has now gone. He paused to let the statement sink in. I have now, with the permission of the Secretary General, recalled the tenth division from Algeria and in doing so surrendered our last hold in Africa. With the return of the tenth and the capitulation of General Kings’ Ninth army in Australia, We no longer have any overseas forces left to command.

The inventory of our military strength is as follows - We have eighty thousand men under arms, one hundred and fifteen fighter aircraft, no long range bomber force and no multi-role aircraft. Our navy, if you can still call it one, consist of one aircraft carrier, one very old battleship, an assortment of twenty destroyers of various types, some transport ships and no submarines. The whole of our ‘navy’ is at this moment transporting the tenth division back home. I don’t expect that they will all make it here.

The situation is now that our army is no longer of any threat to the Alliance. We have barely enough forces left to defend ourselves and none what so ever to mount any type of offensive campaign in the future. The best we can hope is that the Alliance is in no shape to mount an attack on San Paulo.

Frost cleared his throat. He could now understand why Doctor Sinclair was constantly sipping out of her glass of water when she was delivering her report; Bad news is always hard to deliver. Secretary General, council members we no longer have the resources to continue this war. The war is lost. Again he paused to let the realization of what he had just said sink in. It is now a matter of how can we survive the aftermath of what this prolonged and costly war has done to our planet and decide on a plan of action to save the two million people we have under our protection here in Brazil.

Not only do we have a duty to protect these peoples from enslavement or execution by the Alliance, but we have to find a way to feed, clothe and shelter them before winter sets in. Our hospitals and health centres are full; a broadcast has already been made over television and radio for all citizens with medical experience to report to their nearest medical station to help out. Medical supplies, in some districts, have already run out.

Now for the real tough bit Frost thought. He followed Evelyn’s example and took a sip of water. Council members, he deliberately left out the Secretary General in this his final address, as he know that the Secretary had already agreed to what he was about to propose. Council members, I implore you all, for the future safety and survival of the human race, to ratify the Xtranda proposal.

Chapter 2, The Xtranda Proposal.

The remains of the fleet convoy reached the shipping port at Santos, looking bedraggled as it slipped into the harbour without any fanfare. The few people that did see the grey hulks slowly glide past noted first how few there where and secondly the wreckage on their decks. Even to a civilian there could be no doubt that the fleet had fought every mile from Algeria to Santos.

The fleet had lost only one of its transports, but five of its destroyers and its only remaining battleship had also succumbed to the relentless Alliance attacks. The aircraft carrier, HMS Queen Elizabeth, was severely damaged and listed, heavily, to its starboard side. It was also the reason why the convoy was travelling so slowly. Even the transports, over laden as they were, could easily outpace the once proud carrier. Having fought so long and so gallant for many years against Alliance, the last ship of the Royal Navy knew that it had arrived at its final resting place.

The loss of the one transport ship was now a major concern to the UN. The transports were all loaded with the men and materials of the tenth division and the UN could ill afford to lose any of its remaining fighting strength. The UN knew that it would no longer venture out of the harbour with their remaining naval forces, so its ships would now become the equivalent of land batteries, the loss of the transport and its cargo would hurt the UN greatly.

Two men were leaning against the harbour rail watching the ships go past. Hell of a voyage Carl, I think that we were lucky to make it across. Oh wait a minute you nearly didn’t did you? What was it you said when we picked you up from Ascension Island?

That had nothing to do with me and you know it. Them A330’s where ready for the bone yard years before the UN got hold of them. Anyway you were telling me about our losses.

Yeah right, where was I... Harry Jameson put his battered cigar back into his mouth and thumbed through the loose leaf sheets attached to his clipboard. Well it looks like we lost most of the division’s heavy artillery, the 51st, 52nd and 116th batteries. A shit load of motor transport and tons of food, ammo, tents and the like. Harry flicked through the rest of the sheets. We may have got off lightly if it wasn’t for the divisional headquarters wanting to travel on that boat, just because it had a swimming pool. I suppose that means we are in line for another ‘battlefield’ promotion, you know by the end of all this we could be Generals or even Presidents. He took a long pull on his cigar, blew a large smoke ring and beamed a big broad smile at his friend.

Hmmm, General Jameson and President Ross, Somehow I don’t think so. If things ever got that bad for us to warrant titles, then I don’t hold out too much hope for the world. Ross took his cigar butt out of his mouth looked at it for a moment, and then flicked it in the river below. Before it hit the dark muddy water Ross had turned and started to walk away. Jameson thought about disposing of his cigar, but then decided that it still had a good few more pulls on it and bit back down on it. He then followed his friend Hey, how come you get to be the President and I am the lowly General?

Frost held the report in his left hand whilst his telephone receiver was in his right. He glanced at the report that he had already studied for twenty minutes before he made the call Yes, Secretary General I can confirm that ninety percent of the senior command structure was on the downed transport. The division will need to be re-organized before it takes the field again... No, Captain Rogers and his team were not on that transport. I will be seeing the Captain after this call; he is waiting outside my office now... Yes it was his team that failed in the rescue attempt of Doctor Tanzir, but I still believe that they are the best that we have for the task ahead... Thank you Secretary General I will be sure to do that. Frost replaced the receiver. He looked over to his orderly Send in the Captain please George.

Captain Nathan Rogers has been waiting in the anteroom for well over an hour. He was feeling sweaty, grubby and very tired. He had travelled straight from off his transport to San Paulo and had only managed to catch an hour’s sleep and a sandwich. George, the Generals orderly, had offered Nathan the use of the Generals’ private washroom so that he could freshen up, but Nathan did not want to be midway through washing himself when the General was ready to see him. When George finally called him he placed his cap back on his head and straightened his uniform as best as he could. He had a quick glance in a mirror that was placed strategically, before the Generals’ door. He still looked like he had been sleeping rough for a fortnight, but George approached him and with a couple of brushes with a clothes brush said The General knows you have come straight from the port at Santos. He is not expecting to see you at your best Captain. Captain Rogers took a deep breath and marched smartly in to the Generals’ office. George closed the door behind him.

Rogers tried to perform the greatest salute that he could muster. After all he was now in the presence of the head of the armed forces, in days gone by the General would have been only be answerable to the President of the United States of America, but since there was no longer any President let alone any United States of America, He was now only answerable to the Secretary General of the UN. The salute fell well short of his best and Rogers knew it. If one of his men performed a salute that bad in front of him he would have had him on report for a month. Thankfully Frost did not seem too concerned about it.

At ease Captain. Frost commanded without looking up from the paper work on his desk. Please take a seat, I won’t be a moment. Rogers took off his cap and sat, rather stiffly, in the leather arm chair next to him. Frost took a couple of minutes organizing his papers before he looked up from his desk at Captain Rogers.

"Tough