The Rise of Man: Battle for Earth

By Elbert Lewis Jr.

Biracials, Half-breeds, Mulattos and Mongrels At times they were unwanted, ridiculed and ostracized by society. Many were abandoned at birth and forced to endure rejection and scorn for a circumstance of birth they had no say in. Nearly all of them struggled with the anguish of not being fully accepted by any race.

In the second decade of the 21st Century a twist of fate would change all of that and catapult them to the pinnacle of humanity where their heroism and sacrifice will become legendary.

After Logan, the first MAN, led the nuclear powers of Earth to a victory over the Hadaran expeditionary force he then set about preparing mankind for the return of the fierce aliens in far greater numbers. Only multi-race humans, those having the prerequisite diverse genetic make-up for enhancement to a super-human genome-adept by the Trans Cerebral Imprinter, will stand in the way of total domination and enslavement of the human race.

With the integration of advanced alien technology and Earths preeminent scientific minds, Logan builds an army of genome-adepts, the most lethal fighting force in human history and leads them in a desperate battle for Earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491759400

Elbert Lewis Jr.

Elbert Lewis, Jr. is a retired civil engineer, a former US Marine and Vietnam veteran. He is an accomplished portrait artist and a podcaster. He resides with his wife in Cincinnati, Ohio. A brief personal history is available on his website: elbertlewisjr.com. This is the second novel in his MAN (Mutation Accelerated Nemesis) trilogy.

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Copyright © 2015 Elbert Lewis, Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-5939-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5940-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015901259

iUniverse rev. date: 04/29/2015

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Part I The Return

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part II Retribution

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part III Mobilization

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part IV The Battle for Earth

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Part V Victory in Defeat

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilog

About The Author

Also by Elbert Lewis, Jr.

The Dawn of MAN

Cover graphic by: ShutterStock

For my son Alan,

Who wouldn’t let Logan die, even a heroic death.

Acknowledgements

There are many people to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for their assistance and encouragement in the writing of this novel. Foremost, I want to thank my wife, Debora, who suffered through the endless rewrites and my absences from the real world. Thanks to my cousin Ginny who wouldn’t let me forget that I promised her Logan would return. I especially want to thank my editor Amy Reeb for making the manuscript conform to the rules of proper grammar. Any deviations from that standard are due to my stubbornness and evolving writing style.

Only the Dead have seen the end of war.

                                          ~ Plato

Prologue

A shrill, atonal alarm wailed throughout every compartment and station of the Scorpiin survey cruiser the instant after it emerged into real space of the Sol system. Its insertion point, a precisely calculated location in space, was exactly 3.50 AU beyond aphelion of Pluto’s orbit. It was a long and well established point of entry used by Scorpiin spaceships, on evaluation and acquisition missions, for thousands of years. An exit from warp space at this distance from the Sun and most distant planetary body provided a region relatively free of large space debris. It minimized the possibility of a catastrophic collision before the effects of Transit Dissonance (TD) subsided and the crew was able to resume anti-collision evasive maneuvering and other crucial operations that Batt-Comp, the artificially intelligent battle computer, had assumed. TD, a form of cognitive disorientation disrupts normal functioning of the sentient brain. It is an interruption of the propagation of neural impulses caused by the intense gravitational forces encountered during a transit through an artificially generated warp point. Although temporary and varying in intensity with the length of time spent in warp space, it could leave a crew highly vulnerable at a crucial time.

The alarm was the first indication that this incursion would be far from routine.

The crew struggled to push through the mental fog and nausea of TD as they tried to determine what triggered the alarm. The modulation of the klaxon indicated the AI directed sensors had detected a gravitational anomaly other than that of their own ship. The tactical operations officer was the first to recover sufficiently to confirm the reason for the alarm was the detection of a source of artificially generated gravitons. Soon after, the captain was able to brief the mission commander by ship’s intercom of that preliminary finding. After several tense minutes with no additional alarms or detection of hostile forces, the crew set about a detailed analysis of the emissions. Their reactions ranged from surprise to shock at the reality of gravity wave technology being employed by the only sentient species in the solar system. It seemed an impossibility given the level of technology the inhabitants, huMans, had achieved since the failure of the Reiign’s original Nemesis Project.

The mission commander arrived on the bridge a few moments later before the captain could decide on a course of action beyond the precautions already initialed by Batt-Comp. The AI had automatically shut down all ship’s operations that generated gravity waves, brought all weapons systems up to standby power, and continued passive scanning of the electro-magnetic and gravitic spectra. After receiving a more detailed sit-rep, the mission commander, who at his advanced age, was having a more difficult time shaking off the effects of TD, agreed with the captain to continue on the current course of action and allow Batt-Comp to maintain control until the crew was sufficiently recovered. He retired, deep in thought, to his seat in the commander’s station off the operations bridge.

The commander had been the senior chief procurer of test subjects used in the Scorpiin’s current Nemesis project for more than four hundred local solar years and was well acquainted with the level of technology attained by the race of beings who called their planet, Earth. In fact, it was he and his predecessors, along with the original Nemesis project scientists, who were responsible for the rapid technological advancements of the mutated huMans. But their data indicated gravity wave technology was still hundreds of years beyond their current capabilities. That left exactly one alternative to explain the use of artificially generated gravity waves in the solar system—the Hadarans! And that conclusion was the reason for the strong undercurrent of fear racing across his mind and sending icy fingers of dread down his stooped meter-long spine. His greatest fear was that a Hadaran incursion could be a result of a mistake he’d made during one of the numerous occasions he’d visited the solar system to harvest the thousands of experimental subjects for their research projects; or it could have been the countless missions to collect huMan candidates for induction into the Scorpiin alien legions. Perhaps those previous visits now placed the ship and crew in peril. Every precaution was taken during the innumerable incursions but the laws of probability dictated the inevitability of eventual discovery.

High tension reigned among the entire crew until it was determined that they had not inserted within a Hadaran naval unit’s offensive envelope. He agreed with the captain on continuing to take a slow approach. Urging extreme caution, he ordered an increased stealth mode and continued passive scanning in reconnoitering this new and potentially disastrous turn of events. Entering into stealth mode necessitated an immediate shutdown of the artificial gravity node, all generators except the one that powered the cloaking mechanisms, and every system that generated detectable energy or signal emissions from the ship. Without gravity they would have to perform all of their shipboard duties in zero gravity. It was an annoying inconvenience, but possibly a life saving measure. In the next five days their worst fears would be confirmed.

The mission commander, if nothing else, was a patient plolboi, a male of his species. He’d developed that attribute over the previous four hundred years of unobtrusively observing the actions of the indigenous populations of Earth. He and a long line of predecessors had intervened at critical junctures for fifty millennia to guide the evolution of the huMan after they were mutated from the aborigines. Unfortunately, due to some innate deficiency of the artificially advanced brain development, the rate of technological progress of the huMans had greatly outpaced the species psychological maturity. In that respect, huMans were a big disappointment and the reason they were still isolated and not fully incorporated into the Scorpiin Empire. Still he considered the huMans to be a very promising species. He’d hoped to elevate them into membership status during his tenure, but alas, it seemed it was not to be.

The purpose of this mission, his last, was the selection and harvesting of specimens, using a very different criterion, for use in a promising line of research. It had taken nearly a decade to gain approval from the Supreme Council to pursue his theory. He was near the end of his space faring career and was looking forward to a less stressful assignment to the research branch of the Nemesis Project. Now it seemed he might never obtain the needed huMan specimens.

It didn’t take long to collect and analyze enough sensor data to confirm the source of the emissions. Their arch enemies, the Hadarans, the product of another Reiign Nemesis project, had indeed encroached upon this sector of the Scorpiin sphere of influence and were now in the process of establishing a forward operating base on Earth and absorbing the huMans into their Imperium. Further observation revealed the huMans were putting up a spirited but ultimately doomed defense. He thought he could well write the last chapter in the long history of the Scorpiins and the huMans.

Despite his own inclination, the expressed desire of the captain and at times the impassioned urging of his scientific cadre to intervene and add the might of their powerful cruiser to the battle, he remained steadfast and refused to enter the fray. He sat on the bridge for long hours and watched in sadness as the Hadarans used advanced weapons to brush aside the puny huMan defenses and gain a foothold on the planet. After hundreds of years of covertly guiding huMan scientific progress, he’d developed subtle feelings of parental pride in their progress, much as an owner of a dog that was the best in show. So watching the clashes between Hadarans and huMans was akin to watching a pure bred poodle being mauled by a neighbor’s pit bull.

An even bigger surprise came later in the vigil. On the fourth day of their intelligence gathering a warship of Scorpiin design warped into the solar system and initiated its own stealthy recon from a place of concealment on the moon. The parade of surprises continued when the unidentified ship intervened in the conflict. The mystery deepened as it became apparent that the Scorpiin crew and the huMans were acting in concert to oppose the Hadaran incursion. Again the captain and his command group appealed to the mission commander to intervene on behalf of the huMans. Still he refused, although he did authorize the launching of a stealth capable comm-drone to their home base with a detailed record of events to date. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to intervene—with every fiber of his being he wanted to charge headlong into the fray to save the huMans. But they were clueless as to how a Scorpiin naval vessel came to be operating in a solar system that was strictly off-limits to any Scorpiins not involved in the Nemesis Project. Not only that, but involved in a skirmish, in alliance with the inhabitants of a third-tier civilization on the fringe of the Scorpiin Empire, against a Hadaran naval unit. Out of an abundance of caution, the commander refrained from entering the fight. He reasoned that although the combined might of the unidentified Scorpiin ship and his own stood a reasonable chance of defeating the Hadaran flotilla, there was a high probability that other Hadaran naval units had entered the solar system undetected or were concealed in deep stealth. So he steadfastly refused to put his command at risk. He pushed his frustration aside and continued to observe and evaluate.

The mission commander’s judgment was vindicated when a response from Supreme Command was downloaded from a return comm-drone and decoded. The reply to his priority dispatch to headquarters confirmed the signature of the mystery Scorpiin ship was that of an experimental Scorpiin vessel that was possibly crewed by four missing Nemesis Project technicians and an advanced prototype bio-weapon of huMan origin. The ship and bio-weapon had previously been declared destroyed during the ill-fated Altairian offensive nearly forty years ago. His orders were to remain on station, observe and record the further activities of the Hadarans, the huMans and above all, the bio-weapon. He was also ordered to otherwise not interfere or take any action to alter the outcome of the engagement between the combatants.

To their surprise and against all odds, the huMans employing first generation nuclear weapons in a coordinated attack with the unidentified Scorpiin ship using advanced weaponry, defeated the Hadarans and made intervention a moot point. The single action the commander did authorize was the interception and destruction of the last communications drone launched by the surviving Hadaran war ship before it too was destroyed in a suicidal attack by the mystery Scorpiin warship. The victory over the Hadaran naval unit both greatly surprised and pleased the commander and his entire crew. In accordance with his orders he chose to remain in the solar system for six months after the battle making detailed observations. Not until all food stores were consumed and the emergency rations were nearly exhausted did he finally give orders to a nearly mutinous crew to plot a course for the forty-five light year jump to the star 18 Scorpii and their home planet. He had much to report. Uppermost in his mind, the astonishing news that even though the mystery ship had been destroyed in the battle, the subject of one of their most promising bio-weapon projects was still viable and appeared to have exceeded all of their expectations.

Part I

The Return

War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it.

The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.

~ William Tecumseh Sherman [1820-1891]

Chapter 1

Colonel Calvin R. Tolbert, commanding the 9th Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU), stood on the undulating flight deck of the USS Tarawa watching the first wave of assault troops board the transport helicopters. The sea breeze was invigorating with the tang of salt and vibrant with the promise of high adventure. It reaffirmed his reasons for choosing the military lifestyle. Tolbert was a tall, broad-shouldered black man raised in the slums of Detroit. Until his enlistment in the Marine Corps, after graduating from high school, he’d never been more than a hundred miles from the inner-city. As the youngest of three sons, it was assumed he would follow in his brothers’ footsteps and wind up in prison or an early grave after a life of petty crime. His first enlistment put an end to that. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, for as long as he could remember, he’d longed for the danger and excitement of military life. None of his family members or friends recognized his obsession with war movies as a prelude to a career choice.

His superiors early-on recognized his quick intellect and talent for all things martial. He was recommended for and accepted a selection to Officer Candidate School after his stellar performance as a highly decorated buck sergeant during Desert Storm. Now, after twenty-five years of a brilliant career, he was atop a short list for promotion to brigadier general. Everyone who came to know him recognized the gaze of the eagle in his intense brown eyes and believed he was destined for greatness. But in his private moments he sometimes felt survivor’s guilt when he thought about the fates of his brothers.

The waters of the Indian Ocean, fifty miles off the west coast of Australia, shone a deep, menacing phthalo blue that would have made Black Beard fear an angry sea. It was a reflection from sunlight turned scarlet and purple by the tremendous amount of dust and debris blasted into the upper atmosphere by the nuclear barrage that destroyed the alien beach head. His MEU had been diverted from the evacuation and ordered to assume an active support role reinforcing the Australian military unit dispatched to mop up the last known remnants of the Hadaran invasion force.

Ten miles off the starboard bow, a line of ships of every description steamed away from the city of Perth with their cargos of refugees fleeing from the devastated island nation. The Dunkirk evacuation during World War II, that saved over two hundred thousand British and French soldiers from the Nazi juggernaut, paled in comparison to the operation taking place. Overhead a steady procession of jet liners full of UN aid workers flew towards the Perth airport while those crammed with the wretched survivors passed in the opposite direction. They were the lucky ones. The UN’s latest update estimated as many as seven million Australians would have to be evacuated. Four million had already died in the battle to defeat the Hadarans. The aborigine population in the outback was virtually wiped out. Another two million Australians would have severely shortened lives due to cancers and other health problems from radiation poisoning. Collateral damage had taken on new dimensions in the age of interstellar warfare.

Tolbert shook his head sadly at the scope of the human tragedy then turned back to Tarawa’s executive officer and accepted his proffered hand.

Good luck and good hunting, Colonel, said the naval officer.

Thank you, XO. Unlike some of my more gung-ho Marines, I hope the Aussies deal with these aliens long before we’re needed. My briefing indicated the aliens are armed with lasers. He tapped his body armor clad chest. These won’t provide much protection against that kind of weaponry.

I don’t envy you this mission, Sir. The executive officer’s face pulled a sympathetic frown. These Hadarans, according to the eye-witness accounts of the fighting to retake Cheyenne Mountain, are ferocious as hell and always fight to the death.

Yeah… well, we’ll sure accommodate them in that respect. With that, Tolbert snapped a return salute then turned away to board his waiting Kiowa command helicopter.

*****

Sergeant Percy Donavan, of the Royal Australian Fusiliers, took cover behind a concrete barrier and prayed that no laser beam found him. Normally, hidden behind eight inches of reinforced concrete, he would be safe from anything short of a direct hit from a mortar round or artillery shell. With the aliens and their lasers, there was no such thing as adequate cover. He knew that he should be adding to the dwindling firepower of his platoon, but he’d witnessed so many of his men rear up to fire on the enemy then duck behind what they thought was good cover only to be skewered by laser beams that burned through concrete and steel like they were wet tissue paper.

Zzzzzat!

Aggggggh!

Donavan’s head snapped up at the all too familiar air crackling sizzle of a laser flash and cry of anguish from some dumb bastard who hadn’t rolled to a new position after firing on the enemy. Although a laser beam was invisible to the naked eye, the air molecules within its trajectory were heated to a dazzling white-hot temperature and unlike bullets, laser beams were not affected by gravity so the point of aim was perfect. The alien snipers were deadly, inhumanly accurate.

Meeeediiiic! The cry for medical assistance arose from several soldiers.

Twenty yards to his left, one of his men was writhing in pain with a hand pressed to his smoldering right shoulder. The platoon medic, hearing his screams of pain and call for help, crawled over Donavan’s out-stretched legs making his way to the wounded man. Donavan’s anger knew no bounds. He wasn’t sure who he wanted most to kill. The aliens or his superiors who’d sent them on such a hapless mission. He felt both were conspiring to end his life.

The aliens, with their hovercraft and lasers, were the last known survivors of the Hadaran invasion force. He cursed the twist of fate that brought them to his battalion’s sector. He assumed they too had fled to the southwest, opposite the direction of the prevailing winds to escape the radioactive fallout. The ‘buggers’ must have hidden out in the desert until their supplies ran out before suddenly appearing on the outskirts of Perth. The aliens had easily taken over the electric power plant. The district military commanders correctly assumed they needed the energy for their hovercraft and lasers. When his platoon arrived on the scene the first thing they saw was the bodies of the technicians, plant maintenance workers, and local constables. They were piled in a heap near the front entrance or sprawled where they had fallen near the approaches to the power plant.

The city of Perth and its port facilities were a beehive of activity with the daily evacuation of hundreds of thousands of refugees. The governmental authorities were swamped with the humanitarian effort but their response had been as swift as it was futile. The aliens had so far resisted all efforts to dislodge them and the political leaders were reluctant to give the military authorization to bomb them out. Thanks to a maverick politician who twice successfully blocked a spending bill to upgrade the plant’s control systems in favor of a new gas-fired facility, the antiquated mechanical switching gear had been immune to the EMP from the nuclear blasts. There was a critical need for electrical power during the evacuation and the facility had been the only functioning power plant within Western Australia before the aliens crashed the party. Thousands of homeless and injured refugees flooded into Perth every day and hundreds died while the plant was off-line.

Donavan’s platoon was tasked with keeping the aliens contained until reinforcements arrived. His superiors had hinted that the U.S. might be sending in troops to help out. He snorted in derision. Bloody yanks have helped out quite enough if you ask me, destroyed the whole bleedin’ country. His thoughts prompted Donavan to glance over his shoulder eastward towards the sky over the devastated interior of his country—what used to be his country. It was hard to accept the reality that Australia would cease to exist as a nation, perhaps for a hundred years. He supposed it was preferable to living under the yoke of alien tyrants.

Only the hardy, or the foolish, were sticking it out. Up to thirty percent of Australia’s pre-invasion population was dead from alien attacks and the nuclear blasts or soon would be from the effects of radiation poisoning. Those who chose to leave would be resettled in America, Canada or Western Europe. Bloody hell! Welcome to the twenty-first century, mates! Donavan thought bitterly and scowled as he adjusted his combat harness to a more comfortable position while craning his neck to see how the medic was coming along with the wounded man. There was one good thing about a laser wound. If no vital organs were fried, the wound was instantly cauterized and there was very little blood loss. Bloke will probably live to fight another day, he mused.

Sub-Commander RaGa’harth Gir of the Hadaran Imperial Survey Force snarled with mounting frustration and anger. He had ordered the seizure of the power plant in hopes of recharging their power pacs. However, the equipment was too primitive to be of immediate use. It was the only reason the plant still functioned at all. Its circuitry and controls were not transistorized and therefore had not been put out of commission by the EMP from the nuclear blasts. The combat engineer attached to his unit tried to explain but RaGa’harth dismissed him with another snarl after the explanation exceeded his knowledge of physics and energy conversion.

Not only would the engineer have to fashion from scratch—without the proper tools—adaptors to bridge the gap between their equipment and the inhabitants’ primitive mechanisms, but the frequency of the electrical output was several orders of magnitude below ideal. Even if they could bridge the incompatibility gap it would take several planetary rotation cycles to fully charge all of their power pacs. Moreover, there was the problem of restarting the generators without the aid of the plant operators they’d killed during the takeover. The plant used fossil fuels to fire the boilers and that would require obtaining the coal from rail cars while under fire from the indigenous warriors. RaGa’harth was certain they didn’t have a tenth of the time they needed before the primitives attacked in strength. Although they were pale, nearly furless, weak creatures with inferior technology, they had demonstrated the ability to deploy first generation nuclear weapons with deadly efficiency.

His need of a source of energy had motivated his decision to leave their camp in the outback and enter a populated area. He’d waited in vain for ninety planetary rotation cycles for a rescue shuttle. He finally had to accept the reality that the rest of the expeditionary force had been defeated and destroyed. Either that or so degraded as to be unable to mount a simple recovery mission. He had finally come to terms with the former possibility. There had been not one acknowledgement of their distress signals. There would be no retrieval. He and his warriors were abandoned and marooned on this primitive world. At the time of the attack, they were investigating an engineering unit’s failure to respond while tasked with replacing one of the gravity sumps which powered the kinetic shield and energy screen protecting the beachhead. They were a perimeter security unit and had very little food and water with them. Even with the strictest rationing, the emergency rations stored on all patrol craft were exhausted in less than thirty planetary rotation cycles. Since then what water they found was slightly radioactive—they drank it anyway. They’d resisted feeding off the indigenous wildlife as long as possible but eventually had to, or starve to death. They found none of the animals or even the primitive dark skinned aborigines to their taste but it was nourishment of a sort. Although they were not poisoned, they had grown weaker on the diet. It was obvious that certain essential nutrients were not available in the flesh of the planet’s creatures. They were growing weaker and slowly wasting away.

RaGa’harth turned from the bank of crude gauges, now stained with the blood of the control room technicians who died at their stations. He regarded both of his squad leaders standing at semi-attention in the rear of the central control room. It was evident that they also had come to the same conclusions he’d reached. Even though they were stuck on this pathetic mud ball of a planet with little hope of ever leaving, there was no despair or fear of death. The bones of Hadaran warriors were scattered over hundreds of planets throughout the spiral arm of the galaxy. They lived to die in battle. But to slowly waste away from lack of proper food and a dwindling power supply was no way for a Hadaran warrior to end his cycles. He made up his mind quickly. It didn’t take long to outline his plan. There were few, if any options.

A sudden burst of machine gun fire from his right flank shattered the brief lull. Donavan bobbed up to take a quick look. At that instant a torrent of laser bolts lanced into his men manning the platoon’s last operational MAG 58 machine gun. The crew and their weapon were left in smoldering ruin. Donavan screamed his outrage, then like every able bodied soldier, opened fire on the alien hovercraft that exited the maintenance building and were gliding towards their defensive position spitting brilliant lances of blinding white-hot laser fire.

The outcome was preordained and over in a matter of minutes; the aliens routed the demoralized Aussies. The force fields around the hovercraft deflected the concentrated gunfire from the soldiers, but were completely pervious to the laser bursts from the alien weapons. Their fire was inherently accurate and soldier after soldier perished from precisely targeted laser beams that burned through their heads or backs, as they tried to flee from certain death. The solid projectiles and explosive rounds the alien infantry rained down on his men were nearly as devastating as the lasers.

Sergeant Donavan struggled up the slope of the railroad embankment, dragging a wounded man. Both were choking from the coal dust that found its way into ears, noses and grated into their eyes. They took cover under a coal carrier. As far as he knew they were the only survivors from their platoon, and Pvt. Stanley, with gaping shrapnel wounds, didn’t appear to be long for this world. Donavan wasn’t sure how he’d survived, but was determined to live and sound the alarm, if he could recover the unit’s radio.

Just as they reached the dubious cover of the reverse embankment of the railroad track, a string of sharp explosions shattered the quiet after the storm. The concussion slapped their eardrums and sent them tumbling further down the slope. Pvt. Stanley screamed when the fall exacerbated his grievous injuries. Donavan assumed it was the aliens coming to finish them off. He struggled to reach his rifle that lay partially under the wounded man. More concussion from another round of explosions rattled them and left their ears ringing. He knew that death was near and resolved to go out like a soldier. He finally freed his rifle, scrambled back up the slope and peered over the top in time to see a flight of helicopters bank away after their rocket attack. One of the alien hovercrafts was grounded and in flames. The others were returning crisp bolts of laser fire that exploded one of the choppers that he instantly recognized as an American Super Cobra attack helicopter. The Marines had arrived!

Colonel Tolbert checked his MP-5 sub-machine gun for the third time. He was determined to be there if the aliens chose to continue to fight for the power plant. He wanted to smell the blood of the bastards who had caused the death of a yet unknown number of his marines. He’d watched in horror as one of the alien hovercrafts swiftly closed with their formation during the final approach to the LZ and opened fire. Two of the troop carriers in the first lift were shot down by the laser fire.

The first CH-53 Sea Stallion helicopter, carrying a platoon of combat marines and their equipment, had dropped like a stone from two hundred feet, crashed heavily, and exploded before anyone could escape. The second Sea Stallion was heavily damaged seconds later and forced down before the Cobra gunships, in a coordinated maneuver, counter-attacked and destroyed the lead hover craft with concentrated cannon fire and missiles.

The pilot of the second sea stallion managed an emergency landing of the burning aircraft. Most of its human cargo got out alive before the fuel tanks exploded, killing the brave crew and an unknown number of grunts. Tolbert said a silent prayer for the dead and wounded. Major Ronald Edwards, his executive officer, had been aboard the first helicopter shot down.

After that shocking setback Tolbert diverted the rest of his pilots to an alternate LZ to disembark their Marines well beyond laser range. Next he ordered another attack run by his gunships on the other hovercraft. The AH-1F Super Cobras roared into action with a lethal shower of TOW missiles and 20-mm Cannon fire. Two more of the seven Cobra gunships were swatted out of the sky before the energy shields of the remaining alien hovercraft began to fail and the floaters exploded one after another from multiple missile strikes. Tolbert whooped with bloodthirsty glee at the sight of the alien machines being blasted apart. At the end of the air battle all four of the enemy hovercraft, two Sea Stallions and three Super Cobras lay burning on the sunbaked Australian soil.

Tolbert knew it was reckless and totally against sound battlefield doctrine for the regimental commander to expose himself to the elevated dangers of frontline combat. His job was to direct his unit’s tactical maneuvers and coordinate the support activities of the air-wing and naval ships. But he wanted personal revenge. He’d chomped at the bit for the forty-five minutes it took to establish his command post (CP), and organize medivac operations for the wounded. Now it was time! Tolbert jumped out of the natural depression on the heels of the three Force Recon Commandos serving as his bodyguards. He followed them at a swift loping run for a mile and a half along a paved road, a few hundred yards along the driveway then down into a five-foot deep rain water detention basin where the Alpha Company commander had established his CP.

Tolbert noticed Capt. Vince Fischer’s frown at the sight of the ‘old man’ entering his CP. He knew the company commander had his hands full coordinating the deployment of his troops and didn’t need the distraction. He felt sympathy for his subordinate; he’d been there once or twice himself. He knew what Fischer must be thinking. The last thing a combat commander needed was the brass looking over his shoulder, or worse, jaunting around his area of operations (AO), looking for a little youthful excitement. Tolbert wasn’t there for an adrenaline rush and beyond the desire for revenge, he was sure that this mopping up action would not be the last time humanity would have to deal with Hadarans on the battlefield. If he was to be engaged in a war with these creatures he wanted firsthand knowledge of their capabilities. When he knelt down near Fischer and his radio operators he was out of breath from the short run. He silently chastised himself and vowed to fit more time for running into his schedule in the future.

Hey, Vince, Tolbert quipped between deep breaths, Nice day for a fight ain’t it?

Any war will do, Colonel. Fischer answered with a smile that was more a fierce leer.

What’s the Sit-Rep? Tolbert got quickly down to business after a quick glance over the rim of the depression.

I just received a report from my point squad, Fischer began, they’ve linked up with the Aussies, or what’s left of them. There’s only one able bodied man and three wounded who survived out of what had been a reinforced platoon. I’ve ordered litter bearers forward to evacuate the wounded. My scouts just spotted aliens regrouping within the power plant. It looks like we’re going to have to dig the bastards out. First and third platoons will establish a frontal blocking position. Second platoon is split and maneuvering around both flanks. There’s nothing we can do about the rear with half of the heavy weapons platoon out of action.

His voice was troubled when he spoke again. Is there any word on survivors from the first crash, Sir?

Tolbert sadly shook his head, It looks like they’re all KIA, Vince.

Damn! Fischer barked. He looked over his shoulder at the column of black smoke billowing up from the crash site. The platoon commander was his brother-in-law. He knew it was going to devastate his sister.

The radio call interrupted the solemn moment. The company RTO passed the handset to Fischer.

Six-Actual, go Two-Six, over.

Wait one, Two-Six. Fischer answered then looked to Tolbert.

With the reduced lift capacity it will take the remaining choppers at least two hours to get all of B-Company on the ground to block the rear of the plant. They could escape. I suggest we—

Tolbert raised a hand to interrupt him. This is your show Vince. I’m not here to run your company. You know the mission parameters. We try to keep them corralled until the specialists from the Pentagon can attempt to communicate with them, maybe take some alive.

Yeah, good luck with that! Fischer barked then nodded his appreciation and went back to his radio conversation.

Six-Actual to Razor Two-Six, over.

< Two-Six, over>

Fischer spoke clearly and forcefully, Negative. I repeat, negative on the probe. Send a squad-sized blocking force to the rear of the plant. Stay outside of the fence line and stand by for further orders. Do you copy?

That’s affirmative Two-Six. Six-actual, out.

Six Actual to Three-six… Fischer gave new orders to his third platoon commander then turned to Lt. Zane, his operations officer, and instructed him to return to the LZ to liaise with Bravo as soon as it arrived. When he turned back, the colonel was nowhere to be seen.

RaGa’harth had calmly watched his assault boats being destroyed by the enemies’ crude attack aircraft. He didn’t for a second question his tactical decision to sacrifice them. They had been running low on power and would soon have been unable to energize their energy and kinetic screens, gravity drives or lasers. They would be useless then. Better to have them exhaust their remaining power in an assault on the enemies’ defensive positions. However, the results of the sortie disappointed RaGa’harth. As expected, the gun boats easily brushed aside the few enemy warriors opposing them. Then, just as he was about to order his remaining warriors to exploit the breakthrough, missiles and high explosive projectiles began exploding against the gun boats’ weakening kinetic shields. The sudden appearance of the enemy aircraft negated the tactical advantage the breakout would have given him. The smaller ones were faster, more agile and fired missiles of an advanced design that were very accurate and defied the electronic jamming signals broadcast by the boats. The Hadaran commander wasn’t long in concluding the missiles had to be laser guided and immune to standard counter-measures. His respect for the war-fighting abilities of the primitives rose a notch or two. It would be important battlefield intelligence, if he could contact his superiors.

RaGa’harth had no regrets about the deaths of the assault boat crews. They had died in battle, in the service of the Imperium. It was what was expected of Hadaran warriors. There was probably no other fate awaiting them or him. The only questions were when, where and how. He calmly watched the remaining warriors under his command make final preparations for the next breakout he’d planned. As a diversion, a squad would conduct a frontal assault against the new enemy’s main strength while the rest of his command escaped through the rear of the facility. He had other plans for a last stand. His warriors manning the observation post in the rear of the plant had reported a small contingent of primitives establishing a blocking position across their escape route. RaGa’harth knew he had to act quickly before the lightly manned position was heavily reinforced.

Finally, his senior squad leader, who would lead the diversionary attack, approached and reported all their preparations were completed. RaGa’harth growled acknowledgement and instructed him to gather the warriors around them. It was now painfully obvious to all that they could not realistically expect retrieval and would probably never leave this planet. He looked each of his fighters in the eye and saw a reflection of his own ferociousness and determination to die like a warrior. Although half-starved and a mere shadow of a healthy Hadaran warrior, he stood to his full seven feet of height as he outlined his plan. When he concluded his six-inch long whiskers were rigid and ready to be plunged into the eyes of the enemy. He led them in a renewal of their pledge to die for the Imperium that ended in the Hadaran battle cry. The walls and windows shook and vibrated with the intensity of their thunderous vociferation.

Tolbert ran in a crouch along a drainage swale that fed the detention pond during Perth’s infrequent but heavy rainstorms. The ditch ended at a concrete abutment of a storm culvert that ran under the access road. His bodyguards were close beside and around him. He took a few moments to catch his breath then crawled up to the rim of the road embankment to peer through his binoculars. After he focused, the burning wreck of one of the alien hovercraft came into view. The smoldering body of a Hadaran lay on the ground a few feet away. He could not see its features clearly but he was still mesmerized. It was his first sighting of an alien—a being from another planet, a far distant solar system. He felt a brief moment of pity for a fellow warrior. Poor bastard, it’s no different for your kind, he mused. The alien had made the supreme sacrifice, dying on foreign soil, far from home, at the whim of his superiors and politicians. The moment passed and his hatred of the enemy—the killers of his men—returned full force. Tolbert panned the glasses to take in the Marines. First and third platoons were deploying about a hundred yards away