Hero

by Richard Mann

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Sir, we’re losing satellite communications! Only a few are working.’

  ‘OK, thanks, Chip. I will call you in half an hour for an update.’ General Scott turned to President Wilson.

  ‘Where’s Fraser?’

  ‘The Secretary of Defense called in sick yesterday,’ Wilson replied. The President and Joint Chiefs sat in conference. Wilson sat hunched on his desk, hands clasped, face white, and sweating as he spoke. An aide passed a handkerchief to the President’s shaking hand.

  ‘If this is what I think it is, we face a situation that makes the Cuban missile crisis look like a tea party.’

  ‘The Defense Department, NASA and US Space Command have used global satellite tracking systems, telescopes, and radar to gather data on this space threat. Some satellites are still working. This object is one hundred miles wide and is not of Earth origin. It’s slowing down. Is this what we have been afraid of sir, an alien invasion?’ said a sombre Scott.

  ‘This is what Cassian hinted at,’ said a stony-faced Wilson.

  ‘Who is Cassian?’ asked one of the Joint Chiefs.

  ‘He’s the leader of the vampires,’ replied the president.

  ‘So they do exist!’ said the Air Force General.

  ‘Yes and so do aliens, probably.’ Scott prompted him to be quiet so Wilson could continue.

  ‘We don’t know for sure, but there is no time to lose. Go to DEFCON 3. Notify NATO, we need to be on a war footing, just in case.’

  President Wilson turned to his general.

  ‘Set up a conference call with Yakoff and Xin. Also, British Prime Minister Johnson and French President Hollande. Let’s try to establish contact. Notify the UN Office of Outer Space Affairs committee to draft a message, keep it simple. And someone get Fraser please, I don’t care if he is sick!’

  Chapter 31

  Alien Contact

  In Space Command, Chip punches up a program to transmit prime numbers. He presses a red button and numbers flash up on the screen; they are transmitted on all frequencies.

  ‘I just hope they are friendly,’ he mutters to himself, a knot of fear in his stomach. He looks around him, at his colleagues. Some are grim-faced, a few younger ones look like rabbits caught in a truck’s headlights. His friend Leonard is dialling his girlfriend under his desk, trying not to be seen.

  ‘Get out of New York now!’ he whispers.

  ‘But I have a hair appointment.’

  ‘Forget your appointment. Get out of New York now. Aliens are coming!’

  ‘Will they be friends with us? What shoes shall I wear?’

  A military space shuttle flies out of the Earth’s atmosphere into space. President Wilson and General Scott watch from the shuttle’s onboard camera.

  ‘What can you see, Commander?’ asked Wilson.

  ‘The object is approaching fast: 10,000, 3,000, 1,000 miles. It’s slowing down—it’s huge, sir!’

  ‘Are you able to send a signal to it?’ asks a white-faced Wilson.

  ‘Trying on all frequencies. Sir my controls are frozen, I cannot steer the ship. I have lost control. I’m locked in some sort of tractor beam!’ Wilson and Scott look at each other. The joint chiefs stand crowded around the screen.

  ‘Sir, it’s destroying all the satellites. The ship is opening—Fuck!’

  Laser beams emit from the lower section of the massive spaceship. Satellites in the immediate vicinity are destroyed like a bat feeding on mosquitoes. The shuttle drifts helplessly towards an opening in the spaceship. The Space Shuttle disappears inside as the screen goes dark.

  Back in the White House, an agitated Scott confronts President Wilson.

  ‘Shall we launch a nuclear strike, sir?’

  ‘We are not certain of their intentions yet, let’s wait.’

  ‘But they have destroyed a bunch of satellites!’ the General exclaims.

  The president looks pale and ashen.

  ‘Shall I invoke the Sirius Protocol?’ Scott looks Wilson in the eye.

  ‘The Sirius Protocol? I didn’t think that was real I thought it was just a ruse to get extra funding for the Defense Department.’

  ‘Oh, it’s real sir, a preparation for an alien invasion. After Roswell, we knew we had to prepare for this eventuality one day. With your permission, I am invoking it now sir. We have to move you to a safe location before it’s too late.’

  Wilson appears shaky and drawn.

  ‘Do it. Fetch my son, he’s in the East Wing. And my wife, she’s at a charity event in New York. Do it now!’

  As he looks out of the White House window, he realizes that the strange creature, Cassian, was right. The question is are they prepared?

  The black monolithic spaceship stays in Earth orbit, unhindered. Eighty smaller, but still huge spacecraft, each one-mile wide, emerge from the mothership at precise intervals, each one as black and ugly as the mothership, making their way around the globe to all the main cities and population centres.

  VIENNA

  Jayesh Jindal, wearing a smart suit, pin backed hair and glasses, is sitting in her office in Vienna, her brain reeling. She is on her third cup of coffee, well beyond her normal limit of one a day. She is an Indian astrophysicist and works for the UN Office of Outer Space Affairs committee. The office is charged with making first contact with aliens, and Jayesh is its ambassador.

  She wipes her brow with a tissue as she strides into the small control centre where her staff of five are in a frenzy of activity.

  ‘Has the friendship message been translated?’ Jayesh puts her hands on her hips.

  ‘Yes ma’am. English to Spanish, Mandarin Chinese, Arabic and Hindi,’ says a smart looking Chinese girl with glasses.

  ‘Transmit now, Li.’

  ‘Okay ma’am.’

  ‘Where is your family?’ asks Jayesh.

  ‘Salzburg, ma’am.’

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this. Leave now. It will be safer than Vienna. Same for the rest of you. I will pack up. Go!’ she shouts. She watches as her staff grab their bags and rush out the door, then she walks to the window. Down below, crowds of people are running in the streets, in all directions, cops failing miserably to control the traffic, cars crashing, and shops being looted. ‘This is how it starts’, she thinks.

  TRAFALGAR SQUARE, LONDON

  Tourists standing underneath Nelson’s column look up as a huge black ship darkens the sky above them, making a deep throbbing and grinding noise. People scream and start running as the object covers the sky, casting a shadow over Trafalgar Square. A man in an expensive blue pin-striped suit talks into his mobile checking his Bloomberg feed at the same time.

  ‘It’s getting dark, darling…people are running.’ Then he looks up open-mouthed. ‘Oh shit!’ as he sees the black ship above him, making an unearthly grinding noise; windows shatter, Nelson’s column wobbles.

  As the sky darkens above him he calls his broker but no one is answering. ‘Got to go short,’ he mutters, ‘Got to go short FTSE!’

  Bloomberg man’s mind races as he runs for the tube, intent on getting home to his wife and family in Berkshire. He pushes an old woman out of the way, and she falls, cursing him. A taxi swerves and crashes into a building. There is panic, shoving and shouting as everyone tries to get into the crowded tube entrance away from the menace in the sky.

  Bloomberg man fights with the massive crowd outside Charring Cross tube. In the distance Nelson’s column wobbles again, then it comes down with a crash – people scream as they run.

  MANILA, PHILIPPINES

  In Manila, it is a beautiful day, a cloudless blue sky - the sun is shining on the tourists and native Filipinos are strolling along Roxas Boulevard enjoying the day. A group of trendy Filipino teenagers are looking out over Manila Bay admiring the view. A boy tickles a girl, pre
tty with long black hair, she giggles. The rest of them dance and listen to music on their headphones as they look at the ships on the water and watch the sun come down for a beautiful Manila sunset. Then a teenage Filipino wearing a baseball cap stops dancing and looks in silence out over the bay, his body rigid.

  Then he points out to the bay.

  They talk excitedly as a dark spot gets larger and larger, ‘What is that?’ a girl asks the boy with the baseball cap. The boy stares, but does not answer. A small crowd gathers around them as the dark object gets closer, their laughter and joking now replaced with an air of disquiet, then trepidation, then abject fear, as the object grows larger, filling the horizon.

  It is an enormous black ship, which darkens the sky above them. It moves over them, above Roxas Boulevard, casting them in shadow. The ground vibrates as it emits a deep throbbing and grinding noise, shattering the windows of the nearby hotels. People scream and start running as the object covers the sky; the hotel buildings shudder, and windows break as the ship takes up its position over central Manila, putting it into darkness.

  There is panic as people run and scream, some going into churches, others going home to pray for deliverance. There is a huge traffic jam as people try to get out of Manila. The busy Manila traffic becomes deadlocked, and people abandon the cars and jeepneys – running in all directions - screaming.

  Outside a church, an elderly nun gets on her knees on the pavement, rosary in hand, looking heavenwards towards the black monstrosity filling the sky, tears in her eyes.

  ‘Diyos protektahan sa amin. God protect us!’

  Chapter 32

  Sirius Protocol

  President Wilson, his young son and three rock-faced and black-suited secret service personnel are going down in a secure White House elevator, deep below the White House. Everyone looks tense. As the steel doors part, and they get out, they see a silver steel train with the American Flag and Seal of the President of the United States emblazoned on it. There are shouted orders and frantic activity as boxes and personnel are stowed onto the train, a stoney-faced Secret Service officer steps towards the President.

  ‘This way sir.’ Wilson and Scott are seated in the presidential car, along with boxes piled high with equipment. The President wipes his brow and gestures towards his staff, ‘Leave us please,’ as he leans forward to his friend General Scott, then faints as his head falls on the table. The knock to his head brings him around.

  ‘Frank! Are you ok?’ asks Scott.

  President Wilson retrieves a pill from his jacket pocket, his hand shaking.

  ‘Anything I can to do to help?’ a concerned Scott helps the President get seated. The train moves away and accelerates to a tremendous speed as they are forced back into their seats. Wilson takes a drink of water and the colour returns to his face, but his voice is weak.

  ‘Bill, protocol dictates that I should hand over to the Vice President if I’m incapacitated, but I don’t trust him. He’s a backstabber, unreliable, power gone to his head. Anyway, he is in London.’

  ‘We managed to get him on an X-37D, but we’ve had no contact for 24 hours,’ replies General Scott.

  ‘The Secretary of Defense, Fraser? Nice guy, but I’m not sure he could cope—he’s also missing. I need loyal and competent people by my side. But when the time comes I want you to take over,’ he says, looking at his General. Wilson leans back and takes another one of his pills. Scott nodded.

  ‘So Bill, what is this Sirius Protocol, and are we ready?’

  ‘Well, sir.’

  ‘You call me Frank in private from now on please - we’ve known each other long enough, and I don’t know how long I’ve got.’

  ‘Okay, Frank. The Sirius Project was first mooted in the 1950s after Roswell. It was classified Above Top Secret so not many people knew about it.’

  ‘You mean you actually found a spacecraft—aliens?’

  ‘An alien craft was found. It was damaged but we recovered it and we have been doing research at Area 51 ever since. The aliens were dead but we have kept them preserved for research. Then in the 1970s, there was a secret meeting of the five permanent members of the United Nations Security Council where it was agreed to set up and fund Project Sirius. Since then France, UK and China have pulled out, thinking it was a waste of money. Only Russia stuck with us. Surprised eh? Over the years we have built some ingenious weapons, some with technology we gained from the alien spacecraft. But to be honest we’re not sure if it will work in practice, against the aliens I mean. Hold on…’

  A panel and a blue phone flash. General Scott picks up.

  ‘It’s Chip again sir, multiple alien spacecraft have entered the Earth’s atmosphere, satellites are down, most communications are down.’ Wilson leaned forward towards Scott. ‘How come space command can contact us?’

  ‘Radio technology, the old-fashioned stuff seems to work best in these circumstances. Sir, can I launch the squadrons of F22s?’

  ‘Do it,’ ordered the President.

  ‘What chance do they have?’

  ‘We have equipped the F22s with the shielding technology we found on the Roswell ship. It’s controlled from Sirius headquarters. That’s where we’re heading now,’ Scott loosened his tie and took off his jacket.

  The President’s son, Michael, walks in with an aide.

  ‘Dad, will the aliens be friends with us?’

  ‘I don’t think so, son.’ Wilson stood up and addresses his son.

  ‘You will need to be brave.’ The president digs in his pocket and puts a Secret Service badge on Michael.

  ‘You stick close to me, you’re my new Secret Service agent. Here’s your badge, son.’

  They salute each other. General Scott smiles and salutes as well.

  ‘Where’s mummy?’ asks Michael.

  ‘She’s in New York son. We’re trying our best to find her and bring her home safe.’ The President looks pale as he hugs his son.

  The red phone flashes as an aide walks in.

  ‘It’s your UN Security Council conference call sir, not sure they’re all there sir.’

  President Wilson picks up the phone in eager anticipation of the events in other parts of the world.

  ‘Prime Minister Johnson, hello Boris, how are you faring?’

  The British Prime Minister sounds out of breath.

  ‘Hello Frank, we’ve evacuated Downing Street and we’re at a secure location - a Sirius base outside London. It’s pretty chaotic, an alien spaceship has appeared over London, the population is terrified, scared the shit out of me, to be honest. We’re engaging now with a squadron of Eurofighters, we’re hoping this new Sirius technology you gave us will protect our planes. What’s that? What’s that noise? Christ! I’ve got to go!’

  Wilson looks up at Scott, who shakes his head.

  ‘Anyone else there?’

  ‘Yakimov here!’

  ‘Alexey! How are you faring?’

  ‘Frank, not well. We have evacuated Moscow, alien craft are everywhere. Most of our Air Force is shot down. Were bunkered down in Siberia. We’re hoping this Sirius technology will help us, our Sukhoi’s have the new technology fitted, the shields, but it’s not working against these alien bastards! I know we have had our differences in the past, but the world must unite now Frank, else we are doomed. To be honest …’

  The line went dead. Wilson and Scott shake their heads in dismay.

  ‘I need a stiff drink,’ the president mutters, head in hands.

  ‘Are you sure—in your condition?’ as General Scott wanders over to a drinks cabinet.

  ‘We need to find a solution to this alien threat, Bill.’ Scott is silent as he pours them a glass of whisky from a decanter.

  ‘Ice please,’ says Wilson as his friend passes him a glass of single malt—Glenmorangie. They sat in silence, trying to comprehend the enormity
of their responsibility to the American people, and to the world at large.

  ‘You know Bill, when I was talking to Yakimov, I felt a sense of camaraderie, like I’ve never felt before. Like we’re all in this together. Maybe this crisis is what the world needs to bring people together.’

  ‘Assuming anyone survives of course,’ replies General Scott, then adds, ‘The enemy of mine enemy is my friend.’

  ‘Yes Bill, I take your point, but it’s more than that.’

  President Wilson leans forward. ‘I heard from Smith at the CIA of a British guy. Captain Morgan—an SAS soldier of superhuman ability, the strength of ten men. Runs as fast as a leopard, indestructible,’ as he took a gulp of whiskey.

  ‘They call him Bulletproof Pete,’ smiled General Scott. ‘We tried to recruit him before but failed. Smith put a request into the British Government to put him on an X-37D in return for Sirius technology. They agreed. The British stopped funding the Sirius project so they’re short of kit.’

  ‘We need answers Bill, and fast. I pray to God he’s on his way.’ The President looks earnest, like a father awaiting the safe delivery of a child.

  ‘God speed Captain Morgan,’ prays Frank Wilson as he finishes his whisky.

  SECRET AIRFORCE BASE - NEVADA DESERT

  An experimental, sleek-looking plane, black as the ace of spades, emerges from an underground hangar, X-37D emblazoned on the fuselage. It looks like a cross between a space shuttle and an SR71 Blackbird, brimming with stealth technology. It launches into the air and quickly accelerates to Mach 3. The skin of the plane shimmers and becomes semi-invisible. Destination: an air force base in the North of England.

  Chapter 33

  Sirius HQ

  SIRIUS HQ COMMAND BUNKER - VIRGINIA

  The train arrives at Sirius Headquarters built deep underneath the Blue Ridge Mountains. The presidential party steps out of the train into a cave-like structure, surrounded by bare rock. Their voices echo through the chamber as they enter a large, cold, steel lift. The lift hums as it moves at lightning speed through the rock. When the door opens, they face a large steel door built into the granite. It has a Sirius logo on the side, an S inside a three-dimensional triangle. It reminds President Wilson of NORAD, built deep inside a mountain. This was Sirius HQ, humanity’s last stand against an alien invasion – ‘it certainly has a feeling of permanence about it’ thinks Wilson as the door slowly opens—the solid steel and titanium door is twelve feet thick. They are met with a blast of air.