Before Fadi could respond his cell phone rang. The caller I.D. said only that it was an unknown number.
“You need to leave immediately,” said the voice on the other end of the line without exchanging any pleasantries.
“Who is this?” Fadi questioned.
“A friend of the cause. Get out now!”
Fadi did not hesitate after hearing the click that indicated the other man had ended the phone call. “Everyone out!” Fadi shouted to the three other men in the safe house. He ran towards the door and waved frantically at his companions.
The men immediately complied with their leader’s order. Fadi waited as the three men exited before leaving himself. He turned back to look at the safe house as he reached the opposite end of the street. Seemingly out of nowhere, two Apache attack helicopters roared into view. The lead helicopter unleashed a barrage of small rockets at the safe house. Fadi was forced to turn back as the explosion consumed the building. Wreckage fell into the street a few feet in front of Fadi and his comrades.
“Fucking—” Fadi’s subordinate started while dusting himself off.
“There’s no time!” Fadi shouted. “It’s not safe here. Disperse and I will contact you all later.” Fadi waited for the other men to start off before departing.
Daniel Nelson switched on his radio to send a message to the entire flight. “Johnson, if it’s not too much trouble would you mind terribly staying in formation?”
“Sorry, sir,” Johnson’s voice crackled back over the radio.
Daniel looked out the right side of the cockpit of his Harrier jet to observe Johnson’s reaction. As the lead plane, Daniel’s Harrier was in the front of a standard figure four formation. Behind him were two other Harriers to his left and right respectively. Johnson’s fighter slowly increased speed and eventually fell into the proper position, back and to the right of the fighter that was itself back and to the right of Daniel’s.
Daniel shook his head and turned back to look at his instrument panel. He had been involved in training for several years and had grown consistently more agitated over that time. Compared to many of his fellow officers, Daniel had an illustrious combat career. Given the state of the British Navy and the relative lack of opportunities, Daniel did not feel he had truly accomplished much over the course of his career though. He had missed the small war with Argentina over the Falkland Islands. He had seen only a limited amount of combat in both Persian Gulf wars. He had never engaged in a dogfight nor shot at an enemy aircraft. Dwarfed by the legacy of his father, Daniel often felt his accomplishments were entirely inconsequential.
“All right lads, that’s the last checkpoint,” Daniel dispassionately announced over the radio. “Let’s go home.”
The novice members of his flight had no more errors as they made the short trip back to the H.M.S. Ark Royal. Daniel circled the aircraft carrier and observed the landing of the other three jets. They landed vertically on the flight deck like a helicopter would. They had been an engineering marvel thirty years earlier, but the aging Harriers were no longer considered to be impressive. Their ability to take off and land vertically just reminded Daniel that British carriers were too small for real fighters.
Daniel landed and disembarked from his plane in a bad mood. It was a short trip to the conference room, but it was long enough for him to dwell on the sad state of the British military. He had been mesmerized growing up listening to the war stories of his father. Daniel’s father, a Royal Air Force fighter ace, had shot down eighteen German planes during World War Two. His father had spoken often about camaraderie and the noble struggle against fascism.
And what have we had to be proud of since? Daniel thought to himself. Beating up on Argentina? Helping the Americans brush aside the so-called Iraqi army?
Daniel shoved his hands into the pockets of his flight suit and stared at the deck as he continued his trip. The Ark Royal was an Invincible class carrier which Daniel knew was far more impressive than it sounded. The ship was a fraction of the size of a modern U.S. carrier like the Harry Truman. Her crew compliment was a sixth of the size of her American counterparts, with just over a thousand men aboard. After WWII the cash-strapped British Navy had developed a small, mobile surface fleet. With its colonies gone and its international influence dwindling, the military had accepted its new fate. It had become subservient to the United States, Western civilization’s super power.
The debriefing did not last long as Daniel was not in the mood. After half-heartedly chewing out the men for a sloppy formation structure, Daniel retired to his quarters.
His room was sparsely decorated and coldly bland. His personal effects consisted only of a weathered photo of his parents that had been taken years before they had died. It was a staged photo from an official function which seemed fitting to Daniel. A candid photo of his parents would not have seemed right and would have been hard to come by regardless. He had no other pictures of family. There was no wife or children waiting for him back in England.
Daniel slumped onto his cot, relieved that the aggravating training flights were over for a few days. The Ark Royal was heading north of her current position in the channel between Great Britain and France. She was to take part in a decommissioning ceremony at Scapa Flow for a British destroyer that was even older than herself. Scapa Flow in Scotland had been the homeport of the Royal Navy during the Great Wars but had long since lost its importance. To Daniel, it seemed like a fitting place for the retirement of an old ship from a lackluster navy.
Sleep did not come easily for Daniel. He knew in just a few years he would be drawing a pension. He did not mind that his retirement would be devoid of friends and family. He was much more depressed about his military career. Had he known about the events that were going to unfold in just a few hours, Daniel would have been too excited to sleep. After a half hour of tossing and turning he drifted off, unaware that he would soon be a fighter ace like his father.
Julie Kemmer sat motionless inside her office. Anyone looking in from outside would have thought she was staring at her computer screen. However, like so many occasions before, Julie was staring at the wall well beyond her computer. The wall was bare and held no particular significance for Julie. It was merely where she happened to be looking when her mind wandered off.
“Jules?” a voice asked from the doorway.
Julie snapped back to reality after hearing he name. She noticed one of her fellow professors in the doorway after turning towards the voice. The professor had a small smirk on her face. It was not the first time she had caught Julie daydreaming.
“Hey Terri,” Julie responded. They both had doctorate degrees, but they preferred to dispense with formalities. Even in front of students it was rare for one to address the other as “doctor” or “professor”.
“You’re ten minutes late,” Terri responded. She tapped at her wristwatch even though Julie was too far away to make out the hands.
“Oh, shit. Thanks,” Julie responded.
She jumped out of her chair and flashed a shy smile to Terri before running out of the room and down the hall.
The brand new Foreign Languages Department building of the University of New South Wales was quite beautiful. It was painted in several tones of soothing blue, and its modern architecture was spacious and inviting. Julie had no time to appreciate the aesthetics as she barreled down the hallway to her classroom.
“Sorry I’m late everyone,” she yelled as she entered the classroom and walked up to the podium. She looked out at the sixty students as she took a moment to catch her breath. “I’m Doctor Julie Kemmer from the linguistics department. I’ve been living and teaching here in Sydney for five years now although I grew up in Canberra. I’m sure many of you have already heard my adoring nickname. Yes, I am The Freak. I am fluent in fifteen languages. If you see me in the halls feel free to ask me to translate a random phrase into Farsi or Cantonese. Everyone else seems to like playing that game with me. Now for this course my office hours will be
…”
Julie regained her composure and continued her introduction of the course. She added more information about herself including her goldfish, which was named Killer, and her passion for cycling. However, she never once addressed the elephant in the room. It was obvious even to the students in the back of the class. Most of the left side of her face was disfigured. “The Freak” nickname was not simply because of her language abilities. The students could tell that it was not a birth defect. What they did not know was that it had not been accidental either.
“Frankly, I think these economic indicators are amazing,” started one of President Dyer’s economic advisors.
Dyer nodded confidently while looking down at a packet of papers. While he had many strong suits, numbers was not one of them. He had absolutely no clue what any of the information meant. He looked up at his press secretary as the economists started debating. The press secretary had a look of absolute boredom on his face. When he caught the President’s eye he made a face as if to say, why the hell am I even in this meeting?
President Dyer chuckled at his poor press secretary which brought the debate to an abrupt close. “Uh, so unemployment dropped sharply in the month of May?” he asked. He was embarrassed to be caught not paying attention by his underlings.
“Yes, sir,” responded one of the advisors. “We haven’t had a six month trend this good in three decades. I expect you’ll get a nice boost in your popularity rating once this report goes public,” the advisor concluded.
Dyer and his advisors turned towards the press secretary. They stared at him for a few seconds before he processed what had just been said.
“Oh, yeah. Probably not actually… maybe a point or two if we’re lucky. But sixty-five percent approval is ridiculously high for a second term president anyway.”
“It’s all right,” President Dyer added. “It’s not like I have much control over the economy anyway.”
Some of the advisors, mostly the ones who had worked with Dyer for a long time, let out fake gasps of horror.
“What? You were all thinking it, don’t lie,” Dyer said playfully. “With such a high approval rating you’d think I’d be able to get something through Congress though.”
“Blame the constituents Mr. President. They loved you but voted in a Democratic legislature,” replied the press secretary. A long time friend of Dyer’s, the press secretary was more comfortable speaking with the President of the United States than the team of economic advisors.
“Don’t even get me started on that. The American voters: an enigma wrapped in a paradox… surrounded by that third thing.”
The chief of staff suddenly entered the Oval Office before the economic advisors could finish their sycophantic laughter. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. President, but you’re needed in the Situation Room.”
Dyer stood up followed by his press secretary and economic advisors.
“No Frank,” Dyer said, addressing his press secretary. “Stay and finish up. You can discuss our media strategy with the team.”
Dyer tried desperately not to smile as his press secretary shot him a cold stare. Turning away from what seemed like, but was certainly not, the most boring meeting of his life, President Dyer walked out of the Oval Office beside his chief of staff.
“Little earlier than I asked for Bill, but I admire your spunk. I like the initiative kid. You’re going to go places in this town,” Dyer joked to his chief of staff, Bill Shepard.
Bill’s face was stone cold. He walked very quickly and was not in the mood for humor. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “This isn’t the prearranged bailout.”
Dyer’s tone immediately became serious. “What’s wrong?”
Chapter Three
President Dyer had never seen the Situation Room of the White House so chaotic. The nerve center of the executive branch of the federal government during a crisis, the Situation Room was typically filled with level-headed generals and assistants. Dyer had tried several times to calm the room down in an effort to get the new information more clearly. He had quickly given up on that strategy.
“How long ago did the first reports come in anyway?” Dyer asked of his chief of staff.
“About twenty minutes,” Bill Shepard responded. “We thought they were meteors at first, but then more and more of them kept popping up on the screens.”
“They definitely aren’t meteors,” said the Air Force chief of staff. He had overheard the conversation from about five feet down the table. He put his hand over the receiver of his telephone and turned to address President Dyer. “New estimates show about three thousand ships. That number still might increase.”
The revelation of the size of the fleet approaching Earth brought quiet to the room. There was a lengthy pause as the men and women at the table looked at each other in stunned silence.
“This is unreal,” the Army chief of staff finally said.
“We should mobilize immediately,” another general said. “Full mobilization, and federalize the National Guard.”
“Now hold on we don’t know what their intentions are. There’s no reason to think they’re hostile,” Bill replied.
“No reason to think they’re hostile?” the general mock. “What do you think it is, a mission of diplomacy? You don’t send three thousand ships on an envoy mission!”
“We wouldn’t do that. This is an entirely alien culture,” Bill responded, ignoring the irony of his word choice. “It’s impossible to say what their intentions are.”
“Have we received any communications from them?” President Dyer, who was the most calm of those assembled, asked.
“Nothing obvious although who knows how they would chose to communicate. We’re redirecting our resources towards the… fleet. Any reports of communications should be coming in shortly,” responded the Air Force chief of staff.
“Well they’re little green men. They’re probably going to try and communicate telepathically right?” the Marine Corps chief of staff said sarcastically.
No one was in the mood to laugh.
“How the hell did they get this close without us noticing? Somebody call the S.E.T.I. institute and see if they have any information,” Bill angrily demanded.
“S.E.T.I, why does that sound familiar?” asked Dyer.
“It’s short for Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence. We cut their federal funding in last year’s budget,” Bill responded.
“Oops,” Dyer said with a smirk.
“S.E.T.I. only observes a fraction of the night sky,” the Air Force chief of staff explained. “They wouldn’t have noticed the fleet unless it just happened to be in the direction they were looking. Besides, we’re starting to plot their course now, and we’ve determined that they were traveling at a very high speed.”
“All right, let’s go ahead and mobilize as a precaution,” Dyer said. “Right now I need to be able to communicate with the aliens. What are my options?” Dyer asked. He was hit with a surreal feeling as soon as he finished speaking. He allowed himself a brief fantasy and imagined that the entire scenario was all a practical joke. Aliens approaching Earth? How the hell does something like this happen?
There was another awkward silence as those assembled looked at each other and hoped that someone else would answer the President’s question.
After a few seconds Dyer raised his voice and yelled, “Come on! We’ve got a contingency plan to invade Portugal for Christ’s sake! Surely someone at the Department of Defense has worked up a strategy for something like this!”
The Secretary of Defense reached for the telephone in front of him. “I’ll check.”
President Dyer stood up and ran his hand through his graying hair. Typically everyone else in the room would stand after the president as a sign of respect. Today they were far too distracted to stick to protocol. Dyer leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the long Oak table with both hands. He took a deep breath and tried to relax before looking up at the maps and screens at the far end of the ta
ble. They were focused on the Middle East and Taiwan Straits. The terrestrial threats suddenly seemed inconsequential. Dyer thought back fondly to the days he had been in the room because China was rattling its saber.
“We’re doing fine,” Bill whispered while patting Dyer’s shoulder reassuringly. “Of course a situation like this is going to be chaotic, that’s to be expected. Things will calm down once we get more information. Besides, there’s no guarantee that this is what we all think it is.”
“You really believe that?” Dyer asked. He waited as his chief of staff shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. My gut tells me this is bad, and I don’t particularly need my gut to tell me that. I’ve got a room full of the brightest military minds in the world who are acting like they just got kicked in the stomach. I don’t want to go down in history as the guy manning the helm when the world ended.”
Dyer waited impatiently for what seemed like an eternity but was closer to three minutes. No new information was coming in and Dyer was getting agitated. “This is our first contact with space aliens, right? You boys haven’t been hiding Martian corpses out in New Mexico or anything?”
“No, Mr. President,” the Air Force chief of staff responded. He was annoyed that Dyer was interrupting his attempts to get more information. “There has never been any evidence of intelligent life outside of Earth… unless you count that thing they picked up in Ohio,” he concluded. He returned to his phone call as if the questioned had been answered.
“Thing from Ohio?” Dyer inquired.
The power of the Air Force chief of staff’s response startled everyone in the room including the President. However, it was not to address Dyer’s query. “We have multiple incoming bogeys! NORAD is tracking… more objects than they can count. Thousands, sir. Maybe tens of thousands.”
The Unlikely Defenders Page 3
