by Mark Lingane
She scooped up the documents and slipped them back into the folder. Her hands scraped over a sharp indentation in the polished wood. Two dates and times had been definitively carved into the table. Hanson ran her fingers over the engraving. She blinked at the first date. In a thousand-year-old piece of wood, the edges of the carving worn smooth over the centuries, was today’s date.
“We need to get to Cally now.”
38
LAST BROADCAST BY CNN:
Today has been named Icarus. An unprecedented number of aircraft, under no apparent or visible attack, have fallen out of the sky, and people have been cancelling their tickets en masse, even flights home to see sick or dying loved ones.
Share prices for all major airlines are tumbling, with a knock-on effect throughout all supporting industries. Spokespeople from the aviation sector have come out and asked travelers and shareholders to remain calm. Services will be resumed as soon as technically possible, they say.
More planes have fallen today, on one day, than all aviation accidents recorded to date.
Sources close to the president say they have conclusive proof that these attacks are being orchestrated by a known terrorist splinter group based in the Middle East, and as we speak, military forces are being rallied to neutralize those responsible.
The Federal Aviation Administration has ordered all commercial aircraft to be grounded at their current locations. No flights will be allowed in or out of the United States. No plane is permitted to take off, even for domestic flights.
European states are following suit.
We will be back at the top of the hour for a full update.
Everyone in the control room at Royal Air Force Air Command stood to attention as General Hubbard, acting commander of the Joint Forces Command, entered.
“Officer on board,” the chief technician called out.
The crew shook themselves awake from the early-morning reveille.
“At ease,” Hubbard said. He felt excitement and pride as he took his position, for the first time, on the raised podium in the heart of the room.
Large screens layered across the far wall displayed maps of Europe, showing live satellite feeds from major international bases. A row of military technicians and aircraftmen sat in front of two monitors each and a keyboard. Bright strip lighting made the room of technology brittle and cold. The soldiers repositioned themselves into combat readiness.
“Are we ready to go, Warrant Officer?” Hubbard said, as the tall man stepped in beside him.
“Sir, yes sir. The orders have been relayed to Munich and Doha. The fighters are ready.”
Occasionally the screens flickered, blacking out and flashing static before the image stabilized. Two screens switched to live video feeds of the aircraft moving into position on their respective runways.
Hubbard clapped his hands together. “Let’s finish this before it starts. Have you entered the coordinates from the U.S.?”
“Sir.” The warrant officer nodded toward the communications hub, staffed by the chief technician.
She typed several commands and turned to the general. “Instructions queued and awaiting final approval, sir.”
Hubbard smiled. “Let’s add some polish to our moment. Unleash the dogs of war. Or, in this case, the birds of prey.”
The warrant officer turned back to the row of soldiers. “Junior Technician, commence operation. Issue instruction to bases. Launch on the general’s command.”
The technician pressed enter. “Order issued, Warrant Officer.”
Hubbard folded his arms and watched the fighters taxi into position. Pilots radioed to local air control. Voices buzzed, a crisscrossing network of indecipherable accents. Hubbard’s head spun. The screens were awash with data and confusing images.
“Numbers, Warrant Officer,” Hubbard said.
“Twelve Tornadoes and eight F-15s.”
“Will that be enough?”
“Logistics can be limiting, but it sends a loud message, sir.”
Hubbard smiled.
“Incoming comms from Turkey, sir, requesting you to reconsider,” the chief technician said to Hubbard.
Hubbard paused. This was it, the moment where men were tested, a mark was defined, history was made. His head swam under the pressure. A moment. And it was his.
“Launch at will, Warrant Officer. We’ll remind Marshal Saka of the accord they’ve broken.”
“At your command, sir,” the warrant officer said. “Junior Technician, you’ve been given the order.”
The junior technician glanced over at his superior.
She nodded back and said, “Three, two, one, zero.”
They turned their keys simultaneously. The lighting in the room turned red.
“Another message from Turkey, sir,” the chief technician said to Hubbard.
“Ignore it,” Hubbard shouted. The moment was so close. His body flushed with adrenaline.
“Accipitridae are go,” the chief technician called out, smiling as she said it. “Birds are go.”
The array of plane outlines appeared on the screens, looking small against the vastness of the distance ahead of them.
Hubbard cleared his throat as doubt played on his mind. “Are they good pilots?” he asked the warrant officer. “We don’t want any problems.”
“They’re blackbirds, sir. The best of the best.”
Hubbard checked his watch. “What’s the ETA?”
“First wave will strike in fifty minutes. Second wave thirty minutes after that.”
The fighters registered as quick blinks on the display, heading out from their air bases, their white outlines moving swiftly toward the target.
“The sky above is calling,” Hubbard muttered.
He settled down to watch the events unfold, relaxing into the large leather chair fastened to the rear of the podium. A bead of sweat formed on his brow, which he patted away with a handkerchief. The room buzzed with tense energy as the technicians chatted to each other in an indecipherable shorthand. Hubbard stared at the screens, watching the images intently.
The outline of one aircraft flickered and disappeared. Then another. Two screens of live cabin feed went dead.
“Warrant Officer,” Hubbard shouted.
The man glanced up from his tablet.
The voice of one of the pilots came through with an urgent tone. The words “dead” and “failed” floated above the background noise of the room.
“Chief Technician, what’s going on?”
“Dead channel, Warrant Officer. All visuals are lost. We’re operating on minimal audio bandwidth.” She pressed frantically at her keyboard, but the screens failed to respond. “Switching to analog.”
“That’s not the correct response.”
Hubbard’s heart skipped a beat as a third craft disappeared from the screen. Then they all disappeared. Tension in the room mounted and then escalated as the screens at either end of the control room failed. Across the room, screen after screen went black until only the four largest in the center remained functional.
Hubbard’s muscles tensed and his body went rigid. “Where did the aircraft go?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the warrant officer responded. His voice had lost all confidence.
“Well, find them.” Hubbard slammed his clenched fist onto the armrest.
Static coursed through the line. A feeble voice crackled, thin and distant against the suffocating white noise. Hubbard closed his eyes and listened.
“… down … plane down … another … dead … failed …”
“Comms Chief!” shouted the warrant officer. “Get me intel on what the hell is going on.”
“All AV channels on the digital spectrum are failing, Warrant Officer,” the chief technician responded. “I’m getting some signals on social at ground zero.”
Hubbard’s breath was quickening. His hands were trembling. “Fix this, Warrant Officer,” he roared.
The chief technician turned to Hubbard and re
ad off her tablet. “The planes are falling out of the sky, sir. Some have crashed in populated areas and the weapons have detonated. The civilian impact will be significant.”
Three of the four remaining screens went dead. Small dots began to appear on the remaining screen, blinking randomly across the European terrain. The room went quiet as everyone stared at the dots.
“What are they, Warrant Officer?” Hubbard said.
The warrant officer turned to the chief technician. “Please explain.”
“They’re unidentified craft, Warrant Officer.”
The dots continued to multiply.
“Surely that must be an error,” Hubbard said. “There are thousands of them. Where are they coming from?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the chief technician said. “They’re just … appearing.”
“Aircraft do not suddenly appear.”
“No, sir.”
“Why are they only appearing on that one screen? Why are all the other screens dead?”
“I’m not sure, sir. It’s like they want us to see the dots and nothing else. They want to show their might.”
“Pull back; show me the global view.”
The image changed to the Eckert flat projection, with Europe at its center. Dots continued to proliferate across the entire world.
“What kind of enemy is this?” Hubbard whispered.
Screams echoed down the communication lines, gaining in number and volume. The mixed cries of horror and pain combined in a maelstrom of noise.
“Oh, God, they’re all dead,” came a final plaintive voice across the airwaves.
“The sky above is falling,” Hubbard muttered. One eye twitched. The moment had slipped from his fingers, leaving him numb.
Then the remaining screen went black, the lights went out, and the room was left in total silence.
39
CALLY STIRRED AND sat upright. He glanced at his watch and his eyes went wide. Hanson and Chambers burst into his room. His head snapped up as they entered. “They’re here,” he said.
Deadened thuds, distant and muffled, shook the ground gently. Silence echoed for a few moments as the three remained motionless, staring at each other. Then the screaming started.
“Stay here, both of you,” Hanson shouted, disappearing before they could argue.
She ran through corridors full of scattering, terrified people and into the outside world. A silver craft flashed over her head, soaring through the sky and firing white beams of light.
People were panicking, howling and pointing up at the strange aircraft. The craft swooped from the sky, and as it neared the ground bounced back up into the air as an intense shimmer appeared beneath it. A shockwave exploded from the ground, striking the nearest people, instantly smearing mashed and elongated parts of bodies and organs across the ground.
The next ring of people was struck. Their bodies erupted and boiled away into the air. The wave quickly weakened, but it still managed to knock people to the ground, burning the ones closest to the epicenter.
Further away, Hanson felt the wave course through her, almost ripping her apart with the immense force, pushing her backward. A sedan flew through the air and smashed into the ground next to her, spinning over her and rolling to a halt. She dropped to the ground and rolled behind the car for protection. Another vehicle crashed into the first, pirouetting over her and onward, leaving massive divots in the ground.
She glanced around the side of the vehicle and watched the aircraft descend once again. It pivoted on the spot and fired before launching into the air. The closest people were vaporized instantly, and the circle of extermination expanded outward, leaving no one alive. Hanson dived for cover as the beams of white light flashed above her. The roar of power was so forceful it was as though it was ripping the air apart. A sonic boom thundered above her, forcing her to clap her hands over her ears. The heat was unbearable.
The craft flew off and she staggered to her feet. Her clothes were smoldering and her hair was standing on end. She looked around. The west half of the Marriott had been destroyed. The hotel rooms were severed open and nothing but rubble showed where they had been. Smears of red covered the sidewalk. Not a person was left standing. The bodies that had not been vaporized lay scattered. The vehicles that had protected her were barely more than molten lumps of twisted metal.
Another craft roared above her. She spun around and watched it sail out over the Thames. It fired, shooting out a beam that sliced into Big Ben. The magnificent tower cracked and crumbled on one side and slowly toppled over, down onto the streets below and into Portcullis House. She checked her watch: 5.47. Masonry cascaded to the ground, the bells clanging dramatically, then sliding to a stop. The mighty bells of Big Ben were silent.
The craft arced over the river, then swooped to the ground. It fired, and the west end of Westminster erupted in a ball of rubble that blew out into the water.
She ran to the edge of the Thames and looked above her. The city was covered with arcing silver crafts, soaring over the smoking ruins of the iconic buildings. She could hear screams on the other side of the river, but they were quickly silenced.
In the clear, bright sky, several trails of white appeared high and far away. The trails stretched out behind whatever was slowly tumbling to the ground. The sky became full of white lines crisscrossing the pale blue.
She pulled out her phone to check for a newsflash. No signal. She glanced up at the objects, which could only be one thing. The satellites were falling.
She ran back into the hospital along the empty corridors and up to Cally’s room. He was at the end of his bed, trying to pack a small bag with his possessions. She ran toward him. Her head spun and she felt unbearably dizzy. Chambers steadied her as she struggled to stay upright.
Two impacts from outside could be felt through the floor. Grinding metal echoed through the room.
“What was that?” Chambers said.
A metal fist the size of a Volkswagen smashed through the wall, pulling away the thick masonry. The hand opened up and snatched at Chambers, catching his leg. Then it dragged him, screaming, from the building. Dangling upside down over the street outside, from something neither Hanson nor Cally could see, Chambers’ body was torn apart.
Another fist swung in, driving through the rubble and crushing Hanson against the rear wall, squeezing the life out of her as her bones were pulverized and her organs failed.
A voice in her head that sounded a lot like Cally’s said: This is where it starts.
The world went black.
40
HANSON STAGGERED BACKWARD, with the river behind her. Her head felt like it had been squeezed sideways, disorientating her, and she fought to keep balance. She was certain she was in the hospital, but …
There was a shadow, and a silver aircraft flashed overhead then vanished in front of her, accompanied by the cracking of the air as it rushed in to fill the vacuum. She turned and was rooted to the spot. Falling directly toward her were two satellites and accompanying rocket debris, burning brightly as they descended through the atmosphere. Both satellites smashed into the earth several hundred yards from her, creating a crater. A piercing ringing came from the hole.
In a daze, she ran over. In the base of the pit were the remains of the space junk. Pieces of the metal were moving, sliding toward each other. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. The metal clicked together and formed into one massive hand. It reached up and smashed down onto the ground in front of her. She stumbled back, tripping over a fallen body and landing in the dirt.
Rising up out of the ground in front of her was a new shape. It increased in size, twisting, grinding and screeching until it turned into a robot-like machine that towered above her. She couldn’t believe there was enough metal to construct something so large. She lay still with her mouth hanging open, fear gluing her to the spot.
The machine stretched up on two legs, three stories high. Arms unfolded on both sides as it dragged itself out of the crater
and stood tall. It moved among the dead people and started to scan their faces. A projection of each face appeared next to any recognizable deceased. Beside it, Hanson saw a holograph the face of Cally.
A young woman, barely alive, was crawling away from the machine. It scanned her and apparently failed to match the search criteria because a large gun swiveled up out of its back and over its shoulder, aiming at the woman. She held up her hand as a targeting laser swept over her. The robot fired. The bullets tore through her, ripping her body apart and sending her head rolling away.
In a surreal moment, the robot picked up the head and turned it around. The dead eyes stared back. The robot closed its fist and the head exploded.
Hanson slapped her hand over her mouth at the horrific sight, letting out a scream of anguish. The robot quickly turned and targeted her, the laser flashing across her eyes and temporarily blinding her.
Hanson sprinted like never before. Bullets rained down around her, blasting the ground under her feet skyward. She ran past the remains of a truck; the bullets thudded into the metal and spun it away under the force. There was a loud whirring followed by a moment of silence. The robot’s weapon was spinning and smoke was pouring out of the barrel.
Hanson leaped behind another crumpled vehicle body abandoned on its side. Bullets slammed into the frame until it toppled back onto its wheels. The robot scanned the area and found nothing living. It marched over to the remains of the Marriott and started to sift through the rubble.
Hanson wriggled her way out from under the vehicle and away from the giant machine. She glanced back over her shoulder as a large piece of concrete slid down from an upper level of the Marriott. She could make out the movement of several people. The robot also caught the movement. It twisted around and looked down on a man emerging from the fractured remains of the hotel. He stepped forward with his hands raised. Hanson could see that he was slowly moving away from several young people hiding behind a piece of wall. The robot had not detected them.
