The Last Marine in the Galaxy (Galaxies Collide Book 1)

by Andrew McGregor

  Static soared in the cockpit as the muffled messages filled their headsets, then they stiffened as a message was directed towards them, an Irish accent breaking through the radio interference, ‘BA 294, this is Belfast Control, descend to minimal height…air battle now escalating over Southern England. Proceed to nearest airport immediately. Military escort en-route for intercept.’

  The experienced pilot glanced across at the terrified co-pilot, his lips tightening, ‘Remember our flight training…we can get through this. Keep focussed and calm.’ He clicked the microphone button again, ‘Roger Belfast control, BA 294 altering flight path to your location. Please advise ETA of military escort.’

  The static crackled again, the voice of the air traffic controller rising as he looked at the flashing lights on the darkened screen before him, ‘BA 294, Military escort ETA five minutes…our prayers are with you. God speed. Belfast Out.’

  The co-pilot’s eyes widened as he grimaced, indicating with his thumb behind him, ‘Best tell them I think…at least get the cabin crew ready to prepare if we have to ditch.’

  The pilot nodded grimly, ‘It must be worse than we thought…cut news channels and anything other than continuous music.’

  Michael sipped his wine again, noticing the seatbelt signs flicker on, then the cabin crew move towards the galley. He leant towards his wife, removing his glasses, ‘Something is going on…they look jumpy.’ He indicated to the immaculately uniformed staff as the curtain was drawn across the galley opening.

  His wife shook her head, smiling again, ‘So suspicious….’

  The mechanical beep sounded again, the pilot’s voice filling the passenger cabin, his tone slightly higher, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, this is you captain speaking again. We are shortly to commence descending more rapidly, please remain calm and stay in your seats. Fasten all seatbelts and read the emergency card in the pocket of the seat in front of you.’

  Gasps went round the cabin as passengers lunged forward to retrieve the emergency cards. The captain continued, ‘We are shortly to be escorted by military jets to our destination.’ He sighed, ‘There is apparently a high alert status in the United Kingdom and all commercial jets have been grounded. We are unable to land at Heathrow and will be increasing speed to shorten our flight time to Ireland, landing in Belfast in approximately thirty five minutes. Heathrow and the airports in England are now closed. Airline representatives in Ireland will advise you of details of any potential onward journeys. Please remain calm, this aircraft is safe and fully functional and you have an experienced flight crew.’ The mechanical beep sounded once more as an indication of the message ending.

  The plane broke through the clouds, the pilot assuming control from the autopilot and pushing the controls forward slightly, the aircraft beginning to descend more rapidly. The co-pilot leant forward, pointing to the screen in front of him, his voice rising, ‘Something is coming up behind us…’ His eyes widened, voice rising frantically, ‘…It’s fucking fast! Evasive Action! Evasive Action!’

  The pilot pushed the controls further, the nose of the plane dipping as the aircraft began to dramatically gain speed, descending at a thirty five degree angle. Dorothy grasped her husband’s hand tightly, hearing screams behind them, her eyes closed and teeth gritted, ‘We didn’t get time to say goodbye to her….’

  The passengers behind begin to talk frantically, their voices rising as the Boeing gathered speed, a woman beginning to cry. Plastic glasses, books and mobile phones fell from the fold down tables as the plane lurched further forward, the power to the engines roaring as the passenger cabin trim began to shake.

  A stewardess burst through the curtain, struggling to stand, her face white with fright, ‘Stay calm, keep in your seats!’ She disappeared from view as she tumbled between the seats, the large aircraft banking sharply to the right. Several overhead lockers burst open, the bags and belongings falling on the passengers below. Screaming filled the cabin as the captain struggled with the controls, his arm muscles tensing as he twisted the large aircraft in the sky.

  Michael was transfixed, staring out the window at the wide expanse of deep blue Ocean below. Holding his wife’s hand tightly, he gritted his teeth, ‘It will be fine dear, just close your eyes….this guy really knows how to fly…’ His eyes widened in horror as a military jet shot past beneath them, the after burn causing the commercial airliner to bounce on the air disturbance. The lockers and cabin began to shake violently as the large plane swept downwards, a jet black Morgon fighter chasing after the civilian aircraft.

  More screaming echoed across the cabin, the stewardess pushing herself upwards between the seats, her nose bleeding. She gasped, ‘Stay calm! The pilot knows what he is doing! Be calm! Stay in your seats please…’

  The large aircraft swooped downwards, levelling out just above the sea, the co-pilot pushing the throttle to almost maximum, the water’s surface surging backwards as the jet engines increased speed dramatically. The Rolls Royce jet engines roared louder as the aircraft surged forward, passengers being thrust back into their seats, the stewardess collapsing forward into the walkway.

  A frantic voice shouted from the back of the passenger cabin, ‘A fighter jet has just crashed into the sea…he was a ball of flame…what the fuck is going on?’ More passengers started screaming as the pilot swung the plane round to the left, the Morgon fighter overshooting above them as it swept past, attempting to determine what the large aircraft was. Cutlery, pens and personal possessions flew across the cabin, several hitting the panicking passengers, more screams ringing out.

  Another male voice shouted from the back of the plane, the tone high, ‘There’s a black aircraft…what the hell was that? Oh my god…we are under attack!’

  The second Morgon fighter fired tracer shells across the sides of the large Boeing, the bright lights flashing past the windows as the passengers cowered in terror in the cabin. The oxygen masks fell suddenly from the ceiling as the pilot yanked his controls, the cabin lights flickering as the power surged through the aircraft. The co-pilot’s arm shot forward, punching the microphone button, his voice desperate, ‘Brace for Impact! Brace for Impact!’

  Several passengers thrust themselves forward in their seats, the stewardess struggling to rise as the plane began weaving dramatically from side to side. The first Morgon fighter swept past the windows, the screams as a number of passengers on that side of the aircraft briefly glimpsed the flash of the jet black gleaming fighter.

  Then they were gone. The two black fighters banking sharply and soaring into the sky, identifying the large white aircraft as providing limited threat. The Boeing flew at almost maximum speed, the pilot and co-pilot soaked in sweat and breathing heavily as they gripped the controls, a thin line of green land visible on the horizon.

  Michael patted his wife’s hand, the tears flowing down her face as the plane levelled out and started flying straight. Sobbing and the murmur of frantic and nervous voices filled the cabin, as he turned to look at the woman he loved and had been married to for over thirty years. His voice a whisper, ‘I think the question of whether there is intelligent life out there has just been answered…and I don’t think they like us very much!’

  His wife nodded solemnly, choking back tears as he handed her a handkerchief, the metallic beep of the intercom sounding again.

  Chapter Four: Fighter Wing

  Daryl Barton stared in amazement as the open lift slowly rose into the centre of the command deck at the top of the Trevakian ship. Low level screens filled the circular room, the blue uniformed operators drawing their hands across the surfaces as they adjusted the controls of the cruiser. Glancing round, he saw the Army Major and Police Chief Inspector looking round in awe at their surroundings, Commander Petaski stood in front of the three men, his hands clasped before him. He looked round, smiling at their stunned silence, ‘Welcome to the command deck, gentlemen.’

  Several video screens flickered to the right side, the Sky Commander indicating for the small
group to stand before them. The command deck had a panoramic view across the Heathrow area, not only from its height at the top of the ship, but assisted by the solid view windows around the rectangular room above the many glowing screens. The viewing glass was shaded, seeming mirrored, allowing little light in, the dim blue lighting in the command deck provided from fluorescent blue strips in the ceiling.

  Commander Petaski stepped over towards the wide video screens, indicating for the three men to follow him. Standing before the largest monitor, he nodded to the operator seated to the right. The operator moved forward and tapped his fingers across the sleek black surface in front of his monitor, the large screen flickering. Admiral Karladen’s face flicked onto the large media screen, his expression expectant as he looked towards the helmet cam on the media soldier before him. Behind the Admiral, in an airport gate room, policemen and security staff stood some distance away staring at the Trevakian frontline media crew.

  Admiral Karladen smiled as he realised the link was live, looking into the tablet sized screen held by the marine next to the cameraman, the screen showing Commander Petaski. The Admiral shifted in his stance, ‘Petaski, are we ready to make the comms?’

  Daryl Barton stepped forward in frustration, seeing two Heathrow staff frantically trying to set up a camera behind the Admiral, ‘For heaven’s sake, why are they not using one of the Incident Rooms, they have camera equipment!’

  Commander Petaski raised a hand for the airport manager to wait, seeing the Admiral smile in response, his hand rising to his ear. The Admiral smiled reassuringly at camera, ‘Patience, Mr Barton. With the technology we are about to use and the darkening situation above us, you will soon see the need to use more remote locations.’ He coughed slightly, turning away from the camera, ‘Are we ready to proceed Sky Commander?’

  Commander Petaski nodded, ‘Yes Sir, we are ready. Any communication trace will be projected at the end of the airfield, Admiral.’ The first officer glanced round at the three men behind him, checking their individual focus, ‘Are we all ready to communicate in conference, gentlemen?’ The three men nodded inquisitively.

  Commander Petaski indicated to the officer sitting at the computer console, ‘Create conference link please.’

  The crewman nodded, straightening in his chair and tapping the black surface again. On the large screen, the link to Admiral Karladen reduced, the window moving to the side. Three other windows appeared on the media screen, the lights flickering across them. The men watched as the Admiral adjusted his uniform, smiling to the camera in expectation and readiness and checking the small screen at the right before him.

  The crewman on the keyboard turned, nodding to his superior, ‘Ready to initiate conference, Sir!’

  Commander Petaski smiled briefly, ‘Good, engage when ready!’

  The crewman turned back to the black surface before him, checking his screen then tapping two of the illuminated symbols. The three blank images flickered, static pulsing across them, then clear pictures forming across them.

  Daryl Barton drew in breath sharply, his finger rising to point at the first screen, ‘My god…it’s the President of the United States!’

  The Police Chief Inspector grinned nervously, adjusting his uniform, ‘The Prime Minister and the Russian Premier too…we could have had a little warning!’ He glared at the sky commander in front of him.

  Admiral Karladen smiled warmly at the surprised looks across the faces of the three world leaders as his live picture appeared unannounced on the screens in their briefing rooms, ‘Good Morning ladies and gentlemen, I am Admiral Karladen of your surprise visitation this morning. Please do not be alarmed…our technology has infiltrated your secure networks, but under the circumstances I thought it necessary.’

  The world leaders nodded sheepishly, the British Prime Minister replying, ‘Erm…good morning! A little bit of a shock, but welcome never the less with the shortage of information we have. Please can you explain what exactly is going on?’

  Admiral Karladen’s features became more solemn, noticing the Russian and American leaders whispering to their aides beside them, then leaning forward, ‘Thank you Prime Minister. I will give a short address if I may. We have projected your communication traces away from your current locations, but it will not take too long for the enemy to realise our little bluff and perhaps target you directly.’ He paused allowing the information to sink in, seeing the aides next to the leaders talking nervously with agents off camera. ‘I am an Admiral in the Trevakian Empire and have been authorised to approach you to seek assistance and offer you our support. We have been defending our galaxy and by coincidence, yours, for nearly one hundred years against a determined and tenacious enemy. The Morgons are a vicious alien race determined to destroy both our civilisations and colonise our many planets. The battle you are experiencing in the skies above your England is against only one of their ships and garrisoned fighters. We urge you to join us in this struggle and extend the hand of peace from our Empire to your planet if we may.’

  The British Prime Minister frowned, leaning forward, ‘Admiral, our fighters are being shot down over our own airspace! This is your idea of extending the hand of peace and cooperation?’

  The Admiral’s face flushed, ‘Yes, I understand your scepticism Prime Minister, but we were not aware we had been followed by the Morgons. Yes, we understood it as a possibility, but hoped we could travel here safely to warn you.’ He hesitated, seeing the doubtful expressions on the leaders’ faces, ‘Perhaps another thought may assist you grasp the severity of the situation. You are currently fighting an air campaign against only one of their ships…a ship that was sent to stop us reaching you, thankfully a race we won before they destroyed us.’ The Admiral leant forward, looking solemnly into the camera, ‘Take a moment to consider a fleet of their ships and exterminators orbiting you planet and exactly what kind of campaign that would be…at present the Trevakian Empire is fighting for not only our survival, but yours as well. The reason we come to you is simple…we are beginning to lose that war!’

  The Russian Premier cleared his throat, the signal for his translator, advising he wished to speak, ‘We of the Russian Federation will need to know more of the enemy’s intent Admiral. Why do you think they will target us?’

  The Admiral nodded, ‘Justifiable question Sir. We have intercepted a transmission that indicates your planet is the next target when we are subdued. The Morgons are sweeping through the galaxies colonising and reaping planets of their minerals and wealth. The survivors on subjugated planets are treated as slaves and also…well, put basically…food for the invaders as they move on towards the next planets or galaxy. It is really an easy choice and one that time does not permit you to dwell on. My apologies, but it is…join us or…be destroyed!’ The Admiral shook his head in frustration, ‘Put simply, they will come for you next!’

  The American President raised his hands in exasperation, ‘You offer us peace and in the same breath advise us we are about to be destroyed?’

  The Admiral smiled weakly, tears of emotion welling in his eyes, ‘I understand your reaction, it would have been mine…..we realise now we should have come to you some years ago, but believed then we could win and not disrupt your existences, allow you to develop on your own. The Trevakian Empire is a peaceful union of planets that is now threatened…it took some time for our leaders to be convinced to approach your planet. We can provide substantial upgrades to your entire existence if you join us, virtually eliminating disease and providing a considerable number of other benefits. We ask for manpower in return and for you to join the struggle…’

  The Admiral hesitated, looking up, seeing the intelligence officer behind the cameras waving at him, his hand to his earpiece. Looking back at the screen, the Admiral frowned, his voice rising, ‘Gentlemen, I must ask you to leave your offices immediately. The Morgons have infiltrated our covert projections and will soon be able to target your locations directly! I suggest we re-convene this meeting later
in the day when you have had time to think and discuss. Be aware the enemy will be attempting to track you and intercept messages, use scrambling and other methods of concealing your conversations. I will provide an intelligence officer to assist.’

  The Russian Premier leant forward, slowly rising to his feet, his eyes wide with shock, ‘The Russian people have faced an enemy like this before, but seemingly not as strong as this and then we ignored the initial warnings! I confirm, repeat…confirm the Russian Federation is now aligned with the Trevakian Empire. We will advise the Chinese, our allies and neighbouring states to join us immediately. I will send an envoy to you at once. Please send an intelligence officer to us so that we may coordinate military efforts and receive your upgraded technology, particularly military…it seems time is now desperately short!’ He thought for a second, then a decisive look crossed his face, ‘Fifty percent of Russian soldiers are now available for deployment at your request…I suggest my comrades in the west also seriously consider joining us!’ He grinned ironically as his aides formed around him, urging the premier to leave, ‘Western democracies always take longer to decide Admiral!’ Then his screen went blank, the transmissions in the Kremlin all cut by Russian intelligence.