Lost in Magadan: Extraterrestrials on Earth

by William Lee

  “I see it, just barely,” Davis said. Slowly, as it approached, the NATT came into focus, the images of blowing snow being projected on its fuselage, just a hair off from the real snow surrounding it.

  “It’s perfectly invisible at 300 yards, but as it gets closer, the invisibility is less effective. Within 25 yards, it’s hard to miss,” West said.

  “Yeah, still impressive. Flying Mach 2 at 30,000 feet and it’s impossible to detect. You can only see it after it’s already up your ass,” Snap said, as the plane stopped its vertical decent and hovered just above the surface.

  The Flying City, appropriately named, had no real wings and sported an aerodynamic fuselage that was 165 feet wide and 174 feet long. The NATT, or Nuclear-powered Tactical Transport, stood 40 feet tall and was triangularly shaped, like the TR-3B, but was white, rather than black. Unlike the TR-3B, the Flying City had a clearly designated front and rear. One smooth, aerodynamic point of the triangular shaped fuselage was a cockpit area with windows for the pilots. The back of the plane had powerful jet thrusters. The other side, which was facing the containers, had a ramp that was extending downward toward Lightning Squad.

  “Holy shit, it’s like a triangle shaped building, how does it take off with no wings?” Williams asked.

  “The antigravity technology reduces its weight by nearly 90 percent. When you combine the fact that it is incredibly light, with the powerful thrusters, it does not need that much lift to take off. One day, antigravity technology will develop to the point where they will be able to float a 200-ton building like an air balloon,” Snap said.

  The ramp touched the ground, revealing the massive interior cargo space. Lined up along one side of the cavernous space were 20 sidewall jump seats.

  “Go, go, go. Get these containers on the ship,” Snap yelled.

  Davis and Johnson grabbed the first container and began running toward the ramp, when several explosions rocked the large craft. It shuttered and dropped several feet closer to the ground. Fire burst from the open hangar, and the ramp crumpled as it was jammed into the rocky surface.

  “What the hell was that?” West yelled.

  “Major Slade, we’re under attack. We took several hits from an energy weapon of some sort. The cockpit is filling with smoke.”

  “Fuck me,” Snap said. “Bob, can you see what hit the transport?”

  “No. I can’t see anything. I’m switching to thermal imaging.” Bob scanned the skies with thermal and still saw nothing. Then, three streaks of light from a cloud slammed into the transport, again.

  “I see the craft. It has optical stealth, hard as hell to see in the snow,” Bob said. “I have marked it with my HUD. Hopefully, it will keep up.”

  “Damn, they have Next Gen fighters. How did they get those here so fast?” West asked.

  “They know we are here; this isn’t going to be easy,” Snap said.

  “Three more direct hits,” the pilot said over the COM. The transport was on fire, but it was still struggling to hover in place.

  “Flying City, this is General Stone Byrd, you need to retreat, now. Get out of there. Major Slade, dig in. Defend the cargo.” Byrd’s voice boomed through all their COMs.

  “Yes Sir,” Snap said.

  Fuck. How long can I defend against the Russian military?

  “What the fuck? They are leaving us here?” Johnson asked, as the transport wobbled away, partially on fire.

  “Bob, you still got that Russian craft in sights?”

  “Yes Sir, it’s hard to see, but I got it marked.”

  “Hit it with the EMP. Taylor, you hit it with the mini gun. Let’s see how it stands up to 2,000 rounds.” Snap ordered.

  Bob and Taylor began firing at the barely visible craft, unable to tell if their rounds were connecting with their target.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Commander Furier stood beside the jump shuttle atop a rocky ledge overlooking the entire crash site. Her team and the jump shuttle were all in chameleon mode, unseen by the men at the crash site. They had left Catrix and Fabris back at the crash site to try and recover an armored vehicle or anything else of use. So far, there was no indication that the squad of Americans had discovered Catrix and Fabris. They had taken the clothes and food back to the survivors hiding in the shallow cave. She and her team were over two miles from the location where the transport had just been attacked by an unseen craft. The transport had taken off and disappeared behind a mountain. It was unclear if the attacker pursued.

  “What is going on?” Genu asked Furier. “Can I see?”

  “Just a minute,” Furier said, as she squinted into the binoculars. “Their transport was just attacked, there were a few small explosions.”

  “Who attacked them?”

  “Impossible to tell. But whoever it was, they had chameleon technology and energy weapons,” Furier said, shaking her head.

  “Do you think that transport was part of our exit plan?” Genu asked.

  “If it was, it’s not anymore. The transport is gone. Looks to me like it was seriously outgunned.” Furier handed the binoculars to Genu and said, “I’m going to tell Forte.”

  Furier sat in the jump shuttle’s cockpit and pulled up the COM. Her armor, while the inspiration for the modern FALOS suit, was technologically inferior when it came to data transmission. The humans, who had little technological development in the arena of space travel, were somewhat advanced when it came to mass data collection, management, and dissemination. Not to mention, her battle armor had been sitting in a storage locker for 30 years while the humans continued to develop theirs.

  “Commander Forte, can you hear me?” Furier spoke into the shuttle’s COM system.

  “Loud and clear. What’s your status, Commander?” Forte asked.

  “As you know, the Americans landed a few hours ago and have been pulling out the Element 115. It looks like their transport plane came to pick it up and was attacked.”

  “Say again Commander.”

  “It was attacked by what appeared to be a craft with chameleon capabilities,” Furier said.

  “And?”

  “The transport was outgunned; it flew away. I cannot confirm whether it was destroyed by the attacker.”

  “Not good. I think that was going to be our ride out of here,” Forte said.

  “From the size of the plane, it looks like it could easily have carried us, all the Element 115, and half our shuttles,” Furier complained.

  “I’m certain that was our extraction plan. We need to be prepared for a longer stay. I’m glad you were able to recover those supplies.”

  “Supplies are going to be the least of our worries when the locals come looking for us. How long can the 70 of us hold out against an organized military?” Furier asked, almost frantic.

  “Commander, calm down. We don’t have to beat their army. All we have to do is hide until the Americans devise another rescue plan.”

  “I want to help the Americans on the ground at the crash site,” Furier said.

  “How? It sounds like the Americans already outgun you. What can you do to help them against an AG Fighter?”

  “I don’t know. But I could add 10 guns to their side.”

  “Ten guns for what? To shoot at an invisible craft. I think not. Stand down. We have been ordered to protect the cargo in our possession, not defend the crash site. Let the Americans on the ground do their job; we will wait for orders from Moon Base,” Forte commanded.

  Furier said nothing.

  “Do you hear me, Commander? That is a direct order. Stand down, and stay put, do not make contact with the Americans until we are told to do so,” Forte said firmly.

  “Understood,” Furier replied.

  Furier took a deep breath and adjusted the COM to contact Catrix, who was still in one of the lower cargo holds of the Impegi. “Furier to Catrix, can you hear me?”

  “This is Catrix. We can hear you. Can you see what’s going on out there? It sounded like an explosion or something.” />
  “It looks like the American’s transport was attacked by an unknown aggressor.”

  “And, do we have a ride out of here?”

  “Looks like it was shot down, total loss. How are your efforts going?”

  “Surprisingly well. Fabris and I may be able to salvage some of this equipment. I’ll keep you posted. Should we contact the Americans?”

  Furier sighed, “You and Fabris stay out of sight for now, but if the situation changes, and they need help, use your own judgment.”

  Furier stood on the ridge, staring through her binoculars at the column of smoke reaching for the sky just beyond the skyline.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Nox had departed the Magadan airport 20 minutes earlier, leaving the timid General and his staff officers with instructions to stay on the base until General Popov arrived and had an opportunity to debrief them. Even though his craft could comfortably seat 10 passengers, Nox enjoyed flying solo. His craft had now been properly prepared for the weather and he had reduced speed to 700 miles per hour so that he would have a better chance of not missing something important on the ground. As he approached the location of where the Russian helo had made last contact he started paying closer attention to the surface. However, the crash site was clearly visible, along with the huge nuclear-powered transport plane sitting next to it.

  Of course, the Americans were already here. How did the MiG-31 fighter pilot miss this huge debris field on the first pass?

  Nox saw a squad of men preparing to load large containers into the large white cargo transport. Nox did not know what cargo they were loading. The only thing he knew for certain was they were not Russians, and they were not supposed to be here. He assumed they were Americans, maybe Chinese; only a few nations could produce the battle armor these soldiers appeared to be wearing. If they were going through all the trouble to load these containers, the contents must be valuable.

  Nox gave it no further thought. Statistically speaking, he knew it was unlikely he would face a technologically superior craft in Siberia. Nox pushed the flight controls into a dramatic dive and opened fire on the large, unsuspecting transport plane. All three shots from his particle beam weapon made contact, slicing through the thin fuselage of the plane. Nox pulled back on the flight controls, and his craft veered to the left. Nox was impressed that the enemy transport plane was not destroyed upon taking a direct hit from his particle beam weapon. He decided to bring his craft around for another attack.

  This time, the armored men were scurrying about like little ants whose hill had been kicked over by some thoughtless bully. He fired again, three more direct hits. This time he could see flames flickering through the craft.

  Silly Americans. They think they can waltz into my country and do anything they want. I’ll teach them a lesson.

  Before Nox could finish his thought, his warning siren went off, and his cabin lights dimmed to red.

  Not again. What now?

  Nox glanced at his control panel and then out the window, just in time to see a mountain of a man firing a mini gun from the hip position.

  What the fuck?

  Nox was not prone to expressing himself by using human slang, but the situation seemed appropriate. Ten more bullets slammed into his fuselage. More warning sirens. Three penetrated the craft’s armor, venting atmosphere. His craft was almost impervious to lasers and EMP weapons. Only the most powerful particle beams could penetrate his shields, of which the humans had none. Even the human’s best rapid-fire heavy machine guns where not effectual when shot from an armored platform because his craft was faster than most bullets. Under normal circumstances, he would be a couple thousand feet up, traveling at such a high rate of speed, that he could easily outmaneuver even a Phalanx Close-In Weapons System. But here, he was flying low and slow, the shooter was not miles away, but only a few hundred yards away. Nox had no time to correct course or speed up. More bullets ripped through his cockpit.

  Damn these Americans.

  As he decided to sweep around and take a shot at the gunman on the ridge, he noticed the transport plane had decided to take off.

  That thing can still fly? Six direct hits and it’s on fire. What’s that pilot thinking?

  Rather than lining up a shot on the ridgeline-mini-gun-toting giant, Nox broke off to chase the transport; figuring that cutting off their means of escape would be better than taking out a sentry.

  The transport attempted to engage it’s Exoskin, rendering it invisible, but the trail of smoke gave away its position. It tried to punch up the speed, but Nox easily kept up with the damaged NATT.

  Nox initiated the auto fire feature of his particle beam weapon, which essentially just shot a constant spread of directed pulsed particle bursts in a spiral formation at the target. Hundreds of individual particle beams ripped through the NATT, shredding it like a log tossed into a wood chipper. The nine-billion-dollar plane slammed into the ground, just beyond the sightline of the Americans.

  Nox was ecstatic. It had been decades since he had personally shot down an enemy craft. He jerked the flight controls to swing back around and take another pass at the Americans, but he quickly thought better of it and continued in a westward direction.

  Why fight the Americans alone when I have reinforcements on the way? They aren’t going anywhere, I saw to that.

  He would have chuckled at that thought, had his vocal chords evolved in a manner that would have allowed for laughter. Instead, he flew 10 miles west and set down his craft on an isolated snowy plain, far from the prying eyes.

  Nox activated his COM system, “General Manpugna, where are you and your crew?”

  “General Bellator, we are about 15 minutes west of Site Four,” General Manpugna said. General Manpugna had been a loyal officer since the beginning, even before crash landing on Earth so many decades ago. General Manpugna had been in charge of securing the perimeter of the Antarctica base, but he had transferred to Moscow to assist Nox with the Council of Three hundred.

  “I’m sitting on the ground, 10 miles west of the site. Land here so we can plan the next move. How many soldiers do you have?”

  General Manpugna said, “Myself, two other Ondagra and 10 Russian operators.”

  “Thirteen. That should do it. We also have several hundred paratroopers in route. They may already be there by now.”

  “Do you think they could take out the Americans before we arrive?”

  “Not a chance. These are not regular Americans; they are all equipped with Next Gen FALOS suits, and they took out a company of paratroopers in minutes. Best we can hope for is that they slow down the Americans until we get there.”

  “I’ve locked onto your COMs signal. We will be on your position in three minutes,” General Manpugna said.

  Nox trotted down the ramp to the icy ground below. A quick survey of the exterior of his fuselage revealed a dozen bullet holes.

  Could have been worse. After all, that giant clone was firing a mini gun at point blank range.

  Nox lifted his helmet visor for a minute to take in the frigid air. Normally, cold temperatures did not bother him, but the ice pellets seemed like little bullets being fired at his exposed face. A saucer shaped craft, identical to his, landed 10 yards from his position. He knew the fighter well, it had been on his interstellar ship when it crashed, rendering them permanent residents of Earth.

  The ramp slid down and General Manpugna crunched through the icy snow toward Nox.

  “Welcome to the battle, General,” Nox said.

  “I’m glad to be here, old friend. It has been a long time since we battled a worthy adversary. I hope you have not grown weak from fighting the politicians with words and paper.”

  “Never,” Nox replied. “I have already destroyed their transport plane. They are sitting ducks waiting to be led to their destruction. I almost felt bad, it was an impressive nuclear-powered plane, with optical stealth. Had I not arrived just as I did, they would have likely escaped.”

  The other
two Ondagra were standing next to General Manpugna. All were wearing the same battle armor as Nox, impervious to any directed energy weapons, vulnerable to only the most powerful, high-velocity rounds.

  “What’s the situation?” General Manpugna asked.

  “There is a squad of soldiers guarding the crash site. They are heavily armed and wearing advanced battle armor – like ours.”

  “Reinforcements?” Manpugna questioned.

  “None that I can tell. I don’t think they have a means of escape either.”

  “So, we have them outnumbered and out gunned. We just walk in and take them out,” Manpugna asserted.

  “Not quite, General. They are heavily armed, have comparable armor, and have the advantage of a defensive position. We should let the Russian paratroopers go in first and soften them up.”

  “They will destroy the paratroopers. You’re sending them to their death,” Manpugna objected.

  “Maybe, but the paratroopers may deplete their ammunition supply, giving us another advantage when we attack,” Nox responded.

  “Very well. When do the paratroopers attack?”

  “In about seven minutes,” Nox said.

  “How many paratroopers are you sending in?”

  “Three hundred. I diverted helos from other sites. They took out the last group of paratroopers in under 15 minutes. They took out the last company of Russian paratroopers as they descended into the trench. It looks like they hit the Mi-26 with an EMP burst so it could not radio for help. I say we give these paratroopers 30 minutes to fight the Americans, and then, we go in.”

  “Smart plan, give the Americans no time to regroup,” Manpugna added.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The NATT had disappeared behind the mountain range, along with the nearly invisible attacker. The squad stood beside the containers, wondering what to do next.

  “Lightning Squad, get these containers back into the ship’s hull. We are going to dig in and prepare for a fight,” Snap ordered.