by Ben Hammott
Realizing its furtive movements through the cramped tunnel were no longer necessary, the creature abandoned its stealthy approach and crawled faster towards its prey.
Though already scared enough because she couldn't see what was coming or how close it was, Lucy's imagination increased her fear as she imagined the thing biting at her feet and legs, devouring her from the toes up. She whimpered as adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream and pushed her onward.
First Incursion
FIGHTING THE GUSTS that blew across the choppy sea, the helicopter swooped towards the colossal iceberg and hovered a foot above the ledge of ice at the end of the tunnel the scientists and Haax had used to escape from the spaceship. A six-man team stepped out with weapons held ready to suppress any threat and formed a defensive position around the tunnel entrance. The seventh team member, who rarely ventured so close to the action and whose thoughts had dwelt on the alien monsters since he had been informed of their presence aboard the spaceship, wasn't so eager to leave the relative safety of the helicopter. He reluctantly stepped onto the ice with his eyes focused on the dark tunnel opening. As the helicopter rose into the air behind him, spraying his back with wind and ice, he knelt behind the defensive team, placed a rigid plastic case on the ground and speedily assembled a small drone. He stepped back and used the control pad to power up its four spinning rotors and watched the drone rise into the air. He moved it forward, spun it around and peered at the small screen attached to the remote control. The high-definition image of the armed men caught in the drone's camera was crystal clear.
Sergeant Vincent Monroe, the battle-hardened squadron leader, glanced at the drone hovering in front of him and then at its operator. “All set, Fitch?”
Fitch nodded, wishing the Sergeant would lower his voice so he didn't draw any monsters that might be close by to them.
Sergeant Monroe spoke into his helmet mic, “Alpha Team leader to Control, are you receiving the feeds?”
The men gathered in the hastily set up control room aboard the container ship, Starlight― charted at great expense by the American military and stationed a short distance from the large iceberg― stared at the screens showing feeds from Alpha Team's helmet-cams and the drone.
Corporal Giles Norton cast his gaze over each screen before answering, “All crisp and clear, Sergeant. Send in the drone.”
Every eye in the control room followed the drone's progress through the tunnel. Its bright light reflected off the ice tube it sped along before it reached the spaceship and emerged into the large hangar. The men gasped at the group of spacecraft caught in the drone's light.
Rear Admiral Thaddeus Thomson, the officer in charge of the salvage mission, pointed at the screen showing the drone's feed. “They must be the smaller spaceships the scientists mentioned.”
Todd Fleming, NASA's chief science advisor, and Bradley Clines, head of NASA's R&D program, almost salivated as they studied the impressive shuttlecraft the drone focused on. “The technology aboard even one of those crafts could advance us hundreds or even thousands of years,” said Fleming. “It's imperative we salvage one.”
“Two would be better,” added Charles Mason, the British representative, who was determined Britain would not be left empty-handed when the salvage mission was completed and the spoils allocated. The frosty reception he had received from Admiral Thomson when they had first met hinted that sharing alien technology was not high on the man's list of priorities.
“I wonder what propulsion they use,” pondered Clines aloud. When he had first been informed of the unbelievable discovery and alien monsters he was certain the scientists had been mistaken and had suffered a group hallucination brought on by gases trapped underground. It was only after he had seen the photographic evidence and satellite scans of the spaceship were his doubts firmly banished. His dream and those of many of his fellow colleagues might now be realized in their lifetime; humans would travel to far-flung planets and perhaps even visit new galaxies, something they had only dreamed of doing before. He almost shook with anticipation of the wonders to be discovered.
“Does it really matter?” said Admiral Thomson, a little irritably. Though he knew the importance of the discovery and its possible benefits to mankind and humans ever constant desire to explore space, he first had to complete the mission assigned to him by the President of the United States of America. If the damn scientists and engineers would just let him be to concentrate and get on with it, there would be plenty of time for them to drool over and play with their new toys later.
“Anything has to be better than strapping two giant fuel-bombs to every shuttle you shoot into space.” He found it hard to believe astronauts were prepared to take the risk, especially after the horrific 1983 Challenger disaster.
Mason glanced at the Admiral and felt it provident he reinforced Britain's involvement in the mission in case it failed to go as planned. “If all we manage to salvage is one of the small spacecraft, our joint mission will still be a success.”
Thomson glared at Mason. He had been against letting the British aboard and had seen no reason to hide the fact from the pompous man. However, the President insisted their English allies be involved, up to a point. He briefly wondered when that point would be reached. If the decision had been his to make it would have already passed. He returned his gaze to the fascinating images relayed from the spaceship and watched the drone fly around one of the larger cargo transport vessels and hover in front of a large door.
Corporal Norton pointed at the screen. “If the power's still on and that door opens, we'll have access to the cargo bay and the hundreds of storage pods the scientists described.”
Admiral Thomson's orders included the securing of the Aladdin's cave of alien stores and he was keen to fulfill the mission parameters as soon as possible before something went wrong. The huge spaceship and what lay inside was an unknown he wasn't altogether comfortable dealing with. To add to an already difficult situation, a storm was heading their way.
“Send Alpha Team in to find out if the door opens. If it doesn't, we'll have to cut through it,” ordered Thomson. “According to the scientists the cargo bay will be free of monsters, but warn them not to enter the next room until it's been gassed. That's the domain of those alien insects.” Even with the firepower each man carried, Thomson knew they wouldn't be much use against thousands of things so small and deadly. A delay so early in the mission would be disastrous to his timetable.
Corporal Norton relayed the Admiral's instructions to the Alpha Team leader.
The drone flew back to the ice tunnel and observed the marines approaching the hangar. Fitch walked slower at the rear as he continued controlling the drone. When a deep-throated shriek pierced the silence, he spun the drone and sped it across the room to seek out the source.
When Monroe halted the team, they stared at the hangar entrance a few yards away and the darkness within.
Garcia glanced at his team mates. “What in hell's name was that?”
Mitchell smiled at his nervous companion and tapped his assault rifle. “Does it matter?”
Garcia shrugged. “Suppose not.”
“It could only be one of those alien monsters the scientists encountered,” added Cobb, a little nervously.
“I wouldn't worry,” said Washington. “Those scientists survived with little more than their wits. With the firepower we're carrying the aliens won't stand a chance.”
Monroe directed his gaze ahead. “Keep in formation and your eyes peeled. We're after technology, not live alien specimens, so kill anything that moves that isn't us.”
The men in the control room aboard the container ship were staring at the drone's camera feed screen when the shriek rang out. They had reached the same conclusion as Monroe that it had originated from one of the alien monsters. Fascinated to set eyes upon a live one, their heads moved slightly nearer.
Norton shifted his gaze from screen to screen. It was like watching a live horror movie. “I tho
ught the scientists said the hangar was free of monsters.”
“That was then,” said Fleming. “When the ice broke free it might have caused damage to parts of the ship, allowing the aliens access to areas they couldn't reach before.”
Admiral Thomson creased his brow. Whatever the reason, that the creatures had ventured into the hangar was one of the many unknowns that concerned him.
The men concentrated on the screens as Sergeant Monroe turned his head and looked at the drone operator.
“You see anything, Fitch?”
Fitch shook his head. “That doesn't mean something's not in there though.”
“Stay here and keep searching and if you see anything, you be sure to let us know.”
Fitch, concentrating on controlling the drone via the small display, nodded.
Sergeant Monroe led Alpha Team forward.
The men's cautious footsteps barely made a sound when they entered the hangar and roamed their weapons around the large space they crossed through. The flashlights attached to their weapons followed their amazed expressions wandering over the shuttlecraft they moved between. The groans and creaks of the hull heightened the tense atmosphere and their anxiety.
The men in the control room were glued to the screens.
Sergeant Monroe halted his team with a raised fist when he heard clicks on the metal floor growing steadily louder, nearer. His light focused on the patch of darkness the noise originated from. A monster the size of a large dog entered the beam. It neither glanced at the lights that followed it or halted its slow, menacing stride.
Alpha Team's weapons and gazes, that were an equal combination of fascination and concern, followed the fearsome beast. Though they had seen the scientists' photographs of some of the alien monsters, it did little to prepare them for the creature that had just appeared. It was shocking even for the battle-experienced men.
“I think it's a Space Rat,” whispered Mitchell, recognizing it from the description the scientists had given of the ferocious creature.
The vicious rat, as if noticing their presence for the first time, stopped and turned its gaze upon the men. Its eyes reflected their lights and gave it a supernatural appearance.
“Why is no one shooting it?” asked Garcia, his finger poised on the trigger.
“I want to see what it does,” Monroe answered. “We might learn something.”
Terrifying shrieks rang out from all around them.
The men in the control room stared in horror at the glimpse of monstrous yellow eyes and a mouth choked with sharp teeth from Garcia's camera feed before the image turned to static.
“The lone rat was a distraction,” realized Thomson. It hinted they had intelligence and caused him further concern.
Gunfire echoed through the hangar.
Monroe's feed showed Space Rats being riddled with bullets. The dead or wounded were immediately fed upon by others of their kind. Monroe spun when something shrieked close by. A rat leaped at him. Claws ripped at his face. He fell to the ground firing until the weapon fell from his hands when another rat clamped its jaws around his wrist, severing veins and biting to the bone. When the rat perched on his chest ripped out his throat, Monroe's final pain-wracked breaths gurgled blood.
The drone rushed to the team and presented those safe in the control room an aerial view of the attack.
Though many rats lay dead, there were plenty of others eager to take their places.
Mitchell fired a burst of bullets at the one that leaped at him, but his panicked reaction ruined his aim, only grazing its shoulder. The rat collided with his chest and knocked him backwards. He stumbled and tripped over the vermin feeding on Monroe’s bloody corpse. He slammed the rifle into the rat about to sink its teeth into his neck, cracking its skull. He pushed it off and rolled to the side but before he could climb to his feet a rat landed on his back. Claws ripped at his clothes and skin, causing equal damage to both. Mitchell's scream was a mixture of pain and fear when he glimpsed others running to join the feast. There would be no escape if they reached him. He struggled to his feet, aimed the rifle over his shoulder at the creature clinging to his back and fired. The rat's head exploded and it fell to the ground. Mitchell sprayed bullets at the alien vermin rushing at him. The weapon clicked on empty. With no time to reload, he used the weapon as a club, smashing rats left and right.
A Space Rat perched on the top of the nearby cargo shuttle observed the carnage taking place below while it bided its time and waited for a chance to feed. The air was filled with the delicious scent of the strange creatures' blood and it salivated at the thought of tasting it. It watched one of the two-legged creatures battling with its brethren and saw its chance. It altered its position so it was directly above its chosen prey and jumped.
When Mitchell sensed a new threat, he turned. Claws and teeth filled his vision. Excruciating pain quickly followed. Claws ripped at his face, slicing through his eyes and skin. Foul carnivorous breath spewed from the jaws that stripped away his flesh. Mitchell stumbled. His screams joined the shrieks that surrounded him. More rats eager to taste his flesh joined the feast, biting and ripping his body to shreds as they each claimed a piece. Blood sprayed. Mitchell died.
Lovell and Washington fared no better. When the Space Rats attacked from all directions, they teamed back to back and had at first managed to defend themselves, but when more rats leaped from the darkness they were soon overpowered. Unable to defend themselves from the multiple savage attacks, the men fell to the ground. The rats fervently feasted and others lapped up the warm blood pooling around the marines' corpses.
Though Fitch was no coward, he had seen enough to recognize the battle had been lost. If he could have helped his teammates he would have, but there were too many Space Rats for their small force to defeat. Alpha Team was beyond his or anyone's help now. He landed the drone heavily on top of a shuttlecraft and ran back along the ice tunnel.
Some of the Space Rats that had yet to satisfy their hunger noticed the fresh source of food's flight to safety and gave chase. Fitch glanced behind at the mass of claws and teeth in pursuit and threw the drone control at them. One of the Space Rats caught it in its mouth and crunched down on it, cutting it in pieces.
“Bring the chopper back, NOW!” Fitch screamed into his mic.
He stared longingly at the end of the tunnel that seemed so far away, but there was no sign of the helicopter. Fitch wondered how long he would survive if he jumped into the freezing sea. Not long, he concluded, a few minutes at most, but it had to be a less painful death than being torn apart and eaten. He shot a glance behind to judge his chances. They weren't good; the rats had gained ground. Fear and adrenalin spurred him on. As he neared the end of the tunnel a rope dropped into view and dangled in the entrance. Fitch would have smiled if he hadn't been so terrified. He leaped from the ice with his arms stretched ready to receive the lifeline. His hands clamped around the rope as he swung out over the sea before the return swing carried him back towards the ice and the rats that poured from the tunnel.
“Go! For fucks sake get me out of here,” Fitch screamed at the pilot.
The rats leaped off the ice like lemmings over a cliff. One made contact and dug its claws into Fitch’s leg. Fitch screamed and kicked at it with his other foot, pounding its head until it released its grip and splashed into the cold sea. As Fitch began to rise to safety, he slipped the rifle from his shoulder and fired at the leaping rats, though unless they sprouted wings they had no chance of reaching him now. Their blood sprayed the ice.
Realizing their prey was beyond their grasp, some turned on the dead and wounded while others retreated back to the hangar in the hope of feasting on some leftovers.
The shocked men in the control room stared at Alpha Team's corpses being devoured by the Alien Rats in the drone’s camera feed and the gruesome close-ups from the dead men's cameras that were still operational.
“Damn!” cursed Thomson. “Prepare another team. Warn them about the rats a
nd send them in. I want that technology and by God I'm going to get it if I have to sacrifice every man aboard this ship.”
His eyes fell on Mason who stared at the horror depicted on the screens. Cannon fodder sprung to mind. “Mason. You Brits wanted involvement. Here's your chance. Six of your men can join the next team to go in.”
Mason dragged his eyes away from the massacre and glanced at the Rear Admiral. “I'll arrange it.”
Publicity
RICHARD STUDIED THE steadily increasing expressions of amazement that appeared on the publicity consultant's face as he flicked through the photographs of the alien spaceship and its ferocious inhabitants. Richard had done his homework. Clinton Smythe was the best in the business and would ensure he received the rich rewards he wanted for his story.
Stunned by what he had just viewed, Clinton placed the last photo on his expansive mahogany desk and looked at the man who had presented them. “This is incredible. I can hardly believe it's real.”
“Trust me, it's real. I lived through the nightmare.”
Clinton glanced at the photographs spread out before him, calculating their worth and their validity. “But what happened to the spaceship?”
“It’s still entombed in the iceberg. As we speak, a salvage operation is underway to save as much of its technology as possible before it slips beneath the sea.”
