by Geoff Wolak
The officers and enlisted men of the Army were now in a bad place, and greatly stressed. They, more than most, wanted to oppose an alien landing, but were under orders to quell civilian disturbances, not watch the skies. Mistrust and confusion spread through the ranks.
With enough of a militia, albeit a loose alliance of people who would not normally associate with each other, Hal and Hacker moved towards Nevada in a bus and car convoy, picking up people as they went. Cash was handed to gas stations by Hal’s people, Hal having planned ahead, and the make-do army filled up on the way.
News of the convoy spread, and folk from small towns joined in, pick-up trucks hosting gun nuts and hunters, survivalists, bikers, Nazis and police officers alike. And a line of disaffected truckers. Breaker, breaker, we’ve got ourselves a convoy – of disaffected citizens.
Hal led his militia along a carefully planned route, and his followers were surprised to find stacked food and water waiting, as well as clean-wipes and sun cream, toilet paper and portable toilets. Someone had planned ahead.
As Hal’s improvised militia entered Nevada, a Zim craft appeared in orbit over America, and asked very nicely if it could land, and if its crewman could ‘talk’ to President Clayton. Since the Zim pilot was being so nice, and because the US Army and Air Force had no technology to either detect or stop the craft, it was let down at Andrews Air Force Base. The pilot was frisked, thoroughly, and driven to the White House. But this Zim was the genuine article; a greyish skin, a flat nose and high eyebrow ridges - he looked like a hapless boxer who had lost most of his bouts.
At the White House, President Clayton and his team welcomed the guest with reserved and formal language. Then waited. The polite Zim pilot asked if the Zim population could land, and transit through to other world, and just that. In return, they would leave their mother ships for the US Military. Well, it was an offer too good to be true. There was also the small fact that America was in chaos - army units no longer responding, and those army units had no defences against Zim stealth craft anyway.
A deal was struck, and Clayton lifted the media ban that evening. ‘My fellow Americans. I can report to you today that there are indeed large alien ships approaching, but that they are not hostile. We have met with their representative today, and we will assist our friends in transiting to another world, the world on which their fellow travellers already reside. I can assure you that they will not be living here, but will simply pass through.
‘There is no need for alarm, and in return for our cooperation we shall take charge of the alien vessels in orbit, thereafter available to our military and to our scientists, and available for long distance space flight. Soon, we shall have craft that can reach the stars, and take mankind to many new worlds.’
Clayton was wrapped up in the moment, and swept along, his mouth moving faster than his brain. The Zim had been clever, very clever, and would play the long game as Jimmy predicted; there would be no aerial bombardment, no fireworks in the sky.
The Bible Belt was already in turmoil, and violently opposed to non-humans – as well as blacks and socialists, communists, liberals, abortion clinics, Muslims, Orientals, human rights workers, and a long list of others. This idea that man would travel to the stars did nothing for them, most opposed to time travel or space travel alike; Earth was as God intended it to be.
The morning news had commentators from all sides doubting the need for space travel, time travel, or for helping these aliens transit. That morning news also reported the growing death-toll, at least fifty thousand people so far killed from either shooting at the security forces, and being shot by those same security forces. Images appeared of heavy-handed soldiers, claims of women being raped by soldiers, even looting by soldiers, and a long list of other gripes.
Senators were trying to impeach Clayton, but could not gather together, certainly not on the hill. They met in hotels, and tried to march on the Senate, but were blocked by lines of soldiers and told to – move along there or be arrested. The Supreme Court tried to sit, but were dispersed because of the national emergency.
Hal’s militia started to make the news around 11am, images of the odd convoy of camper vans trundling along through Arizona and Nevada. That worried Clayton, since the portals were in Nevada, and he had promised the Zim that they could land there. Extra soldiers were dispatched to Nevada, and put on a collision course with Hal’s rag-bag militia of the good, the bad and the ugly.
With the media back broadcasting, a few shows very hastily cobbled together - little use of auto-queues, the state of the American economy was described, and described as being in pieces. Wall Street was closed, many banks had no staff or just a skeleton staff, and ATMs were not being stocked up fast enough to cope with panicked citizens withdrawing their cash.
Many people had already withdrawn their savings, bought a second hand VW camper van, and headed off to the hills. The rich were leaving in the expensive jets; Switzerland, Bora Bora and New Zealand seen as safe places to be. It was a mess. Company owners had left with the company cash, and employees had nothing to do, those that bothered to turn up.
And, because it was a mess, Clayton decided that there was nothing else to do except shut down the media again, and wait till after the Zim had transited. That way, no one could argue with what he had done. It was a plan, yet a bad plan.
In many states, the media gave the federal authorities the finger and stayed on air, the lobbies of TV stations barricaded with desks to stop the authorities getting in. Hal’s convoy was described in detail, and now everyone saw Senator Hal Becker lead the fight for humans, support coming in from all sides – even the Bible Belt. His bus had a bumper sticker with a picture of an alien. It said: ‘No green card for E.T!’
That evening, sixty small Zim craft descended unseen on Nevada, soon flown through an enlarged portal and to the other Zim inhabited world. A medium-sized craft then descended through the atmosphere, again unseen, landing at night as agreed with Clayton, its nine thousand Zim marching straight off with bags and straight through the portal.
Clayton figured he would ease concerns, and made a radio broadcast over the emergency network, informing US citizens that the Zim had landed, and had transited through to another world, and that there was nothing to worry about.
With the media still functioning in many states, Hal had a camera thrust into his face. Going out live, he straightened his tie and said, ‘The world where these aliens are going to is inhabited by humans, people just like us, but people who fought a nuclear war. These aliens are going to America on that world, and instead of us trying to help the starving and dying American citizens on that world … we’re sending them aliens to take their rightful land.
‘On that world, America will cease to exist, an alien nation taking hold. The people on that world are still Americans, they’re still citizens and voters, and they need medical care and food, not hostile aliens kicking them off their farms.’
Hal’s speech hit a nerve, and dissent grew, especially since no one had yet considered helping out that world – those that knew about it. Outside of America, the various national economies had crashed, lawlessness breaking out in many countries, martial law imposed in dozens of countries around the globe. It was fair to say that those countries were a tad pissed off at President Clayton.
That evening, Hal’s militia reached a military checkpoint, facing a unit that was well dug in, well disciplined – and determined. Warning shots were fired from a distance towards Hal’s convoy. Well, that was just rude, so shots were returned. Hal asked the militia to spread out laterally into the deserts, and they did, some driving, a few people walking, the soldiers on the wire soon in a sniper duel with gun nuts that practised with more rounds in a month that these soldiers fired in a year. Casualties started to mount for the Army.
A second medium Zim ship descended, just out of sight of Hal and his militia, but it was in for a surprise. A portal crackled into life on a ridge, a missile streaking out - low level and
horizontal. A few seconds later a flash lit the sky, the blast registering with the militia a good four seconds later. The Zim medium ship tore itself apart from secondary explosions and crash landed, and now the Zim were in a bind. Clayton received the news, was horrified, and blamed Hal’s militia.
Hal and Hacker withdrew from the front line to give a live broadcast, and as they did six small Zim craft fired on the militia from above, ineffectual electrical strikes, but the brilliant white flashes and loud noises scattered the bikers and single mums. It had all been caught on camera, and duly broadcast; the aliens were attacking civilians, the average TV viewer enraged.
The Zim could now only land if their smaller ships were buzzing around looking for missiles, and somehow protecting the transport ships. A re-think was needed. Clayton’s rethink was to order helicopter gunships to fire on Hal’s militia. All but one gunship refused to fire on what was basically a big picnic group of civilians in the desert, and local TV stations displayed the aftermath of the carnage brought by a lone National Guard Huey Cobra.
If there had been an opinion poll, Clayton would have scored 0.01%, and that vote would have been his family and close friends. Two Generals amongst the Joint Chiefs refused to continue, and were detained, facing court martial for trying to quit during a time of war.
The dawn brought up images of the wounded and dying being ferried to nearby towns and hospitals, people rising after a night under the stars, camp fires started. Hal’s militia were not being very tactical, they had no particular plan, and they were bunched up in places, vulnerable to air attack.
Not long after dawn, distant gunfire roused most of the sleepy campers along the roadside as the Army unit holding the road ahead advanced, trying to sweep the militia back. Fire was returned, accurate distance fire from hunting rifles. Who said there’s never a Redneck around when you needed one? And a few of these country boys had fifty calibre rifles. The Army unit took casualties and halted, a sniper duel lasting all day in the blistering sun.
At dusk, dozens of Zim craft descended in stealth mode. Hacker made ready, sent a signal, and a portal opened. Twenty small missiles shot through, ten Zim craft hit, most crashing to the desert sands. The gun nuts fired on the downed ships, metallic echoing reports filling the desert night. Zim crewmen clambering out of their damaged craft were shot and killed like trophy deer, by men who had shot at the Zim dressed like they were after trophy deer. High above, a Zim medium craft altered its approach and climbed away.
‘Now what?’ Hacker asked Hal as they sat in a bus eating tinned meat.
Hal checked over his shoulder. ‘Now … the Zim should secure the area, and properly, which means high casualties here.’
‘And us with it,’ Hacker pointed out.
‘A lot more people down that road and coming up behind us, and more on other roads. Be hard for Clayton to justify the casualties; bum’ll be the only one left in the White House soon. He’ll be making his own supper.’
An aircraft flew low overhead, a private jet with a camera crew on board. They skimmed over the damaged Zim craft, filming as they went, the craft now under floodlights. Injured and dead Zim were filmed being carried out.
As night came on proper, reports came in of strange coloured lights. Ten minutes later it was confirmed; Zim ground forces were moving out in a line, firing lasers at the militias from a distance, and using thermal sights. The militias were outgunned.
Hal dispatched the TV crews to the nearest high ground, and ordered everyone else back. The gun nuts were not about to leave, and hunkered down low, firing when they had a suitable target. The soldiers embedded into the militia fired off plenty of rounds into the dark, some finding targets at random. But the greatest battle was the one that would be fought in lounges across America that night, as images popped up of people being cut down by alien laser fire; humans were being killed by aliens on prime time TV like a bad ‘B’ movie from the sixties. Only this was real.
A mile back from the front line, Hal and Hacker stopped to give hasty TV interviews, both men now dishevelled and dirty.
Breathing heavily, and mopping his brow, Hal began, ‘There’re now thousands of aliens here, firing their fancy laser weapons at our people. We’re putting up a stiff resistance, and we’ve shot down many of their craft, but we have no defence against their weapons – we’re taking heavy casualties and pulling back.’
Hal lead his team away from the front line, telling others to withdraw and to re-group. And it was just as well, since the Zim had come to a conclusion. They could see the portal, and they wanted to be beyond it. They could also see the disarray on the ground, and the fact that President Clayton’s administration had lost control of the police and the army. Protests were growing in numbers daily, right across America, despite the ban against them, and the dissent Hal and Hacker had helped to stir up meant that the government effectively ceased to function. Seeing the opportunity, the Zim made a choice; they wished to be through the door, and for the door not to be opened afterwards.
I sat with Jimmy as the detail came through to us. ‘What part of temporal mechanics do the Zim not understand?’
‘First and foremost, they don’t see us on that world, and we should be on that world – fighting them – given who were are, and the temporal ability we seem to have. They may not know about The Resistance, or that we have their frequency, or the frequency of the other world. And finally, they may just be a bit desperate, their ships out of fuel and in need of repair.
‘Given that they haven’t seen us there, and given that we would probably blame Clayton – and rightly so, maybe they think they’re in the clear, and maybe … they’re gamblers, hoping to have their people through the portal, and off to someplace else soon after.’
‘We could wind back time and attack them as they go through,’ I pointed out. ‘Are they thinking straight?’
‘Given that we are not there now, we’ll never be there – in their eyes. They don’t see us as a threat to their mother ships, so why should they worry about us appearing now. As far as they know, we’re not a threat.’
‘We’re not, we’re outgunned!’ I pointed out.
With thousands of craft at their disposal, and figuring that President Clayton had lost control – and could no longer be negotiated with, the Zim made a choice, or maybe the choice was made by a lack of options. They attacked. NORAD was destroyed, followed by all principal US air bases and communications centres. Satellites were hit, and within minutes the vast American military machine was blind.
The White House was struck by several craft and badly damaged - Clayton and his senior staff all killed, the Pentagon levelled, Congress damaged. In a repeat move of that displayed by Dark Star on Sandra’s world, all TV transmitters were hit. Next, the Zim moved onto missile silos, hitting each with electrical charges that fried the electronics – and electrocuted the poor staff below the ground.
An hour into the campaign, and all contact had been lost with America by overseas military units, and by NATO. Many overseas American units had no working electronics anyway, but if they had then no one Stateside would be answering the call. Naval vessels in port were struck with electric bursts that fried all electronics, and electrocuted sailors alike. Ships at sea were hit, and the Zim craft were adept at slipping under the water, finding subs, and hitting them with electric charges after the Zim craft had made physical contact with a sub. America’s nuclear sub fleet sank to the black ocean depths with great loss of life.
By dawn, the Zim craft were hunting down live EM readings, and attacking, but finding little left worth attacking. Little in the way of military radio chat was on the air, phone masts had been downed, and regional phone hubs had been destroyed. The country sat quiet, and few could communicate to others either what they had witnessed, or exactly what had happened.
Outside of America, the various nations assumed the worst when contact was lost with Washington. Commercial passenger aircraft either turned back, or landed without contacting t
he tower. Electricity was patchy across the States, just static displayed on TV screens - where the homemakers had functioning electricity that was.
Jimmy received a note from Baldy via his Moon base, and shook his head. He was still with me at the mansion.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘The Zim have disabled all of the American military assets over there, and all communications. Country is deaf, dumb and blind.’
‘So now the Zim can move through the portal without being seen, let alone opposed. I guess they just got impatient.’
‘They haven’t nuked anyone yet, so I think there’s hope for my plan.’
‘The plan … that you won’t share,’ I complained.
‘I told you before … I make it up as I go along.’ He lifted his data-pad. ‘Computer, send to all American leaders: make ready ground troops as per Plan Alpha. Computer, send to all African Union leaders: make ready ground troops and staff as per Plan Alpha.’
‘At least you haven’t gone to Plan “B” yet,’ I quipped.
‘Actually … I would have bet that the Zim simply passed through that world. So I was wrong.’
Night of the long knives
Ngomo had received word, and had made ready, watching the African TV news about the deteriorating situation in Clayton’s America. His men dispersed, and started to assassinate African leaders and officials - the corrupt ones, plus a few that they were not sure about. Army generals were killed in their beds, and rebel units were ruthlessly hunted down and massacred. With what was happening in America and around the world, no one outside of the particular African towns concerned gave a crap – or would ever get to hear of it.
Ngomo had landed just ten years earlier, and had quelled the Eastern Congo, now being its de-facto ruler. But unlike Lobster he had kept his operations quiet, and most thought him simply a brutish tin pot dictator in the best traditions of the African continent. He had done little to fix roads or infrastructure, but had mined the gold, and had stockpiled diamonds. Weapons had been stashed ready, and five thousand Rifles had been trained in the Congo, in secret. He possessed no high-tech weapons, and that way he would never have come to the attention of the Zim.
