Planet Genocide I (Galaxies Collide Book 3) (16 page)

James Foster stared through his binoculars across Heathrow, the thirty-six-year-old air traffic controller straining in awe as he took in the early dawn sights on the ground beneath the high control tower. As eleven days before, the yellow airfield operations vehicles were busying themselves across the two main runways, patrolling and checking the outer perimeter.

But this was no longer the world he had been trained to work in, the closure of commercial airspace bringing an end to all commuter traffic some days earlier, the day horror had arrived on earth. The preceding days had been relatively quiet, even sleepy by comparison to the intensely frantic days he had experienced as an air traffic controller at one of the busiest airports on the planet.

Now the visions across the airport were different, crumpled, damaged and destroyed airport buildings, shattered and smouldering commercial aircraft, the debris strewn across taxiways and stands as security staff stood watching the clearance crews attempting to restore a look of normality. To the south, Terminal Four lay relatively untouched and now a temporary base for the US Military and Air Force. Terminal Five to the west had been utilised as a medical facility, British Airways staff now assisting local medical staff and the St John’s Ambulance voluntary brigade, the undamaged gate rooms and offices filled with wounded from another galaxy.

The central terminals of Heathrow had been designated as a command centre and gathering facility for volunteers, the car parks now enclosed to offer further medical space if required. Of the two entrance tunnels, only one was now utilised for traffic, the security checks completed by the army rather than airport staff. The second tunnel had become a pedestrian walkway, the rail and bus network now stopping outside the external perimeter, the underground network closed off.

There had been widespread rumour of the re-commencement of some commercial flights a couple of days ago, the terminal security staff as James arrived at work admitting they were eager to see some passengers and the engagement they loved with the public return. The uniformed officers clearly excited at the possibility of the silent buildings becoming vibrant once more.

Walking from the security entrance points, he had even forced himself to believe the rumours, his steps lightening as he strode more vigorously past darkened advertising hoardings and displays, even the internal building lights subdued. Some flight screens still displayed the arriving and departing aircraft from that fateful day, the airport operator keen to motivate staff in any way that the company could. James had heard that staff meetings and security sweeps were increasing dramatically, that some staff had even volunteered for some ‘Heathrow Battalion’ military style unit to assist with casualties and security for the new arrivals.

Once he had arrived at his desk, the intelligence briefings had dulled his enthusiasm, no commercial flights were planned and the airport would continue to receive military traffic only, mostly low flying from Europe or Russia, the Americans only beginning military sweeps of the Atlantic Ocean in the last couple of days to ensure safety of flights. Hardly the flight pattern he had been trained to manage and longed to be part of.

Turning, he looked back towards the south, the airport main fuel tanks still smouldering as foam was pumped across their broken and scorched hulls, the fire tenders’ lights having been flashing for several days at that location. He lowered the glasses, placing them on the flight table before him as he glanced down, the screens still full of crackling static, the jamming and communication interruption having recommenced and intensified only recently.

Lifting the coffee mug to his mouth, he grinned as the controller opposite completed the finishing touches to his recent work, a charcoal sketch of the control tower with aircraft flying past, the colleague holding the paper aloft in triumph. Then he glanced round in surprise, the shrill buzz of a telephone ringing across the tower as the other controllers stiffened, his supervisor staring at the red marked telephone before lifting the receiver, a secure underground line link to RAF command.

Behind him, the blue uniformed Trevakian ships officers rose as the supervisor snatched the receiver, eyes staring at James as he nodded obediently to the orders being received, his voice shaking, ‘Yes Sir…it will be done now!’

The middle aged shift manager jumped to his feet, slamming his fist on the new control panel before him, his eyes widening with adrenalin, ‘Scramble all fighters! Multiple enemy aircraft have entered the atmosphere above…full alert!’

James snatched the binoculars again, the wailing siren beginning to emanate across the large airport as staff on the ground stared upwards towards the high tower. Flares puffed into the air all across the buildings and outskirts, the numerous staff running to windows as the many yellow vehicles accelerated across the runways towards makeshift grey hangars at the edge of the wide tarmac, their emergency lights flashing.

At the far end of the runway, the darkness inside one of the hangars began to dissipate, a glow of pulse engines lighting up the gloom as the gleaming silver Trevakian fighter slowly taxied out into the cold early morning air. Six blue uniformed crew members ran from the shadows of the hangar, adopting a line either side of the craft, their boots slamming against the concrete as bodies stiffened, fists slapping against their right chests in salute.

James’s heart leapt as he saw the many craft begin to assemble quickly, the first two space fighters rising vertically into the early morning sky, their engines warming as steam poured from their sleek frames, the airport controller adjusting his zoom to see one of the pilots glance round cautiously, then look down at his instruments. The engines glowed brightly as the craft rotated, awaiting the rest of the flight to rise to form formation, the pilot checking his instruments further as other silver vessels rose next to him, the ‘V’ formation of five fighter wing craft now turning to face the length of the northern runway.

Then the vessels slowly moved in unison, accelerating as had become the short term custom along the length of the runway, their craft flashing past the control tower, the lights from the building sparkling briefly against the hulls as they soared upwards in search of the enemy…the war had come.

The US Naval Coast Guard Officer stared through his binoculars, scanning the horizon from the top of one of the tall seafront apartment blocks next to Boston Harbour, Massachusetts.  Adjusting the zoom, he squinted further, seeing the large vessel in the distance and grinning. Turning to his subordinate, his voice rose with excitement, ‘Aircraft Carrier approaching port…get downstairs and alert command…get some helicopters up to guide them in!’

He raised the glasses once more, studying the dark object in the distance as the large ship slowly sailed towards the east coast city. Gradually, the shape became more recognisable, the officer smiling to himself as he whispered, ‘It’s the Gerald R. Ford…where the hell have you been?’ Then he gritted his teeth, seeing the plumes of dark smoke rising from the deck as the large super carrier powered towards the port ahead.

Three helicopters flew past below, their blades whipping the water’s surface as the machines banked over the grey Coast Guard vessels blocking the harbour entrance. US Marines clung to the open doors of two black Apache craft, the third, a larger Coast Guard helicopter, usually utilised for searching for missing vessels or rescue missions.

Flying out over the deep water, the marines stared pensively into the waves below, their rifles raised as they scrutinised any shape or shadow, a couple donning their infrared goggles. Dolphins chased the helicopters out towards the large Aircraft Carrier, their fins breaking the ocean’s surface as they playfully chattered to each other beneath the waves, one of the soldiers jabbing his finger towards their escorts.

Private First Class Rodrigues stared at the dolphins below, smiling fondly as he recalled swimming with them on vacation, his eyes narrowing as the mammals changed direction almost as one and swam away to the north, an uneasiness filling his chest as he turned, shouting above the blades above, ‘The dolphins are spooked…stay alert!’ The soldiers behind stared at him for a second, a couple nudging towards the open sides of the helicopter and following his pointing hand, the surface breaking in the distance as the majestic creatures swam rapidly away.

At twenty-seven, Rodrigues had served in the US Military for over six years, completing a number of tours of duty in the Middle East and Europe. With chiselled Latino features, his brown eyes and jet black hair would turn heads on a night out, but he personally preferred the anonymity of the uniform and helmet, people viewing his actions rather than his looks as a definition of who he was. A military professional, he would continually don goggles and carry the extra kit others would discard as they prepared for missions, confident his defined and highly muscled physique would not be slowed by the extra precautions. The Latino stared at the large grey ship as the helicopters neared, the blackened smoke rising from burnt fighter hulks on the upper deck, the sound of rifles being armed behind sending a shiver up his spine.

The black military helicopters swept past the Aircraft Carrier, the marines staring in horror at the burnt and bloodied corpses lying scattered across the flight deck, the scorched and pock marked hull and upper sections clearly having been the scene of a vicious battle. Puddles of steaming green slime lay in sections across the deck, the marines squinting as they saw lumps and distortion amongst the coloured liquid. Several exposed holes were dotted across the surface, the flames flickering from within and the carcasses of fighter aircraft.

The helicopters banked sharply around the rear of the ship, the pilot grimacing as he realised there was no sign of life below, his raised voice strained with concern, ‘We will land on the deck…marines spread out and secure the ship…we need to find out what happened, secure any nuclear capability and stop it…it’s heading directly for the city!’

The black craft swept back round, dust and debris swirling upwards as they hovered over the flight deck, the marines leaping from the first helicopter as it touched down and running forward, dropping to one knee and circling the craft, their rifles and machine guns raised.

Rodrigues gasped as he stared at the nearest wide green puddle, the realisation the lump in the centre was a disintegrating ribcage, wisps of acrid and toxic steam rising as the bone was gradually consumed. His eyes narrowed as the second helicopter touched down, a sergeant jumping from the side and running at a half crouch to the edge of the now semi-circle of soldiers, his arm rising, ‘Secure the bridge marines! The coast guard will lower some more men to hold the deck…’

Rodrigues jogged next to the sergeant as they advanced cautiously across the flight deck, his tone shaking as the marines around stared down at the dismembered bodies in shock, ‘Sergeant…this is a death ship!’

The sergeant turned grimly to him, ‘Shut it marine! We have a mission…now let’s get it done!’

Deep in the lower hold, red eyes stared upwards, a company of Morgon soldiers sensing the movement above and silently lifting their weapons, progressing towards the ladders and stairs…

The US Marine boots squealed and cracked against the metal stairs of the carrier as they climbed, their rifles cautiously swinging from side to side as they cleared the corridors leading to the bridge. The soldiers stared breathlessly at the carnage inside the upper command decks, several retching or swallowing continuously to suppress the nausea that swirled in their stomachs, some of the sights more gruesome than they had ever experienced before.

The flight deck crew had fled into the command centre, their bodies and weapons unable to resist the attacking strength of the Morgons. Water tight metal doors were forced open with explosives and pulse grenades, acid shells exploding in confined metal corridors as the shattered and broken bodies of the defenders were torn to pieces by shrapnel or close quarter razor sharp swords.

Floor by floor, the US Marines were faced with human remains, some fragments dissolving in green smouldering acid, others from mutilated bodies. Bullet pock marks and scorching lined the metal blood splattered walls, the defenders having fought to the death, all knowing any escape was beyond their grasp when the black armoured figures had clambered onto the flight deck, the muffled terrified screams from the lower decks a clear indication that no mercy would be shown.

Reaching the more open upper decks, several of the marines gasped in the sea air, clearing their lungs and nostrils of the toxic aroma, the stale smell of death clinging to their uniforms. A couple of soldiers staring down on the flight deck below, the smouldering remains, blood and acid pools fuelling the adrenalin in their muscled bodies as rifles were raised in caution once more, determination overcoming bodily revulsion.

More marines dropped from ropes, the Coast Guard vessel hovering above the deck cautiously as the nervous pilots glanced round, staring both across the smouldering deck and into the water.

The military helicopters hovered to either side of the vast ship, the sergeant raising his binoculars and wincing as he saw the shoreline and coastguard vessels in the distance, ‘We do not have long to turn or slow the carrier…’ He indicated to Rodrigues, ‘Get up to the bridge with a couple of others, Marine…the coast guard pilot will be dropping soon to start to turn this thing and slow the engines…this beast has nuclear capability.’ He glanced round bitterly, raising his voice, ‘The rest form a defensive perimeter and guard the stairs…this was far too easy, the enemy may have wanted us to see what they could do…I think the fun could be about to start gentlemen!’