Planet Genocide I (Galaxies Collide Book 3) (17 page)

The long reinforced concrete corridors were designed like a maze, only the skilled and experienced agents understanding the correct way into the central complex. To the unskilled or unknowing eye, the covert entrance, a mile above the tunnels, was a simple mining operation deep in the Blue Ridge hills and mountains, several dirt and rock lined passageways perhaps leading down to an abandoned or idle company dig site. Supervisors would even visit the site from time to time, leading what would seem to be geologist and mining examination teams conducting surveys and perhaps preparing the mine for fresh operations. 

Another entrance lay beneath supposed local government buildings in a nearby town, one of four lifts dropping down to long corridors that led under the rock above, the ideal concealment from even most of the inner government. The facility was managed by a small covert department within Homeland Security, the budgets for several other small departments exaggerated to pay for the concealed extensive facility. Some distance from the Mount Weather Emergency Operations Centre, the underground sanctuary was ideally situated for a short flight from the east coast, the highly renowned facility above providing an ample decoy.

The President of the United States had walked in grim silence along the bland corridors in the middle of the night, the hum of air conditioning units accompanying the trek as the party of agents and the leader of one of the strongest nations on earth had ventured deeper underground. Turning to the armed escort, he had wearily cleared his throat, ‘When the hell was this built? I mean…I had no idea of its existence.’

The armed agent had turned to his commander grinning, ‘These were originally built under the orders of President Reagan, Mr President, part of the Star Wars Programme…the Alpha Project. This facility is linked with a small number of other bunkers across the United States and designated as the ultimate refuge. They are basic, but completely unknown to the outside world. Our communications are completely covert, buried deep underground and well protected…the bunker does not have to rely on modern comms, but a combination of tele-printers and scrambled lines that will enable us to maintain reports from across the United States and potentially the rest of the world.’ The suited agent smiled reassuringly, ‘We have taken the Vice President and Security Chiefs to another bunker and your family to a secure location…this will be your unofficial residence until the troubles pass…’ He swallowed hard, ‘…If they pass.’

The President nodded, rubbing his eyes, his body exhausted, ‘When can we have a situation briefing? I need to know what is going on above…’

The agent indicated to the door at the end of the long dimly lit corridor, ‘Once we are securely within the main complex, we will arrange a briefing Sir. We are currently linking this communication network with the outside world, taking preventative measures and re-routing some of the links to ensure any detection attempts are limited…perhaps one hour if you would like to rest?’

The seven screens flickered briefly, the fibre optic cabling transmitting at high speeds through heavily reinforced and protected trunking. One by one the images formed, suited men and women standing officially before the monitors around the country, the agent next to the President stepping forward to explain, ‘These are the designated FBI and CIA agents for the ‘burrows’ as we call them, each is selected from their career histories and test scores and they will act independently of their departments once they receive the call to move to their chosen locations.’ The agents stepped back, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please introduce your areas and provide a brief situation report…the President has been travelling for a couple of hours, so may be a little ‘out of the loop’.’

The figures stiffened, nodding their understanding, an immaculately dressed woman in her early thirties indicating she wished to speak first, several other of the agents still studiously reading reports handed to them. The female agent turned away briefly, coughing nervously, then facing the camera, ‘Mr President, this is burrow five in upper Florida, we monitor the lower eastern seaboard.’ The woman stared at the screen, ‘Sir…we have received reports of heavy fighting in lower Florida, the eastern seafront of the state and isolated incidents in the Key West area. It is believed the enemy has landed in force and is driving inland in places. The National Guard, several infantry and armoured units have been engaged, a number suffering heavy casualties, Sir. I have to report there are very few wounded, the soldiers lost to the enemy now believed to be KIA…disturbing reports from the field indicate that the forces hostile to us are not taking any prisoners, Sir…’ The young lady’s eyes seemed to glisten slightly before continuing, ‘There are reports that the enemy has taken Jacksonville immediately to our south and may be attempting to move west to cut off the peninsula, but this information is as yet unconfirmed.’

A suited male agent stepped forward, his tie loosened and tired eyes staring at the screen, ‘Mr President, this is burrow four, we have the latest reports from the northern eastern seaboard. Heavy fighting is continuing into the late evening in lower New York…I have to report, there has been significant loss of life. The enemy is now believed to control Brooklyn and parts of New Jersey in supplement to their advance into lower Manhattan and Queens.’ The male CIA agent glanced down to his notes, ‘Sir, there is a fierce air battle continuing over the city…enemy vessels are being engaged by Trevakian and our own fighters, but are reported to be outnumbered…’ He hesitated nervously, raising the papers in his hand, ‘This states the enemy has received significant air reinforcements…we are deploying more fighters to the battle.’ He exhaled nervously, ‘Sir…local military command is requesting to use missiles at enemy concentrations, this would mean firing into our own city…’

The President gasped, glancing across the security detail around him, their faces grim and unemotional. Slowly he spoke, his eyes staring at the screen, ‘I am not ordering the use of missiles against our own cities…please continue…’

The agent nodded obediently. Clearing his throat, ‘In other areas, there are unconfirmed reports of fighting in downtown Philadelphia and Baltimore…there are also reports of an aircraft carrier approaching Boston harbour, but this information is as yet also unconfirmed.’

Another female agent stepped forward with determination, her eyes staring at the page before her, ‘Mr President, this is burrow seven, western seaboard Sir…we are beneath the Idaho mountains…Sir…it seems that there is fighting in Seattle to the north and we have lost contact with all our communication sites to the south…other than Texas…’ Another male agent pushed in front her, then disappeared from view, the woman looking down at the page in dread before staring back at the screen, her voice shaking, ‘Mr President…there has been a major disaster…reports show an enormous blast along the San Andreas Fault line…seismic activity increased dramatically resulting in earthquakes reaching over ten on the Richter scale…’ She glanced down, as if to check the information once more, ‘Sir…it appears San Diego, Los Angeles and San Francisco may have all been destroyed…’ The woman turned away as the President stared in despondency at the screen…the agent shook her head, then glanced back, ‘The chances of survival west of the Fault Line is believed to be slim…most residential areas will have been completely destroyed, the probability of a devastating Tsunami is high…we are sending army helicopters to investigate, but overwhelming enemy fighter strength is limiting our effectiveness.’ She grimaced as her shoulder sagged, ‘Sir, there is more…we had been advancing most of our front line military to the coast in preparation for enemy action…it is believed the majority of these forces may now be lost.’

The President’s shoulders sagged as he stared at the screens, his head shaking as the room went silent. Then his face rose, staring across the screens, ‘Local military command has freedom of action…conventional missiles may be utilised in the destruction of enemy forward units or protection of civilian life only…’

The screens went blank, the President turning quickly, his voice demanding, ‘Bring them back…what is going on?’

The agent behind stared across the operators around them, one looking up as the President followed his gaze, ‘Urgent transmission from London Sir…putting it on the screens now…’

The images flickered once more, then the British Prime Minister appeared with the blue uniformed Admiral Karladen, the pictures distorted as the Trevakian spoke, ‘Mr President…we have urgent news. We believe Morgon Warships have arrived in this planets near space…’

The President spun round, staring across the other darkened screens, ‘W-what does that mean?’

Admiral Karladen bit his lip, ‘Sir…there is nothing at our disposal to counter such powerful weaponry on earth…I have transferred all Trevakian fighters to bolster earth’s defences…our ships above are virtually defenceless against such power…the enemy can now strike at will!’

The President of the United States rolled his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand in exhaustion, ‘Then we launch a nuclear strike…there is nothing left to do!’

The British Prime Minister shook his head defiantly, ‘No Geoff…that’s not the answer…listen to our ally…’

The American stared at the screen in defiance, ‘Go ahead then Admiral…tell me why not…’

Admiral Karladen stared back, tears forming in his eyes, ‘This enemy will simply shoot down your missiles…then target all your silos and reserves…your planet will become an uninhabitable wasteland for centuries…and they will still take it…their bodies seem to thrive on radiation.’ He nodded knowingly, ‘The only way to combat them is to fight ‘conventionally’ as you call it…inflict as many casualties as you can and hope…and I mean hope, that the Trevakian people can muster enough reserves to send to our aid.’ He glanced at the Prime Minister next to him solemnly, ‘The longer we delay them, the more of our weapons you can manufacture and deploy…we are now in a joint race against extinction whether we like it or not…the destinies and survival of both our peoples and allied races now rest here and across the nearest galaxies…if we do not stop them, who will? There will be innocent friendly races yet to be discovered…do we condemn them too?’

Rodrigues crashed his shoulder against the bridge door, the opening widening slightly. Stepping back, he brought his boot hard against the reinforced metal, his leg muscles jarring as the gap opened some more. Pushing his helmet to the opening, he stared warily inside, the blood drenched controls smashed and cracked. The soldier behind moved next to him, both marines lunging against the steel door and gasping from the exertion as the door opened further, Rodrigues half pushing his body through. The stench of death swept into his nostrils, his face turning away as he glimpsed the torn corpses inside, the remaining crew having fought to the death in a desperate attempt to protect the controls.

Gritting his teeth, they pushed harder, another marine lowering his weapon and stepping forward to add his weight. The warped metal door creaked open, Rodrigues stumbling forward and slipping across a pool of blood, his gloved hands grasping out for one of the high control panels to steady himself.

Six marines swarmed through the opening, their camouflaged uniformed bodies hesitating suddenly as they took in the horror around them. Assault weapons rose quickly, cautiously jerking from side to side as the soldiers dropped to half-crouches, their eyes scanning every corner and potential hiding place for signs of movement.

Rodrigues stared in awe at the destruction, torn and ripped uniform fragments lying in blood pools across the shining bridge floor. Blood dripped from the control panels and lay splattered across the walls and cracked front windows, the mutilated corpses scattered across the bridge. Slowly he sank down the wall as he saw the shattered ribcage in the far corner, shining internal organs bulging against the torn officer’s torso, the body decapitated with a large blood pool extending across the floor. The other corpses were in similar grim condition, bodies torn to shreds under repeated blows from razor sharp blades, the attackers motivated by blood lust and intense fury at the determined resistance offered.

The marines slowly stepped around the blood soaked bridge, their breaths held as they glanced down at the shredded uniforms, a couple dropping to a crouch to retrieve dog tags from the deceased crew members. Rodrigues moved to stare through the cracked windows, the buildings becoming clearer in the distance as the carrier broke through the waves, the numerous islands and skyscrapers beginning to become focussed in the late evening light. He glanced round as boots clanked against the metal floors outside, the Marine sergeant stepping across the raised threshold and grimacing, his tone determined, ‘Stay sharp marines…spotters on either side in the open air, keep your rifles trained on the deck below…’

The Coast Guard pilot slipped in behind him, his grey uniform and helmet shaking as the vomit swept from his stomach onto the floor beside the door, his chest shaking as the sergeant glanced round in indifference, ‘You will have time for that later…now turn this ‘death’ ship!’

The officer wiped his mouth on his sleeve, averting his eyes as he tentatively stepped forward, beginning to examine the controls, most of the screens cracked as he jabbed at the sticky crimson splattered keyboards. Lights flashed and shook across the broken screens, the images distorted or flickering as the computers attempted to connect or display information. The Coast Guard officer shook his head dismissively, ‘This will not be as easy as we thought…there is not enough time to turn it around…the instruments are heavily damaged…’

The sergeant stepped next to him unconvinced, ‘Let’s just turn it…it is of no concern if it beaches further down the coast, just as long as Boston is protected…this is potentially a nuclear device and we are stood on top of it!’

The officer nodded obediently, ‘Very well…this will take a little time…’ He glanced round in rising fear as a gunshot rang out…then a burst of machine gun fire, the shots then becoming continuous. The sergeant stiffened and then spun round, lunging for the doorway, the assault rifle slipping from his shoulder.

Rodrigues glanced cautiously over the side of the outer bridge wall, his view of the deck reduced and restricted with the bridge room to the right, the gunfire resonating from below. Several US Marines were backing away, their assault rifle muzzles flashing as they fired along the length of the deck, the air swirling as the black Apache helicopters banked sharply away from the upper landing platform, the US Coast Guard helicopter’s nose lowering as it surged forward.

Black armoured figures clambered from holes in the torn deck, their weapons rising as bullets sparked off the heavy armour, two falling forward onto the cracked rough landing surface. Behind them, camouflaged figures readied heavy weapons, heaving them upwards or pushing them from the openings in the hull.

The Coast Guard helicopter engines were screaming, the grey craft now rising sharply as the pilots shouted in panicked alarm, the large vessel sweeping out over the front of the landing deck.  Rodrigues caught his breath, the plume of smoke shooting outwards from the side of the ship, the detonation a flash of fire as the first black Apache burst into flames, the burning metal carcass falling to the ocean water below, its rotor blades still turning.

An acid shell exploded across the deck, the green sludge splattering against the lower walls of the bridge as terrified pained screams rang out, three marines falling backwards, their bodies writhing in agony as the steaming liquid dissolved their uniforms and seared into their flesh. High powered bullets smacked against the outer bridge walls, the surviving soldiers ducking and scrambling back inside for shelter, pained at deserting their screaming comrades.

Rodrigues raised the assault rifle scope to his eye and stepped forward towards the front of the bridge wall, his heart pounding. Glass splintered and shattered to his right, the sergeant and two other marines shooting through the reinforced viewing glass, their weapon muzzles thrust from the opening.

The Coast Guard helicopter banked to the right, its large body lifting and rotors lowering as the pilots desperately sought to make distance between them and the enemy gunners. The two trails of glowing smoke surged from the lower hatches in the hull, the large helicopter juddering, the engine coughing as the first blast crippled the tail, the second explosion tearing through the central frame as the craft spun in mid-air, plunging downwards into the surf, the debris still burning as it sank beneath the foaming surface.

Slowly the vast ship began to turn to the south, Rodrigues staring through his scope as the screams died down below, a brief gurgling sickening him to his stomach as gunfire tore from the opening to his right. A muffled explosion from further over to the right, his head shaking as he realised the last chance of escape had gone, the crippled black Apache helicopter crash-landing into Massachusetts Bay.

Then he saw them, the black armoured outlines as they advanced across the deck, bullets whipping and smacking against the gritted and rough surface around the tall enemy figures. Rodrigues gasped, squeezing the trigger as the first black figure moved into view round the forward protective hulk of the tower. The black figure staggered backwards, several bullets cracking against the armoured helmet, one piercing the lower mouth guard and shattering through the Morgon soldier’s throat.

The US Marine stared through his scope as the figure staggered, liquid beginning to drip then pour from under the armoured helmet across the breastplate, the tall silhouette dropping to its knees and slumping forward, a crack of armour as it hit the deck.

Gunfire erupted once more, the Morgon infantry crouching to return fire as they advanced across the forward deck. Muffled shouts of alarm from below as the Marines fought desperately to hold the doors closed, the armoured enemy infantry battering against the thick metal.

Rodrigues raised his head from the scope, his position on the outer side preventing him from glimpsing any further enemy soldiers as they moved to attack the outer doors. The tall buildings and seafront in the near distance was slowly moving away to the right, the enormous vessel gradually turning to the south through the surf as the US Marines fought inside the dark hull below.

He turned to move back inside the main room, ducking instinctively as a rocket swept through the open front viewing window, the explosive shock wave throwing him backwards as the upper structure shook. Crashing against the outer wall, he shook his head, the blast still ringing in his ears as he staggered against the smooth outer metal, slipping downwards as the energy left his legs. 

Rodrigues’s senses swam, the muffled groans and screams from through the open metal doorway sharpening his thoughts as he struggled to regain clarity, his hands clenching his weapon tightly. Pushing his body slowly upwards, he struggled to the opening, his eyesight temporarily blurred as he blinked, attempting to stare inside.

The rocket propelled pulse grenade fired from the flight deck had devastated the bridge, the metal ceiling torn and shattered as the high powered denotation had sent potent shock waves across the enclosed space. Bodies lay amongst the already blood soaked smouldering equipment, glass and shrapnel, dust swirling around the consoles. Rodrigues staggered forward, pain surging through his temples as he struggled to comprehend the scene around him, the acrid aroma filling his nostrils as nausea swept through his chest. The sergeant lay dead next to the wide opening, the sea breeze sweeping through the shattered front window. Several Marines were gasping for air, their lungs and eardrums punctured as their chests wheezed painfully, blood dripping from their mouths as a couple coughed, their lungs gradually filling with liquid. One crawled painfully across the floor, his right side and arm torn with shrapnel as blood seeped through the remains of his uniform, a smeared trail in his wake. The Coast Guard pilot lay slumped across the central control panel, his back torn open from sharpened metal fragments.

The ceiling was scorched across the corners, several long deep gashes torn through the surface as wires and electronics flashed and crackled through the ripped steel. Rodrigues lunged further, his left hand grasping the warped and bent metal for support as he struggled to progress, his boots slipping through the smeared oil and liquid across the floor.

Muffled screams and shouts came from below, the gunfire clanking against the metal walls as the Morgon infantry fought their way upwards. Two explosions, the screams of the wounded cut short as Rodrigues reached the shattered front window, the towering ship now heading south towards sandbanks. He grimaced in painful triumph…then shook his head in horror as his eyes briefly focussed, seeing the hundreds of black armoured figures below dropping from the right side of the flight deck. Several strange winged silhouettes were preparing to launch from the front of the vessel, the smouldering remains of dead crew and fighters chilling him as he stepped back in utter despondency.

Several bodies plunged through the opening to his right, their gasps of futility filling his ears as grenades were thrown back through the opening, menacing shrieks filling the upper cabin as the metal explosives clattered into the stairwell below before exploding, the roar of the detonation bouncing off the walls. Bullets whipped around the door, one marine screaming as the ricochet punctured his shoulder, his body twisting away.

Muffled shouts around him, another marine grasping his shoulder roughly as he was propelled backwards, his eyes glimpsing the blood across the front of his uniform briefly as his senses swirled once more. Then fresh air, the dull evening light seeming to warm his skin as machine guns blazed through the bridge, the flashes illuminating the walls, and other explosion and screams, determined inhuman shrieks of hatred filling his ears.

The shouting was distant, a shadow filling his eyes as the spittle from the other Marine’s lips splashed across his cheeks. He shook his head, his face turning to stare back inside as his mind struggled with reality, the black armoured figure stepping through the opening opposite. An armoured fist cracked against an advancing Marine, the human body collapsing downwards as other black helmets appeared behind. Red glowing eyes swept the bridge room and stared straight out towards him as the sight suddenly disappeared, his boots rising as his body was heaved upwards.

Air whistled past his face, the visions spiralling as the muffled shouting continued, a hand grasping his shoulder tightly, a virtual vice like grip as he squealed in pain. Then the water engulfed them, Rodrigues opening his mouth to scream as sea water surged into the opening, the grip loosening, then tightening again as a boot kicked him. His arms shook, his body reacting instinctively as the light receded above, his frame sinking before twisting and kicking out, forcing himself upwards and towards survival.

Bursting from the surface, he coughed violently, salt water flowing from his mouth and nose as he stared upwards at the carrier passing, a set of red eyes staring back down on him from the upper bridge wall. The US Marine was shouting at him, dragging his body through the water as the waves crashed over them from the passing ship.

Then he heard the voice, the pain in his ears intensifying as the words seemed easier to comprehend, the other US Marine gasping as he dragged the body through the water, ‘Swim you Bastard! Your ear drums are perforated and you’re concussed, but we have to get away…the enemy is landing near Boston!’ The soldier next to him grinned ironically, his adrenalin peaking, ‘We’re not dead yet!’