Planet Genocide I (Galaxies Collide Book 3) (27 page)

The Jaguar indicated left, a brief screech of tyres as it swept before the oncoming line of vans, the driver late for his appointment. Swinging into the large industrial estate, Robert Morris drummed on the steering wheel in tune to the CD on the stereo, his spirits high. He grinned as he considered the stress over the previous years, the heated low-cost competition from abroad for textile orders. His own factory had competed on quality, unable to match the pricing of Far Eastern suppliers, but providing highly finished products.

His frustration had been high until only a few days ago, the sleepless nights and endless meetings with the bank and credit companies draining his spirit and resolve. His wife had eventually requested he sleep in the spare room, his body twisting and turning through the night in restless sleep as the intense stress seemed to eat away at even his soul.

The last few days had been different, his enthusiasm and energy returning…he now felt twenty years younger, his wife even commenting favourably on the return of a vigorous sex drive, his passion for life seeming to now fill his frame. He giggled to himself as he considered the meeting that had literally changed his life and the factories fortunes, the single phone call that had come out of the blue several days earlier.

He had sat nervously in the Novotel in central Sheffield later that day, the notion the phone call may have even been a hoax entering his mind. Eventually his guests had arrived, two immaculately suited executives that had seemed to own the space in the plush restaurant, the waiters being summoned rather than casually responding. He had stared at the prices, openly nervous as one of the executives opposite had assured him that they would ‘pick up the tab’, that ‘it was their honour’ having examined the wares from his factory.

Robert had swallowed his gorgeous wine as they grinned, his cough in response to their statement that his factory had been ‘specifically selected’ amongst a small number across the country to fulfil and initial order, and that if this was satisfactory, a more substantial monthly order would follow. Robert had focussed on the word ‘monthly’, tears of emotion filling his eyes as one of the executives offered him a handkerchief, his excitement almost overpowering and intoxicating as he thought of securing the factories future and jobs for his loyal and long suffering staff.

Following the road around the industrial estate, his mind wandered back once more, the spectacular food and last nervousness of that night leaving his exhausted body, his utter exhaustion on the way home with a bottle of champagne held in his lap in the taxi.

Strewn across the immaculately white tablecloth had been a variety of highly specific and detailed designs, the female executive that had kindly leant him her handkerchief leaning forward and staring understandably into his eyes in the candlelight, the words cutting through him, ‘Mr Morris, we are fully aware of your financial situation and this has caused concerns…’

Robert had dropped his eyes, staring down at his half empty plate as the soothing words had continued, seeming to caress his fragile and sleep deprived shaking frame as he wept, ‘We are therefore arranging a substantial financial transfer tomorrow morning once you accept the contract…these funds will be overseen by one of our own accountants who will relocate to your factory.’ He had looked up as the executives smiled at him, the woman’s soothing tone continuing, ‘Your staff will be assembled tomorrow morning upon their arrival, Mr Morris…they will each receive a cheque to ensure their loyalty and will also sign some more
official
papers.’ He had swigged from his wine again, struggling to comprehend as she continued, still staring at him, ‘Mr Morris, your factory will be placed under military guard and the shifts will be changed…your staff will now work twelve and a half hour shifts, six days a week, producing round the clock…’ The female executive seemed to sense his concern, ‘They have little choice Mr Morris…all child care arrangements will be taken care of and we will provide you with a list of suitable staff for recruitment from the local population. Any other business you are offered will not exceed ten percent of the production capability and we will fund a new purpose built facility free of charge if you meet our expectations and conditions for the next year…Mr Morris, do you accept the contract?’

Robert had nodded vigorously, swallowing hard as he spoke, ‘Y-Yes, of course I accept…my staff will also accept…it will be our honour!’ He had wiped his eyes, his voice an emotional whisper, ‘Thank you…so much…’

The large silver Jaguar slowed, pulling through the factory gates as two uniformed soldiers saluted, their rifles held across their chests pointing downwards. Driving past the loading bays, he smiled as he saw the vans lined up, ready to deliver and collect for the day…the company had never been this busy, the warehousemen and women waving as he depressed the horn briefly.

As the car pulled up in front of the small reception area, Robert waved at the executives stood by the door, bracing themselves against the Yorkshire gale. The driver’s door swung open, his body springing from the heated seat, ‘My apologies ladies and gentlemen, a lot of traffic across the moors this morning, some sort of police convoy…lorries carrying something special I think…’ He glanced up towards the motorway flyover in the distance, hearing sirens wail as the police escorted a dignitary southward at high speed towards London.

The numerous executives smiled knowingly and stepped forward as he mounted the steps, glancing across at the wide red carpet that led to closed blackened doors to the right, his breathing more relaxed as he saw his plans had been followed to the letter. The lady he recognised shook his hand, ‘Mr Morris, I would like to introduce you to a special guest…’ The suits parted as his eyes widened, the immaculately blue uniformed officer stepping forward and slapping a fist to her chest, the woman continuing, ‘This is Intelligence Officer Hedraxil, Trevakian seventh fleet I believe…Mr Morris, she is from a different galaxy! She will be inspecting the quality and suitability of the uniforms and armour you have kindly manufactured and combined for us.’

The motorbike roared north along the highway, Brad Zeiss checking the road ahead as the green station wagon followed some distance behind, the female driver and passenger staring out towards the lone rider, the two children asleep in the back seats.

The two lane road was dusty, increasing swirling sand and dirt sweeping across the baked and cracked cement, the extreme and intense temperatures by day ensuring only the most fertile of areas could sustain life. The bleak rock faced mountains rose up on either side, concentrating the dry heat within their basins and increasing the need for a continuous supply of water.

Fortunately, the well organised middle aged woman’s car was complete with an adequate supply, her haste in purchasing large bottles and food at the convenience store on the highway just outside San Diego proving a wise investment considering their route.

They stopped regularly, Brad drinking greedily from a bottle before refilling his own small flask, the open motorbike ride without the benefit of an air conditioned vehicle proving a dehydrating challenge. His concern for the two ladies had intensified as he realised they were travelling with young children, a brief conversation with Katherine at the filling station as he topped up his bikes fuel tank motivating and forging a mutually beneficial friendship.

With the distant rumbling and dust clouds, the consideration that people would soon become more desperate had entered their minds, a decision to keep this from Emily Marshall and her children sat watching pensively from the car reached until after they left Death Valley. Heading north, they had warily glanced over their shoulders, seeing the angry violent red sky behind, the black and grimy dust clouds filling the horizon and spilling over the mountains.

Collectively, they closed their minds to the horrors behind, the loss of their homes and livelihoods, their friends now probably dead or misplaced if they had been fortunate enough to escape…the chances of finding them again without mobile communications probably just a wild unrealistic dream.

The motorbike slowed as it passed two abandoned cars by the side of the highway, Brad staring through the dusty side windows into the deserted seats, the vehicles having run out of fuel. He glanced round warily, the dust filled wind whistling past as his eyes narrowed, seeing figures in the distance through the visor to the north, his body stiffening in nervous response.

A car sped past through the dust and smog, the Mustang engine roaring as the driver accelerated in fear. Brad looking back in concern for signs of the green station wagon, his heart beginning to beat furiously as he heard an engine approaching, the dust becoming thicker. Raising his hands as he recognised the vehicle, it slowed in response, pulling over next to him, the window receding as Katherine stared out warily, ‘What is it Brad?’

The dust and smoke billowed around them, the young man lowering his helmeted head to speak through the window, ‘Figures ahead...on the road…I think we just keep moving and pass them by!’

Katherine nodded in agreement, Emily staring across in startled fear from the passenger seat, her head glancing back towards the sleeping children in concern. The middle aged driver tensing and eyes widening, the motorbike helmet spinning round as gunshots rang out in the distance, a screech of tyres and a muffled scream.

The helmet turning back slowly to see Katherine trembling, Brad’s voice low, ‘Let’s wait until we hear the engines again…then I will go and have a look see…’

Space debris exploded in the near darkness, the warship flack lasers blasting anything that headed towards the enormous vessels, the remains of orbiting satellites filling the upper atmosphere. With the planet near space cleared, the Morgon craft adopted two orbiting routes around the spinning planet, one either side of the equator.

In the numerous loading bays, lines of shock troops and compacted armoured walkers awaited the returning dropships, the air battle now satisfyingly reduced to just above the planet’s surface. In the fighter bays, new acid and pulse heavy bombs were being loaded onto a new batch of fighter bombers, the engineers double checking their specifically designed ordinance after studying the human species below. Green energy simmered around the openings to deep space, the shields protecting the waiting and working occupants from weightlessness and the lack of atmosphere.

Hundreds of helmets glanced up, the red flashing lights filling the bays as they stared with satisfaction, eyes glowing in anticipation as the warnings introduced a timer. The countdown to the massive and potent front guns had started, the bridge crews synchronising the two ships to fire at the same selected target below on earth.

Several black armoured figures ran to the edge of the green energy shield in rising excitement, their glowing eyes able to see the enormous static discharges from the sides of the guns as the countdown continued. Behind them, unit commanders surged after them, keen to re-establish the waiting formations.

Gradually the warning flashes intensified, then the lights became constant, dimming slightly as the muzzles roared. Vast high concentrations of energy sweeping forward across space and then into the upper atmosphere, the shots lowering and beginning to surge across the sky above the cloud system as the potent energy flew towards its target.

The roar was deafening across the sky, people staring upwards and shielding their eyes, a few adopting the same behaviours and equipment they did during an eclipse to protect their eyes as the high energy soared across the heavens, burning smoke and steam billowing in its wake.

The witnessing humans all now wondered in unison, ‘Where would the next strike be…?’

Thank you for reading this book, I hope you enjoyed the experience as much as I did writing it.

Please investigate the following adventures currently available or in production/planned from the author:

World War Two Series (historically accurate with fictional characters):

Bloody Iced Bullet                                          Bloody Rattenkrieg                                          Bloody Kessel

                                                                Bloody Stalingrad (Trilogy)

Bloody Kharkov                                                        Bloody Kursk                                                        Bloody Italien

                                                                Bloody 1943 (Trilogy)

Bloody Normandie              Bloody Falaise                                                                     Bloody Aachen

                      Bloody 1944 (Trilogy)

Science Fiction Series:

The Last Marine in the Galaxy                  The Red Leopards of Zaxon B                    Galaxies Collide: First Contact

Planet Genocide I                                Zaxon B: The Final Struggle                            Planet Genocide II

Fantasy Series:

Army of the Skeletal Prince                  Blades of the Undead

Crime Drama Series (Dark Humour):

Bloodied Hunger                                Bloodied Insurgents                            Bloodied London I

Bloodied and Intoxicated              The Hong Kong Scotsman

Eighteenth Century Historical Drama Series:

The Last Highlanders

Later in 2016,
Zaxon B: The Final Struggle
will be released. With the battle for the distant planet now nearing its conclusion, the Trevakian and human forces hang on against overwhelming odds in the hope of rescue or a change of fortunes.

Following this release,
Planet Genocide II
will compliment this book and further outline the ongoing bitter struggle for earth.

I would like to thank four of my colleagues for their voluntary assistance with this project.

Kara Reed has offered continual encouragement throughout the previous book and the current projects. Listening to ideas and offering ideas on alternatives or additions to existing plot lines. This has been of considerable assistance and I am very grateful for the ‘on-call’ facility that emerged for me to express ideas and twists as they came to mind.

Sally Kemp has offered many ideas and sat politely listening to the ramblings as I formulated ideas and incidents in my mind. Patiently offering advice and never displaying frustration and impatience as I bounced from idea to idea. This has been immensely helpful and reassuring.

Kevin has helped with plots and offered structured ideas, including changes in direction or alternatives. Never complaining when I developed other ideas or rang/texted at inhospitable times. He provided an inspirational level of support and motivation during my bereavements and for that alone I will be eternally grateful.

Chris Calloway was instrumental in encouraging me to start writing, although he may regret this now as I seem unable to stop! He has assisted with formulating motivational planning and structuring and has encouraged me throughout, for which I am very thankful.