Planet Genocide I (Galaxies Collide Book 3) (5 page)

Admiral Karladen glanced upwards as he stepped out of the vehicle, staring longingly at the darkening sky, his thoughts drifting to the vicious battles continuing in faraway galaxies and the survival of his people. Parked just inside the entrance to Osterley Park, the convoy of cars and armed police had sped through west London, the sirens echoing off the side buildings as the vehicles in front had been frantically moved out of the way.

He nodded to the driver as suited bodyguards jogged to either side of the vehicles, the British Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary stepping out of the open doors of the car behind. The two men strode towards him, the gravel crunching beneath their feet as their eyes glanced over the tents and armed soldiers lining the park to their right.

Three ambulances were parked under trees in the distance, on standby for any further wounded that may be able to venture through the portal, their drivers leaning against the vehicles chatting. Green Bedford army lorries lined the long entrance lane to the park, a number of soldiers stiffening and adopting a more formal stance as they glimpsed the assembled men.

The Prime Minister indicated to the park beside them, ‘So is this where the ship is?’

The Admiral nodded as his intelligence officer approached, ‘Yes Prime Minister, the vessel is still cloaked at present a we are wary of any enemy reconnaissance…they may not appear to be on your planet, but they have long range sensors and this is the only transporter to galaxies beyond this one.’

The Foreign Secretary smirked, ‘Very impressive…the Defence Secretary is looking over some of the weapon schematics and examples you have kindly provided, we believe we may be able to commence manufacturing of some of the rifles in days…the fighters and armour will take a little longer I think.’

Admiral Karladen grimaced, ‘We need a faster response…time may be shorter than we imagine.’ He shook his head in frustration, ‘Without up to date reports from our forces engaged with the Morgons we have little way of keeping our intelligence relevant.’ He indicated to the darkening sky, ‘We have three ships above, but they will be little match for a determined enemy attack and I cannot spare them to venture too far out for more information…’ He smiled briefly as three blue uniformed officers from the cloaked ship approached, ‘It seems we may be now about to board the ship gentlemen, please come with me.’

He walked round the front of the limousine, nodding a greeting as the three officers, two females and a male, stood sharply to attention, their clenched fists rising to their right chests. Returning the gesture, his eyes widened, ‘Where is first officer Petaski? Is he on board?’

One of the crew members stepped forward, several pips on her shoulder as she swallowed nervously, ‘Sky Commander Petaski conveys his apologies Admiral, he is preparing a situation briefing with Vice-Admiral Chergui for you and your guests. The Commander is speaking on your behalf to other earth leaders, we should be able to connect with the Americans, Russians and perhaps more once we get inside.’

Admiral Karladen smiled widely, nodding his approval and glancing at the two suited government men behind, ‘Good…let us proceed then, we may be able to gain some information on the situation on Zaxon B and our allied troops. Have we got some refreshments for our guests?’

The female officer nodded reassuringly, turning to lead them across the outskirts of the field as several vessel staff formed a line of honour guard before one of the groupings of tents in the distance, ‘Yes Sir…we have secured some rations from the British soldiers and have added some of our own…’ She grinned sheepishly, ‘Some of the crew have developed a taste for this ‘tea’ drink…apparently there are numerous flavours to sample…the supply officer said he would obtain some for his next visit from a ‘supermarket’, whatever that is.’

The Prime Minister chuckled, nudging the Foreign Secretary, ‘It seems we are adding more to the war effort than we thought.’ His eyes widened as he looked ahead, seeing dim lights shining into the trees as the side hatch to the ship slid open, the honour guard stiffening sharply to attention as they approached.

Behind them, the ambulance crews began to glance suspiciously at their mobile radios and phones, shaking them and holding them up for inspection as the signals faded and died. One pulled the door to one of the vehicles, listening inside the cabin as continuous static surged across the on-board radios.

The Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister stared in awe at the shining walls within the craft, Admiral Karladen walking ahead following his officers. Immaculately uniformed crew members lined the right side of the corridor, all stood to attention and staring straight ahead as the two dignitaries passed nodding their approval.

Dryden stood to attention at the end of the line, the Admiral hesitating next to him, ‘Prime Minister, this is one of our diplomatic officers, he will be organising your tour of the vessel and answering any questions you may have if I, or indeed Sky Commander Petaski is not available.’ He nodded to the officer, ‘Any news of the battle on Zaxon B, Dryden?’

The officer stiffened, his blue eyes staring straight ahead, ‘We retrieved all casualties when the portal was open Sir…they are all at the local hospitals or in sick bay…over five hundred soldiers in all. Several hundred earth combatants have made the journey through the transporter and are assisting our forces on Zaxon B…there have been no updates from Alexion One since the arrival of two enemy warships in the vicinity Sir. We believe the battle for the planet is still ongoing.’

Admiral Karladen nodded grimly, ‘Let us hope we are victorious…the battle for that planet buys our allies here time to rearm and upgrade their weapons…they can then assist us more.’

Dryden nodded, his eyes flickering as footsteps approached, First Officer Petaski standing to attention next to the Commander, his expression grave as Karladen turned to stare at him inquisitively, ‘Admiral, I have made contact with the Americans and Russians…they were standing by to receive communications…’

The Prime Minister stepped forward in nervous suspicion, ‘What do you mean ‘were’?’

The First Officer glanced at his superior, seeing Admiral Karladen nod for him to continue, Petaski shaking his head in despondency, ‘The Americans had to leave the conference…they have lost contact with their fleets in both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans…their radar and satellite imagery is apparently jammed.’

Petaski’s eyes darkened, staring directly at the Prime Minister, ‘The Russians had just reported similar emerging communication problems…then the conference link was cut.’ His figure stiffened as the Admiral’s face flushed crimson with anger, ‘Admiral, we have sustained a covert link with Vice-Admiral Chergui in orbit above the planet, but all other communication is now cut or jammed…traditional Morgon tactics, and more intensified than before. There are no reports of enemy vessels in near or far space or any energy surges to indicate their presence.’ His teeth became gritted with determination as he saw his commander’s temper rising, ‘I have to report Sir that initial intelligence now suggests that if this is true, the enemy may have been on this planet all along…that they may now be emerging…’

The Prime Minister gasped, his face flushing, ‘But that is impossible…we would have seen them…intercepted their messages surely…’ He glanced at the Foreign Secretary in exasperation as the man shrugged, ‘What signs would there be for them being here…?’ He stared back at Admiral Karladen, ‘How many of them are there? In what strength?’

The Admiral raised his hand, his jaw tensing, ‘There is no proof as yet…but it seems highly likely. It is not important where they have come from if they are here, but how to deal with them and where they are…’ He nodded to Petaski, ‘I will speak to Chergui now…’ Turning to the visitors, he smiled faintly, ‘Prime Minister, we desperately need to regain contact with other world leaders so that we can establish the situation more clearly…how can we do this?’

The Foreign Secretary interjected eagerly, the Prime Minister shaking his mobile phone in exasperation, ‘The transatlantic cable…laid during World War Two…it has now been upgraded and is barely visible power wise. We also have similar covert channels to France, Germany and Russia…perhaps even China if the Russians completed their cabling…they said they would!’ The man grimaced, ‘We can only guarantee these connections are secure and covert from the government quarter in Whitehall…I suppose we had better get back there.’

Admiral Karladen nodded in agreement, ‘I will follow once I have spoken to Chergui…I can still sustain a link to this vessel from your ‘Churchill Bunker’.’ He turned to the Prime Minister, ‘I suggest all forces are placed on full alert…I will arrange fighter sweeps from the vessels above and additional reconnaissance. As a secondary objective, our intelligence will research any signs that the enemy has been here for some time…’

The Prime Minister nodded, ‘I agree…I will leave a car and escort for you.’ He spun round, indicating for the Foreign Secretary to come with him, hesitating briefly, ‘For interest…what would be any signs of these ‘Morgons’ having been here for a while?’

Admiral Karladen indicated to Dryden, ‘You did some research on this for us previously didn’t you…on Deraxus wasn’t it? What did you come up with?’

Dryden stiffened once more, his eyes glancing nervously at the two dignitaries, ‘Erm…yes Sir. Deraxus had infiltrator units in small numbers but there were still some signs we were unaware of at the time.’ He glanced back at his commander, ‘We discovered that missing livestock and increased energy pulses in the areas their soldiers were in were a sign of potential infiltration. In larger numbers you would experience missing residents and potential radiation rises as their fuel cells deplete.’

The Prime Minister stepped back towards him in curiosity, ‘What if there were a lot of them…I mean thousands…what would the signs be then?’

Dryden swallowed nervously, ‘That would require several large ships to hide their presence…’ He considered for a second, then continued, ‘They would need to be cloaked…have a ready source of food and energy, but it could be done. The signs…’ He pursed his lips, considering further, ‘…The signs would be probably a slight increase in temperature…very gradual as their ships remain cloaked and upgrade their armour and weaponry…there would likely be chemical discharges from their ships that would probably affect an atmosphere to a degree.’ He shook his head dismissively, ‘I am sorry Sir, I would have to complete more research...where could they hide that you would not see?’

The Prime Minister’s eyes were wide with shock, his mouth open in disbelief as his voice trembled, ‘S-so…a global increase in temperature, rising sea levels due to the polar ice caps melting and damage to the Ozone layer could be possible indications of these ‘Morgons’ having been here for some time?’

Dryden nodded almost eagerly in agreement, ‘Those would be clear potential signs of their pres…’ His voice tailed of as the sounds of muffled sirens began to sweep through the open hull door, the sentries outside and inside the vessel arming their weapons nervously, the cracking of polymer metal rifles resounding around the corridor as shouts of alarm came from outside.

The Foreign Secretary grabbed the Prime Minister’s arm tightly in alarm, pulling him towards the opening, his eyes wide with horror at the news as the sirens escalated, ‘Prime Minister…it’s time to get back to Central London!’

The many luxurious camper vans, mobile homes and Volkswagen Caravelles sat in the car park above the small French town, the owners busying themselves around barbecues and salads, the German and American tourists preparing a collective evening party for all the families.

Kurt Hausser was some distance away, smoking a cigarette in solitude as he stared out over the water lapping below against the beach and cliffs. His black hair greying round the edges, he tensed his slim frame against the slight breeze, the bushes rustling gently as he swallowed with rising emotion. His mind was wandering, the gap in the dense hedgerow before him allowing a free view out over the English Channel in the fading evening light. He considered if his grandfather had even stood at the same spot, or perhaps even been in the pillbox further down the uneven and rutted track to his right. His ancestor’s eyes perhaps widening in horror as the dawn broke over that fateful day, June 6
th
1944…the horizon full of ships as naval guns roared, the German defenders ducking down in their foxholes and emplacements in terror as the large calibre shells exploded around them.

Slowly and reluctantly he turned away from the gap in the hedge as he heard his wife’s distant shout for him from further up the track, the urgency to start the barbecue apparent in her voice as she finished preparing her best party dish, traditional German Potato Salad with roasted Frankfurters. At forty-seven, Kurt was a manager at Dusseldorf Airport, his fascination with World War Two finally forcing his reluctant wife to permit the two-week holiday to where his grandfather had fought with his unit, in the town just south of their current location, Caen.

The distant lights from Arromanches-les-Bains glinted out from below the cliff as he glanced out one more time over the hedge, the broken shadows of the Mulberry Harbour, the ingenious allied idea to create a port where one did not exist, avoiding a costly attack on Cherbourg or Calais. The dark rectangular contours lined against the breaking surf further out from the seafront, the cement and metal structures having survived for generations. Trudging away, he vowed to visit the nearby museums the following morning after walking his dogs along the long wide beach, his mind wandering back to what historically it must have been like all that time ago.

He pursed his lips in irritation as his wife called out again, the annoyance clear in her voice as the many families chatted around their large white and fawn recreational vehicles. The middle aged and older men chatting in informal groups about differing military tactics, the German defence and differing places of interest to go and view. Most of the wives would be busying with the food preparation, Kurt increasing his pace as he considered what he would like to cook for the many American and British holidaymakers, his keenness to provide a close comparison to the German rations available on the day.

Kurt reached the top of the track, the land levelling into the carpark as he looked across the many figures and camper vehicles, several with plush awnings and additional seating as the sounds of laughter and the clanking of beer bottles echoed welcomingly towards him, the addition of oil lamps seeming to provide further welcoming enticement as the light began to fade. A few cars passed far to the left, the main coastal road relatively quiet in the late evening as the restaurants and many bars along the Normandy coastline filled with the numerous tourists.

Hearing several American and British accents as he slipped between the large vehicles, he smiled to people as they turned and nodded to him, heading for the German owned vehicles parked further across the large car park. A smile crossing his face as he saw his wife staring from the rear doorway of their hired Mercedes Camper Van, her eyes narrowing in mock dissatisfaction as he approached, hands moving upwards to her hips as he shrugged playfully in innocence.

Then Kurt’s head dropped slightly to one side with suspicion, the distant wail of a siren sounding far to the east sweeping across the flat Normandy terrain. His eyes widened further in surprise, a jolt of adrenalin filling is body as a siren began to sound and escalate in the French town below the cliffs. He glanced round warily, the collection of men and their wives stiffening as conversations tailed off abruptly, the figures turning to look towards the cliff as the siren wailed louder.

Kurt Hausser lunged forward, running past the German camper vans towards the edge of the cliff, the adrenalin surging through him in suspicion. His wife called after him in worry as he ran past, her eyes widening as her husband simply nodded to her, his voice stern, ‘Bring me the binoculars!’ The German slowed as he neared the edge, the town lights extending into the distance beyond the cliff ahead. Staring through the gorse and thick bushes, he looked over the woods below and down into Arromanches, the many lights sparkling as the siren rose in intensity in the distance.

Headlights from cars moved through the darkening streets, the bright lights of a waterside restaurant sparkling across a car park below and onto the Normandy Museum, the black outline of a World War Two field gun sitting outside the entrance. Several figures in the streets below seemed nervous, moving quickly along the pavements as they headed home, their suspicions mounting. Kurt glanced round, sensing the person approach, his breath caught in surprise as the middle aged American nodded grimly, ‘What do you see?’ The man was in shorts and a T-Shirt, a Budweiser beer in one hand.

Kurt shrugged, staring back over the lights below as the siren wailed, ‘Nichts…erm, sorry…nothing. What do you think it is…why the siren?’

The American shook his head, ‘I dunno…maybe some sort of French drill…something they add for the tourists?’ The man leant forward, glancing over the thick hedge grinning as he raised his arm to point, ‘See, the Gendarmes are about…it should be ok!’

Kurt stared at the two police vehicles, one van and a car, their blue lights flashing as they sped along the main street, then he spun round, his excitement rising once more, the distant drone of rotor blades approaching from the south, ‘There is something going on…let’s see what kind of helicopters they are…perhaps a police operation?’ He stared into the American’s eyes solemnly, ‘Let’s get everyone near the vans…it may be even an anti-terrorist operation.’

The American’s grey eyes widened, realising the tourists from across the Atlantic would possibly be a high target, ‘Good idea…I am Mitch by the way…I will go and get them together!’

He stepped back as Kurt’s wife reached them, thrusting the small pair of binoculars into her husband’s hand, her eyes wide with shock, ‘What is going on Kurt? Why the noise and sirens?’ She glanced round as the throb of rotor blades got nearer, black dots appearing in the distant dimming evening sky.

Kurt shook his head, looking fondly at his robust wife, her blonde hair swept back in a bow as she warily nodded for him to talk, ‘We don’t know…maybe it’s an anti-terrorist operation…’ He indicated to Mitch, ‘Can you take my wife back to our van please…I will have a look to see if I can see something.’

The American nodded solemnly, indicating for the woman to return with him as he stared, squinting his eyes towards the black dots approaching from the south, the whir of blades getting nearer as the six helicopters broke formation, three banking sharply and heading away to the east. Mitch’s voice lowered before he went after the woman, ‘They are military…I will get the vehicles together and tell the men. I think its best we all stay in the carpark until we know more…if we leave we may head into trouble…I am sure the police will be along soon to assist.’

Kurt nodded, raising the binoculars to his eyes as he turned away, panning the glasses across the town below. He smirked to himself briefly and ironically, his thoughts not unaware of the potential historical comparison and significance of his actions.

Passing the battered intact remains of the Mulberry Harbour, numerous black armoured figures swam through the deep water, their smooth muscled and scaled frames causing little disturbance beneath the surface of the English Channel as they approached the coast, the town’s glinting lights seeming to beckon them invitingly.