Alien Agenda Page 4

  Marks eyes drifted right with a gentle squinch, and he bit his lower lip.

  “No,” said the colonel. “I’m not interested.”

  “I’m just saying. If you need a long range missile, I can get you one. It’s going to cost you, but I can get it.”

  “Always going for the up-sell.”

  “You know it.”

  “All the same, once my engineers finish their current project, it’ll be easy enough to start taking the alien bases down. If any of my competitors are struggling, tell them there’s an option. You seem to be the only point of networking between us. Maybe we can all help each other for defense of the planet.”

  “You think your engineers are on to some kind of secret weapon?”

  “Let’s just say that this is a very different kind of psychology. And it might be the only way to stop the threat. I just hope to hell that these boys from MIT are as smart as they like to pretend. See what kind of funds you can pull for captured alien materials. This stuff is worth tons in medical and scientific research. Fusion engines, advanced materials, medical research, even new bio-weapons. All at their fingertips, for a price. And,” he added, “as long as they’re willing to keep it all a secret.” The general didn’t know about his dealing, and didn’t need to. If the US military wouldn’t give him the money he needed to continue the fighting, then he had to find it for himself.

  “I’ll relay the message. It’s going to take a little time, but don’t worry. I’ll find you a buyer.”

  “And don’t sell any of your missiles to the cartels.”

  “Hey,” he shrugged. “I don’t take sides, and I don’t judge. That’s how I’ve managed to survive in this business so long. Despite that, I’m not half as shady as your boss is.”

  “I’m not going to discuss politics with you.”

  “Cartels aren’t interested in missile strikes anyway. Radioactivity isn’t good for coca crops.”

  “Whatever man. We have enough problems without worrying about a missile attack from South America or Afghanistan.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, Crispy.”

  Colonel Crisp inspected the crates and bodies being shipped out, as well as the gear being unloaded in the bay. The alien bodies were packed on ice since their recovery, and the driver was asked to stay in his truck during the loading process. He had no business poking around their cargo. Generally speaking, the less he knew, the better for everyone.

  “Colonel,” said Stark over the radio. “Interceptors are getting close to the alien base.”

  “I’ll be right down. Mark. Always a pleasure doing business with you. Hit me up on the channel as soon as you can get an answer on my new interceptor. You have all the specs that I could get from the engineering team.”

  “Right. It’ll take a while, but I’ll let you know once I hear anything. You said if they can to get you two craft?”

  “Yes, and payment will be the extra engines.”

  “Can do.”

  He nodded to his old friend, and then zipped across the commons area toward the stairwell. Mark was one of those people that was just good to know. He was neither an enemy nor an ally. In short, he would sell weapons and technology to just about anybody on the global scene, but it also meant that he had connections that were not otherwise easy to come by.

  The colonel entered the command center in the middle of a communication from the pilots.

  “Going active on radar. Nighthawk One, do you see that light ahead?”

  “Rodger. New contact rising from the alien base. I have target lock, releasing sidewinders.”

  “Rising?” The colonel tapped Stark’s chair. “Going ahead without me?”

  “They did. Um.”

  “It’s alright, Stark.” He took his seat. “What happened? The alien contact landed before we could get there?”

  “Yes sir, and now it looks like they are taking off.”

  One of the pilots came back on the line. “Command, two new ground contacts, both blasting away with active radar, could be the turret defenses coming on line.”

  Colonel Crisp mashed the call button. “Take them out.” He released the button and turned to Stark. “Those have to be the turrets, right?”

  “Turrets or comms, or both. Look. The pattern we got from engineering has pillars that match the locations. Jacob said something about possible structures for supporting heavy guns.

  “Someone said my name?” asked Jacob as he entered.

  “Yeah, these pillars. Did you see anything else on the map that could support surface cannons?”

  “Nope. Just two of them.”

  John leaned over the pilot’s chair, watching the ball of fire that used to be an alien interceptor fall back inside the base entrance without a splash. Rocket pods on the wings of the Hind blasted away at ground targets before banking hard to the right, an evasive maneuver to avoid getting hit by blue plasma. He watched the radar screen in the cockpit from the narrow tunnel leading forward from the crew cabin, and confirmed the destruction of at least one of the base defenses.

  “Colonel,” he mic-ed up. “Base isn’t flooded. I repeat, base is dry. We’re dropping in.”

  “Negative,” said the radio.

  “The target package is inside the base. The doors are jammed open by wreckage. We might not get another chance like this, Colonel. I’m taking the base right now.”

  “Can’t risk it, John. Pilots, return to base. Abort mission.”

  “Ryan—”

  “You heard me, Sergent. That wreckage is going to be crawling with squiddies from inside the base.”

  He switched to the internal communication for the helicopter. “Put us down over there.”

  “The colonel said—”

  “Fuck the colonel.” He raised his M4 to the pilot’s head, tapping the muzzle against his helmet. “You can drop us in there, or I can shoot you in the face and do it myself.” It was a bluff. There was no way to squeeze into the pilot’s chair from behind. At best, the gunner would take control of the aircraft and comply with his orders, but the pilot acquiesced. “Team, light’s out. We’re dropping hot. Put us down. And you better be here when we come back out.”

  The radio buzzed again. “Nighthawk Two, you are to return to base immediately. That’s an order.”

  The aircraft dropped low, skimming the tops of charred ruins from the destroyed town, and darted toward the fireball in the distance.

  John pointed past the pilot’s head. “You see that wall of dirt? Drop us on the far side, and take cover until I call you back.”

  The colonel continued shouting. “John. You don’t even have wet suits. They’re going to drown you.”

  “Thanks for giving them the tip on open comm circuits, Colonel. We’re going in. I’m putting a stop to this right now.”

  The radio went silent as the Hind crossed the bank.

  “Good luck, Alpha Team,” said the pilot.

  John ripped off the headset, and barreled out of the open door with his team, mumbling, “Thanks a lot, dickhead.”

  The chopper lifted slowly as he shouted as his team. “Red-Eye, Duck, you guys guard this hill and kill anything that comes up that ramp. Cat, set up on the corner and cover us with machine gun fire. Dragonfly, take point. You up for this, buddy? Let’s go.”

  With eight men lost and two wounded, John had to do quite a bit of shuffling with the attack squads, and he was low on scouts. Dragonfly was the best there was, and just like the insect, he could dart around, find targets, and take cover like no other soldier it had been John’s pleasure to work with. Having him on Alpha Team was a Godsend. Unfortunately, in the shift switching, Dragonfly was a far behind on sleep.

  Rapid blue fire erupted toward one of the helicopters. The pilot was good, but his time was up. The bird spun on its axis, and unleashed a storm of rockets toward the entrance, ending in a massive fireball that turned night into day. The alien turrets were destroyed. The heat from the eruption dropped the assault team to the dirt,
and the shock of the blast nearly deafened them.

  John shook the dust off and glanced up to see the Mi-25 limping away with fire trailing from the left wing.

  “Team Lead,” said Red-Eye over the radio. “Those aren’t squiddies.”

  “I don’t give a shit what they are. Kill ‘em. Dozer, you got a rocket ready? Give him a hand.”

  The big hulk dropped to one knee and slung the RPG launcher over his shoulder. He took aim at the entrance and let fly in under a second. The burst send a humanoid silhouette flying through the air against the blazing fire behind it.

  “Got one,” said Dozer.

  What the hell could’ve survived that airstrike?

  John signaled Dragonfly, and raced behind him toward a broken building close to the downed enemy craft. As they reached the wall, a shot rang out from the hill, followed by an array of blue fire from somewhere beyond the corner.

  “Shit,” shouted Red-Eye over the radio. I got him. I know I hit him. It’s not a squid, and he’s a tough fucker. He’s right on top of you.”

  “Grenades,” shouted John. The four of them stripped steel canisters from their vests as a blue hailstorm annihilated Dozer. They lofted their grenades over the wall in sequence, with no idea of the enemy’s exact position. Another pop came from the hill Red-Eye was shooting from.

  “He’s right on the corner,” said Red-Eye.

  John drew his Ka-bar, inching toward the edge of the weathered bricks. As the stream of blue ceased, one of the alien rifles appeared behind the corner. Damn your instant cooling barrels. He lunged forward. His right hand wrapped the silver tube as he spun, sticking a blade directly into the red flesh of something that looked like it used to be human. The massive body was covered with heavy plating. The knife managed to stab between the shoulder plate and helmet, stunning the creature long enough to get a good look.

  Thorns poked from its bare arms, the same as Rick’s viral infection, but its skin was the color of blood. Its muscles were swollen like those of a professional body builder.

  The beast shoved him back several feet, and as the alien rifle came to bear. Dragonfly unloaded his M4 on full auto, dumping an entire magazine into the cranium of the giant through gaps in the plating. The alien weapon flew free, and the red giant dropped to its knees, falling forward a moment later.

  John scrambled back to the wall, feeling the sting of at least three broken ribs. Though pain ripped through his chest, he pulled the monster behind the corner, and tugged at one arm to flip it face up. “Jesus.”

  “Oh my God,” said Doc.

  He tapped the comms button on his neck. “Colonel. We’ve got a new problem.”

  “No shit,” answered Colonel Crisp over the radio. “What is it?”

  “It’s our squadron leader. Looks like they pumped him full of ‘roids and deployed him as a soldier. He’s covered in heavy armor. I guess we can assume that the others are in there, too.”

  “The team was killed in the attack.”

  “Not anymore. Looks like you’ll be fighting our ghosts if we fail. Red-Eye, how we looking?”

  “All clear on my end. You okay?”

  “Dragonfly, move in. We’ll follow.”

  Doc spoke up. “Let me check you out, Chief.”

  “Negative. No time. Get your monkey-ass in that hole. Let’s go. I’m right behind you. Red-Eye, Duck. Once we’re in, get over here and cover the door. We’ll announce ourselves on the way out.”

  Dragonfly flew over light feet toward the craft wreckage. Most of the fires had put themselves out, and the entrance was dry.

  John’s chest felt like a knife was sticking out of it. His molars pressed against each other like a vice as each step shot pain through his wounds.

  “Cat. Get up here.”

  “On my way.”

  The ramp led deep into the structure, and a single large bay-door was open at the end of the metal cave. Dragonfly covered it from behind one of the massive black crates on the far side. Doc crept through the entrance. John and Cat took up position behind them. As Dragonfly rushed into the next room, they followed.

  The scout capped off a few rounds ahead of them. Cat leaned in from the left side of the door and dumped full auto firepower until the barrel of the SAW machine gun was glowing hot. As he rolled the corner into the next room, blue fire blasted through the bay door.

  “Got another red one,” Said Dragonfly.

  Mixtures of gunshots and splattering noises zapped from the room ahead. John dropped to one knee and twisted his body into the entrance, leading with the sighting system of the M4. He didn’t recognize the red demon shooting at Dragonfly. This one wasn’t a member of the lost strike team.

  He blasted away while the plasma bullets hunted for his friend. A three round burst hit an exposed bit of cheek. The monster’s face exploded under its mask, and blood splattered every direction, some of it soaking into his coveralls.

  As it turned toward, he ducked again behind the wall, which sputtered orange molten sparks as another train of blue plasma bullets rushed past. Cat let out another burst of automatic fire, and the room went silent.

  Red-Eye and Duck stomped down the ramp, dropping off one side as Red-Eye took aim through his scope.

  “There’s a door at the end of the room,” said Red-Eye. “I’m covering it boss, do your thing.”

  John rushed in. “Who’s Hurt?”

  “Not me.”

  “All good, sir.”

  “I need to reload,” said Cat. He attached a new ammo box to the side of his rifle, and pulled a strip of linked bullets over the open top.

  John signaled the others, his chest aching even while subtly waving his hand. The team cleared the room quickly and covered the only visible passageway, with lay directly opposite of the bay door. It led to an empty hallway.

  “Command, you got tracking on?”

  “We do,” said the colonel. “Start dropping those little sensor beacons, and we’ll keep an eye on your six.”

  The underground complex was a mess of passageways and hollowed rooms. The alien tunnels had subtle turns, perhaps to navigate around buried boulders, or for some other purpose. John dropped one of the motion sensors, and led the team through the tunnel, which exited into a round room with three more passages leading out.

  A slopping sound came from the tunnel on the left. The men knelt and took aim, waiting for the worst. The two squiddies had just come into view before the men dropped them into squishy piles on the ground. John tossed a motion sensor down each hallway. He signaled Dragonfly toward the passageway on the left, and the other scout, Hummingbird, followed.

  “Drop sensors as you go. This place is so tangled up, I don’t want anyone sneaking up behind us.”

  Two shots rang out in the distance.

  “Speaking of. Duck, what’s up?”

  “Squiddy popped in from the loading area. He must’ve survived the crash. I’m gonna go check out the wreckage.”

  “Wait for Doc to get up there and help.” He nodded to the medic, who took off down the hall. Cat followed John forward through another twisting passageway, ending in a fork. They went right, finding a long room with no exits.

  “What do you think?” asked Cat.

  “Looks like a mess hall. A very clean mess hall.”

  It had all of the features. A narrow pool ran down the middle of the room. Tables on the left, and a wall of small black tubes on the right, sorted on various shelves. They were packed neatly, reminiscent of an aisle of canned food at the supermarket, without any of the fancy advertising. He grabbed one of the tubes, and rolled it in his hand. It was solid black, about the size of a soda can, but longer. They had seen these on the alien ships as well. Engineering and R and D could only identify the contents as biomass, a brown sludge that the squiddies liked to eat. On the side were bright orange letters from the alien alphabet.

  “There’s no way out of the back,” said Cat. The young machine gunner twitched this way and that. He scanned the room repe
atedly.

  “Breathe, Cat. Deep and slow. If there were enough of them left to take us out, they would have done it by now.”

  They crept back down the passageway toward the fork, and followed the other hallway. Rooms on the left side of the hall were all open, without doors, like the rest of the base so far. The first two were empty. The third was full of squids, all of them stone statues soaking in small baths. Maybe they were sleeping. Maybe they were just stupid, but they didn’t respond to the human presence at all.

  “You know what to do, Cat. We aren’t taking prisoners this trip.”

  John tucked into the hallway as muzzle-flash lit the walls. He pressed a free finger against one ear to muffle the echoes of automatic fire. Ten squiddies dead without a fight. More gunshots came from further down the tube. Whatever their control programming was telling them, it wasn’t to defend themselves.

  They walked the hallway toward the hub as the radio scratched to life. “John, you’re about to meet up with your sniper team. Don’t shoot each other. Duck and Red-Eye appeared in the hallway.

  “What’s up?” asked John.

  Red-Eye shook his head. “There’s a secret tunnel leading to the hangar. It comes out under what’s left of the craft up there.”

  Dragonfly called over the radio. “You guys need to see this. Follow the tube you sent us down, and stay to the right.

  They followed the instructions, passing through another hollow room filled with all manner of lab equipment and strange machines.

  “Maybe the controller is in here somewhere.”

  “Maybe. Let’s clear the base first. Then we’ll worry about finding their remote control.”

  As he proceeded down the next tunnel, the adrenaline started to wear off. His chest throbbed in pain with each beat of his heart. They were all down here in some dark hole, not knowing what kind of sick traps the aliens might have laid for them. The lighting was barely enough to see by, and the air stank of ammonia. His eyes stung and started to water.

  Emerging from the next tunnel showed something he wasn’t prepared for. Human beings, laid out on several operating tables with cutting tools and needles on metal stands near each. Most of the bodies looked alive; their chests were moving. The others were cadavers, cut wide open with bits of gut laying here and there. A few dead squiddies lying nearby were still clutching steel implements in the finger-like tentacle ends.