UFO FanFic - Chapter 2

[Zager]

"Let's hope this one doesn't flee, non?" said Gaston, as he finished buckling up his armor. He grabbed his rifle, slipping the strap over his shoulder. "I do so hate getting all dressed up for nothing."

 

Duchante's Caliclo M950 went into his holster, spare boxes attached to his battle webbing, alongside the grenades.

 

The backpack packed full of explosives was the last thing on. Gaston had gotten equipped in just a few short moments, and headed out with his squad towards the skyranger. "Soyons isolé. Victoire ou mort." he cried.

[The Veteran]

As the two interceptors headed out from Pine Gap Trigger was happy in the thought that today was his chance to sit out the flight. Sure he loved the rush but that didn't mean he wanted to do it all the time. He sat now in the rec-room with Rick who was looking thoughtfully at a hole in the carpet...

"Something on your mind by any chance?" he asked snapping Rick out of his daze.

"Nah I don't know. It just seems a little hectic doesn't it?" replied Rick vaguely.

"What does?"

"It's January 5th and we're on our third scramble already! If it keeps up at this pace and we lose two soldiers per mission we're going to be finished within a month."

"Well that's a pleasant thought..." said Trigger with a raised eyebrow. "What brought this on then? You're usually so cheerful?"

"I don't know... I guess I'm just thinking of all the new recruits. I've got quite close to a few of them since they arrive but I don't honestly think they're good enough soldiers to hold their own out there..."

"Well sure I guess some of them are a bit green but they'll learn from the mistakes of the people that go before them. Squad two knows they need to use the cover and avoid small flying liver shaped objects thanks to Shuwei and John."

"Oh I know, most of them will be fine but it's always hard to lose a teammate. I just get the feeling it'll be a lot harder to lose one to an enemy we don't understand."

"I kind of see your point but think about it, if I was shot down tomorrow I'm sure someone else was get the bugger that did it... Then you'd come along and beat everyone of the little grey freaks senseless in rememberance of me no doubt."

Rick chuckled but he knew it was true. "Don't get shot down, everyone will be a lot happier that way... You know what I mean though right?"

"I think so but I'm in a different position to you so I'll probably never know exactly what you're feeling."

As he spoke Trigger felt a shadow cross his mind. He thought of Davies out there, but he thought more about Gia out there. Maybe he should have gone. But he know she could handle it, he knew she'd be back in a few hours and then everything would be just as it had been... He shook the thought out of his head just long enough for it to return again. He'd spent a little time with Gia over the last few days but not as much as he would like. The Russian Major, or 'arseface' as Rick had affectionately named him, even had the pilots training as often as he could.

When she gets back, he thought, then he could spend some time with her. Not talking about work, they could just talk. He looked forward to it and slowly it slipped from his mind.

"I said don't you think so?" said Rick for what was apparently the second time.

"Sorry?" said Tigger innocently.

Rick sighed. "I said don't you think they can take care of themselves?"

"Yeah sure they can." he replied his mind drifting back to Gia. "I mean," he said uncertainly. "They wouldn't be here if they couldn't... right?"

"Right," nodded Rick slowly. "Right, they wouldn't..."

Both men having unknowingly comforted each other and themselves they glanced casually about the room and noted it's surprising lack of occupants.

"No Warlord," said Rick still looking over his shoulder.

"That makes a change," laughed Trigger. "Speaking of which..."

Rick turned back to Trigger inquisitively.

"What happened to the whole squad leader thing? It's been a couple of days now. Surely the Commander will be wanting an answer soon."

"Yeah he is. I just don't know what to tell him." replied Rick staring at the carpet again. Looks like a cigarette burn... he thought absently.

"Well what about Warlord? I thought it was his choice?"

"Hmm? Yeah it was..." Rick paused. "He said no... He's a soldier, I knew that. But it doesn't mean that I'm not..."

"So you haven't made up your mind yet then?"

"No, it's a tough call..."

"It has to be made," said Trigger.

"I know, but... not yet ok?"

Trigger nodded, "You don't need to tell me. I'm not the one who's waiting to know."

"I'll decide when I know what my choice is... I can't do any better than that" Rick laughed softly as the sentence formed itself nonsensically.

Trigger smiled as he watched the ever distant soldier still examining the carpet damage that he had now concluded was indeed a cigarette burn.

As the two men sat once again in silence a green light came on in the room to inform it's occupants of an announcement. Several seconds later the PA system kicked in and someone from tactical command addressed the base.

*Alpha base* it echoed. *Interceptor Two has successfully intercepted UFO-3 over farmland in Southern Italy. Skyranger One is already en route to the crash site and has ETA of 1500 hours. That is all.*

"Looks like we got our second bogie," said Rick cheerfully.

"Yeah I guess so," replied Trigger less enthusiastically.

"You sound like you're routing for the bad guys here..."

"You know I'm not... It's just... Interceptor Two?"

"What's wrong with Intercepto Two?"

Trigger frowned, "That's Davies..."

[Ki-tat Chung]

As Hiroshi sat in his seat on the 'Ranger, he nudged Lance.

"Hey, Lance, 'Don't get hurt'. Pass it on."

"Huh...?" Lance said as he was woken up by his Asian neighbor.

"'Don't get hurt', pass it on."

"Uhhh....sure...." Lance said as his streched out a little. He turned to his other neighbor and passed the message. Soon, the whole squad got the message...

 

*Note, this is just a filler. I will finnish this off soon. Just trying to start a tradition with the 'Don't get hurt' thing... *

Edited December 11, 2003 by Ki-tat Chung

[Hankosha]

Hankosha sat staring at the ceiling. He was running situations through his head, and was trying to see if he could figure out the next move his opponent would make. His head came down as the tech moved a piece.

"Checkmate."

"Dammit! I knew I shouldn't have tried that feint."

Hankosha stood up and shook the tech's hand. A small number of techs and scis had started up a chess club in their spare time. Hankosha hadn't had much luck winning since he had lost his charm. Strangely, he was feeling quite tired and worn. "Probably the death of my roommate," he muttered to himself.

Hankosha headed for the shooting range. The targets had been changed to the size of the aliens, and so Hankosha fired off several rounds. He heard a scream, and someone charging out of a nearby stall. A small white mouse ran quickly up to him and squeeked. Hankosha picked him up and smiled.

"It seems as though we've got an unintended new recruit," he heard a noise behind him, and saw the security officer staring at him, "and it seems as though I'm in trouble"....

[Rasicar]

Poison was pinned down in a corn field by enemy sniper fire. So far the operation ahd gone less then smooth. They were lucky that thus far, the farmer who owned this field hadn't decided to get involved. Last word was that they were either not home or were cowing in fear in their house which was just fine with her. She had more iimportant things to take care of, such as not getting her head shot off.

 

They had disembarked from the Skyranger without incidence. Gold team, which she was the leader of was sent out ahead of the rest of hte squad to scout out the area. At first it seemed as though all the aliens had died in the crash; she could see the smoke rising from the site in the distance. She called on the comm. and gave the all clear for the rest of the squads to proceed. That is when all hell broke loose.

 

The aliens appeared to be one step ahead of the team. They had lie in wait, for all the squads to disembark and spread out before engaging. The first alien to fire was now lying underneath the remains of what used to be the barn. It had cut Tipping from Red Team down with two shots, creating a hoel in his chest and decapitating him. the other shot had missed, but the following salvo had seperated the two remaining members to the point where they were no longer able to support one another efficiently. It took a volley of HE rounds from Norton's autocannon, from Blue Team, to remove the alien, which coincided with the barn collapsing.

 

Two other aliens commenced firing on Green team from a spot within a wheat field that was near the barn just to the left of the crash site.

 

All that transpired within the span of four minutes. Now there was chaos with everyone barking orders and reports that she couldn't hear a solid word from the head sets. She shook her head and cursed under breath. She was used to being a loner, but she knew when to work with a team, unfortuntely it didn't seem as though anyone else here was willing to do the same.

 

Lance Wether's voice finally came on the headsets over all the chatter.

 

"Everyone shut up!! Poison, can you and Hiroshi get near the craft and give intelligence?"

 

"Negative sir, we are pinned down by sniper fire coming from the near the crash site. We have taken cover in the corn field to the east side," she reported.

 

"Roger that. Norton, do you copy?"

 

"Yes sir."

 

"I want your squad to lay down some suppressive fire in the direction of the crash site. If you see a place that an alien can hide, shoot it."

 

"Roger that."

 

Lance turned his attention back to the two aliens that had them in a crossfire. He turned his head just in time for his eyes to be enveloped by green plasma, and his body dropped to the ground. Sending the squad into disarray.

[Zager]

Gaston hit the roof of the UFO, and landed lightly on his feet. He had circled around after his team was split up by the gunfire.

 

The UFO had smashed right into the side of a barn in its crash, the door facing outwards. Gaston had slipped in through the back door of the barn, and went up to the loft. It worked, now he was on top of the UFO, and aliens most likely didn't know he was there yet.

 

"Poison, are you still pinned down?" he asked, over the radio.

 

"Yes, damnit! Somebody do something about the sniper," came the reply, as another plasma bolt lanced into the corn field.

 

"It will be done," Gaston replied, in his calm voice. He made a few mental calculations, pulled a grenade off his belt, and tossed it off of one side of the UFO, while pulling the pin. "Popping smoke right now."

 

Billows of smoke rose up from the side, concealing the corn field from the Sectoid's view. The smoke was choking it, it was starting to have difficulty breathing. So the Sectoid ran away from its previous position, trying to get out of the smoke. As it left the edge of the smoke cloud, it glanced up, into the barrel of a gun.

 

Gaston briefly held down the trigger of his Calico, the selector switch on automatic. Eightshots were blasted out of the barrel, eight nine milimeter Jacketed Hollow Point bullets slammed into the chest and side of the Sectoid, sending it flying to the side, as the force of the bullets knocked its lightweight body off of its feet.

 

Gaston looked down dispassionatly at the alien's shattered body. "All units," he broadcasted. "Sniper disposed of. Immediate vincinity of crash site is clear."

[Snikers]

Voices were yelling, bullets were flying, and people were dying. Keller was quickly becoming overwelmed as she grabbed at her radio, options sorting through her mind, flitting through a series of flashes.

 

UFO was clear, but a ways off -

 

Poison was no longer -

 

Team Green had a pair on their backsides -

 

Keller whirled, turning in the direction of the wheat field. It wasn't far. Not to mention they were on a different side than Green Team...if she could do it right, she might just be able to catch them in a pincer movement...

 

"This is Keller! I'm taking Red Team to support Green Team, over" Keller knew her voice was going to be absorbed in the mish mash of sounds over the frequency, but didn't have time to repeat it.

 

"Follow me" She called, running for the wheat field. Her surviving partner, looking slightly dazed by the chaos, turned and followed. It was seconds before she could see the green flash of alien weapons going off behind one wooden fence. As she watched, one of the bulbous-headed beings lifted some small, spherical object. Keller had heard the alien grenades pack a mean punch and didn't have time to crouch. Skidding to a stop, she raised the rifle to her shoulder, caught a flash of grey in her scope, and fired.

[JellyfishGreen]

Keller's snap shot caught the Sectoid in the head and it dropped. A second later the alien grenade erupted, obliterating a quarter of the field and half the wooden fence in a rolling black ball of smoke. The other sectoid staggered away from the flaming wheat stalks deeper into the field.

 

With the sniper down and the east side of the UFO being watched by Gaston, Hiro had a chance to think. Wethers had been acting leader for this mission, but with him down, somebody needed to take charge. The former Special Operations instructor knew he was probably best for the job. The HWP had taken off to the southeast, but he could guess that the operator had been overwhelmed by the action happening all over the map - "combat paralysis". He keyed his comms. "HWP, HWP, Gold-2. Come north 50 and deliver support fire into south end of the wheat field." "HWP, yes sir Gold-2," answered the operator - Slice, was it? The HWP sprang into motion, roaring around the west side of a farmhouse and loosing a rocket into a low stone wall along the field's southern edge. The field which was still smoking from the grenade to the north erupted in another fireball in the south, catching the retreating sectoid. Green and Wexford, pinned down behind another stone wall, saw the explosions and cheered. Green then keyed his comm. "Blue-2 moving up to the farmhouse. Keep up surveillance and suppression." The two soldiers got up cautiously but soon reached the wreckage of the field and confirmed the area clear.

 

As Ross ran after Keller, the stun rod slung across his back kept trying to slip off his shoulder.

Just before the Ranger had launched, an engineer had handed the rod to Hiro, who had looked at it with distaste and passed it on to Ross. Ross took it on the principle you could never have too many weapons - but now he wasn't so sure. It was very awkward and the sharp prongs looked more likely to injure him during manouvers than an alien during combat. Never mind that he didn't trust the capacitor discharge safety. He halted behind Keller at the corner of some stables, where she crouched watching the farmhouse and the UFO. Behind them, Kilam and Dujardin were moving to the east end of the row of stables, following the path Gaston had taken to the UFO.

 

Taunting voices caught Keller's attention. They were faint at first, and seemed to be coming from many directions. With a shock she realized the voices were coming directly into her head. She couldn't make out the words, but suddenly she was back on the school playground in the centre of a circle of other children who were all deriding her as a freak.

She'd gotten through that, she'd get through this. Keller bit her lip and internally voiced "Is that all you got?"

The taunting turned to confusion and faded.

 

Wexford and Green, crawling towards the farmhouse southeast of the UFO, had just found a locked cellar entrance. If the family were still alive, Green reckoned, it was best if they kept themselves locked in. He didn't notice Wexford glancing nervously around trying to locate the source of the voices.

He checked the window. The room seemed to be clear. He had just turned to signal his partner when Wexford yelled "Ahhh! They're everywhere" and let loose a panicked burst of full-auto AC-HE fire. Green flattened against the wall and cringed moments later as one of the rounds exploded uncomfortably close. "Dammit, Wexford! There's nothing there" Wexford stopped firing but he was definitely losing it. His eyes were darting everywhere. Then both of them heard a crackling sound from the direction of the UFO.

 

Green swept the area with his scope. He zeroed in on the running figure of another Sectoid and fired two shots at the torso. The alien staggered but managed to make it to the ruins of the barn near the UFO. "I've shot one at 4540," shouted Green, "but I think he's wearing body armor. Can anyone else get a bead?" The map operator lit an marker for the alien. Gaston's marker was still on the far side of the UFO's roof. "Darn it," thought Green, "This is why fireteams are supposed to stick together."

 

Kilam answered Green's question by firing a 40mm HC-HE grenade at the wall of the UFO. The small grey body was thrown forward by the blast and lay still. Dujardin and Kilam started moving up to the UFO.

 

Green and Wexford burst from the farmhouse, intent on making it to the south of the UFO.

[The Veteran]

Back at Pine Gap the running commentary of the mission had stopped after the first human casualty in an attempt to preserve the morale of the soldiers who had remained there. Rick still sat in the rec-room but

Trigger had been gone for some time and now he had Warlord for company. They were discussing tactics mostly and talking about the weapons and aliens that they'd seen when they fought the first mission. Rick's mind was on something else though. Several things in fact.

Mostly he was thinking about the two people who'd managed to make it out of his good books in a matter of days... He'd spoken to Warlord about Gaston but being less English than Rick he had simply pointed out how all that mattered was how a man fights when they're in the field. He had a much bigger problem with the Russian Major.

Rick was not nor had he ever been an alcoholic and this man who didn't even know him had blatantly accused him of drug abuse... He was going to regret it, Trigger knew it, Warlord knew it, everyone who saw what had happened knew it. Rick unfortunately for him was not one to sit idly by and watch these things happen. Now was just another one of those times when he was getting ready to stand up and he wouldn't sit down until the Major was crawling... He didn't know what to do though, he had no idea.

He'd spoken to Warlord about this problem too but Warlord was less than sympathetic with the Major. He'd said "His training techniques are dated and useless. We're spending too much time in the shooting range and not enough on wargames and simulations. We should be learning stealth not open warfare."

Warlord was right and Rick knew it before he'd been told. These aliens were clearly familiar with geurrilla tactics and it looked like they weren't familiar with anything much else. They'd already seen a hit and run that had left Jennings hospitalised.

Now as the two sat in silence Warlord was the first to speak.

"I hear you've been given Squad leader position?" he said factually.

Rick returned to the room as his mind rested briefly. "Well," he said uncertainly, "not given. Just offered."

Warlord frowned, "You mean you're having doubts too?"

"Kind of, yeah. I feel the same way as you do. I'd rather be fighting than talking. I just don't know if I'm cut out for that kind of work."

"Have you thought who would get it if you don't?" said Warlord knowingly. Before Rick could speak Warlord beat him to it once again. "Look, Rick. We both know that the two of us are the best soldiers in the squad if not the base. You've been here five years at least and I've been here even longer. Genega would be mad to give the position to anyone else and he knows it. I don't think he'll take no as an answer from both of us..."

"Maybe you're right but there are plenty of other people in the squad who I'm sure could learn to be just as good if not better than us."

Warlord laughed out loud but apparently quite accidentally. "I don't quite see that happening. I mean they're good and all, we have the best troops in the base. But they're not that good, and I don't think any amount of training will see it happen... It's going to be one of us Rick and we both know it."

Rick sighed. The lack of choice seemed to convince him that he wanted the only option he couldn't have. He wasn't entirely sure about that though, and the control over Squad 1 would an honour and a privilege, not to mention a lot of fun.

"If you don't want to take it," said Warlord "then I will. But I really think I'd make a better soldier than I would a leader. You have the brains and the brawn, you could pull it off easier than you think..."

"I don't know about that," chuckled Rick. "My schooling was never all that rewarding"

"But your training was... You're one of, if not the best soldier I've ever fought beside. You know when to take risks and when not to. You also know when a risk is not worth taking, and that's a hard call to make. It's seen me in a hospital bed quite a few times. Besides..." Warlord formed a smile as he formed a sentence. "Gaston would have to call you sir..."

Rick pondered his predicament with a chuckle. "Wouldn't help me any with the Major unfortunately."

"Well that depends how much responsibility you're willing to take on..."

Rick raised an eyebrow in Warlord's general direction.

"Ivan's only here for training the squads right? well if you accept the position as Squad Leader then you have the choice to oversee the training yourself or even do without him altogether."

"You mean I could tell him where to stick it?"

"You could do more than that... You could order him to stick it there as well..."

[JellyfishGreen]

South of Blue team and the UFO was a long hedgerow bordering an orchard. The UFO itself was half hidden from the team by the ruins of the barn it had struck.

 

Behind them the HWP was wheeling to come around the other side of the farmhouse and clear more area to the south. Green checked his advance - the hedgerow was a perfect place for another ambush. Visibility beyond it was nil. "Don't like the look of that hedge," he muttered. Wexford heaved the multibarreled autocannon into firing position and said "How about I clear some of that for you." "Sure," replied Green, glancing at Wexford and his map. The HWP wasn't yet in position to give support fire and Kilam's group was only now reaching the barn. At least Keller could see a bit of the orchard from her position at the stables. Green kneeled to watch Wexford's demolition work over his rifle sights.

 

Using the now-familiar auto-burst mode, Norton Wexford ripped a burst of 20mm HE rounds into the base of the hedges. The orchard trees were eerily lit by the flashes in the fading light of day. Two small sections of the hedges were ripped out of the earth and scattered into smoking debris. Quietly, an orange device with a large muzzle clutched in a skinny grey hand eased out from behind one of the orchard trees. It fired once, and Green's senses suddenly went into overdrive as a large purple ball shot past the team.

 

It exploded harmlessly behind them. "DOWN" gasped Green to the standing Wexford, as he fired off two snap shots in the direction of the alien. Wexford flattened himself into the small ditch that was the only nearby cover. The second shot from the alien was more on target, though, and it burst on the ground between the two, flooding them instantly with a cloud of purple gas. Green had just enough time to see Wexford grab his throat then collapse before the prickly paralysis crept over him and his world went dark as well.

 

Keller yelled out and she ran with Ross down to the wheat field to try and set up a line of fire into the orchard. The HWP ground its way towards the orchard and fired another rocket to knock over a few trees and more hedge. A purple ball was fired in return, but the gas had no effect on the miniature tank.

 

Kilam moved his way through the barn and came within view of the north side of the hedgerow, but the grenade rounds would do him no good in close quarter battle, so he held position. The tank scouted forward, and flushed the sectoid, but it was gone again before Keller or Ross could take a shot.

 

Kilam was in earshot, though, to hear the sectoid scream and then scream again weakly. The tank could go no further into the closely packed trees, but when Keller and Ross met up with Dujardin and began sweeping the orchard, they found the sectoid already collapsed. Keller gave Dujardin a quizzical look. Dujardin turned the body over with his foot and spotted a snakebite. "Ici. An adder, I would guess." Ross looked nervously around, but Dujardin gave a wry smile. "Perhaps Earth's creatures are joining together to fight the invaders, yes?"

 

With the area apparently clear, he unslung his medikit and ran to the collapsed soldiers. He was happy to report they were alive, if unconscious and weakly breathing.

[FullAuto]

Hiroshi activated his radio. “Area clear, area clear! All teams move to the UFO! HWP to cover Wexford and Green!”

He began to run, reloading his pistol as he went. Smoke from burning hedges and fields scented the air. The HWP rolled to a halt by Wexford and Green, watching over them.

Poison was close behind him, keeping pace easily. “What do you want to do?” She asked between breaths.

“Roll right in.” He replied, cocking his pistol.

Chung, Keller, Dujardin and Ross caught up with them.

“Sounds good to me.” Poison said, smiling wickedly. “I want to be first through the door.”

Hiroshi glanced at her. “You sure?”

She looked at him. That was enough.

“Okay.”

They reached the UFO.

Duchante jumped, executed a neat parachute roll as he hit the ground and sprung to his feet, M950 at the ready. “I thought you would never get here.”

Hiroshi ignored that. No time to swap witty remarks. “Kilam, dump the cannon, use your pistol. Dujardin, get your kit ready. Me, Gaston and Poison are first through the door. Then Kilam, Keller and Ross.”

Kilam set down the heavy cannon and drew his sidearm, checking the chamber for a bullet. Dujardin slung his rifle and got his medikit in his hand. Hiroshi looked over the squad. Poison, bouncing on the balls of her feet, eager to go, one hundred per cent attitude made flesh. Gaston, still and calm. Keller, a little shaky but determined. Ross, shrugging uncomortably at the stun rod over his back. Kilam, fingering his pistol.

Hiroshi wondered how much practice he’d put in with it at the range, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

“Remember the debriefing.” Hiro told them. “Squad one opened the door and there were aliens ready and waiting on the other side. The door works on a motion sensor, get in front of it and it’ll slide up into the hull. Poison, go left. Gaston, go right. I’ll take the centre.”

The squad assembled either side of the door. Fresh magazines clicked home, guns were cocked with a chorus of metallic clacks. Hiro checked the chamber of his pistol, patted his spare magazines and began to psych himself up for the assault.

Hopefully, it would be open-plan inside, like the UFO squad one had handled. A straight quick shoot-out, no small rooms, no dark corners.

He looked across the door at Poison.

She bared her teeth in a savage grin.

Hiroshi, almost feeling sorry for the aliens, nodded to Gaston.

M950 in one hand, Gaston stepped up, flipped the pin and safety free of the flash-bang grenade.

The door slipped up into the hull so quickly Gaston flinched. He tossed the grenade inside, sidestepped away.

“Three seconds.” He said, holding his monstrous pistol in both hands.

The door slid closed.

Even through the hull the explosion made the squad wince.

Poison surged through the door, pistol sandwiched between her hands.

Gaston on her heels, scowling.

Hiro raised his pistol and lunged.

It wasn’t what he expected.

Empty. A rectangular room, a wall directly ahead of him. The room branched off to the left and right. The UFO wasn’t open-plan.

Crap.

Gaston and Poison were already moving, maintaining momentum, exploring the branching passages.

“Door!” They called simultaneously.

Gaston moved up beside the door, pistol ready.

Poison wasn’t going to stop there, Hiro saw, and followed her.

Behind him, Keller, Kilam and Ross piled through the door.

Hiro, three steps behind Poison, watched the door swish swiftly apart, receding into the walls.

The alien on the other side wasn’t quick enough.

Poison emptied her clip into it and nailed it against the wall.

A dozen .45 calibre rounds, all clean torso hits, turned its innards to leaking mush.

Poison spun aside, ejecting the spent clip, one hand diving for a reload, a deadly ballet.

Hiro found his momentum carrying him through the open doorway.

A small square room, door to his right.

He turned and slipped in alien blood. The door to his right swished open and a plasma bolt seared the air above his head.

Hiro fired blindly into the doorway, rolling in alien guts, slithering to get out of the line of fire.

Poison came in low, pistol blazing.

The alien died, smashed backwards, bullets punching through its head and legs.

The door swished closed.

Hiro got up, clawing at the wall with one hand, pistol levelled at the door.

“You ok?”

“Just great.”

They reloaded, eyes on the door.

“Everything ok?” Ross entered, rifle raised.

The door swished open.

A blast of plasma surged through as Poison and Hiro ducked, firing as they dropped.

They notched leg hits, torso hits, arm hits.

Spindly severed fingers flew into the air as bullets chopped its weapon from its hands.

With the last round in her clip, Poison exploded its head.

The door swished shut again.

Flat on his arse, Hiro reloaded again, glancing at Ross. “You ok?”

Ross was curled up in the doorway. Blood pooled around him, spreading slowly outwards.

Poison leaned over, checked his carotid. “Medic!” She screamed, then remembered her radio. “Dujardin, get in here!”

Keller appeared, rifle at her shoulder. “What-”

Poison ripped the stun rod off Ross’ back, shoved it at Keller. “Here, take this, get out of the way.”

Keller took the stun rod gingerly, lowering her rifle, moving into the room to stand by Hiroshi. She couldn’t take her eyes off Ross.

The door swished open once more.

Poison whirled and fired. Her pistol clicked empty.

Hiro’s shot was blocked by Keller.

Who spun and jabbed with her fist instinctively, trying to bring her rifle round.

The stun rod made contact with the muzzle of the alien rifle.

Electricity crackled. The stink of ozone.

The alien dropped its weapon and fell, twitching.

Keller dropped the stun rod, bringing her rifle to bear. She leaned forward, touched the muzzle of her rifle to it’s head, grimacing as she squeezed the trigger.

“No!” Hiroshi dived forward, knocked her aside.

The bullet plinked into the floor and ricocheted away.

“We need one of them alive.” Hiroshi explained as Keller looked at him.

Poison pushed between them, sliding a fresh clip into her pistol. She aimed at the twitching figure.

Hiro grabbed her wrist, jerked it up. “Alive, I said.”

For a moment, toe-to-toe, Hiroshi thought it was going to come to blows. Then Poison stepped back, the hard cold look still in her eyes. “Alive?”

She scooped up the stun rod.

“It’ll wish it wasn’t.”

She brought it down on the spasming alien.

Hiroshi activated his radio. “Clear the rest of the UFO, Gaston. Breach that door.”

Clattering as Gaston and Kilam cleared the rest of the craft. Dujardin arrived, jammed lines into Ross, and began fiddling with his medikit. Keller knelt down to see if she could help.

Hiro snatched the stun rod from Poison. She turned that ice cold stare on him again. He looked back with every ounce of calm he possessed. She walked out.

“Clear!” Someone shouted.

Hiro holstered his pistol, leaned back against the wall and watched the human and alien blood mingle on the floor.

[Hankosha]

Hankosha stood with the white mouse in his hand, staring at Pickering. The security officer had a nasty gleam in his eyes.

"Finally, I've got something I can throw you into the stockade for."

Just as Pickering started reaching for Hankosha, a scientist came running into the room. He was carrying a net, and appeared to be searching for something, He suddenly noticed Hankosha and Pickering, and saw the mouse.

"Thank goodness. You found Icarus."

Hankosha and Pickering both turned towards the scientist and said in perfect unity, "Icarus?"

The scientist replied, "yes, Icarus, the mouse. He managed to somehow undo the latch on his cage, and slipped through the vent in the corner. I assume he found his way here through the vents. We were checking to see if one of our ideas worked - a motion sensor. We have the model, but we're trying to get it to detect movements of smaller species, in case there are smaller aliens."

Hankosha was amazed. He took Icarus and looked at him. The little fellow was smarter than he looked, but in Hankosha's hands he looked calm and peaceful. As Hankosha started to hand Icarus to the scientist, the mouse started to squeek loudly, as though he didn't want to be separated from Hankosha. The scientist looked from Icarus to Hankosha. and back.

"Amazing. This mouse seems to want to stay with you, this phenomenon has never appeared before, save that some mice were repelled from the alien corpses..."

Pickering interrupted, "well, if I'm not needed here, I'll leave you alone," Then turning to Hankosha he said, "Remember, I've got my eye on you, and if you put one toe out of line, you're into the stockade."

Pickering left the room, and the scientist continued by saying, "I think there may be something here, but I'll research it further. In the meantime, You come down to the labs, I'll let you have a cage for Icarus, but you will occasionally have to bring him down to the labs so that I can do some tests. However, I think it's safe to say that Icarus is yours."

Hankosha looked at Icarus, and looking the white mouse in the eyes, he said quietly, "well little buddy, you helped me out of a big jam. the least I can do is take care of you."

Hankosha, Icarus and the scietist headed down to the labs, with Hankosha thinking about what 'accomidations' he could make for Icarus, the scientist thinking about what this phenomenon was, and Icarus dreaming of a nice big piece of cheese.

[JellyfishGreen]

The Osprey had been dispatched minutes after the Skyranger, and half an hour after the UFO had been cleared, Third Squad were disembarking to take their site security duty. As they set up a perimeter around the Australian farm, the scientific team began sifting the battlefield for artifacts. Second Squad's wounded were already in the Skyranger, along with the captured alien and two body bags. Hiro told the arriving squad leader about the possibility of someone still hiding in the farmhouse basement, then he too hopped aboard and the Skyranger dusted off.

 

Green recovered consciousness a few hours into the flight home as his body metabolized the gas. He heard the drone of the engines first, then saw the dim red lighting of the troop hold, then heard voices as he tried to sit up.

"Hey, he's coming to," said "Poison" Andrews, seated across from him.

"Don't worry, they tried to abduct you but didn't like your smell" joked Kilam, crammed next to him.

"No anal probing?" he tried to joke back as he wriggled himself upright.

"I just gave you an injection of an adrenalin analog to help things along, but I didn't want to give you too much," said Dujardin as he continued to watch Green's condition.

"It could have been worse," added Kilam. "We thought you'd bought the farm like Wethers and Tipping." He indicated the bodybags laying next to the front bulkhead.

Green took in the sombre faces, the bodybags, and the slumped figures of Ross and the alien. "It could have been better," he snarled. "Gaston was off playing superhero when his own team was under fire. "

"You are one to talk," answered Gaston icily. "In Spider Valley you were off like a shot, Mr. Lone Wolf."

"But that was training - and, if you remember, I got tagged as a result and we lost that game" Green spluttered.

Hiro sat up from his half-doze and barked, "Karl! stow the chatter and get some rest. Gaston - don't let it happen again." Then he slumped back into his harness and dozed the rest of the flight.

 

Ricco Ross was going to survive, thanks to a new coagulant the doctors were trying. The substance foamed up and hardened when it hit blood, fast enough to stick to the flesh underneath and seal off even a gushing artery. However, he would be in medbay a long time and would probably be discharged from service due to his injuries. Tammy knew this would come as a huge disappointment to the career soldier.

 

The next day, the scientists reported to Genega that they had gotten a few more bits of information out of the alien - apparently it had a navigator's role - but it had died overnight like the previous captive. The good news, Zager's report stated, was that they had made a breakthrough in the laser development - they had solved their major energy loss issue - and could be ready to start work on a fairly powerful portable weapon.

 

The alien alloy researchers had also made a breakthrough - although they couldn't replicate the fine-grained circuits that appeared to have been grown into the alloy, they could temporarily soften areas of the alloy by subjecting it to a high-intensity oscillating magnetic field, and were designing an electromagnet-tipped forge to allow them to form the alloy into remarkably strong shielding or even portable armor plate. "Biphase carbide", according to the spectrometer analysis, and if layered a foot thick it would stop a nuke. The powerplant crystal sample was still under analysis but early indications were finding it equally as strange.

 

"The sooner we increase our effectiveness, the better," thought Genega. "These are the best people we've got, and we're _still_ losing a couple every mission."

[Alitorious]

The small science team of five stared down at the stack of papers spread among them in typical 'techhead' stubborness. All wore the signature white labcoats. After more than half a week, they were practically at square one of their problem solving.

 

The nature of the documents were about as varied as the group assembled above them. Some were blueprints for bizarre devices, and more were reams of pages of equations. The majority by far, however, were nearly illegible scribbles. But, like the scientists, they too focused on one subject at hand: Motion Tracker.

 

Daniel sighed and leaned back into his chair. It sure seemed easy enough thinking about it during a computer game, but now the group was at a loss. They had tried many different approaches.

 

The first method of attack was to see if there was already some existing technology that could do the same thing. Although Daniel chided himself for not checking first, it was mostly futile. The only commercially availiable 'motion trackers' out there were limited to line-of-sight. That was Fine and Dandy for a securitity system, but useless on the battlefield.

 

Well, the scientists did try a few other ideas first. One was ultrasound. It was easy enough to rig up a gizmo to send off ultrasonic pulses, then record the recieved signal and compared it to previous readings. It worked perfectly, but line of sight only. Try as they might, reliably picking up movement behind anything thicker than a shower curtain was impossible. The missing lab rat testified to that.

 

EM, electromagnetic waves, was the next logical step to try. Radar was now taken for granted in the militaries. Radio waves couldn't reliably detect anything less solid than wood, however. Flesh was among that category. Anything in higher powers (lower wavelengths) were stopped by common, household walls, until you got up to the really tiny wavelengths. Up there it just wasn't practical, as even Dr. Zager's new biocells couldn't provide the power needed to generate gamma- and higher- rays that could again be detected reliably. No, that wasn't true, Daniel shook his head. It could work, but again, anything that could travel through wood and metal walls (concrete was out of the question) could travel through flesh much more easily. Bones, while being thicker, didn't generate a return signal strong enough, as they didn't have much appreciable area.

 

There was also the 'minor' aspect that these waves could cause some harm to the user after a while. The power of the rays needed to reliably see through common walls could be lethal to a person after time. After all, that was why the dentists who took X-rays hid behind a wall, wasn't it?

 

So then the ideas had left the solid realm of physics they could rely on. A mathematician was brought in to help, which proved the sorry state of the project. When your idea was no more tangible than a page of nearly unintelligble symbols on a piece of paper, that was when you needed to begin to worry.

 

But, the next day, after working all through the night and nearly emptying the nearby coffee machine, they had done it. Mathematical proof that Daniel's bizarre idea could work. A grinning, albiet bleary-eyed, Daniel proudly showed the results to Photon, who was nearly as equally pleased. However, Daniel's smile disappeared like captured quarks as soon as Photon asked how soon they could get a prototype.

 

Quite frankly, there was no way to provide a portable way to detect the changes in graviton patterns in a small portable device.

 

Aside from the 'small portable' bit, the rest was relatively easy. The small team had borrowed the large vacuum chamber, and assembled an extremely fine torsion balance system inside, which was dampened by many levels of springs and swings to lessen the transmission of waves through the solid objects. Essentially, it repeated a classic experiment done centuries ago, but on a much more finely tuned scale. It involved a pair of weights balanced on the end of a string. The string was connected to a device that measured how much it was twisted. Outside the vacuum chamber many heavy and dense objects were moved around. The changes in gravity fields changed how the two weights wanted to be attracted to said weights, which in turn twisted the string. The minute twisting could be recorded.

 

The telemetry proved them right, in a manner of speaking. Actually, all they did was prove Newton's laws of gravity. The five members were quite embarrased when they realized that. Another day of painstaking work came to a vain end.

 

Now that left them here, today. Almost an entire week had passed, and all they had to show for it was a bunch of pencil marks on a score of papers. Daniel did not know that that was considered to be good progress, especially considering the scope of their assignment.

 

 

Dana, who was another member of the above mentioned group, was not quite as bored as they were. That was an understatement, actually. She was much more stressed out than they were.

 

Firstly, she had to help fabricate a totally new electomaget-tipped forge for shaping the alien alloys. She would try to go further than that and design a whole new construction utility, for that matter - one which could shape and cut any piece of alloy into any shape in one unit.

 

Secondly, she had her own private reputation with herself to uphold. Dana had always prided herself with being able to take any theoretical who-knows-what and create from it a solid, physical, gizmo. A working railgun made in college was only the tip of the iceberg of what she had done. Now, this gravity-whatever was seriously deflating her.

 

"Give it a rest, sleep on it?" Daniel suggested sleepily. The rest of the group nodded their reluctant assent. Four-thirty in the morning was not the best time for coming up with ideas. Even moreso when he had last arisen from his bed more than twenty four hours ago. Ideas never came to him this late, and there was no reason that would change now.

 

All five men and women filed towards the door. Dana managed to turn off the lights, even, for what good it would do. After that they each stumbled through to the elevator, then to his or her own bed. Later that morning, they hoped to abuse their scientist's priviledge and sleep in, providing that Photon didn't call an urgent meeting all of a sudden.

 

None of them remembered to set the newly installed security system, which was designed to support the already-proven insecure door keycard system.

[The Veteran]

With the scientists in bed and sleeping it was a dead cert that noone else would be awake. Even the security team was running a skeleton crew to monitor the new systems they now had in place. With only five guards in the whole base it was no surprise they didn't realise it was non-operational...

 

After all the excitement of the second UFO assault the base had been relatively calm, slightly dull even. The realisation of what lay ahead was starting to dawn on the soldiers however and that was not a good thing.

 

The rec-room which mere weeks ago had contained all the hustle and bustle of a seaside arcade was now the most sedate room in the base. With only a handful of soldiers frequenting the room and even fewer troops making use of the facilities it provided, there was a distinctly uninviting atmosphere throughout the base.

 

Soldiers now spent most of their time in quarters, either in pairs or alone. Those who felt the need to venture outside of their own rooms were slow and cumbersome, dragging themselves through the maze-like hallways with no expression and an empty mind.

 

The fight had only just begun and so far X-Com had been the winning side but already morale was at an all time low. It had become obvious in such a short time as this that X-Com could not go on to win this war.

 

There were still some on base who were happy to be there but even they were now wondering exactly what future they were working towards. How much could be salvaged by so few faced by so many?

 

Pine Gap's senior personnel were finding it all the harder to cope as they had long been stationed there before the investigation had turned to war. Genega had taken to strolling the hallways at night, frequenting the laboratories and workshops, walking for hours with noone for company but himself.

 

For the Commander, things were hardest of all. His base was dying an early death and even though his men were winning they were unhappy. But what could he really do, he wondered. This was not a necessary struggle, nor was it a conventional one. Claims that everyone would be home by Christmas simply could not be made nor could the troops rely on their allies to step in when times got tough.

 

This was war, but it was going to be unlike any other before. How could such a small handful of men hope to triumph against an entire race of aliens.

 

The Commander was now once again patrolling his unmanned base, left to only his deepest darkest thoughts in the dead of the night. He made his way to Tactical command and took a seat in the supervisors chair.

 

From atop his new perch, he gazed out over the hangar below him and marvelled at the sight of one of X-Com's interceptors. The dim red night-lighting of the hangar showed off the very soul of the craft, glinting of the canopy like the shine of a demons eye.

 

Genega sat for a moment and sank back into his chair, temporarily allowing his darkest thoughts to abandon him. Maybe there was hope yet. X-Com hadn't lost yet and the public was still just as oblivious to the situation as they had been for the past decade.

 

Genega remained emotionless, not even feeling tempted to smile, but at that moment he felt a weight lifted from him. Perhaps there was still a way to win this war. It would take every man to give their absolute best but maybe it was possible.

 

Genega felt empowered, and raising to his stood up tall and proud. Still staring out through the window he spoke as if to the aircraft below him. He said quietly but finally with confidence, "We will win..."

 

At that moment the light on the canopy faded and reappeared as if blinking in response. Genega just began to smile as he felt a sudden pain. Wincing in agony he fell to the floor and lost consciousness.

 

For a second the light on the canopy blinked again as another person moved in the room. A loud noise reverberated throughout the hangar as a metal object fell to the floor, then there was silence...

[Snikers]

Keller's gun came up. Quickly she let off a burst, barrel of the gun chattering as the bullets tore through the air towards their target. The first round tore through the abdomen, the second through the chest and the third and final round blew into the center of its head.

"Bullseye," mumbled Keller to herself. She paused, the shooting range falling silent of her gunfire. Lucky shot, yes, but still - she was proud of her skill with a rifle. She had, after all, been shooting them since she was a child. How old was she, when her parents first took her out hunting? Early grade school, she knew. Above kindergarten, but

Look it's Casper the Ghost

Hey kid, your parents cousins or what

Hey, don't touch me! I don't want a sixth finger

Grade two.

Same year.

Keller frowned as she sent another hapless alien-shaped target to its doom. She hadn't thought about her being bullied for...for years, actually. High school actually. She had crushed it in Grade Two, made it very clear in everyone's mind that...

She hadn't thought about it in years.

Why now? Why suddenly flash back in the middle of a battle? It was alarming. It was dangerous to others, to the people that were counting on her. She had to - what was the term? - pull it together.

First of all, no more rifle practice. She was good enough. Handgun time. She sucked at handguns. She dropped the training rifle to its place with a clatter and picked out one of the unfamiliar-looking handguns.

"Hey." Keller looked up, spying Dujardin at the doorway. He was staring at her, leaning against the frame with arms crossed. His dark eyes were curious. "Shouldn't you be...uh, sleeping?"

Keller checked her watch. It was just past midnight. She waved a hand dismissively, picking up the handgun. "Nah - not tired. I don't really need a lot of sleep."

"Fair enough...but why are you in here? Shouldn't you be in the, uh...rec room or cafeteria or something? I don't know...having fun?"

Keller was silent for a moment. Her eyes dropped. "Not really in a fun mood," she said softly, finally.

Dujardin's posture seemed to droop. "Me neither."

Keller drifted towards the firing ranges again and readied the pistol. About the fire, she hesitated. "Bernard..."

Dujardin, who had been in thought, twitched. He turned to Keller. "Yeah?"

"Did you, ah...feel anything...unusual during the mission?"

"You mean the like the impulse to go crazy and start shooting up the landscape with an automatic heavy weapon?" Dujardin's voice was acidic.

"Well...maybe not that impulse...but maybe you had a weird...thought, of some kind?"Keller looked over her shoulder.

"Uh..." Dujardin frowned. "Well, about a minute or so before Wexford went berserk, I got this weird vibe off of him. Not that I like the guy - my own reasons - but, um, well, I felt threatened, you know? I felt, uh...defensive. A sort of kill or be killed feeling..." Dujardin shrugged dismissively. "Maybe I'm one of those precog guys?"

"Maybe." Keller lowered her pistol, looking around for a second before speaking. "I just...well, never mind."

"What?"

"Well, it's just...when - "

Keller flinched and Dujardin nearly jumped a foot in the air when the door made a loud CLACK as it closed. A dark-haired man came into view, cracking his knuckles. He noticed the pair staring and stopped. "...What?"

Keller spoke first. "Hey, don't think I've seen you before! You new?"

The man shrugged. "Sort of. Name's Greg Conner. You can call me Ghost," he identified himself, speaking in an American accent.

[FullAuto]

Dujardin glanced down the range. “Ok if I join you?” He nodded to the pistol in her hand.

Keller shrugged. “If you can find a spare lane.”

Dujardin grinned. “I’ll fight for one if I have to. You joining us, Conner?”

“Sure, man.” The new guy moved up, popping his knuckles again. “And it’s Ghost.”

“Call signs are for the field.” Dujardin picked up a pistol and a handful of magazines.

Conner picked up a gun. “These thing aren’t really my game, but what the Hell.” He loaded and cocked the pistol, a sharp clickclack that almost echoed in the empty range. “No ear protectors?”

Dujardin gestured, a broad sweep with one hand. “Place is so big you don’t need ‘em.”

Keller jabbed the return button, and waited for the target to reach her. “What range?”

Dujardin examined the controls. “I’m still trying to get used to metric. Um, fifteen metres?”

“Ok.” She removed the cardboard target from the spring-clip.

“I noticed you were firing on full auto.” Dujardin spoke as he loaded up. “Don’t you think that makes it hard to aim?”

Keller held up the target.

Dujardin grimaced. “I’ll shut up.”

They set up their targets at fifteen metres range and fired off a magazine.

Keller fired slow single shots, re-aiming after every trigger pull.

Duajrdin squeezed off confident double taps, putting his last two rounds in the head.

Conner rattled off his mag, emptying it in six seconds.

They pressed the return buttons, reloaded and compared targets.

Keller’s rounds were grouped low and wide. She counted the holes. Eight. Four misses. At fifteen metres. She bit her lip.

Dujardin nodded, satisfied. Ten holes grouped tightly around the centre ring, two through the head. He glanced over at Conner.

His target had a cluster of holes near the centre ring.

“I thought pistols weren’t your game?”

Conner shrugged. “They’re not. Get me up here with my Car-15 though, and you’ll see some shooting.”

“Where you from?” Dujardin set up a fresh target.

“Delta. You?” Conner set the pistol down and stretched, yawning.

“Green Berets.” Dujardin ignored Conner’s smirk.

“Regular John Wayne’s huh?” Conner shrugged. “Gotta go get some sack time. Catch you two later.”

“Conner.” Dujardin called.

“Yeah?” He turned round, still smirking.

“That Car-15? You won’t be using it. We’re issued a rifle.” It was Dujardin’s turn to smirk.

Conner left, stonefaced.

“It’s good to see everyone playing nice.” Keller chipped in.

She was leaning against the back wall, smiling. Dujardin grinned back at her. “Sorry. There’s always some friction between units. Who really is the best, that sort of thing.”

He glanced at Keller’s target and winced. She followed his gaze and sighed. “That bad?”

“Well, its, not, you know, real good.” He held the target up, snapping the fingers of his free hand rhythmically. “Mmm-mmm.”

“I’m just no good with pistols.” Keller realised she was blushing, and with her complexion it was startlingly obvious.

Dujardin looked at her for a moment. “Let me have a look at your hands.”

“Uh, okay.” Keller held her hands palm-up, suddenly self-conscious.

Dujardin’s eyes went wide. “Sorry, jeez, I forgot-”

“Never mind.” She dropped her hands, tucking them into her pockets, cheeks cherry-red. “Forget it.”

Dujardin took a deep breath. “Sorry. Let me look at your hands. Please.”

Keller hesitated.

“Please?”

Sighing, she held her hands out.

“Ok. Now squeeze my hand. Hard as you can. Now bend your wrist. Against mine, that’s it.” He let go and stood back. “Well, your hands are strong enough.”

“I’ve got an advantage.” She wiggled her extra finger.

Dujardin burst out laughing, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Keller found the embarrassment had been dispelled. “So if it’s not my hands-”

“Could be your stance, or just your grip technique. It could even be that you think you suck with them. Mentality is always important.” Dujardin shrugged. “If I was you, I’d get a pistol from the armoury and practice with that, instead of the ones they have here. I know they’re basically the same, but it helps to get acquainted with one.”

“Ok.” Keller nodded to the targets. “Another round?”

Dujardin shook his head. “You shoot. I’ll watch and see what you’re doing wrong.”

“Should I-”

“Just go on and shoot as usual.” He crossed his arms.

Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Keller stepped up, set up a fresh target and checked her pistol. She glanced over her shoulder. Dujardin smiled and nodded. “Go on.”

She turned back, levelled the pistol. Made sure the safety was off. Fore and rear sights level. She almost pulled the trigger in shock when Dujardin touched her.

His hands rested on her shoulders, turned her a little to face the target naturally.

She was blushing again, and did her best to ignore it. She fired twelve shots, slowly and carefully, then reloaded and brought the target back. Dujardin took it off the spring-clip. Only two misses this time, and the group was tighter horizontally, but still low. Only one in the heart.

“Ok, go again.” He stood off to the side of her this time, getting a profile view.

Both hands wrapped around the gun, she fired off another magazine. Dujardin handed her a magazine “You’re pulling the trigger.”

“Ye-es.” She frowned at him.

“Here.” He took the pistol from her, pointed it down range and dry-fired it a few times. “You squeeze the trigger, you don’t pull it. If you pull the trigger it moves the gun, just a little bit, but enough to matter.”

He passed her a magazine.

“Again.”

Keller set up a fresh target and squared up to it. Squeeze the trigger? Ok, she could do that.

Her first and second shots smacked clear into the centre ring. There was no third. The hammer clacked down on an empty chamber.

“Huh? What?”

Dujardin grinned. “Thought so. You’re dipping the gun against the recoil.” He took the gun from her. “Every time you pull the trigger, you’re pushing forward and down against the recoil.”

He demonstrated.

“Oh.” Keller felt like an idiot, and it showed.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s instinct.” He lied to make her feel better. “I used to do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I used to shoot the Hell out of my target’s legs in training.” Dujardin grinned. “Once you know you’re doing it, it’s pretty much taken care of. Pop off a few, and just look at the sights as you shoot, never mind where the bullet goes.”

She did so, firing off half a dozen rounds at the used target, eyes fixed on the fore and rear sights. Dujardin was right. She was dipping the front of the gun, only by half an inch, if that, but enough to move the sights out of alignment.

“At longer ranges the only thing you’d make the aliens do is dance.” Dujardin smiled. “But now you know…”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it. Thanks.” Keller smiled back at him. “Thank you, really.”

“I’m not just a good-looking medic, you know.” Dujardin pointed a finger at her, thumb cocked. “Keep practising. I gotta get some sleep, I’m dropping.”

“Sure. Thanks.” She called out as he reached the doorway. “Pistol practice, tomorrow?”

He thought a moment, then nodded. “Absolutely.”

As he walked back to his quarters, he couldn’t keep a small smile from his lips.

At the range, Keller found she was smiling too.

[Bomb Bloke]

Howitz carefully aimed his pistol down the firing lane. Just a little to the left this time.

 

Bang.

 

The single shot missed the target entirely, hitting the dirt in front of it. At least it would have caught the thing dead center if the height hadn't been off, but it looked like the Sectoids would be losing their manhood before they lost their heads, at this rate. Well, metaphorically, anyway.

 

Bang.

 

That shot hit the target - on the edge of its arm. Bah. This was his second time on the firing lane - this being the same lane as before - in quite a while. Not that it was overly his fault - he smirked at that, not often he had a valid excuse to skip gun practise - as he had been away from the base, back on 'normal' duties for the duration of his absense.

 

His first draft into X-Com had gone rather unexpectedly. He'd been called back nearly as soon as he'd arrived, mostly due to his inability to shoot anything. Well, that's not what he'd been told, but the sniggers around the base after his first visit to the shooting range had to be related.

 

Bang.

 

The sectoid target took this shot dead center in the chest this time. He grinned to himself, but knew it was a lucky shot. He had managed to improve his skills over time, but even so, unless he was shooting at just over arms distance away, it was really quite random as to whether he'd hit anything. With each shot, he lowered his weapon, then retook his stance, before carefully lining up his shot and squeezing the trigger. Why did he have to bother with this stupid hand gun? He could get bullets to come out of it, but even after his years of service he couldn't get them to go where they were aimed. A scope helped, but he didn't like carrying anything larger then his side arm. Waste of space, waste of weight.

 

Bang.

 

Not like grenades. That was what he did. Grenades were logical. Aiming them was a bonus, yes, but you could take it as optional, if you wanted. Which he didn't. They blew up. Even a pro couldn't do with a single bullet what he could do with a single grenade. As he lined up another shot, he felt a childish urge to throw one of the blast charges in his pocket at the target. He'd done that once, half a year ago, when the jeers of the troops behind him had got too much. It had landed right at the feet of his target, and removed that, and the ones to either side, furthermore removing large chunks of the next ones over. He'd been made to repair the entire course for a month after that.

 

Where had that last shot gone? No marks on the target, musta missed.

 

Bang.

 

That one clipped an ear. Funny about the Commander, there were a few officers buzzing about with hushed voices, nervous about something. His sharp ears had picked up Genega's name a few times, but... he hadn't been able to find the man at all, when he'd tried to report to him earlier that morning on his arrival. Maybe he'd gone on holiday or something. He'd probably hear more in the mess hall later on.

 

Bang bang bang bang bang!

 

His remaining shots ranged from hitting the dirt to flying over the sectoid targets head. A couple of shots hit it, non-leathel hits. Sectoid, or grey? he wondered. The reports he'd been given had referred to them as both, in some instances. No matter, he was done here for now. Off to go check out the medical kit he'd be working with. His new skills made for a heavier pack, but his small, wirey frame contained overly muscle, and he wanted to keep it that way. When your job is to get explosive packs into enemy territory, you take every chance to enchance your stamina...

[Warlord]

Jack Thomas was alone in the gym, which was just the way he liked it. This way, there were no distractions, just pure focus. He focused intently on a spot on the ceiling as his arms moved steadily and rhythmically up and down, rep after rep, looking more like a machine than a human being. The three hundred pounds on the bar seemed no more of an obstacle to his pumping arms than the air around him. His mind worked best under pressure, either real or artificial.

 

In his mind, he replayed his role in the first combat mission undertaken by X-Com. Two dead and two wounded. Hardly acceptable numbers in a unit as small as this. At that rate, X-Com would be out of troops, and the world out of luck, in less than three months. Looking back, he still could not find where his mistakes were, and that bothered him more than anything. Making mistakes in combat was bad enough, but not even being able to spot them in retrospect was unforgivable. That, more than anything else, was at the core of his decision to pass on the role of squad leader.

 

These aliens were unlike any other enemy he had faced in his considerable fighting experience. Their weapons were far more advanced, and far more effective, than anything he had ever encountered. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from their limited experiences with the aliens. This unit was going to either have to adapt, or become extinct. Their tactics needed work, but more than that, they needed much better equipment. He could only hope that the eggheads down in the research labs were coming up with something to counter the massive technological advantage that the aliens held. While the quality of a soldier makes a huge difference in a battle, as he himself had proven many times, the quality of that soldiers equipment directly affects his combat abilities.

 

As Warlord continued to pump his arms rhythmically, he spoke out loud to noone but himself.

 

"This war is a long way from over..."

[FullAuto]

Terrick listened at the door.

“Don’t fall asleep in there, man.”

“It’s more comfortable than my bed.”

Laughter and the clack of a door closing.

Terrick ghosted inside.

The toilets adjoining the research barracks were deserted, except for one stall. And draped by one of the nearby sinks, a white lab coat. Terrick padded quickly over to the sinks, shoeless feet silent on the white tiles. He took hold of the coat in both hands, tautened it and lifted slowly.

Nothing clinked or brushed against the sink.

He let it fall straight, and holding it by the collar, dipped his hand into each of the pockets in turn.

The person occupying the stall farted explosively, and after an embarrassed few seconds, muttered. “Excuse me.”

Terrick restrained the urge to laugh, knowing it was just another way of releasing tension.

So was farting, come to think of it.

He found the keycard, and draped the coat back over the sink, in the same position he found it. Flipping a hanging sleeve back into place, he pocketed the keycard and turned to the door.

Another fart broke the silence, making Terrick flinch.

"Jesus Christ that stinks!”

The stall door lock clicked.

Terrick sprinted for the door.

The stall door banged open as Terrick lunged out into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind him.

He took a breath, then sauntered down the corridor, stroking the keycard in his pocket. He took a second to go over the plan, then went back to his quarters and sat down, folding his long legs into the lotus position, preparing himself for meditation.

Fifteen minutes, he thought. No more, no less.

 

Thirteen minutes later he opened his eyes, and looked at the clock.

Always room for improvement.

He got up, stretched, touched his toes.

Gloves. Ski mask. Keycard. Camera. Magnetron.

Time to go.

“Just taking a stroll.” He murmured softly.

He left his room, easing the door shut behind him. He checked his watch. If everyone wasn’t in bed by now, they’d regret it.

He pulled on the ski mask and walked out into the main hallway.

No sign of the guard that was supposed to be on patrol.

Terrick hurried down the corridor until he reached the stairs, swiped the keycard across the sensor and shoved the door open.

A door opened behind him, and he heard whistling as he slid out into the stairwell, letting the door drift shut behind him.

Terrick descended slowly, soft-stepping every stair, hands gliding along the rails, listening for the slightest noise, knowing he’d hear a presence before he saw it.

He checked the stairwell as he reached each level, glancing over the rail. No-one. No sounds apart from the whispers of his own movement.

He reached the bottom level, and stripped the ski mask up past his ears. He knelt and pressed his ear to the door, cool metal almost stinging his sweaty skin.

He opened his mouth slightly to lessen the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears, and listened.

Nothing. Silence, and though the doors were steel, they weren’t particularly thick. Certainly not thick enough to muffle someone’s footsteps, for instance.

Terrick swept his keycard over the sensor and opened the door a crack.

No-one.

He pulled the ski mask back down and leaned out, looking up and down the corridor.

The guard was playing with something on his belt, swearing and fiddling away.

Terrick slipped out into the hallway, guiding the door shut silently.

The guard took a deep breath. “Oh you piece of-”

Terrick struck.

 

Knockknockknock.

Dana lunged out of bed, groping for the light switch.

Who the Hell-

“Dana!” A voice hissed furiously.

Daniel? She pulled herself up and stumbled to the door, opening it a few inches, squinting even though the hallway lights were dimmed.

Daniel stood there, practically jumping up and down with impatience.

Dana groaned. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Dana-”

“Don’t tell me. You’ve had a brainwave.”

“Dana-”

“Good morning, Daniel.” She pushed the door shut.

Daniel shoved the door open. “I’ve lost my keycard.” He snapped.

“Oh.”

 

Terrick dragged the unconscious guard along the corridor by the collar, hauling the limp mass as quickly as he could. His weight was evenly distributed over his tall frame, meaning he didn’t look like much, but every bit of him was muscle. He used all of them now, glad the floor was tiled and not carpeted. The extra friction would mean more time, more time meant a bigger risk of getting caught, and getting caught-

He reached up, swept the keycard over the sensor and dragged the guard into the laboratory stores.

 

“Where did you see it last?”

“If I knew that, then it wouldn’t be lost, would it?” Daniel snarled as he hurried along. “Here, help me look.”

“Can’t this wait until morning?” Dana hopped after him, pulling on her trainers.

“It is morning. And they’ve got a new security system going and I don’t want to get caught without my card. They’ll shoot me, or put me in the stockade. Or something.”

Dana stopped. “That’s the male toi-”

“Come on.” Grabbing her wrist, he hauled her inside.

 

Terrick worked quickly. He unspooled some wire from a nearby table and tied the guard, hands behind his back, ankles together. He made sure the wire wasn’t cutting off circulation completely, and gagged him with his own belt. Then he shoved the guard behind a stack of crates and hurried to the lift.

He swept the keycard over the sensor. The door didn’t open.

A cold chill iced his back.

He tried again.

The doors slid open smoothly.

He took a deep shuddering breath and stepped inside.

 

“It’s not here, Daniel.” Dana sighed.

“It must be, I was here before going to my room-”

“Did you flush it away by accident?”

“Oh very funny. No, Dana, I did not flush it away, I wasn’t wearing my-” Daniel stopped and his eyes went wide. “The lab.”

“Didn’t you have it when you left?” Dana asked.

“I don’t know.” Daniel hurried towards the door.

“Well, didn’t you use it?”

“No, there was a group of us, remember, and I was at the back, near you, and we held the door open for each other. There’s no point in one of us going through and shutting the door behind them and then the next person using their keycard and-”

“I get the point.” Dana rubbed her face with both hands. “Let me splash some cold water on my face and we’ll go down to the lab.”

 

Terrick stepped out of the elevator, and turned the lights on. The lab was a mess. There were components and blueprints everywhere. He moved to the nearest pile of documents and began flicking through them. All of them were to do with a motion-sensing device.

He looked along the length of the table. There were hundreds of pieces of paper, some text, some diagrams, weighed down by bits and pieces of technology, circuit boards, coils of wire and stationery.

He took out his camera, and slowly worked his way through the pile, making sure each piece was in focus and framed correctly. He mentally thanked the Company for giving him a digital model. He’d have been swapping rolls of film until sunrise.

Next, the prototypes. He took photos of each one from several angles and zoomed in on the components.

He checked the camera’s capacity. Almost full. Space for another half a dozen pictures, perhaps.

 

“Photon is going to fire me if he finds out about this.” Daniel gnawed his lip. “He thinks I'm an idiot. We’re not getting results quickly enough to suit him. He’s going to find out about this and he’s going to fire me. I am so fired.”

Dana turned to face him. “Daniel, stop it.”

He took a deep breath. “Ok. Sorry.”

“He doesn’t think you’re an idiot.”

“He does. He thinks I sit around all day blowing my eyebrows off with crazy inventions that self-destruct and shouting ‘Eureka!’ whenever I get something to change colour.”

“Daniel!”

“Sorry.”

“We’ll find your keycard in the lab and go back to bed and no-one will ever find out about this, ok?”

“God, I hope so. Doesn’t this lift go faster?”

 

Terrick sorted through the last pile of documents. There was practically a whole book here, and he had to decide which six pages to photograph. He flicked through them again, and sighed. What was important?

He didn’t have a clue, and photographed six pages he picked at random. If the Company didn’t like it, they could come here and do their own dirty work.

He pushed the papers back into their approximate positions and scattered bits and pieces over them again. He checked his pockets. Nothing to connect him to this place. Except…

He held the keycard up. Well, this he had to keep hold of. He checked around for anything he’d left behind.

Nothing. Good.

He headed for the lift.

The first thing he knew about Dana and Daniel was the door opening.

 

“I could have sworn I turned the lights off.” Dana stepped into the lab slowly.

Daniel pushed past her. “Well, it’s late and we were all tired. You probably forgot.”

“Mmm.” Not convinced, she looked about, slowly and carefully.

Everything was as they’d left it. A mess, basically.

“Help me!” Daniel called, as he rooted through a stack of papers.

“Daniel-”

He wasn’t listening. “Yes, Photon, I am totally incompetent. Fit to run a project? Yeah, why not. Eccentric crackpot? I’m your man. God, where is it!”

“Daniel!” Dana banged her fists down on the table.

He jumped and spun to face her.

“Just calm down, ok?” Dana pointed to a chair. “Sit down for a minute and think. I’ve hurt my hands.”

She rubbed her hands and flexed them as she moved to the centre of the lab and turned slowly, doing a complete three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn.

“I can’t see it.”

Daniel groaned and buried his head in his hands. “I’m fired.”

“No, Daniel, you’re tired.”

“That too.”

“Go to bed. I’ll look for your keycard. If I don’t find it we’ll report it tomorrow and get you a replacement.”

Daniel took a deep breath. “Ok.”

“Did you go to the lab stores today?”

“Yeah, just before we quit for the night, I had to put a load of-” He looked up. “Do you think…?”

“Why don’t you come down with me and we’ll find out?”

They got into the lift, with Dana reassuring Daniel even as the doors closed.

Terrick pushed open the cupboard door and fell out, gasping for breath. He thanked his luck, and shut the cupboard door behind him.

Time to go.

 

“Yes!” The guard shouted.

Pickering spun round, spilling tea on himself. “Ow, shit!”

“Cameras are back on, looks like they fixed the security systems!”

“Thanks for that.” Pickering plucked his soaked T-shirt away from his skin.

They were in the security station because it was the guard’s shift and Pickering hadn’t been able to sleep.

“Someone coming out of the lab, sir!” The guard pointed a finger to one of the screens.

Pickering watched the lab door open and a figure dressed in X-Com overalls and a ski mask appeared, glancing back into the lab as it left the room.

Pickering dropped his tea and ran. “Get a security team moving, no alarms!”

He had his Glock ready before he was out of the door.

 

Terrick smiled as an idea occurred to him. He swept the keycard over the sensor for the stairwell door, shoved it wide open, then turned and tossed the card through the lab doorway.

That should cheer the scientist up a bit.

As the lab door drifted shut, Terrick made for the stairs.

 

“So it wasn’t down there.” Dana patted Daniel’s arm. “No big deal.”

“We hardly looked for it.”

“Don’t sulk. You took two steps into the room and put the boxes down, the card didn’t jump out of your pocket and hide behind the crates at the back, did it?” Dana yawned. “Sorry, look, let’s get some sleep, ok? We’ll find it tomorrow.”

“Right.” Daniel slumped against the wall of the lift.

 

Pickering swore at himself furiously for taking the lift. It was so slow. He could have been down the stairs and back up again by now.

With the cameras only just back on and the new security systems malfunctioning, it was back to basics, warm bodies on site. Like usual.

He hoped the cameras would stay on. The lift doors opened.

Glock up and ready, he moved out.

 

Daniel stopped and stared. “Oh no.”

Dana followed his gaze. “Ah-ha.”

She bent down and picked it up. “Your keycard, sir.”

He took it from her, shaking his head. “I’m so blind, I’m sorry, I should have-”

“It’s ok.” Dana smiled, too tired to get angry. “Let’s just go to bed.”

Daniel summoned up a smile. “Thanks. Really, I-”

The door exploded open.

“Don’t move! Don’t move!”

They stared at Pickering and the pistol.

“I’m fired.” Daniel said, closing his eyes.

 

Terrick held the small magnetron up close to the sensor, and pressed the firing button. About the size of a large mobile phone, the portable device emitted a pulse of microwaves and fried the lock circuitry.

This part was down to luck. If it hadn’t worked, he was trapped.

Terrick swept his card over the sensor. Nothing happened.

He gave the door a gentle push. It swung open.

He allowed himself a smile and moved out of the stairwell and back onto the Personnel level.

Home free.

 

“Got him!” The guard crowed. “Level Two, just came out of the stairwell.”

The cameras died.

The radio crackled. “Sorry, you’re going to lose camera feed again. We’re still trying to fix the new systems, and we need the power.”

The guard stared at the radio for a long moment. Then he scrambled over the desk to reach it. “Listen, you can’t-”

“I can.”

“Do you know who this is?”

“No, and I don’t care.”

The guard stared at the radio, then gritted his teeth. “Turn the cameras back on now or the security chief will find you and arrest you for conspiracy-”

“Wait, hang on, it’s fixed now, you can have your cameras back.”

The guard dropped the handset and turned back to the camera screens.

Level Two was deserted. The hallways were empty.

The intruder had disappeared on the level that contained the barracks.

Everyone, the guard realised, was now a suspect.

[Alitorious]

"Don't move! Don't move"

They stared at Pickering and the pistol.

"I'm fired." Daniel closed his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Pickering demanded.

All the colour was gone from Daniel's face. He opened his hand to reveal the problematic keycard.

"...card... lab... bathroom..."

If Daniel's eyes were open then the security team would have seen them roll up into his head. The only clue they had of his fainting was when he started tipping in the direction of the stairs.

"Oh no, you don't," Dana muttered. She caught Daniel just when he was dangerously close to a week-long stay in medical.

The keycard fluttered down to the floor.

"He's just gone into the barracks," Pickering's radio crackled. "Level two."

The sign behind Dana's head advertised level three.

Pickering just sighed and holstered his pistol. They lost him, and "he" (if he was a he) could be any one of the soldiers or staff.

"Come with me. Bring him, too," he gestured to the fainted Daniel. Two juniors picked up Daniel, while Dana pocketed his keycard.

 

 

Swirling... spinning. Everything's spinning.

Please don't stop. I don't need to get off. Not really...

Spinning... mountains? No... opposite. Inside-out mountains. Upside-down mountains.

Don't fall, mountains. But you make others fall. Silly mountains. Mean mountains.

Spinning.

Okay, I'm getting dizzy now. Please stop.

Swirling, spinning. Spinning! Swirling!

 

"Spinning" Daniel exclaimed, bolting up, and startling everyone in the room.

Daniel looked around. Everyone in the security station was staring at him with shocked and surprised faces. Pickering's hand was frozen halfway to his holster. Dana was trying to stifle a laugh. The final tinkerings of yet another fallen coffee cup seemed to echo.

 

ooc: Continued, at last!

 

"What?" Pickering demanded.

"Spinning," Daniel simply said. He looked at Dana expectantly. When it became clear that she was just as clueless as the intelligence officerse, Daniel realized that he was the only one to have this epiphany. Naturally, he tried to remedy this by explaining his freight train of thought.

"It's what we overlooked: An unobservable spin. We don't notice it because there are no directly unobservable effects, but it's there."

"Do you mean," Dana said, "atomic spin interaction or pertubations in orbit of a cesium election?"

Daniel blinked for a few seconds thinking that through.

"I... don't think so. I was mainly thinking of gravity itself."

"Go back, please. Start from the beginning."

"Well, Einstein sugggested that gravity's effect on space-time was like balls dimpling a frictionless rubber sheet, right? Any mass produces sort-of a cone of... gravity. Well, what I thought is: why not extend this further? What if the rubber sheet was also sort-of like a fluid? Movement in it would create eddies and turbulence - sort of a spin to the gravity. By measuring the degree and radius of this spin, we can filter out background noise like the earth."

"You're forgetting," Dana pointed out, "that we don't have anything to detect gravity with in the first place."

"Oh, yeah..."

"I'm sorry to break up this exciting moment," Pickering interrupted, "but we have some more immediate things to attend to.

"Mr. Morlone, here's your new keycard. Don't. Lose. It. Again. We'll keep your old one." He held up the michevious card.

"Good morning," he concluded, then sent the two whitecoats out the door.

[Bomb Bloke]

Jack had found the Commander, much to his surprise, sitting upright in bed with a bandage around his head.

 

The man had seemed more then a bit surprised to see him. They had met before, when Jack had first been transferred to Pine Gap. Jack hadn't been around long. It was reasonable for Genega to presume that he wouldn't be back. He had a vague memory of seeing Howitz's name on a form somewhere, but he hadn't thought that...

 

"It must have been hit harder then I thought," Genega said, with a raised eyebrow.

 

Jack had entered the med bay to pick up a med-kit. He'd been planning on going there the day before, but instead had spent his time looking for the man who now sat before him. Rumors were buzzing round the base as to where the CO had got to, but no one seemed to have any idea where he was.

 

"Uh, hello sir, Jack Howitz reporting for duty"

 

Jack had both of his eyebrows raised. Each man was equally surprised to see the other, it seemed. Genega's brow wrinkled as he returned Jack's stare.

 

"Are you back on the troop roster?"

 

"Sort of, sir. I'm also scheduled down here in med, but I'm in squad 1 hauling demolition charges,along with the bandages. So, what brings you to this end of the woods?"

 

Genega looked surprised, then seemed to realise where he was. "Oh, I've been down here for a couple of days. I was hit on the head while in Tact Command, or something, all I know is one minute I was there, next here."

 

"You were attacked?! In the Command center?" Jack grabbed Genega's med report, and started to read through it - flipping the pages over every few seconds or so as he went.

 

"Yeah, something like that. Someone must of snuck up on me, wouldn't have been hard, it was late and I wasn't alert. Now I'm stuck in here. Whenever I try to walk, my legs go, and I don't think my minds up to speed, either."

 

"Any idea who it was?"

 

"No. All I know is that my head hurts."

 

Jack, finished with the report, placed it back and started to examine the equipment in the bay.

 

"You know that hardly anyone has a clue that you're in here?"

 

"Yeah, and I'd prefer it if you wouldn't spread the knowledge. It's not exactly classified, but the Commander of X-Com got taken down in his own base. That's not good for morale, and it sure doesn't look good on our status report."

 

"I guess you don't get much traffic through here, then. I'd've been down here yesterday, actually, but I spent my time looking for you"

 

Genega chuckled at that. "Have you learnt to shoot yet? You know I'll be coming to check when I finally get out of here. You won't be going out with your squad if your aim hasn't improved."

 

A snort from Jack. "I'm up to about 50% now, sir. I'm not a shooter, anyway, I told you that." Finished with the gear, he grabbed a med-kit a moved to leave. He halted at the door.

 

"You know, a lot of the officers are looking a bit confused about your where-a-bouts, as well. Should I fill them in?"

 

Genega looked surprised. "They don't all know? Uh, yeah, I suppose so."

 

"You get some rest, Commander. I reckon you should be fine after another day or two, but no sense in pushing it."

 

Jack returned to the barracks, pondering this new information. The night before, someone had broken into the Sci section and done... something. It didn't seem that anything had been stolen, but the security grunts were up in arms about it. And now it turns out the Commander had been off duty for the last couple of days! Interesting times, indeed. He wondered if the two events were related.

 

No, that didn't make sense. Odds were in favor that the guards knew of Genega's condition, so they would have been edgy. Come to think about it, it didn't make sense to try the raid of the science sector, if that was the case. Which meant that whoever THAT was, probably didn't know about Genega at all...

 

He mentally shrugged, and continued back to his quarters. He'd have to go back to his arms training, specially if the Commander was planning on being his audience...

[FullAuto]

Charlie Wales was grinning. Shades propped on his nose, arms folded across his chest, he had a water bottle in one hand and a stopwatch in the other. He was enjoying possibly the easiest job he’d ever been given.

Squad Three were lined up in front of him, sweating under the blazing sun as they exercised.

“Thirty!” Alexander Fitzwilliams screamed as his arms straightened.

He looked around, sweat slipping down his face, dripping off his nose and chin to fall and disappear on the parched ground. The other members of the squad were still going, doing smooth slow push-ups.

Abdul abu Rahman, tawny skin glossy with sweat, a machine.

Paul Jasper, scowling with concentration.

Cynthia Dietrich, small and compact, arms trembling slightly.

Jenette Goldstein, grinning at him as she lowered herself again.

Igor Zhandovich, red hair shining with sweat, muscles rippling.

Nathaniel Jacobson, staring down at the ground, sweat running off his nose.

Charles Bruheme, even bigger than Zhandovich, smiling slightly.

Isaac Rubenstein, his Star of David necklace hanging round his face.

Francis DiNapoli, flushed and panting, sunburn livid on his neck.

“Thirty-one!” Fitzwilliams did a quick push-up and then got up. “Ok, two miles to cool down. MOVE!”

Wales, despite having all but thrown in the towel as training corporal, noted the members of the squad, how they looked, how they moved, how they’d improved.

The push-ups should only have been trouble for the women, but Zhandovich and Jacobson weren’t quite there yet. DiNapoli looked tired as well, but Fitzwilliams, the fanatical, never-resting bundle of energy, had run the squad hard, despite their on-call status.

“Any trouble?”

Wales turned, taking a drink of water, to face Aoba Seiko, Squad Two’s training corporal.

“Psycho.” Wales acknowledged him, holding out the bottle.

“Shouldn’t you be running with them?” Seiko nodded to the squad as they disappeared into the heat haze.

“I should be, yeah.” Wales glanced at the stopwatch. “That Fitzwilliams guy, I gave him an inch and he took a Goddamn mile.”

“Oh?”

Wales nodded. “Oh is right. I turn my back for five and he’s giving orders and they’re calling him ‘sir’. He’s running the training now.”

“Are they doing well?” Seiko relented and took the water bottle, his dark intense eyes following the last flickers of movement.

“Better than when I was training ‘em.” Wales looked at the stopwatch again. “Couple more weeks, I’ll have the best scores.”

“Rheinhauser won’t like that.”

“Rheinhauser will have to live with it.” Wales grinned as he thought of the training corporal’s face splitting into a thunderous scowl. “Only one letting the team down is Dietrich, she’s just too small. Got heart though. Doesn’t stop trying. Fitzwilliams, abu Rahman, Bruheme, Jacobson and Rubenstein are solid, they could eat nails and spit rust.”

Seiko took another drink of water.

“They’ve all paired up, too. Got ‘em working nice in pairs or as two four-man teams and a two-man back up team.” Wales spat into the dust. “Fitzwilliams and abu Rahman compete like crazy. Zhandovich and Bruheme weight train together. Dietrich and Goldstein are the only two women in the squad, so they got that. Jasper and DiNapoli are both old hands. Jacobson and Rubenstein are both kids.”

Seiko took another drink, rinsed his mouth out and spat most of it out. “You really think you can beat Rheinhauser’s scores?”

“Twenty says so.” Wales held out a hand.

“Done.” Seiko shook it.

 

Sweating, Squad Three piled into the mess. They jostled each other into a queue, joking as they moved along, side-stepping, nudging each other’s trays, comparing times and scores, tired but satisfied with their performance.

“Reckon we’ll get a mission?” Rubenstein asked, dropping down onto a seat.

abu Rahman made a noncommittal noise as he sat next to him, taking a moment before eating to inspect the food.

Going from the look on his face, it was found lacking, thought Rubenstein, moving his chair away an inch or two.

“I hope so.” Fitzwilliams set his tray down opposite as the rest of the squad joined them. “We’re ready for it!”

“Where was the last one?” Jacobson, playing with an apple.

“Rural area.” abu Rahman inspected the morsel impaled on his fork. “A farm.”

“I hope we get a mission.” Fitzwilliams shovelled food into his mouth.

“I hope there’s some juicy farmer’s daughters we have to rescue from their virginity.” Jasper muttered.

Dietrich bounced a pea off his forehead with a flick of her fork. “Pig.”

Jasper grinned and winked at her. “We wouldn’t leave you out.”

Goldstein jabbed him in the ribs. “You’d better!”

“Alright, peace.” Another pea flew by his head. “Hey, I don’t like peas.”

At the other end of the table, DiNapoli urged Zhandovich on. “Go on, man.”

Zhandovich, blushing slightly, shook his head and carried on eating.

“Sandy, please, don’t make me beg!” DiNapoli pressed his palms together. “You’d make my day, my week, please!”

Bruheme watched, grinning around a mouthful of food.

Zhandovich sighed and put his fork down. He closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at DiNapoli. DiNapoli didn’t show an ounce of remorse.

With an air of ceremony, Zhandovich, sat up and cleared his throat.

DiNapoli’s went from expectant to gleeful. “Yeah! Do it!”

With a resigned air, Zhandovich closed his eyes. “I vill crush you.”

“THAT’S IT!” DiNapoli bounced in his chair like a hyperactive toddler. “Confess, Sandy, you did the voiceover for Ivan Drago, didn’t you? Come on, admit it!”

Bruheme, shaking his head, high-fived DiNapoli to calm him down and went back to his meal. “Every day. You should give the man a break, or maybe he will crush you.”

“It’d be worth it!” DiNapoli looked down the table. “Hey, what’s next?”

Fitzwilliams looked up from his food, wiping his mouth. “Live fire drills.”

 

“GO!”

Zhandovich and Bruheme ran forward five metres, weapons ready.

The rest of the squad watched, looking for mistakes. The heavy weapons had to be spot-on, they would be the ones wielding the real firepower, getting the squad out of trouble, suppressing the enemy, digging them out of cover, the lot.

Zhandovich dropped behind a small mound of earth and opened fire. The clattering, clanking roar of the autocannon filled the air, beating eardrums as it spat out high explosive rounds.

A group of targets splintered and fell, chunks and slivers spinning into the air as the 20mm shells tore them apart.

Bruheme, a few steps behind, took careful aim and let loose. His heavy cannon launched 40mm phosphorous rounds, a flat hard bang accompanying each shot.

Pale fire painted a pair of targets.

Zhandovich waited for Bruheme to draw level then bounded ahead, a last spurt of fire spraying soil into the air.

Bruheme knelt and fired again, taking his time, making sure of each shot before squeezing the trigger. The sling helped with the weight of the weapon, and the weight helped with the recoil, but that didn’t stop the gun being big and awkward, even for a man of his size.

Zhandovich found another spot of cover, dropped behind it and reloaded. The empty clip popped out. Zhandovich slapped in a fresh one, noting the grey tips, which denoted armour-piercing shells.

Bruheme ran forward, reloading as he went.

Zhandovich bellied forward, snaking out into the open and opened up.

Casings spewed from the autocannon as he swept the weapon across a group of targets. Though firmly planted, the targets shattered and fell, fist-sized holes punched in them by the AP ammo. Long splits tore the wood. Several targets were simply chopped apart, the top halves falling away, leaving a ragged remainder.

Bruheme emptied a magazine, ears stinging now, sending silhouettes flying into the air with a burst of 40mm high explosive.

“PISTOLS!” Fitzwilliams yelled.

Zhandovich rolled away from his autocannon, drawing his sidearm.

Bruheme unfastened the sling on his cannon, letting it fall as he pulled his handgun.

They fired simultaneously, quick cracks of double-taps as they moved further apart, Zhandovich rolling, stopping and firing and rolling again as Bruheme simply side-stepped as quickly as he could.

They both ran dry, and for a moment the air seemed to wait pensively for the next shot. After a few seconds, the tension eased, and several members of the squad found themselves taking shudderingly deep breaths.

“Subtle.” Jasper said, nodding as he surveyed the firing lane.

About twenty metres wide and a hundred long, it was, in various places cratered, on fire and covered in shreds of wood.

“Subtle’s not what we’re after.” Fitzwilliams replied, raising a pair of binoculars.

Every target had been hit. No exceptions. The few left standing were on fire or chopped in half. The last dozen, engaged with pistols only, had neat holes in their chests.

“Again!” Fitzwilliams roared. “And faster!”

Bruheme stooped to retrieve his cannon, holstering his pistol. “You gotta love him, Sandy.”

Zhandovich picked up the autocannon. “Now I truly know what Stalin was like.”

 

“Fitzwilliams?”

“Too rabid.” Dietrich laughed, reloading her rifle. “Can you imagine being with him?”

“Too easily.” Goldstein waggled her eyebrows.

“Urgh.” Dietrich pulled a disgusted face. “Please.”

Goldstein giggled, reloading a magazine. “Who then?”

Dietrich took aim, then reconsidered and lowered her rifle. “Jacobson.”

“Pfft.” Goldstein clicked another bullet into the mag, and looked up. “Too short for me.”

“How’s your average?” Dietrich let loose with a three-round burst, then lowered her rifle.

“Eight point something.” Goldstein pushed the magazine into the rifle and cocked it.

“Really? That high?” Dietrich took aim again, squeezed gently and blasted three rounds dead centre.

“Yep.” Goldstein raised the rifle to her shoulder.

The score grading was simple. Ten points for the heart, with concentric rings around it worth a decreasing amount of points. Scores were graded once a week. You put a mag through the gun and then worked out your average score. Range was determined by the training corporal, or in Squad Three’s case, Fitzwilliams.

“Rifle average?” Dietrich asked.

“I wish.” Goldstein rattled off a mag on single shot, hosing the target from knees to throat. “Pistol. My name’s Maggie with these things.”

“I’m at seven point six with a rifle, five point five with pistol.” Dietrich reloaded, pushing her hair back. “Fitzwilliams is getting pissed off.”

“I’m sure it’ll be ok. You should tie it back.” Goldstein paused. “You ever think about anyone? Seriously?”

She watched Dietrich blush a little. “Jacobson.”

“A jones for Jacobson. Jeez.” Goldstein rolled her eyes. “Give me a big strong man any day.”

“Jasper?”

Goldstein choked a laugh down with difficulty. “No! I mean, he’s not bad, but not a patch on Bruheme. Or Sandy. abu Rahman, even.”

Dietrich sighed, shaking her head. “Wait ‘til I tell them.”

“Dietrich!” Fitzwilliams roared.

She jumped, scattering rifle rounds.

“Situation, you’ve been shot in the right arm, can’t use your rifle. Well?”

“Pistol, sir!” She put the rifle down, knowing what was coming.

“Ten rounds rapid!”

Dietrich ripped her pistol free with difficulty, swearing at Fitzwilliams under her breath. He knew full well she was right-handed.

“TOO SLOW!” He screamed even as she fired.

It was easily the worst she’d ever done. Ten rounds, eight of them far too low as she overcompensated for recoil, the last two in the centre.

It didn’t get her any slack.

“Dietrich!”

“Sir!”

“Two hundred rounds, now! Goldstein, load for her!”

 

“Pop quiz, hotshot.” DiNapoli muttered as Fitzwilliams screamed at Dietrich. “He ever spring that shit on you?”

abu Rahman looked up from cleaning his pistol. “Last week. One shot, ten metres. I put the bullet right through the head. He was most annoyed.”

DiNapoli grinned. “I bet. Hey, you’re a Muslim, right?”

abu Rahman nodded, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m a Catholic. I haven’t quite decided whether I’m a mick or a wop yet, but as my wife used to say, ‘Either way, Frankie, you’re definitely a Catholic!’ Right?”

abu Rahman nodded, wondering where this was going

“I’m not saying anything, it’s just good, you know, showing a united front. I mean, regardless of colour or creed, right?” DiNapoli nodded to Rubenstein “I mean, he’s Jewish, and I know you guys got issues-”

“That has nothing to do with this.” abu Rahman said softly, calmly.

DiNapoli was suddenly more than a little uncomfortable. Those calm dark eyes reminded him far too much of gun muzzles.

“Aah, forget it. You hear the one about the nun, the priest and the rabbi?”

[Bomb Bloke]

Genega sat in the Command room with the three squad leaders.

 

"As you may be aware, there have been some strange events over the last few days."

 

"Our first 'problem' was the attack upon myself in this very room. I was knocked unconcious, and I've been in med ever since. Although the only damage we have been able to trace thus far was to my cranium, it is, for obvious reasons, something that I am not inclined to take lightly."

 

The bandage around his head had now been removed, and there was no sign of the large lump that had been there before. He'd left the infirmary just hours before - to the concern of the medic on duty, but there was no way he was staying in there a minute longer then neccasary.

 

"Currently, we have no idea who the attacker was. No one should have been in the area at the time, so if it was one of ours, they wouldn't have been at their post. The only 'clue' left at the scene was a scene was small metal clip, but I'm told there's nothing on it - so that's not helpful."

 

"Directly the night after, our security team spotted someone dressed in soldier's gear - and a ski mask - managed to get hold of a scientist's access card and break into a lab. This time, nothing was left behind, but as before, nothing was taken."

 

"Fortunately, I'm told that the only things of interest in that lab was the plans for our new motion scanner. It seems that the thing didn't even work at the time, and the break through on the issue was five minutes after the break in. So I doubt the perpurtrator gained much of use."

 

He allowed himself a wry smile, but then his expression hardened again.

 

"I would think that these two incedents are linked. I would also think that the person responsible for these acts is one of our soldiers. Gentlemen, we have a spy."

 

No one but Fitzwilliams looked overly impressed at this revelation.

 

"Whoever he is, he's in one of your squads. I don't want you to go out and throw accusations just yet, but I do want you to look for suspicious behaviour in your men. Don't try and apprehend him unless he tries to escape, come and tell me."

 

This was recieved with a bunch of nods.

 

"I want a personal word with him."

 

"You are dismissed."

 

---------------------------------

 

Howitz stuck the medical report of Ki-Tat back in it's place at the foot of the bed.

 

"I still don't believe you survived that. All I can say is you're going to be in here for a lot longer, but I guess you already knew that."

 

Ki-Tat gave him a glazed nod. He'd been stuck in the infirmary for what had seemed an age - though he supposed that was accurate.

 

Howitz left him to it, and completed his duties in the infirmary, cleaning up a few untidy bottles. Then he returned to his room.

 

He'd been put in with a slightly younger man, a Nathaniel Jacobson, who was in the third squad. Nathaniel - or Hankosha, as he'd introduced himself - had seemed slightly annoyed at having a new room mate, and Jack didn't see him often.

 

Hankosha... Wasn't that japanese? Howitz didn't have enough knowledge of the language to translate that, but his laptop had some software for that purpose. Perhaps he'd run the name through that, and see if he was correct.

 

Back in his room, he pulled out his personalised uniform - a very tight fitting set of overalls, filled with velcro-sealed pockets. He pulled these on, then tightened a few sets of strapsm before filling these pockets with weights.

 

The resulting uniform weighed an extra ten kilograms. Some wouldn't consider this overly much, but on Jack's small frame, it was a noticible burden. It was very tight fitting, and that was important. Having the weights swing around while he trained made it near impossible to do anything.

 

Once he'd adjusted his weighted suit to his liking, he pulled his standard overalls over top, and headed out towards the training area. Out there, he'd run laps for the next half hour - with occasional sprints, when he felt he could muster the extra energy.

 

Jack was a very lightly built man for his height, but there was hardly any excess tissue on him. All his attempts to add extra bulk to his build had failed, but there was no way he was going to waste the muscles he had. All his speed was worth nothing if he couldn't carry a load.

[Zager]

"Gentleman," Dr. Zager announced at a meeting of the science team. "As you can see form the reports, brief activations of the captured alien power generator result in tiny, but observable reduction in the mass of the generator. At a rate and power output level consistent with the latest theories concerning matter annihilation."

 

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" one of the scientists said.

 

"Yes, I am. Gentlemen, what we have here is an anti-matter device. And I don't mind saying that it scare the hell out of me," said Zager, honsetly. "If it goes critical, we could lose something important."

 

"You mean like the labs?" asked the scientist.

 

"I was thinking more along the lines of Australia. The potential destructive force is that high. We should leave off further research of the power source until we finish analysises of the mineral we found within it. What are we calling it again?"

 

"Elerium," said a third scientist. "Eleium-115. Initial analysis gives it one hundred and fifteen electrons. Yet it's stable. It's redefining everything we know about subatomic physics."

 

"We'll send some samples to a particle accelerator in the United States for a more detailed study. In any case, from what I can tell, it's the mineral that not only produces the anti-matter, but also produces the gravitonic waves observed during the reaction," Zager flipped through the file.

 

"What about the break-in?" asked a scientist, changing the subject.

 

"Irrelevant. The motion tracker project is nothing important, and our research into the alien source was not disturbed. The motion tracker is just a toy, something that they're making with current technology. Make no mistake, it's the Elerium we have here that's important. That's what's going to win this war. It will all come to this strange element. I guarantee it."