Overlord (59 page)

At that moment a lone figure strolled through the door and Jack recognized him immediately. He had first met the man at Aberdeen Proving Ground, where he had been a guest instructor on the theory of astrophysics, and then a second time at a NATO conference on the interaction between naval forces and army special operations. The sudden recognition explained why Carl Everett was doing the mission he had been assigned. This man’s pet theory was that Special Forces combined with naval tactics could achieve more by stealth and audacity than a large-scale invasion. Jack Collins despised the arrogant British naval man like no other allied officer he had ever met.

“Oh, crap,” Jack said under his breath as Lord Commodore Percy Freemantle, the Third Lord of Sussex, entered the room. Jack and Carl stood up.

The tall, thin figure took in the two American officers, then stepped to a chair and placed his bag on the top of the table. Without looking at either officer standing at attention, he sat.

“At ease, gentlemen, at ease.” The commodore opened his briefcase and pulled out some papers.

With a worrisome sideways glance at each other Jack and Carl sat.

They studied the blond-haired graduate of Her Majesty’s Royal Naval Academy, a man who had graduated number one in his class; who would look down upon Jack for finishing third in his West Point class, and definitely down upon Carl for finishing tenth in his at Annapolis. He was dressed in the new blue computer-designed print camouflage BDU, which looked quite out of place on the prim and proper naval genius, but still enough of a difference that Jack and Carl simultaneously noticed their own wet and filthy white camouflage that had already seen better days.

“I want you gentlemen to know, in the interest of being honest, and
my
nature of full disclosure, I was against your appointments to your current duties.” The commodore didn’t show the professional courtesy of even looking up from the paperwork he was perusing. “General Collins, I know that you are a capable officer, but your duties away from the army of your country has … well … let us just say you may be a little rusty. And that fact, coupled with your limited knowledge of large-scale defensive tactics,
I
believe is a hindrance to giving me the time to get my ship off the ground.” He finally looked up at Jack to see his reaction. There was none. The commodore smiled at something only he was privy to.

Carl looked at Collins, who sat stoically and silent. Everett raised his brows and waited for the insults to his appointment to commence. The commodore returned to his papers, making Carl think he wasn’t important enough to address. He was wrong.

“Admiral Everett,” Freemantle said, and to Everett the word
admiral
sounded as if the commodore had just taken a large bite out of a shit sandwich. “I am so disappointed that Lord Durnsford chose a political appointee over my suggestion for an SAS regimental combat team to achieve the goal of gaining access to the power replenishment vessel.” He looked up at Carl. “The impact of this decision, in my humble opinion, could lead to disaster.”

The two men exchanged glances and then smirks as the commodore continued his reading.
Or acting job,
Jack thought
, if you would prefer that description
.

The double doors opened and an SAS commando stepped inside. He looked at the occupants of the room.

Jack and Carl stood as a line of Gray captives entered with only pants covering their disjointedly backward-working legs. All five had black bags over their heads and were shackled together. The line of Grays was flanked by heavily armed SAS men who had their short and compact Heckler & Koch HK-417 automatic assault weapons at the ready. The Grays were ruthlessly shoved into the meeting room. Everett and Collins relaxed while Commodore Freemantle never even turned. The captives were followed by Lord Durnsford and Sir Darcy Bennett, who strolled in as casually as you please. The Grays were made to sit on the cold floor along the wall. Several of them hissed and snapped underneath their hoods.

“I see you gentlemen are getting acquainted?” Lord Durnsford sat at the head of the table while Sir Darcy remained standing, looking at the captive Grays with distaste.

“Yes, I was just telling the general and admiral what a pleasure it is to be to working with them. I am truly excited about our chances.”

“Please, Percy, cut the crap, I know you a little too well.” Lord Durnsford shook his head. “General Collins, Admiral Everett, Commodore Freemantle is the right choice for the command of the HMS
Garrison Lee
, but his manners and professionalism are at most times called into question.” He looked at the commodore, who only smiled up at him. “Even Her Royal Majesty thinks he is a bloody pain in the bum.”

“Thank you, Harrison, a better introduction could not have been written more profoundly by myself.”

“Time is short and I wanted to meet with you gentlemen and wish you luck. Your timetables have been advanced, hopefully before the Grays make their initial move. We now know, thanks to your little friend in the desert”—he looked and Jack and Carl—“that the Grays are going to seek the protection of the far side of the moon, thinking we cannot get at them from here. That is the reason for the attack on the International Space Station. We plan on surprising them.”

The Grays in the corner started hissing and kicking out with their legs, as if they understood what Lord Durnsford was saying. Sir Darcy stepped back next to one of the SAS guards.

“We have brought these creatures in for your benefit, Percy”—Durnsford eyed the naval man closely—“to show you what will be inside every city, every village, and every home if you fail. I hope your arrogance doesn’t cloud over the fact that you have one hell of a lot of people on this planet depending on you.”

“There is no more capable man in the service of Her Majesty, I assure you of—”

A member of the SAS suddenly burst through the doors and handed Sir Darcy a slip of paper. The small man grimaced and then handed Lord Durnsford the message.

“Gentlemen, the time for demonstration is at an end. You must now go to your commands. It seems our enemy is moving far faster than we thought. A dimensional wormhole has been seen developing in space, two thousand miles above the surface, on the dark side of the moon. Good luck, my friends.”

Jack and Carl stood, but Collins hesitated a moment as he eyed Lord Freemantle as he quickly gathered his papers. He then looked at the SAS men gathering their captives.

“Lord Durnsford?” Jack said.

“Yes, General?”

“Were these prisoners meant for anything other than demonstration purposes for the sake of the commodore?”

“No, as a matter of fact.”

Without saying another word Jack paced the twenty steps to the now standing and struggling Grays. He quickly pulled out his holstered nine millimeter and before the SAS guards could react, shot each Gray in the head, dropping them to the floor, and then fired three more times into the hearts of the hard-to-kill prisoners. An SAS soldier started to reach for Collins’s weapon, but Durnsford stopped him.

Jack Collins holstered the Beretta and then faced Commodore Freemantle.

“That’s what you can expect, Commodore—ruthlessness.” He took a step toward the shocked naval genius who had never fired a shot in anger in his entire career. “Now, are you up to the task?” Jack joined Everett and they both walked out to the smiles of Lord Durnsford and Darcy.

“Damn, Jack,” Carl said as they both bounded down the steps.

PART FOUR

INVASION

War is Hell.

—William T. Sherman

17

112 MILES ABOVE ANTARCTICA

The dimensional wormhole formed out of the thin upper atmosphere. The powerful event was tracked by weather satellites the world over and immediately reported to their corresponding stations.

Europa was the first system to know what the wavering displacement of atmosphere meant, and the first system to announce the dimensional rift to the command and control element at Camp Alamo.

The first line of defense put into action was the vanguard of missiles hidden away inside five different communication satellites that had been decommissioned five years before and then refurbished by the European Space Agency, under the guise of saving the platforms from a decaying and thus dangerous orbit.

Twenty 100-megaton warheads were targeted at the mouth of the dimensional rift that started the initial forming of the wormhole. As the first saucer exploded out of the tunnel-like tornado in the upper atmosphere, ten of the warheads, in anticipation of the appearance, detonated after launch from two hundred and fifty nautical miles above the Earth. The resulting heat wave in space knocked the first small attack ship backward, where it collided with the next two, which in turn exploded, taking out six more of the attackers. The next ten warheads caught the second formation as they made the initial entrance into Earth’s atmosphere. The first missile was a direct hit, disintegrating the saucer, and then the rest of the missiles detonated in quick succession, destroying no less than sixteen of the attackers. The violence was recorded from a KH-11 operated by the Pentagon. This information flashed across the screens inside the situation room far beneath the E-Ring of the Pentagon where several officials watched, including the acting president of the United States.

THE PENTAGON

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Acting President Giles Camden was far more comfortable with the replacement staff of military men that he trusted. He had worked closely with these men in his time on the Senate Armed Services Committee and they had been extremely loyal to the House Speaker beyond those days. After all, the new president had made most of them a hefty sum of money geared toward their retirement.

The president watched from the upper tier through the thick glass as the men and women below went about their duties tracking the forming dimensional rift. He felt the eyes on him from below as the soldiers, sailors, and airmen waited for him to give the orders that they expected for him to issue. On the big board, a three-dimensional map of the world, the 7th Fleet-Asiatic Squadron was still conducting rescue operations with the Chinese navy. Camden had come to terms with the admiral commanding that particular task force and through the offices of his new chairman of the Joint Chiefs had even managed to make him look good, as it was reported that the president had sent the large force in to assist their friends in their time of need. Some of the press had accepted and reported that it was a brilliant and gracious move on his part, but others, more than he cared to admit, felt the president was only trying to save face after a major policy blowup with his military chiefs.

He stood with his hands behind his back as the White House official photographer snapped picture after picture, depicting the commander-in-chief in complete charge of the situation. When the photographer was finished instructions were given that the images should immediately be sent out to the AP and Reuters news agencies as soon as possible in an attempt to get his latest and dismal approval ratings up.

Daniel Peachtree entered the situation room and went to the president’s side.

“The president is awake,” was all he said. Camden tensed.

“I need the attorney general and the chief justice brought here immediately. I want the truth about the laws regarding that man retaking power and I want it now.”

“I’ve already done that. They’re enroute.”

“What progress on the asset in Nevada?”

“The FBI has basically refused to enter the grounds of a federal installation unless a legal warrant signed by a federal judge is issued. Until then we are helpless. But I did find out that they may be in the process of moving our boy to another location.”

“I need…” Camden caught himself as he saw Peachtree flinch at his loud voice. He mentally forced himself to be calm. “I need that thing now. Is there any hope the asset will return to where our people are waiting?”

“I am a firm believer they will take him to what they think is a bigger secret than their own complex, Chato’s Crawl.”

“This is not just about me hanging onto this damn office any longer; it’s about going to jail. Now get it done,” he hissed.

Peachtree went to his chair that was situated around the long, oval conference table.

Camden relaxed and looked at the situation in Antarctica. The two battle groups were still moving away from the continent and would soon be too far away to assist in the defense of Camp Alamo and whatever project had been hidden from him.

“Sir, the first saucers have exited the rift and are approaching the south pole at a high rate of speed,” an airman said as he read the sit-rep coming from Space Command three floors up. “McMurdo Station, Antarctica, is requesting assistance.” The young Air Force officer looked at the president’s back.

If the president had been facing his new subordinates inside the military arm, he would have seen them shift in their chairs uncomfortably when he remained silent. Finally he turned and faced the communications officer.

“Inform McMurdo that the situation is currently being evaluated, and assistance will be forthcoming.”

“Sir?” the airman said with his pen poised above his pad.

“Send it, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

The new chief of the Joint Chiefs looked at his Air Force commander and frowned. They might owe Camden for their sudden rise to power, but it was tearing their guts out not going to the aid of American forces calling for assistance. Lefferts nodded for the Air Force commander to meet him out in the hallway and they were soon joined by the Marine Corps commandant.

President Giles Camden never noticed that a few of his rats were considering jumping ship.

WALTER REED NATIONAL MILITARY MEDICAL CENTER

BETHESDA, MARYLAND

The door to Niles’s hospital room burst open and without ceremony a civilian-attired Maxwell Caulfield entered pushing a wheelchair. Virginia—who had been speaking with her boss and relaying the bad news about the early attack by the Grays that was currently in progress—almost peed herself as the general threw back the sheet and blanket covering Compton’s battered body. He tossed the director a pair of glasses he had absconded with from his personal belongings that had been recovered from his quarters at the ruins of Camp David.