The grainy pictures flickered briefly, then cleared, several images flourishing into colour as the senior officer leant forward intently from the darkness, scrutinising the extensive screen. Six pictures became defined, one drawing the attention of all, the view from inside the outer collection area, US camouflaged marines running and stumbling into the upper steel cladded corridors from the dull light outside, an infantry major at the entrance frantically beckoning his troops into the outer assembly room. Grim grey reinforced outer doors began to slowly close on either side as the desperately sprinting soldiers sought safety through the gradually narrowing opening from their outer sentry and defensive positions.
General Denton rose slowly from his darkened seat, his black features straining in escalating apprehension, a voice rising in fear, ‘Reinforce the doors…get everyone that can be reached inside.’ He drew a sudden sharp breath, ‘Activate the remote Gatling guns and missile batteries outside…as I said, we will defend this base to the death…there is now no other option.’ He sniffed ironically as the operators glanced round in worry, their faces concealed with the lights of screens behind, ‘The enemy may enter our Area 51, but not many will leave…I want every corridor defended, every junction booby trapped…we will retreat level by level if need be.’ The general leant forwards into a dull shaft if light, indicating to Estevez, ‘Have all engineers commence their contingency preparations…maximum defensive measures. The lower four subterranean floors will be turned into fortresses……our last position, an Alamo. This room the centre defensive command, weapons to be issued to all screeners…we may all have to fight, so let’s make ready.’ He glanced across the operators grimly, ‘With immediate effect, all experiments and research is to be postponed…any prototype weapons to be deployed with their teams in the defence of this facility.’
The large Morgon attack formation swept onwards, red projected cockpit displays guiding the pilots as they checked instruments and adjusted altitude. Tracers suddenly swept upwards from the low heavily compacted cement and steel reinforced buildings in the distance, sparks flying across the hulls of the dark and grey craft as they bounced on turbulence, the remotely operated defensive Gatling guns spewing high calibre velocity bullets upwards as the air seemed filled with glowing projectiles.
The flame plumes of numerous rockets surged upwards from the dull dust filled terrain, several from hidden or concealed barren mountain and the lower boulder strewn side landscape as low batteries rose from the ground and spun round on their bases to aim at the craft overhead, the red marked helmeted Morgon overall commander shrieking urgent commands across the airwaves.
The pilots desperately flicked black armoured gloves across glowing touch sensitive controls, armoured helmets turning from side to side to monitor the screen readouts as further shrieks filled their inner headsets. Bright blue pulsing flares and other activated nano destructive debris swept from the front and rear of the Morgon craft, the clanks and sparks of high velocity rounds bouncing off the exterior armoured plate, the vessels accelerating further.
The flares surged and burst downwards, twisting and flickering to disrupt the missile targeting devices, the soaring projectiles streaking upwards. Explosions filled the air, the first salvo of missiles erupting and detonating, the distant air filling with black flaming smoke and fire as the controllers in Area 51 stared at the viewing screens above, tracers from Gatling guns spewing out above the camera mounts as they strained their eyes, the sky seeming on fire as further puffs of dark smoke obscured vision completely.
Then dark craft swept through the swirling smoke, the transport vessels behind, laser guns extending from black wings as the crackling commenced along the sleek hulls, the operators glancing at each other in dread as Louis shouted from his console in alarm, ‘High altitude craft are beginning some sort of dive…velocity increasing…’ His voice rose with adrenalin and fear, ‘They are now virtually directly above us!’
The Morgon craft buffeted and bounced on the shock waves, nine struggling to remain airborne after sustaining damage, black puffs of smoke coming from their engines and outer armour, the pilots shrieking in frustrated hatred as the vessels slowed or banked away crippled. Five sustained perforated hulls, the armoured soldiers inside tensing for a crash landing, most instinctively linking arms as the pilots took manual control and peeled away from the attack formation, wind tearing through the interior holds as overhead ammunition boxes and supply sacks fell from the racks.
The damaged vessels gradually lost altitude, dark burning fire billowing from damaged engines, burning lubricant and debris. Emergency flaps deployed, rear and underbelly thrusters screeching and whining, three of the craft losing control as the computerised networks shorted, the vessels twisting sideways and then plummeting to earth.
Acrid black plumes of smoke billowed upwards with roaring flames as they smashed into the ground, broken craft and body parts thrown across the desolate terrain as shattered vessels tumbled and rolled across the burning debris strewn earth, eventually coming to a halt against boulders or in depressions, several heavily wounded scorched soldiers eventually crawling from the wreckages.
The other six damaged vessels performed improvised crash landings, two bursting into flames as leaking lubricants and engine fluid ignited on impact, the rear hold doors forced down in whining emergency release for smouldering stunned black and camouflaged infantry to stumble out. Emerging into the billowing dust, several collapsed from the shock and damage to their scaled armoured bodies, leaving their incapacitated comrades inside the burning and roaring infernos.
Loud mechanical screams escalated from above,
