The Cresperian Alliance (6 page)

Haley swallowed, his eyes growing moist; Bronson had become a friend in the Enclave, and his death affected Haley deeply. He keyed the mike as the pre-edited video continued to run, knowing what was coming next.

"These,” he continued the voiceover, slightly hoarse, “are the Snappers. We followed diplomatic protocol to the letter upon encountering them, and all such overtures were ignored."

Telephoto video now depicted a diplomatic party exiting the
Zeng Wu
to meet a group of Snappers just outside the walls of a town. Smiles were on the humans’ faces, and several times the lead Snapper appeared to nod in understanding.

Suddenly laser pistols appeared in the hands of all the Snappers, and the two armed diplomatic escort guards were cut down with no warning. The other, unarmed members of the diplomatic party were immediately taken captive; when one of the men resisted, he was unceremoniously laser-disemboweled. A group of the armored vehicles seen previously suddenly flew from the nearby Snapper town, positioning themselves between the
Zeng Wu
and the prisoners, who were swiftly hustled away. The vehicles opened fire on the Earth ship, beginning a rapid advance.

"As you can see,” Haley went on, fighting down the nausea in his gut, “there was no provocation, though the Snappers, per our ambassadorial personnel, patently understood the nature of the contact."

A video montage next depicted in excruciating detail the weeks-long standoff between the
Zeng Wu
and the Snappers, the arrival of the
Galactic
, and the ensuing pitched battle and bloody rescue of the diplomatic team.

Next Haley watched as the video cut to debriefs of the badly shaken diplomatic team.

"There's no question in my mind,” the lead ambassador declared, tall, abnormally pale, his arm in a bloody sling. “Despite the language barrier, we communicated quite effectively through sign language, and their leaders indicated unequivocally that they understood we were there on a peaceful mission of exploration and friendship."

The camera panned to a brunette woman sitting beside him, a bandage over one eye. “I agree with Mr. Murphy,” she averred. “We went through an entire sequence of hand gestures and sign language designed to ensure we were understood, before going into detail on our mission. They not only comprehended the sign language, they returned it in an intelligent fashion indicative of positive responses. Then... they turned on us."

The camera zoomed out to show the remaining survivors of the embassage, bandaged and splinted, nodding as one in agreement.

As the video ended, Haley punched the button to switch back to live images of his face, unaware that it was drawn with the pain that seemed to wrench his guts out—the pain of a commanding officer who had lost too many good people. He let another sigh escape before resuming his commentary.

"I think that little movie pretty much speaks for itself, Wayne. The Snappers are flat out, son of a bitch, damn bad news. It is my considered recommendation that we quarantine not only Planet Swavely and its solar system, but a significant buffer zone around it, as well."

"Understood, Sam,” Admiral Terhune noted softly, watching the pain on the video image of his old friend's face. “Bring it on home, buddy. We'll be waiting."

"Wilco, Wayne. Thank God."

The monitor flickered and died.

"Sumbitch,” Wersky said blankly. “Real bad ass bastards out there."

"Thank God the Crispies are nicer,” Nunez noted.

"Sometimes,” a familiar voice said, and the White Horse Second Squad turned to see Sira sitting beside them. “If the conversion to human is not properly monitored and mentored, it can lead to homicidal paranoia and madness in Crispies."

"So...” Bangler began slowly, “depending on what we find in Scotland..."

"Yes,” Sira said simply. “However, from what I have been able to determine, I think we will be safe, in that respect."

"Oh, I really must dispute the military interpretation,” Secretary of State Sandra Fellowes protested, popping to her feet as the communication ended. “The conclusion that those poor aliens actually understood what the diplomatic party was saying is patently false. They would never have attacked otherwise. They must have concluded that the ship from Earth was an invasion force. It's the only explanation. Especially with those two... soldiers... along."

Secretary of Defense Mark Singletary turned toward her with a scowl. “You have got to be kidding me, Sandra. There was NO BLOODY PROVOCATION! We could see that with our own eyes!"

"Yes, but we couldn't HEAR what was being said,” Fellowes pointed out. “A truly advanced, space faring race MUST be peace loving."

"We couldn't hear because nothing was spoken, Sandra,” Waterman said, disgusted, fingers on the bridge of his nose. “They don't speak English. Or any other Earth language."

"Tone of voice,” Sandra declared stubbornly. “They felt threatened. Technology as advanced as that must be from a peace loving race."

"Ma'am, I don't know where you get your ideas,” Terhune added, “but those ‘peace loving’ aliens killed several hundred of our people, CIVILIAN as well as military. And if a trained diplomatic corps can't get through to them our peaceful intent, how do you propose we do so?"

"For starters, do it as it should have been done to begin with,” Fellowes snapped. “Let the State Department handle it."

"Those were personnel recruited FROM the State Department, ma'am."

Fellowes shook her head. “They must have been junior diplomats, then. Any further contact with that poor misunderstood race will be personally managed by me."

"IF I say so,” Waterman interjected, red faced. “And as of right now, I am issuing a Presidential Order confirming the no-fly zone around the Swavely system."

"But Tom—"

"I don't give a damn about your ideals, Sandra,” Waterman barked. “I DO care about not attracting the attention of a more advanced, inimical race. End of discussion."

"The hell it is,” Sandra muttered under her breath.

"You've all received your briefing,” Waterman continued, having had enough. “Consider it intelligence information, and handle it appropriately. Dismissed."

The Cabinet members solemnly filed out of the room.

"I don't like it,” the Secretary for Employment to the Ministry of the Interior, one Lord Ernest Bloch, told Erich Nordyke, the Prime Minister. “I think they're planning something. After all, they have that ship."

"Trust me,” the Prime Minister replied. “We have all the possibilities covered. We have radar from the nearby airfield; we have sensors disguised as cell phone towers. We have motion detectors, infrared detectors, and booby traps. And our spy satellites are all focused on that starship. It's landed in one of their bloody prairie states—Kansas, I think. Something like that."

"But what if they come up the loch?” the cabinet minister protested. “The United States has the best subs in the world, after all, since the U. S. S. R. broke up."

Nordyke smirked. “You know the legend of the loch, Ernest,” he pointed out.

"What, that Nessie style legend?” Bloch snorted. “I don't see that... scaring...” His voice tapered off as he stared at the Prime Minister. “You're joking."

"Whether I am or not, the partially eaten bodies of several of the villagers down the loch should give the Americans pause about sending rubber dinghies onto the loch,” Nordyke noted. “As well as getting rid of the last eyewitnesses."

"But there haven't been any..."

"Make certain you read tomorrow's newspaper headlines."

"Oh, dear God,” Bloch whispered, as Nordyke headed toward the underground compartments.

As soon as the
Zeng Wu
landed, a plane was ready to whisk acting Captain Haley off to Washington. Within hours he was in a briefing with President Waterman, Admiral Terhune, General Salter, and General Washington. Also present were Secretary of Defense Martin Singletary, and Jess Ravenshoe, the CIA Director. The Secretary of State, Sandra Fellowes, was conspicuously absent.

"You ok, Sam?” Terhune asked his old friend.

"Yeah,” Haley sighed, tired. “You know how it is after a campaign gone bad."

"Yeah, I do,” Terhune murmured in understanding. “I think most of us here do. So the
Galactic
encountered the
Zeng Wu
. Do you know what happened to the
Galactic
?"

"No,” Haley said. “They headed off, more or less in the opposite direction."

"Are you certain you weren't followed home?” Ravenshoe wanted to know in no uncertain terms.

"As sure as the sensors would let us be,” Haley replied. “If the Snappers have better sensors than ours, then maybe."

"In which case...?” Waterman wondered.

"In which case, we'd damn well better have every possible offensive and defensive variant on our AND Crispy technology that we can come up with,” Haley declared vehemently.

President Waterman sighed.

"Did you guys see this?” Anderson threw down a British paper as the White Horse Second Unit met again the next day to go over the plan.

"What the hell is this, Hand?” Tomlinson asked, picking up the paper and reading the headline. “'Nessie's Relatives Carnivorous?’”

"Yeah, seems some villagers turned up dead on the shore of the local loch,” Anderson noted. “With great big bites taken out of ‘em."

"Eeuich,” Nunez grimaced.

"Look at the location, guys and gals,” Anderson instructed.

They all clustered around the newspaper. “Aw, shit, Hand,” Bangler cursed. “Right where we're headed?"

"The very fjord where you rendezvous with the
Sea Wolf
,” Anderson agreed.

"It can't be real,” Wersky protested, seeming a bit anxious. “Can it?"

"I doubt it,” Tomlinson reassured the big man. “After all, most of the supposed pictures of Nessie were proven hoaxes, and every single exploration team in Loch Ness has found nothing. This is most likely some really nasty propaganda intended to scare people away from the area where they're holding the Crispies."

"But... did they actually kill people?” Nunez wondered, horrified.

"Intel indicates three dead, one missing, in the village,” Anderson nodded. “And the three bodies are in sufficiently bad shape that it's believable a large carnivore chewed on ‘em. I'm betting somebody has a pet great white, rather than a Nessie, though. Interestingly, according to the CIA, the four casualties appear to be the ones who discovered the lifepod to begin with. From what I've read, they must have broken their original agreement to keep their mouths shut. So the top echelon is apparently willing to kill their citizens, in order to ensure their own little private fountain of youth is preserved."

"We gotta stop this,” Bangler declared.

"I know,” Anderson agreed. “Okay, here's how it's gonna go down. First Unit will be Master Sergeant Ian McAllister's unconventional warfare unit. Master Sergeant John Tomlinson will head Second Unit. It includes you guys plus the Crispy, Sira Whitman. Master Sergeant Michael Warren will head Third Unit, which has psychological warfare specialists in it. He has heavy mobile gunnery, jamming devices, and small munitions, both lethal and diversionary.

"Each unit will be flown over the Pond in its own aircraft, for the sake of redundancy. You will parachute in here,” Hand pointed at an oat field near the head of the fjord. “Feel free to run around in circles for a moment after landing, if you wish. Crop circles get lots of attention and speculation in the area, and will make for a good cover story afterward, if we can manage it. You will have one minute to execute this diversionary tactic, while the aircraft block any electronics, effectively orbiting this peak at the top of the fjord, where the house is. Third Unit will set up further jamming equipment, then move three klicks inland to begin a diversion at the base of the... what the heck the Scots call ‘em? The mountain thing."

"Tors, I think,” Bangler suggested.

"That's the word. Allow twenty-five minutes. Meanwhile, First Unit takes the point and moves up the side of the tor nearest the landing site. Second Unit covers them."

"And Sira,” Tomlinson added firmly.

"And Sira,” Anderson smiled. He switched from the map to the diagram of the house and its lands. “Now, we've concluded that the Crispies are being held in an underground chamber beneath the house, either here,” he put his finger on one corner of the structure, “or here.” He moved his finger to the partial second story. “You will have the same twenty-five minutes to reach the top of the tor, which isn't real high, but high enough. The distance at this point is actually just shy of one klick, but you'll be climbing the tor. Keep that in mind. We did, however, pick what our intel indicates is the easiest slope to ascend; be thankful for that. You will then have another twenty minutes to invade and extract the Crispies."

"What the hell?!” Tomlinson exclaimed. “That's not nearly enough time for an extraction!"

"The house isn't big enough for a large guard contingent,” Anderson explained, “especially given the number of British officials living inside; and none have been detected in any quantity outside, or in outbuildings. There are some, however, and they are heavily armed. Also expect the politicians inside to be armed. We therefore expect the grounds to be heavily surveilled and booby-trapped. That's one reason for having Sira along, to help avoid the obstacles.

"First Unit is the bulldozer, and Second Unit, the extraction team. Third Unit is providing diversion and evacuation cover."

They all nodded.

"Once the Crispies are extracted, Second Unit will take the point, headed down the seaward side of the tor, along this gully.” Anderson pulled out the map again. “This side is pretty steep, though not sheer rock, and you may do as much sliding as running. But that's good, in a way; it'll speed up your descent. First Unit will follow, providing cover fire if necessary. Third Unit will rendezvous with you here,” he placed a finger on the map where another tributary gully intersected the main one. “They will fill in behind. They're the cannon fodder, should
that
be necessary."

Everyone winced.