The message made Falkirk want to tear his American flag off the shoulder of the flight uniform that he traditionally wore. He was glad that the powered armor was blocking his ability to do that, however, as he knew that he would have regretted it later.
The tactical nuclear map displayed all of the countries of the world now. Not just the Americans, but the Russians, Chinese, European Union, and God knows who else all launched missiles. Not at their common threat, the aliens, but at each other. Falkirk lowered his head as a missile from Northern China impacted Southern China. A bright flash on the screen, and then a percentile readout showed estimated damage to the area based upon preliminary satellite topography. It was always above ninety percent.
“Scott, what are we fighting for?” Falkirk asked hollowly, keying in a private frequency to Valmont’s plane.
“I wish that I could tell you, Alan. Is it all really worth saving, even if we do survive?” Valmont replied.
“I pray to God that it is.” Falkirk said.
The planes crossed into the Antarctic night, the ruby dimensional gate gleaming in defiance of his advances. He did not possess any feelings for this race anymore except for a deep, loathing hatred. He simply wanted to do to each and every one of them what he had done to the one on the I.S.S. He wanted to kill them with his bear hands, to rip them to pieces, and keep doing it until he was satisfied, which, Falkirk knew, would never happen.
“Mustang Leader, all flights out here?” Falkirk asked. “Devil flight here.”
“Raptor flight here.” “Falcon flight here.” “Cougar flight here.” “Black Knight flight here.” “Scorpion flight here.” “White Knight here.”
The last message soothed Falkirk’s beleaguered mind most of all. White Knight was the code name for the S-1.
“All flights, approach the gate and provide cover for Mustang, Devil, and White Knight. Take down any ships patrolling the area. Stay together and get one at a time. Devil squad, take out specific large claw-like towers, target independently. Devil Leader, you’re with me. Mustang Two, provide cover for the S-1. Understood?” Falkirk asked.
“Understood, sir.” The flights spoke. Everyone now had a near fanatical determination to rid the Earth of this alien scourge. Falkirk could tell this, in the way that they spoke. Dead, hollow, but angry.
“Let’s go, folks!” Falkirk yelled in anger, slamming on the afterburners and punching through the dimensional gate.
Again, the odd falling sensation returned to Falkirk, but it passed much more quickly this time. Before he knew it, Falkirk was staring into the crimson skies of the alien dimension.
“Devil Leader, we’re going to check out that sighting from last time. Follow me.” Falkirk said.
“That’s affirm, sir. I’ve got a missile with that thing’s name written all over it.” Devil Leader replied.
The two planes flew straight ahead, dodging and weaving through the clusters of alien structures surrounding the multitude of other wormholes at the edge of their reality. Although Falkirk knew that they would have to be careful on their thousand mile journey out towards the unknown figure, Falkirk knew that the toughest time would be had by his own unit, as well as the other ground soldiers which had joined them before leaving the Pentagon. The flurry of communications began.
“Sir, we’ve got five inbound, moving to intercept…” “White Knight reporting surface sighting…”
“Devil Three launching, I repeat…” “They’re boxing me in! Can’t get out…” “Oh my God, I can’t breathe…”
“Help me…”
Messages flew across his brain. Falkirk couldn’t concentrate. He isolated frequencies, and tried to concentrate.
“Sir, we’ve landed.” Martinez’s voice said to him, penetrating the swirl of information surrounding his brain.
“Get going, and move out!” Falkirk said to her, praying for luck, hope against hope for the ground troops.
Falkirk called up the video view on Martinez’s suit, and watched as the group poured out of the S-1, fighting among the infinitely tall alien structures.
“Alan, they’ve got me! There’s too many of them!” Falkirk heard Valmont yell over the radio. Falkirk could do nothing but listen, he was too far away from Valmont to help him at all.
Falkirk watched in horror as the camera on Martinez’s suit panned upwards. Falkirk watched as a plane that looked just like his own came spiraling down from the sky. As it hit the ground, the nuclear missile contained in its belly detonated, shorting out the camera on the suit with its electromagnetic pulse. All that remained was static.
“Alan, it’s Nate. We’ve got casualties here.” Dunn said.
Falkirk breathed a sigh of relief. At least some of them had survived. “Who, Nate?” Falkirk questioned.
“Valmont is dead. Velez and Heinrich were leading the other troops in the attack, they, along with most of the other troops, were incinerated instantly. Galil is pretty much out of action, most of her armor was burned away, and she’s got some fairly bad burns, but we’re treating her. The plane got damaged, but, I think it’s still able to fly. Simon, Martinez and I are going to do as much damage here as we can, and then see about getting out of here.” Dunn stated. Falkirk knew full well, however, that even of those who had survived, there was not much to go back to.
“Continue on your mission. Good luck.” Falkirk said. He didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing left for him, but the mission at hand.
“Sir, we’re approaching the target.” Devil Leader reminded him. The words echoed in Falkirk’s consciousness.
Falkirk looked the figure up and down that was before him. It was a massive alien, at least six miles tall, a larger version of the ones that he had been fighting, and a still larger version of the massive one that he had encountered on the alien ship when the unit had raided it. However, the eyes, instead of being piercing pink or neon yellow, were pure jet black.
“Fire your missile, and then get the hell out of here.” Falkirk commanded the pilot of the B-2. Falkirk toggled his own nuclear missile as well, the twenty foot long hammer of justice dropping from the ventral weapons bay and streaking forwards, into the head of the mammoth alien. The missile from the B-2 followed the same path.
As the B-2 began to turn, it winked into a fireball. Apparently, the release of the nuclear missile burned away the containment chamber of the on-board nuclear reactor. Falkirk always knew that it was unsafe to have the pilot fire the missile, but, at this point, one more death didn’t matter any more. Falkirk felt nothing, only numb.
Both missiles impacted the head of the alien. The shock wave from the nuclear blast coursed out to meet Falkirk’s plane, and, as it struck, Falkirk felt himself floating free. His plane had ejected him automatically after it detected that structural integrity had been compromised. He was now just as dead as the pilot from the B-2.
As Falkirk floated downwards, he used his parachute and the minimal atmosphere to direct himself towards the gargantuan head of the alien. He realized upon closer inspection that the nuclear missiles had not penetrated its armored skull. The alien was not dead. It seemed invincible.
Falkirk landed in the cavernous dent that the missiles had created in the head of the alien. He looked into it with sadness. His guns had been in the plane, left behind when he ejected. There was no hope of getting through the armor with his bare hands. Then, he remembered.
The sword.
From the sling on his back, Falkirk unsheathed the beautiful blade. Its edge, a molecule thick, would be the liberator of mankind from the alien menace.
Hacking through chitinous armor like it was butter, Falkirk was able to turn his head every so often to see the battle far away. While he couldn’t actually see the battle, the nuclear explosions from the B-2’s provided a surrealistic nuclear holocaust as a background to his mission at hand.
And with a final swinging of his sword, the last layer of armor fell away.
A bright white light blinded Falkirk. Even the polarizers in his armored helmet could not prevent the intense glare from shining through. The same feeling that he had encountered when facing the large alien in the space craft, the feeling of a direct link into his mind, confronted Falkirk now. This time, however, it was different. The alien seemed to be communicating.
“Please, being,” a voice spoke to Falkirk’s mind, “please don’t kill us. We have never sought our own destruction, as has been brought to us now.”
Falkirk spoke through his inner monologue. Justice should be wrought upon the wicked.
“We have no wicked. We simply are, and have always been. One voice, a tiered system with no waste. It makes us strong. You are weak, and yet we are bested. How?”
Because I am. Because I have to be.
“Why have you come here? Your own world is in ruins, you know that you can never return.”
I never wanted this to happen. Help us repair, and rebuild our world. “This never did happen.”
As those words were spoken, Falkirk began to realize exactly what they meant.