X-Com was never seriously considered a priority by any of the nations of the world. It was, in the eyes of every founding nation, simply a PR stunt to convince the public that Earth was ready to resist an alien invasion. Not even the Council had ever considered the idea that they might have to actually use X-Com for its stated purpose. After all, what was the chance that something as ridiculous as an alien invasion would ever occur?
But they had been pressured by the citizens of their respective countries, and so they had to at least give the appearance of readiness. And, they decided, they may as well use the project to advance their military technology. So they had given the engineering team the money they had needed to build their subterranean bunker in the northern Sahara, construct the Skyranger and a couple of their so-called "hypervelocity interceptors," and even begin development on some more advanced weapon systems. It had worked out just fine, but there didn't seem to be any use for these new inventions in traditional warfare. Their aircraft were so focused on speed that they would be almost useless in an actual war zone: the Skyranger, after all, may have been able to travel at Mach 5, but it could only hold four. What use was it to deploy a squad to the battlefield if the unit was only made up of four soldiers? The Council became restless, and with the public satisfied that something was being done about potential alien threats, their attention turned elsewhere, leaving nothing to stop the Council from cutting the project's budget. They kept sending just enough money to keep the lights on at the base, and otherwise the world completely forgot about the project and left it and its technology to gather dust.
That had been eight years ago.
Central Officer Bradford entered the operations room to find it in chaos.
Three steps down from the main doors of the operations room was the main floor, an open space with rows upon rows of desks and computers for overseeing operations. It was intended to be able to direct air, sea, and land combat ops, with precise monitoring of up to twelve operations at a time. Above this was a vast, empty space, a natural cavern ten stories tall, walled in rock and criss-crossed by catwalks that extended from the balconies that lined the walls. All this was centered around a bank of six screens mounted in a ring around a central pillar, each screen pointing in a different direction so that the information displayed on them could be seen from anywhere in the room. It was usually fairly quiet in here. Ever since Bradford had arrived three years ago, he had never seen more than ten people on the main floor at any one time.
Now it seemed the whole staff of the base was there. The main bank of screens at the center of the room was showing nothing but static. Half a dozen IT personnel were gathered around the screens and trying desperately to make them work correctly. Around them, forty officers of various ranks hurried back and forth, talking among themselves and forming a low roar that resounded in the large hollow space. Several more people were coming and going through the doors to the rest of the base, and several junior officers stood, bleary-eyed and confused, on the floor of the Ops Room. Not surprising, Bradford thought. It was two in the morning. Most of the base personnel had been asleep until the alarm had gone off. Far above, scientists, soldiers and technicians ran at breakneck pace along the catwalks, heading to and from labs, barracks, hangars, and workshops. Those catwalks were the hub of the subterranean base, and the rest of it radiated outward from this room like spokes on a wheel.
With all the confusion in the room, it took a few seconds before anyone noticed that Bradford had come in through the main doors. Finally, a shout rang out from somewhere in the crowd below him. "Atten-TION!" Immediately, movement and noise stopped, and every soldier and officer in the room snapped upright and turned towards him. Bradford let them stand for a moment, ensuring that the last echoes died out before he said "Lieutenant Bashara; report." The officer of the watch, a short, brown-skinned woman in a hijab-style uniform, brought up her hand in salute. "Sir, one unidentified flying object has been detected in continuous suborbital flight above Europe, altitude 260 to 270 kilometers and moving in what appears to be a circular flight pattern. Radar contact is too large to be any known spacecraft; approximate size is estimated at between 120 and 200 meters across. Multiple projectiles have been launched toward the Earth, landing in three major cities: Liverpool, Berlin, and Marseille. No mistake, sir. We're at Rio 10."
Bradford winced. The Rio scale was intended to assess the magnitude of contact with extraterrestrial intelligence. Rio 10 was as high as the scale went, and it was reserved for direct contact with an undeniably alien intelligence within the solar system. There was a part of Bradford that still didn't believe it. It had to be a trick. A joke. Or a secret project from some nation or other. Surely it couldn't really be aliens!
But Bradford was a military man, and even as his mind scrambled for other options, his training drove him forward. "As you were," he said, loud and clear, and the activity in the room resumed, though now at a considerably lower volume. "Lieutenant. Walk with me." Bashara nodded and fell into step beside him as he stepped down the three steps to the main floor of the ops room and began to navigate toward his command station. "Do we have any hint of the aliens' intentions?" he asked. The book required him to ask certain questions before anything else. Bashara, following half a step behind him, replied "No, nothing yet. They're launching projectiles into some cities, but we aren't certain why yet. Reports are still coming in, and the projectiles don't seem to really be doing anything. We have no operatives on the ground, so intel is still coming in." "But they could be hostile?" "Yes, sir." Bradford couldn't think of a response to that, so instead he decided to move on to the next question in the list. "Are all forces in the base mobilized?" "Yes, sir. Interceptors and Skyranger are both fully fueled, and alpha squad is being briefed and recalled to base as we speak." Bashara sidestepped to avoid a technician dashing in the opposite direction, then moved back to her position beside Bradford. "Honestly, though, sir," she said, her voice losing a bit of its professional edge, "the soldiers, the pilots... they're really nervous. Everyone is." Bradford could relate. In fact, he was terrified by what might be about to happen. But he knew he had to put on a brave face for the team, so he turned to face Bashara fully and managed to put on a small smile. "Just do your job and we'll all be fine. Keep me updated." He almost reached out to touch her shoulder, but his training intervened. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height (over a foot taller than Bashara) and gave her a sharp nod. "As you were, lieutenant." She snapped off another quick salute, then turned and rushed off across the ops room, her white headscarf making her easy to pick out even after she had rejoined the crowd.
Bradford, meanwhile, had other things to deal with. He turned away, took a long, deep breath, and addressed one of the dozen other people hanging around nearby and waiting for his attention. This was going to be a long shift.
AN: The operations room I describe in this chapter is a much lower-budget version of the one we see in the game. Don't worry, though. They'll get their fancy holographic globe soon enough.