It was a surprisingly short ride down to the top-secret X-Com installation. Situated mostly underground on a remote island somewhere in the Pacific, the interior of the Skyranger was eerily quiet as the world screamed past at a dizzying rate. The product of years of theorizing and a hefty amount of money, the Skyranger was a suborbital aircraft. It skimmed through the reduced atmosphere at an altitude just before entering space. The reduced friction and drag allowed the Skyranger incredible speeds. Upon dropping back down into lower atmospheric conditions, the ramjet engines would come back on-line.

Unfortunately, such speed comes with a high premium; the ramjet engines were non-functional at suborbital altitudes, and the Skyranger was forced to burn rocket fuel as a result. That in itself was expensive, but adding to the fact that the rocket fuel tanks were internal rather than externally mounted pods ...

A potentially explosive mode of transport.

It did not make Ivan feel any better, riding on top of what was literally a flying missile. The craft was equipped with a modern type of explosion containment device, which would direct the majority of the force of the blast away from its fragile cargo compartment, and had been tested to redirect a blast equivalent to over a hundred kilos of TNT. Still, the effects on the occupants of the craft would surely not be conducive to health.

Aforementioned cargo compartment in this case housed Ivan, Pieter, and their assorted belongings between them. With most of the craft devoted to high-tech electronics and strange thingamajigs, it was fairly cramped. Enough to squeeze in slightly more than a dozen troopers, Ivan estimated, and a limited amount of equipment. They were definitely going into battle without SA-7 rocket launchers, Pieter had added ruefully.

The Colonel was sitting up front, with the pilot and navigator. Too good to sit with the grunts, Ivan had recalled saying rather bitterly. Their first encounter with aliens had not been pleasant, and Ivan had lost good friends because of it.

Still, they had all known the risks when they had signed on with the armed forces. Death was inevitable in life, even more so in battle, and his friends just had to go home early. It did not feel any better to know that he had survived whereas they had died, but Ivan was a soldier, and so he resolutely put it aside in his head. He gazed out of small window next to him, allowing the murky darkness of pseudo-space to lull him into a soothing trance.

All too soon, the Skyranger plummeted sickeningly back into the lower atmosphere. Ivan's stomach flipped as he desperately grabbed on to the safety harness. The quiet in the compartment was replaced by the nauseatingly loud hum of the ramjets kicking in, and the resultant lurch knocked him back deep in the cushioned seat. G-forces kept him there as the Skyranger accelerated rapidly to drop below radar coverage.

A glance at Pieter showed that he was not faring too well, either. Pieter flashed him a weak grin as he visibly gulped.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, the Skyranger was also equipped with VTOL facilities. The ramjets were reversed as they neared their destination, this time gradually slowing down the Skyranger. Thankful for the respite, Ivan managed to keep everything in his stomach in the proper place.

The vertical jets activated a moment later, gently lowering the Skyranger down. A slight bump announced contact with Terra Firma. Ivan gathered enough courage to look out of the window, and all he saw was an expense of lush foliage, and beyond that, golden sand. Emerald-blue water surrounded them.

A mechanical clang, and then they were descending into a vertical shaft.


Half an hour later, after a quick welcome by some staff, the two were ushered into the troop barracks. At present, Wolf had explained, X-Com was little more than a tiny research facility. That was about to change, though, since recently, the aliens had begun to get more aggressive. The Earth needed something to fight back with, and X-Com was it.

The research facility-turned-military base boasted a magnificently state-of-the-art collection of laboratories as its central feature. The multisensor laboratories were equipped with no less than three massive T3 Crays, an inordinate amount of computing power at an equally inordinate price. Here, the thirty-strong team of top scientists had puzzled for well over a decade, debating alien purpose and technology.

Alongside the labs was a fully equipped medical facility, complete with trauma team and ICU. Waging war against aliens was a highly hazardous occupation, Wolf had explained, and therefore X-Com had their own medical staff. It was an all too real possibility that wounded squad members might not survive a transfer from a conventional hospital without appropriate facilities to a more advanced medical agency. The need to localize critical equipment was most important to extend the lifespans of the combat team.

On the same level was the fully mechanized and automated workshop, where a team of half a dozen crack engineers laboured to produce the whatever the scientists came up with. Prototypes were already up for a new type of body armour, supposedly stronger than Kevlar, yet of an equal weight. The armour plates would be inserted into special pockets in uniforms, providing good ballistic protection over critical areas.

One level up, the Skyranger-bearing lift came to a halt. The base was equipped with two such hangars, the first housing this particular Skyranger, and the other belonging to the recovery team. They were equipped with two CH-47D Chinooks, massive helicopters capable of moving up to almost fourteen tons of weight at a single time. Recovery would be responsible for salvaging whatever UFOs the X-Com combat team managed to bring down.

Close to the hangars were the crew living quarters. With only about seventy staff on base, this was of a decent size. It was typical military; clean, Spartan, and purely functional. Bunks and lockers, period. They would share the quarters with the rest of the base personnel, split to accommodate both genders. Even the Colonel stayed there.

Traffic through the base was channeled through various security points, each of which was equipped with a 0.5-inch caliber heavy machine gun. Hooked up into a motion-sensor system, each HMG would spray bullets indiscriminately at any moving target once turned on. Of course, the target(s) in question had to have a certain mass in order to be detected.

There were also various nasty surprises around, including inactive anti-personnel mines that could be remotely armed or detonated, as well as some more old-fashioned traps - spring blades and spikes, for starters. All the security measures would be controlled by the base weapons officers in Command and Control.

Wolf took them around on a quick tour, after stowing away their stuff. The small island was liberally dotted with SAM sites, the automated weapons systems supposed to be able to shoot anything down. Taking them up the central lift to the surface, Wolf pointed out their last-ditch weapon.

A railgun.

Located in the middle of the base radar/communications array, it was basically a sled mounted on top of a motor. It was already loaded with a chunk of depleted uranium the size of a car tire. Upon detection of a hostile craft within its range, the powerful aiming mechanisms would immediately begin orienting the railgun at its target. The sled would be accelerated, via enhanced magnetic fields produced using laser beams, along a rail of about a hundred meters. At the end of that, the sled would come to an abrupt halt, catapulting the depleted uranium slug off. It had been calculated that the slug would achieve supersonic speed in another five millimeters or so after leaving its sled, such was the power of the magnetic catapult. A slug of that mass, at that velocity, would cut a swathe of great destruction through whatever was in its path.

Naturally, in order to achieve this kind of power required a tremendous amount of energy. So much, in fact, that in order to fire the railgun, all available power had to be redirected to the railgun capacitors. It would, in essence, shut down the base completely.

Truly, a last ditch weapon. If the railgun was fired, and failed to destroy its target, the base would be left essentially defenseless save for its personnel. The various automated guns at the security stations would no longer work, unless fired manually. C&C fervently hoped that this would never become necessary.

Around the base, a pattern of sonar buoys had been planted. These would be the early warning system should a sea-based assault be attempted; the buoys had been placed up to two kilometers away. On the island itself, various sensors would provide warning of intruders. Hooked up into the central defense computer were also links to the various GPS satellites, plus a good number of other classified and unclassified military satellites. In essence, X-Com central had an eye over the globe at any given point in time.


At dinner that same evening, Ivan and Pieter met the rest of their team. Formed around an augmented ten person squad, the personnel had been culled from military forces all around the world. The squad would have a medic, a heavy weapons specialist, and a close assault specialist, among others. Each squad member would be issued with a rifle and sidearm that they were comfortable with, along with any other specialized equipment that their squad position dictated.

Medic duty went to Dr. Monique Langer, a veteran of several wars, including the Balkans and Gulf wars. She had served as field medical personnel under combat conditions before, and knew how to use her German G3 combat rifle relatively well. Monique was not that good with a pistol, however.

Drake Fallon was squad heavy weapons specialist. He would lug around anything larger than a rifle. He was skilled in various rifles and small arms, knives, and his fists. An unattractive brute at a huge six and half feet, and with equally huge arms to match, Drake came from Delta Force, USA. Drake would be carrying the squad section automatic weapon, or SAW; surprisingly enough, he eschewed the standard US Army M249 for the lighter Heckler and Koch MG36 Light Support Weapon. Drake was hardly one would call a crack shot, but with the kind of firepower he was slinging, he could be slightly on the sloppy side, although that would be most unprofessional of him.

The squad point man was Robert Irving. British-born and British-raised, Robert had originally been with the British SAS, and had also graduated from the US Army Ranger School as a result of joint training. He was just on his way back to Hereford in England after yet another joint training exercise when X-Com had gotten their hands on him. A wiry and toned person, the Englishman had a quiet air of reserve about him. Somewhere along the line, Robert had even found the time to complete a university degree in engineering. He was reputedly better than the legendary U.S. Army 17th Infantry 'Ninja' Lightfighters. Unusually for an European, Robert was a bit of a gun nut; he preferred the French FA-MAS Commando Carbine to the usual British Army SA-88 assault rifle, and had let his superiors know that from the start. He had even brought over his own handgun - an extreme rarity in a country that had strict gun laws.

Close-quarters combat specialist was Mariko Tanaka, from Japan. Barely five and a half feet tall, she had black-belts in four different kinds of martial arts. Her first budo was shorinji kempo, having learnt it at the original dojo in the town of Tadotsu, in the Kagawa Prefecture on Shikoku Island, founded by Kaiso. It took most students a full year to achieve their black-belts; Mariko had finished hers in only ten months. In an academy where every student was an expert fighter, that spoke volumes about her ability. Serene and calm, Mariko gazed calmly out at each member of the squad, a rock in the middle of a raging sea.

As befitting his previous assignment, Pieter was demolitions. Ivan wondered what Pieter would get to blow up in X-Com. He drew communications duty, carrying the light but powerful portable HF radio set, together with the field GPS system. The others all belonged to the rank-and-file common to military organizations the world over, forming a generic, but important, core to the team. And because this was a military installation always on alert, everyone carried handguns.

Inside the mess hall, the combat team broke bread with the other engineers and scientists. Some of the brightest graduates from universities around the world were here, and their youth showed. Across the room, laughter broke out as one such young graduate got a cup of cold water dumped over him, courtesy of the very same girl he was trying badly to chat up. Apparently offended, she walked away and left him literally cooling his head. A sheepish shrug later, he strode out of the mess hall after his target.

Ivan sighed briefly. Ah, youth ... they just do not learn quickly enough, da?

He returned his attention to Wolf, who was replying to a question just asked by one of the squad. X-Com, Wolf explained, was a very new organization. It was funded by the various governments of the world. The money would disappear under the Black Project heading of every government, and resurface as X-Com funding. However, this was utterly dependent on the performance of X-Com. Should X-Com fail to provide adequate protection for a certain government, it was almost assured that funding from that government would be cut. Politics factored into everything, after all.

The initial base had been built at a staggering cost, the Colonel continued to disclose. Appalled at this price tag, several governments had already drastically sliced their funding, fearing the diversion of revenue to a yet-untested agency. Before operations had began, X-Com was even now in danger of being closed down because it swallowed money like water; of the many billions with which the agency had started with, there was now only a few million left. Thus, it was in the best interest of all parties involved that X-Com start proving their worth.


* * *


Deep in space, something moved. Something vast and unimaginably ancient. Deep space probes left in place by someone else picked up this movement, transmitting the data across the vast interstellar distances at speeds Mankind could not even imagine of.

Unlimited by such concepts as particle physics, the data pulsed into the alien receiver on a yet-undiscovered planet outside the Solar System. A quiet hum filled the air, alerting an operator and filling him with dread. The probes had been constructed for solely one reason.

Four-fingered hands flitted across the alien keyboard with unerring precision. A quick glance at monitors confirmed what his instincts told him. The alien tapped the communications device next to one of the display units, and spoke in a voice tinged with fear.

"They are coming."


* * *


The alarm klaxon went off with the cry of a thousand howling banshees, shocking Ivan out of peaceful slumber. Fumbling with his uniform, Ivan tried to pull on his boots as well. Pieter was faring no better, it seemed.

His mind raced through the alert drill as his body moved. Report to the armoury to pick up any allocated special weapons, then on to the hangar and immediately board the Skyranger; their 'regular' rifles and sidearms were kept permanently on-board, except when they were due for servicing. Briefing would commence along the way to the mission site.

The armourer was already frantically dishing out combat goodies. He saw Monique grab her heavy field medical kit in one hand and sprint for the Skyranger. Pieter was next, and got a pair of grenades, which he stuffed unceremoniously into his webbing pockets. Ivan reached the counter a moment later and pocketed his own issued grenades. A quick sprint and he was inside the Skyranger.

It had taken all of two minutes.

Wolf was already there, counting heads.

"Weapon check, load and safe."

Ivan parked his behind on his allocated seat and grabbed the AK-74 rifle in the harness next to the seat. Pulled back the bolt, made sure it slid smoothly along the breech. Slammed home a thirty-round magazine of heavy 7.62mm armour-piercing bullets. Clicked the safety on, and jammed the rifle back into the weapon harness. Put on the communications headgear and fastened the throat mike in place. He settled back into place just in time to see Monique re-strap her G3 combat rifle into her own weapon harness.

Wolf finished accounting for all men and tapped the controls that slid rear exit ramp shut. He spoke into his headset microphone to the Skyranger pilots.

"All clear. Time to go."

Insulated from the cacophony of the ramjets shrieking to life outside, Wolf grinned at his crew inside the soundproof transport chamber.

"We got ourselves a live one."


Wolf briefed the team as they headed for the target destination. A UFO had been spotted on long-range radar, heading towards the Taiwan. The Taiwanese authorities had swiftly granted X-Com airspace clearance, although they had indicated that they would supply reinforcements if required. The UFO had been lost somewhere over central Taiwan, where the mountainous region provided for bad radar coverage. Military listening posts were being rapidly set up in that region to provide at least a modicum of intelligence.

Within an area which provided for no suitable landing zones, the X-Com team would be forced to make a 'hot-drop'. The Skyranger would slow down its velocity enough so that opening the exit ramp would not cause turbulence to rip the entire craft into pieces. This done, a short static line jump would drop the troopers straight into an environment with the location of hostiles unknown. Pickup would be via helicopter at a landing zone not too far away.

If they all survived.


Ivan dropped into a crouch, the hot-drop coming second nature to him. The muzzle of the AK-74 swept the immediate vicinity, his finger light on the trigger. Riding the edge, it was called, so that it required the barest tensing of his finger to fire the weapon.

Although the light temperate forest was not possessed of dense foliage, it was blanketed in the early morning mist. Droplets of cold sweat beaded Ivan's forehead, and the fatigues he wore were no match for the incipient chill. It would warm up as the day advanced, but until then, the fog would effectively hide all enemies until he bumped into them.

"Clear," he whispered softly into the mouthpiece of his headset.

Moving as silently as the many pounds of equipment he was carrying allowed, Ivan stalked in a direction away from the receding Skyranger. Beside him, Robert slid into view, the foliage barely rustling as he moved. A terse grin from the pathfinder, and the Englishman was gone again. Ivan swore silently, wishing he could move as well as the Brit.

A few minutes later, the team rendezvoused at pre-arranged co-ordinates. Taiwanese military had only a sketchy report that something was moving in the sector immediately ahead of them, but that was all. It could have been a wild animal, or it could have been an alien. Only one way to find out.


What was that?

The snap of a twig caught Ivan's attention. Spread out in a loose skirmish line, the X-Com combat team came to an unanimous halt. Thirty minutes of silent trekking had flooded nerves with a tingling anticipation. A bolt of green lightning, Ivan recalled somberly. He hoped that he would not lose any more friends this time round.

Wolf signaled to Robert, motioning him to scout ahead. The Brit vanished quickly, swallowed by the mists. A second hand signal ordered the rest of the team forward, albeit more slowly. Ivan tightened his grip on the AK-74, ready to spray explosive death.

They had barely moved forward a dozen torturous steps when Robert returned. Moving quickly yet silently, he gave a silent nod and held up three fingers. His mouth was set in a grim line, and there was an eager gleam in his eyes.

Game time.

Wolf returned the nod, and indicated a pincer movement; left was Pieter, Mariko, and Whelan. Ivan would take Drake and Larson to the right and flank the aliens. Wolf would head the frontal assault with the rest of the team. They each had two minutes to move into position, then the attack would begin.

Tense with anticipation and dread, Ivan crept along as best as he could. The portable radio set on his back seemed to weigh tons in his hunched-over position. He marveled at how Drake seemed to move effortlessly, even in the uncomfortable half-crouch they were forced to employ. The Heckler and Koch MG36 Light Support Weapon was dwarfed by his huge frame.

Thirty seconds, Ivan silently counted. He could almost see the numbers appear in Drake's brain. As the count neared ten, Drake went prone and extended the LSW bipod. Already the mist had cleared enough to register indistinct shapes in the distance. Ivan fervently hoped that none of those were his fellow squad mates; there was absolutely nothing friendly about friendly fire.

Five ... four ...

Out of the corner of his eye, Ivan registered a quick, darting movement. There was no time to think, only react. He screamed out a warning and hurled himself to the ground, the AK-74 blasting. An icy, azure bolt of energy flashed past his shoulder, striking a tree. The moisture contained in the trunk flash-boiled instantly, cracking open the wood and toppling the short tree to the ground. The heat from the near miss seared open the fabric of his uniform. His hair standing on end from the minor electrical discharge propagated by the bolt, Ivan crashed heavily to the forest floor. Loud thunder boomed repeatedly nearby, and Ivan realized that Drake and Larson were returning fire.

A familiar croaking cry cut through the air. Another bolt of power flashed towards Drake, missing the man by inches. The heavy weapons specialist held his ground, and continued firing. He was rewarded by the loud thump of a body hitting the ground.

Another one of those azure bolts cut through the air towards the flanking team, from the opposite direction. It narrowly missed Larson, and the man hastily dropped to his knees, changing his field of fire. Streamers of energy washed past the space where his head had been a moment ago.

Outflanked! Ivan's mind screamed in warning.

While his mind struggled to adjust to the new threat, Ivan corrected his aim and stance. The AK-74 roared to life again, spitting 7.62mm rounds at some unseen target. The crash of underbrush told him that his unseen enemy was running for cover.

"He's on the run!" Larson cried. The man stumbled to his feet, intent on chasing after the foe.

Drake did not waste his breath; he made a grab for Larson but missed.

The answering blast of fire from the alien struck Larson in the chest, exploding his upper torso and sending charred chunks of meat in all directions. A second shot came at Drake as he frantically dodged, then a third thrummed through the air and smashed into his MG36.

The weapon literally exploded in a hail of shrapnel, but deflected the shot enough that it hissed harmlessly into the air. The kinetic force of the blast, though, hurled Drake from his feet. The man roared in pain from the shards of the destroyed weapon that had lanced through his flesh. Drake had not been an attractive man to start with, but he now had an entire new slew of facial scars to boast of; still, the ex-Delta Force soldier was thankful just to be alive.

Abandoning his position, Ivan scrambled aside. The movement drew the attention of the alien, and an energy bolt threw dirt into the air as it impacted not far from him. Risking a glance, Ivan saw that Drake had gotten back on his feet and was attempting a flank; he had drawn his sidearm, and was fisting a grenade in the other. Ivan knew what Drake was thinking, and emptied his entire magazine into the underbrush, keeping the Sectoid pinned.

Drake heaved the grenade into the brush in the next moment, then quickly dove for cover.

Ivan lost no time in doing the same.

A puzzled whicker came from the alien's, and coincidentally, the grenade's, position.

A moment later, pieces of deconstructed alien came raining down all over the place.


Across from the site of their desperate battle, the rest of the team was mixing it up as well. It turned out that Mariko's team had also been flanked, and were pinned down. Crimson and azure pulses flaming over their heads kept their noses in the dirt.

Wolf's group was having problems as well. The bait, the central team of three aliens, had commenced firing the instant Ivan had shouted out. Pivoting smoothly, two of them held massive weapons too big for their frames. Brilliant emerald lances throbbed through the air, cratering the ground in dull explosions of dirt. The last one hung back, holding some kind of alien pistol.

The sharp crack of Robert's FA-MAS heralded the results of his accuracy; one of the aliens received a radical craniotomy as a trio of 5.56mm rounds tore through its eye and out through the back of its skull. The other two seemed to realize the foolishness of standing upright in the middle of a battlefield with a crack shot, and quickly retreated.

The fire abated for a moment, and Wolf scooted forwards quickly, the G11 tucked in nice and tight against his shoulder. He could hear the furious firefights going on to his left and right, but for the moment, the remaining two aliens from the central team were his concern. He could hear Robert and Monique running behind him to the left, with Huczynski on his right, and caught a glimpse of the withdrawing aliens. Wolf loosed a couple of bursts at the moving targets, but missed. Bolts of green fire were returned, but the aliens did not have any better luck shooting on the run than he had. More fire from his team ensured that the aliens continued their retreat, and the chase was on.


Mariko winced as yet another near miss superheated the ground barely two feet from her. The aliens were toying with them, she could feel. Her team had been caught completely by surprise when the first crimson blast melted a nearby tree. What were they waiting for?

She had her answer a moment later.

Something struck the ground with pinpoint accuracy between her and Pieter. The resultant shockwave lifted her up from her prone position and slammed her back against a tree trunk some distance away. Utterly stunned, Mariko fought a losing battle to keep consciousness from flying away. She was dimly aware that the enemy fire had stopped.

Cold hands closed around her arms. They felt small but strong.

She was being taken prisoner!

Fear swept aside the clouds in her mind. Through a pounding headache, she saw them; two of those small gray ones Wolf had called 'Sectoids'. One of them was dragging her through the underbrush by her arms. Nearby, Whelan was struggling weakly with the other Sectoid.

She met the surprised eyes of her captor. It emitted a single startled shriek before she swung her left leg mightily in an arcing kick to knock it to the ground. Its hold on her arm released, Mariko deftly drew her sidearm clear. A flick of her thumb took the safety off, and the .357 Magnum spat and roared, blowing a hole right in the middle of the alien's huge forehead.

Target down.

Idiot, she had time to think. Didn't even disarm me fully ...

The other alien had dropped Whelan upon hearing the .357, but stilled dazed, he was next to useless. Before Mariko could react, the remaining alien had pulled a pistol and shot Whelan in the back of his skull. As the body crumpled to the ground, the Sectoid turned the pistol in her direction, firing a barrage of shots as she weaved and dodged.

Apparently, the remaining alien had changed its mind about the merits of bringing them back alive.

She scooped up a handful of dirt on her way down and flung it at the alien. The Sectoid caught the moist earth in the face. Astonished at this unorthodox weapon, it gave a single bleating cry and tried to bring its pistol to bear again.

Too late. Mariko was too close by then.

A sweep with her left arm knocked the alien pistol to the side, then she brought one foot around in a powerful roundhouse kick that caught the Sectoid on the side of its head.

As the alien stumbled, Mariko executed a leaping front kick. It landed just under its chin, snapping its head brutally back. Another crunch echoed through the air, and the alien collapsed, holding what was very obviously a broken jaw.

Taking pity on it, Mariko sent it into unconsciousness with a quick punch.

"Pieter," she breathed in alarm.


As it turned out, Pieter was having a bit less success than Mariko in breaking free of his captors. He had received the full benefit of the stun bomb, and had only just begun to recover consciousness. Much like Mariko, his first sensation upon awakening was the feel of deathly cold hands on his legs. Underbrush gently stroked his exposed head as they moved through the forest.

What the ... !

The indignity of being treated so jerked him fully awake. A true soldier, Pieter was immediately aware that he had been stripped of his weapons. His hands would have to be weapon enough.

He lurched to a half-sitting position, and grabbed at the aliens with his hands. The sudden movement jerked them to a halt, and they turned in surprise.

Pieter roared his anger at them, causing them to drop his legs. Clumsily getting to his knees, Pieter launched a vicious punch at one Sectoid and dropped it like a rock. The other Sectoid returned the favour, knocking him a good one across his cheek. The bruise would remain for days. Howling in outrage, Pieter simply grabbed the puny Sectoid and rammed his forehead into its face. He felt something break under the assault, the alien thrashing wildly in his grip. Grinning despite the pain, Pieter head butted it a second time, then dropped it.

As the alien mewled in pain from its broken face, Pieter noticed the strange, pistol-like implement it had dropped. Ah well, he thought, no time like the present to try and learn how to use an alien weapon. Pieter seized the weapon, making doubly certain to keep its 'barrel' pointed away from him.

Even alien weapons had triggers, Pieter smiled grimly as he held the alien pistol in a professional Weaver stance. He stroked the trigger gently as the alien got back to its feet.

Nothing happened.

Safety! was his next thought a moment before the alien launched itself at him, fists flying. He blocked a kidney punch, then crunched a knee into its face. As the little monster folded, he clubbed it across the back of its skull with the pistol barrel. And again. And again.

Pieter stopped long after the Sectoid had stopped moving, grinning wildly at the green blood staining his clothes. He hefted the makeshift cudgel and turned his deadly attention to the other, unconscious Sectoid.


Wolf dodged yet another bolt of green fire. Damned, when did those things run out of ammo?

If they used hard ammo to start with, a little voice in his head argued.

He mentally told it to shut up, then dove for the ground as some sort of projectile detonated to his left. The blast caught his entire left side and flung him into Robert's path. A cursed oath from the pathfinder, then the two went down in a heap.

The Colonel groaned. The blast had left his entire left side numb. Arm and leg refused to move at all. Bright lights flashed in his head, making him afraid of a serious concussion. Robert shoved him roughly aside, struggling to bring his FA-MAS to bear, praying that Monique and Huczynski could retaliate quickly enough before the aliens turned them all into hunks of well-done steak.

No such luck.

The barking of an M16 echoed, abruptly silenced by a scintillating spear of power. Huczynski took the bolt in his left shoulder, and the force of it knocked him back on his behind.

"Damned," he managed to gasp. "That hurts."

Robert winced as he saw a secondary barrage of rapid fire literally rip Huczynski apart. He fired his FA-MAS blindly, without aiming, for about a second or so before the answering blast sliced his gun in half.

Stunned, Robert dropped the smoking weapon and stumbled back. His flak jacket had stopped most of the shrapnel, but metal shards had still cut into his exposed forearms. Out of the thinning mist, the two hunted aliens emerged, weapons pointed at the fallen humans.

"I say, old chap, we are in serious trouble," Robert murmured to nobody in particular.

One Sectoid hefted a mighty gun that looked almost too heavy for it to bear. The other held a truncated form of pistol with a bulbous head. Both chittered away in their alien tongue, turning a strange shade of earthy brown.

Robert could swear that they were laughing at him.

The characteristic roar of a G3 combat rifle shattered the sudden silence. Green ichor fountained from a broken Sectoid chest, the heavy rounds knocking the alien back a step or two. The cannon thudded to the ground as the wounded Sectoid tried futilely to stem the gushing blood with its hands. Another volley of bullets catapulted its broken body backwards.

The other alien pivoted smoothly and let loose with its weapon. A shrieking round vomited forth from its muzzle, exploding some distance behind Robert. Even from here, the concussion wave buffeted him. Heavy footfalls told him that Monique was desperately trying to find cover before the alien fired again.

"It's payback time, mate," Robert whispered softly.

He rode the fading concussion wave forward, willingly falling to a knee and simultaneously drawing his trusty German Walther P-88. Ignoring the pain from his bleeding hands, Robert drew a bead on the alien as it fumbled to reload its launcher. He pulled the trigger and stitched a line of 9mm Parabellums across its chest. This arrived with a third burst of rounds from Monique, and the alien dropped into a crumpled, bleeding mass.


They found Pieter with little difficulty. Hollering at the top of one's voice tends to attract attention, even if it might be of the unwanted kind.

Mariko had hauled her unconscious captive back, where some quick work with belts and backpack straps had trussed the bugger up nice and tight. Drake eyed the alien with undisguised hatred as Monique extracted fragments of metal from his face and neck.

"Watch it," he growled as the medic tugged hard on a stubborn splinter. "It stings."

"Ooh, poor baby," Robert chuckled, having just undergone the same procedure a few minutes ago. He was busy wrapping a bandage around a hand.

"Don't you mock me, man," Drake began, but abruptly cut short as Monique stabbed him unforgivingly with her forceps. His breath came out in a whoosh, and the medic held up a bloodied piece of shrapnel.

"If you can complain, you will definitely live," she grinned. "Now, entschuldigen, I must see to Pieter."

Only Pieter had sustained a truly serious injury, from the force blast he had received. Pieter sported several broken ribs, but nothing life-threatening; a splint or two, and he was good as new. With the adrenaline high fading, the pain of his injuries hit him with a vengeance. He would have to helped to the pick-up zone.

Along the way, they heard a muffled roar. Visible even through the canopy of the temperate forest, a silvery-gray shape floated up into the air and rapidly vanished in the distance.

"There goes the first prize," Wolf lamented.

It was a long trek to the pick-up zone.