It's all a weird dream. It's gotta be.
O'Neil stood silent as the others talked among each other, with Hassan apparently interrogating the Tali they had captured. As far as he could gather, Charles had decided that they were going to lure those...things...into a trap. Where exactly? He hadn't yet said. How exactly? Ditto. Fucking brilliant, he thought.
"So, I heard you're a rookie, mate." Sean approached him, lighting a cigarette. "Right proper baptism of fire this is, so to speak. We were expecting ragheads, we got fucking Martians with rayguns..."
"Yeah." breathed O'Neil, checking his rifle. At least here in this post they could stock up on all the ammunition they had expended. He had already picked a few grenades, frag and flashbang, from a nearby munitions crate; he had a feeling he'd need it. He'd also seen the Canadian squad leader load another Javelin missile launcher into one of the Humvees; good call, he thought. Good call.
"Not feeling very talkative? The night got to you?"
"No." sighed O'Neil. "I mean...this whole damn thing feels unreal. I'm just expecting to wake up any moment now and find myself in the barracks with the sarge yelling my ass off..."
"Heh." Sean leaned forward and blew a puff of cigarette smoke in his face. "That feel unreal to you, wanker? Reality just got fucked. Betya my arse that-'ssumin' we survive-they'll hush this all up. A satellite failure, or something."
"Yeah." nodded O'Neil. "If those fuckers out there are aliens, I wonder if they've come to Earth before..."
"I was on holiday in California back in, what was it, '97?" began Sean. "Then there was all this hullabaloo about gang leaders being mysteriously murdered and rumors of some sort of government involvement. Then we got all these crazy stories about something on a subway train..."
"Hmm..." murmured Travis. Back then, LA had been having quite the gang problem; all the unusually intense carnage that had occurred over a period of a few days or so had been quietly forgotten, attributed to some gangs capitalizing on the bloodshed. But now that he thought about it...
"And then, back in the eighties, there was some sort of incident in a Central American shithole." continued Sean. "I got some mates in your army who tell me that..."
"Alright! Atten-shun!"
They stood up straight as Charles walked forward, chomping on a cigar, and conversed briefly with Hassan.
"Listen up, assholes! This time we're layin' the trap for these fuckers, and this time we got some proper support! I guess you have a few questions-there just so happens to be a nice spot far away from any civilian or military concentrations where we can set up: an old Soviet bunker that we think we've more or less pinpointed. Our Tali friend claims to know where it is, so we'll let him guide the way."
"How do you know he's not leading us into a trap?" asked the other Brit.
"Because the area he's suggested ain't filled with much in the way of anyone. 'sides, how does he know where to spring a trap when he can't even talk with his pals?"
"How much backup we gettin'?" asked O'Neil.
"We've been spared a couple of Humvees and a few more jarheads." said Charles. "Not the best, but as you can see, we've a fucking war going on. However, we're getting infra-red, motion sensors, the works...when we get there, we'll set up a perimeter that nothing will get through. And then, well, we can the Mulder and Scully types clear up, eh?"
The men nodded, as the engines of the Humvees revved up. On Charles' command, they piled in, accompanied by a group of infantrymen. Would it be enough? They certainly didn't know how many of the things were out there. Or just what the extent of their capabilities were.
"Yo, Charles." snapped one of the other Marines. "How do you know these things will come after us?"
"Trust me." said Charles. "They will."
As the Humvees drove off, one of the soldiers patrolling the small post paused, as the sensation that something was observing and stalking him overtook him. He had been hearing all sorts of crazy rumors about convoys and squads in the town being ambushed by...things, sporting crazy weapons and seemingly popping out of nowhere. For a short while, he had been elated by the arrival of these special forces guys, but now they were driving off, no doubt on some heeby-jeeby sneaky shit.
"Nice night, eh?" said a voice, coming from nearby. Spinning around, the soldier readied his rifle, heading over in that direction.
"Who's there? Rennie, is that you?" he called.
"What the hell, asshole?" Rennie called from a short distance away.
"Did you say something?"
"No. Probably your imagination. Now shut up and keep your eyes open."
Nodding, the man turned as a spear of some kind came flying out of nowhere, piercing his Kevlar armor like it wasn't there and impaling him straight through the heart. Crying out, he fell to the ground as his gun fired wildly, attracting the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Grunting, the major stepped out, demanding an explanation, just as something materialized behind him, stabbing him right through the chest with huge sharpened claws.
Shouting wildly, the soldiers present began to fire madly, mowing into the tents as they tried to hit the things that were seemingly all around them, picking them off at will. One of them unpinned a grenade, and was about to throw it before a spinning disc cut right through his side, spilling his guts out into the cold sand. The grenade rolled away, landing by a box of munitions, before detonating-the resulting explosion and fireball tore up a good part of the camp, raining down flaming bits of tent canvas and debris. Confused and panicked, the soldiers began to shriek hysterically as their morale and co-ordination deteriorated into wild discharging of everything they had, as they were picked off one after the other.
In the distance, the Humvees were just about visible, driving off into the dark, cold rocky wilderness, as mechanically augmented eyes, utterly alien and in human, focused in on them. They were heading towards grounds holy and ancient-and not just to the locals.
The endgame was beginning.