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WARMIND ALPHA - NORTHERN HEMISPHERE

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WARMIND Alpha report compilation… 83% complete. Stand by.

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EXPLAINEXPLAINEXPLAIN


The light was so very very bright. His throat felt dry and, when he tried to speak, all that came out was a faint was a rustle of movement nearby and a cup was pressed to his lips. He drank, deeply then sagged back. It took him a moment to realise he was in a bed. Slowly, wetting his lips, he tried to speak again, but only managed a hoarse "Where…?"

"Infirmary in the tower, Sergeant," he recognised Jiayi's voice, quiet, faintly terse. He managed a cough and tried to open his eyes, squinting against the light.

"Wha… what happened?"

"You collapsed as soon as the ship landed. We had to carry you out after restraining the… grey ones."

"Uh huh… so, why y'here?" the question felt brusque, he realised, and he held up a hand to try to gesture. His arm felt heavy, almost numb. He could just about make out her silhouette in the brightness, "I mean… y'know?"

"You required help getting here. I assisted and volunteered to maintain watch. I will now update Zhu Zhang you are awake."

He saw her move across the room and managed another cough, "Ji...Jiayi," She froze, near what he thought was the door and seemed to half turn, "Th...thankee. Lot happened. But thanks."

She seemed to shift her weight then nodded - he could see her head bob, "And… thank you. For, well. The mind and flying… thing?"

He chuckled, which morphed into another cough and she moved back to the bedside, lifting the cup to his mouth again. He glugged it down and spluttered a little, "Ah, t'wernt nothing. Just… made some weird tiny grey monkeys fly a bloody spaceship…" he laughed again and he realised he was breathing heavily. He swallowed and gripped the bedside, staring at the ceiling, forcing his eyes to stay open. Jiayi swam into focus and her face bore a look of concern, which she masked as soon as he glanced at her.

"You are reacting poorly. I will fetch a doctor. And let Zhu Zhang know…"

He managed a nod and a twitchy smile, "Aye…. aye. Thanks again."

She gave him a curt nod and left the room, pausing at the door briefly. He sagged back into the pillows and groaned as his moment of peace was interrupted by a flurry of activity. Men in white coats, women in the peaked caps of nurses and others flooded the room. The men were firing questions at him whilst checking drips, the women pushing in a pair of carts of stacked medicines, clearly in case one of the three quacks checking him had an opinion. He batted away their prodding hands and just grunted at their questions as he struggled upright.

"Gentlemen, bitte. The man has merely awoken, he may not be… compos mentis as yet. Sergeant Major Hackett, wie gehts?"

A familiar woman strode into the room, clutching a clipboard in front of her. The doctors huffed and exchanged looks, but stood aside. The sergeant managed a grin, "Not bad doc. Bit of… bit of a fever and can't see very well."

She nodded and checked her clipboard, then looked at the doctors, "Dehydration, increased hormonal production, some potential strain on optic nerves via unknown stimuli. Matches the symptoms experienced by our other subject, ja?"

The men harrumphed and one shifted, clearing his throat, "Indeed, but she was hardly as...well equipped. I fear she was more a fluke and we can hardly expect, present company excuse, the fairer sex to be as resilient as a well drilled soldier."

Hackett frowned and looked at Vahlen, "Uh… what other subject? And um… have I been down long?"

The Doctor frowned at her compatriot, then turned to Hackett with a smile, "Two days, Sergeant. We thought it best to administer some mild sedatives and maintain a saline drip. You were rather deficient of salts and sugars after your… experience. There is someone else, who we had ferried here yesterday."

Hackett blinked, "Two days, Doc? I can't be just lying on my arse, doing bugger all!"

She frowned at him then, "Nonsense, Sergeant. The Commander has expressly stated that your team are on light duties. Recovery and assistance operations only. We have others on rotation. You will have more to do in the days ahead. Take the time."

He grunted and shifted uncomfortably in the bed, "Can I at least get some proper long johns rather than have me arse flapping in the breeze?"

"Gott in himmel, save me from stubborn soldiers. Nurse, please fetch the sergeant a uniform of some description. And a wheelchair. You will need to take it steady, Sergeant. Or you will answer to me. Alles Klar?"

"Uh.. yes Doc, um, Ma'am, Doctor Vahlen. Ma'am," her look could have frosted a beach in midsummer.

The medical staff filed out, Doctor Vahlen waiting until the last had departed, then she pursed her lips at Hackett, "Sergeant, it may be too soon to really discuss this, but I did want to say we may need your help going ahead soon."

He shifted on the bed, feeling muscles cramping and the rumble of his stomach; however he did manage to focus on the doctor's words. They brought a frown of his own, "Thought we were, doctor?"

"Beyond the simple trade of bombs and bullets, Sergeant. You have exhibited a talent… a skill. Something that we have been aware of, even managed to make some minor use of."

"The… weird carnival medium stuff?"

"We are referring to it as 'paramental' abilities. We had been using some individuals with basic skills to assist with the interactions with the aliens before now - interrogations, assessments. We have gleaned some useful information. But, unglücklicherweise, their skills have been at most passive. Reading, understanding."

"I don't follow?"

"They can basically understand the aliens, read their minds in the most basic way. None can really command them, not without substantial aids - such as the crowns we issue for captures. And even then nothing more complex than 'go here, do that'. You managed to command a group of aliens to fly a ship. We may have need of your services," here she held up a hand at his faintly panicked expression, "In terms of understanding the method. So we can replicate it."

"I tell you, doc, them buggers is horrible. You don't want to have people rooting around in their heads."

"Even if it gives us a fighting chance?"

Hackett sighed, "I suppose. You sound like Jiayi."

"Zhang's protege? Yes she is a very interesting young lady. Clever. As I say, we will need your help. I have no intention of recommending you become some sort of… driver for the vessels. But if we can understand the hows, the whys… we can perhaps develop the talent in others."

Hackett nodded slowly, "Let me… think about it. Anyway what about this other one? The lady?"

"Her talents were… markedly different. You'll meet soon enough. For now, rest. Geduld, patience. The nurse will be along to get you dressed. And I am sure William… the Commander I mean, yes, he will want to speak to you also. Good day Sergeant."

And with that, she left. Hackett sank back to the pillows and exhaled, taking in the spartan room, before his eyes fluttered shut, mind awash with images of blasted worlds and chortling, creeping, grey creatures, eyes filled with hate and avarice. Sleep was brief. And not restful.


"So, what's the damage, gentlemen?"

The command team had adjourned to a meeting room hastily prepared in the Officer's mess dining room of the Tower. Some of the buildings within the walls had collapsed under artillery fire, or burned out. But the mess was intact and, for now, relatively quiet.

Commander Anderson faced his staff: Bradford and Shen sat to one side of the table, whilst General Marter and the Spokesman sat on the opposite side of the table. A few attaches and junior officers were further along, or sat at the edges of the room, taking notes.

Bradford cleared his throat, "Still tallying casualties. Looks like we lost about two thirds of militia forces beyond two miles from us, either missing or dead. We haven't pushed beyond the crash-site yet, so we may find more holdouts. Here, fifty confirmed dead, seventy wounded on site, with an additional hundred more casualties south of the river. Minor wounds on pretty much everyone. The castle's secure, so're the docks and wharf. Civilian casualties," he sighed, "We got nothin'. We don't have a census on how many were in the city, so can't even begin. Can't even clear the bodies from the streets."

"Which raises another problem," interrupted Shen, "As those killed with Black smoke will get back up unless dealt with. Which will put further strain on our ability to salvage vital material and equipment."

"My own regiments are depleted, but hold the north of the city towards Islington, Haringay and Hampstead. So far, no major incursions, only stragglers," that was Marter. The real one this time. He'd arrived the day before, on horseback, with a retinue of soldiers from various regiments, as well as armed civilians, "I think we can act a reserve and perhaps at least fix any of these...Lost as your Lieutenant Zhang called them."

"Thank you General. Spokesman?"

"Well, Commander," drawled the masked man, "After the unfortunate incident with Smytheson, we are re-evaluating our own assets for… compromised infiltration. My sources tell me that the Prussians have pushed the enemy to a stalemate in many Principalities. Bismark is holding the line. France has mostly fallen, save Paris, Marseilles and the port of Calais. That is mostly due to the presence of British, French and German naval presence preventing the enemy actively utilising coastal regions," He spread out several dossiers in front of him and Anderson peered at them, "Europe we understand is under a complicated mix of pressures; the invaders have not assaulted evenly. In Italy, Spain and other regions they have apparently elected to perform hit and run strikes, stoking local resistances and… terror strikes. Those nations are currently falling to turmoil due to political instability rather than overt enemy incursion. Russia is also under pressure but holding mainly around St Petersburg, Moscow and Volgograd. They have suffered heavy losses to their military but, as across most of Europe, appear to have the enemy engaged in brutal combat in their own cities."

Anderson nodded slowly, "And the world beyond Europe?"

"Information is… scarce, Commander. Africa has no centralised communication network currently, no telegraph. Our last communiques were weeks ago. It seems the enemy have focused on ports and are able to more easily impact the populations there due to limited military capabilities. It is likely the continent is lost. South America, the Indian territories and Australia we have no information on."

Bradford coughed slightly and Anderson gave a weak smile, "And our American cousins?"

The Spokesman shook his head, "Rumours only. It was suggested that the American government surrendered to the invaders. However, there are indications of active resistance in many York we have heard was under attack, the enemy electing to firebomb the city. Boston and Washington DC… appear to also have been struck. The west coast, we do not know."

Anderson steepled his fingers and frowned, "Gentlemen, whilst this appears… unsettling, I do believe we have a glimmer of hope," the men looked at him quizzically, "I put it to you - the nature of this assault. The sheer level of commitment here. At the heart of the world's greatest empire. They threw so much at us… and did not follow through. What does that tell you?"

General Marter tilted his head, "A fear we had more in reserve? I understand you… shot down one of their warships?"

"More than that… we were on the ropes. And we scratched the thing. But… they withdrew. They failed to support their troops on the ground and actively charged our location."

Bradford nodded slowly, "Desperation?"

"And the fact they don't appear to have tried a similar assault elsewhere indicates to me they either refuse to overcommit or they simple cannot do so."

"That's a very large assumption, Colonel Anderson,"

"Indeed, General. But let's look at this; we know they struck hard and attempted to keep our military divided; they assaulted vulnerable sites; and they avoid overt contact with opponent forces they cannot easily counter. Now, that is standard doctrine… but they fundamentally failed to press their advantage and withdrew a key military asset at a core point of their engagement. They held the literal high ground, outmaching our own artillery and what? We could assume they are repositioning for a subsequent thrust… but reports from Lieutenant Zhang indicated that Newcastle appeared to be a main manufacturing base for them. We have neutralised it and, it appears, may have also caused them to commit to military action against us without them being completely aware of our capabilities."

The Spokesman leaned forwards, "An interesting proposition. It would explain why they have not been able to… co-ordinate similar strikes globally. The Council is… impressed by your resilience. And this information seems to be at least more positive than we expected."

Anderson mused then looked at Bradford, "And our new friend?"

"He would seem to have… provided us with confirmation of your suspicions."

The General looked puzzled, "What friend is this?"

"We have ourselves a defector. And, it would appear, a line in on the enemy's military infrastructure and command apparatus."

The Spokesman leaned back in surprise and Marter looked agog, "Goodness, go on!"

"So, as I mentioned, I believe their intent was a crippling strike to remove us. London and the United Kingdom are providing a central co-ordination spot and also have executed successful offensive strikes, seizing their equipment. I believe they genuinely thought they could take us. And they nearly did. If not for Lieutenant Zhang's timely intervention. But, either way, we bloodied them. And I feel they have committed both too widely and too heavily. They are spread across too many theatres and fatally underestimated their required assets to fully conquer us."

General Marter glanced down as an aide handed out a sheafs of reports and began to leaf through then. His bushy eyebrows rose as he skimmed the text, "You think they cannot prosecute another assault like the one we just weathered?"

"Not imminently. My best assumption would be that they will now perform as they did before, following their successful strikes - hunker down, consolidate, build up."

"Why is that?"

"The enemy appear to act along a series of patterns - assault, expand, defend, then assault again. They run more flexible operations in tandem, such as the 'XCOM' operatives and the Fenian separatists. Now, whilst they lost this engagement, the end result was markedly similar - we lost enough for us to be deemed not an immediate threat. We have had our greatest city ransacked, filled with the Chrysalids and Lost, as well as hundreds of abandoned enemy combatants. So, the enemy will likely move back to defensible areas. Reinforce. Then they will try again."

Shen nodded slowly, "It is the basis of warfare, but they take it to a clinical degree, yes. They attack weakness, undermine strength. That was Smythesons goal, yes? Disrupt the command structure here, to allow their forces an easier time across London?"

Anderson nodded, "Indeed. Without co-ordination, they could have easily sliced us to ribbons. Luckily, Smytheson was an idiot," that drew some chuckles and the strange tension in the room ebbed somewhat, "Before now, we had no idea of their dispositions, their command structure. So, we were on the defensive, building up against an attack we couldn't even comprehend. However, now we have a bit of an ace. In those reports you will see that the enemy has a few fundamental weaknesses. Most notably is its rather rigid command structure, beyond their auxiliary allies."

The general nodded slowly, "So, their commanders are a weak point. So what? Shoot an officer, the men panic..."

"Well sir, it's a bit more than that. Most of their soldiers are, in fact, incapable of much independent thought. Our own troops have more in the way of adaptability and indivdual action. This is not a universal constant but, apparently, their more veteran troops can grow to learn. But they predominantly rely on local commanders to issue a distinct series of actions."

"They're… puppets you say?"

"I think… well, Moira uses the word automata. She has heard a Russian word, Robota, which also could apply. Now, some of their forces, such as the Tall men and their most recent human hybrids… they are early enough in the… what was it called… iteration process that they preserve free action. Or rather have had it preserved. The Mutons have maintained a basic, thuggish mentality, so they can operate with other Mutons… but they do not do well without senior command guiding them."

The door creaked open and Vahlen entered, "Apologies Gentlemen, I was seeing to our latest.. Assets."

"Doctor Vahlen, please take a seat. We were just coming to that. I was explaining our opponents lack of flexibility."

"Jawohl," Moira slid into a chair at the far end of the table and folded her hands atop it, "We know that the Insectoids are… paramental. They are able to control and disrupt the thought processes of others. What we also believe is that they are akin to our radio relay stations. They boost signals from command elements elsewhere."

"So, they're… what, signallers?"

"After a fashion, ja. The Tall men are not 'paramental', but apparently have the ability to control forces in their immediate locality. They appear to still make use of Insectoids for large scale command and control. Our forces have reported both a more advanced appearing Insectoid, though only one has been reported; the one encountered by Major Bradford and Colonel Anderson at the start of this debacle."

Anderson shuddered at the memory, then picked up the thread, "And apparently they posses other creatures with this ability - the first monsters encountered at Horsell, great fleshy things in floating orbs. And some of their hybrids appear to possess what they call 'the gift'."

"Ja. Our informant states this is due to the… human material utilised in their construction."

Marter looked bewildered, "Their… construction?"

"Positiv. They are apparently grown in batches. Equipped, chipped and sent out."

"Chipped?"

"Entschuldigung - the Hybrids are recent enough additions to their military that they have that aforementioned independent thought process. The enemy apparently… place a device into their skulls, to ensure compliance and as a means of receiving these 'paramental' command instructions. We have a co-operative specimen and I successfully removed the chip last night. As a result, he has been most forthcoming with intelligence. We are still debriefing him."

Marter looked from Anderson, to Vahlen and then barked a laugh, "Knew you would get things bloody done. So, how does all this actually help us, what with the rebuild cycle you're waffling about, Bill?"

"Well… before now, we've done what they expected. Sent massed troops at well defended lines, or just tried to control our civilians. We've reacted. NEwcastle was our first large scale proactive assault and it completely bamboozled them. They had no counters, barely any effective defences against small scale incursion."

The Spokesman leaned forwards, "You want to try another strike?"

"Precisely. They're in recovery; they will either expect a full scale counter attack with our forces towards Horsell, or somewhere else. So, they'll be looking for massed troop movements, our forces in Wiltshire reforming and all that. They won't expect something more subtle…."

Eyes exchanged looks around the table and Anderson nodded at Bradford, "We have an alien aircraft. We think we can insert a team directly into their headquarters, strike at their command network directly… and disrupt their operations globally."

The table went silent, the only sound being pens scratching furiously as the aides tried to keep up. Marter broke the silence, "A strike from the air?"

"Yes. And, thanks to Doctor Vahlen, we should also know where to strike."

"Horsell, surely?"

"Perhaps not - that was their first landing and construction site. But the good doctor has a method to divine where we hit next."

Moira grinned across the table at Anderson, who smiled back, Bradford rolled his eyes for a moment and tapped the table. Vahlen glanced at him, flushing only slightly, "We believe, using the crystal shard, we can trace the signal source. At least on a local level. We know they came from Mars, but that target seems… ambitious. Local command must be a reality that we can disrupt. And we believe it may be that same creature the Commander encountered."

"When will we know?" mused the General.

"Very soon. Then we just need the appropriate preparations."

"Such as?"

Anderson sighed, "We've played the main distraction card. Our assault on Horsell did allow us to strike Newcastle, even in His Royal Highness hadn't taken over the bally thing… God rest his soul. But we think we can likely make it look like we're trying to rally another assault. That should fix their attention to allow our aircraft to infiltrate their main base… and for our team to capture their commander."

The Spokesperson stroked his mask, then looked at Marter who just shrugged, "Good a plan as any. And the Commander hasn't steered us wrong thus far, eh?"

"I concur. We may be able to provide additional support from continental assets. If we can disrupt the command network, I envision that we, the council, can take advantage of this new aviation technology to augment our ability to support."

Shen piped up, "Replicating the technology itself will be near impossible… but we can learn a lot from it. I should have some thoughts by the end of the week."

Anderson chuckled, "Just try not to melt Tower Bridge during testing, would you?"

Shen shrugged and grinned mischievously, "No promises, my good Commander. Let me know when your team is ready. I will have further equipment for them, I am sure."

Marter nodded at that, "When should we strike? Once you know?"

"We don't want to rush in. We need to prepare. Prior to now, the enemy has taken time, had it all their own way. Whilst we know they will likely stick to the plan, they will be more reactive. Let's not give them cause to strike out too soon. We'll manoeuvre troops in Wiltshire into defensible lines, keep the bulk of our troops in London on cleanup. Give the appearance of still reeling, caution. I'd give us a week at most, three days ideally… then we press our advantage."

Marter nodded, "Then, let's to our business shall we?"

The room devolved into discussion of minutiae for another hour, before breaking up into small clusters of officers, all who departed to their various actions. Soon, it was just Bradford, Shen, Moira and Anderson, with the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock.

Shen broke the silence, "So much so soon. Are you confident Hackett will do this?"

Vahlen pursed her lips, "If not Hackett… we need another. A week might not be enough time, Commander. Not if we have to train up another to use the vehicle…"

With a grunt, Bradford cracked his back and shook his head, "And we've got Ms Paramental Portsmouth as well. She stable?"

Vahlen shrugged, "After a fashion. Slips in and out of consciousness. Ein Bisschen rattled I believe. But she will recover. Good that the Naval authority decided to send her here…"

Anderson sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyes closing briefly, "We are on a timetable set by our enemies. If I was their CO I'd be chewing out the subordinate right now. You can be sure they won't leave us alone; they will strike again, albeit maybe not the same way. We cannot let our opponents set the terrain of engagement any further. We hit them where it hurts next, buy our allies and ourselves more breathing room."

Shen chuckled, "Well, you'll be pleased to know that our weaponry is becoming more refined. I believe we will be able to match our opponents firepower on a more even footing now. And be more resistant. Truly, the engineering on display is… astounding. Horrific. But astounding."

Silenced descended again and Anderson sat up, "So, everyone… if you'll excuse me, I feel I am overdue a nap. Let us reconvene tomorrow morning, six am?"

There were nods from all three and they dispersed. Anderson clomped to his room and practically fell onto the bed, one arm draped over his eyes. Two days of overseeing the bodies being stacked, seeing to troops and practically living off of milky tea and biscuits in the command room and the streets outside.

He heard the door click and froze, then moved his hand slowly away. He chuckled as he saw Moira leaning against the door, staring at him like a deer in a spotlight. Clearly she hadn't planned the next step.

"Something to discuss Doctor? Concerns about my…"

"I have decided I require sleep also," she muttered, "And I would rather not do so alone."

Anderson tried to maintain a suave grin but it was threatening to expand to "incredulous". He managed an "Oh?"

"Yes. I feel it will.. Help my concentration."

"What will society think…? Two unmarri-"

"So ein Misthaufen. Society can take a running jump, it has sneered at me for my whole life. And I will not have even your British sarcasm ruining…" her shoulders seemed to be nearly shaking. In a moment Anderson was up and across the room. Vahlen froze as he embraced her, then yelped as he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her onto the mattress and slid next to her, propping his head up on one hand. She glared up at his grinning face, but couldn't hold the expression. Gently, he took one of her hands and brought it to his lips.

"My apologies. My own.. Nerves get the better of me. Duty versus want. I think… I would do well with company. Liebschen."

She sighed and shook her head, "What am I to do with you, William?"

His grin became playful, "Are you open to peer review, Doctor?" then he laughed as she flushed, "Well, let's just enjoy the silence for the moment, I think we've earned it."

He lay back and felt her drape her leg over him, heard her breathing slow, his own eyes drifting shut. Soon, sleep had them both. Peace, for the first time in weeks.