Chapter 6: Gate of Manhattan

President Dirrel B Johnson, the polarizing leader of the United States, the third strongest nation on Earth, was a man consumed by his own grandeur. His ego knew no bounds, and his insatiable hunger for power and recognition led him down a treacherous path of narcissism.

Born into a wealthy and influential family, Dirrel was raised with a sense of entitlement and superiority. From a young age, he believed that the world revolved around him, and he was destined for greatness. His charm and charisma masked a manipulative and self-absorbed nature that would become the defining traits of his presidency.

As a young man, Dirrel pursued a career in politics, using his family's connections and vast resources to propel him into positions of power. He cunningly exploited every opportunity that came his way, using his silver tongue to persuade and deceive those around him.

When he finally ascended to the highest office in the land, Dirrel saw himself not as a servant of the people, but as a ruler whose every whim should be obeyed without question. He surrounded himself with sycophants and yes-men, ensuring that his every word and action were met with unwavering adoration.

Throughout his tenure, Dirrel showed a complete disregard for the principles of democracy and the rule of law. He viewed himself as above reproach, immune to the consequences of his actions. When the FBI began investigating him for a litany of crimes, he saw it not as an opportunity for introspection and accountability, but as an affront to his divine right to rule.

The indictments against Dirrel were met with jubilation by those who still clung to the fading ideals of justice and integrity. But for the narcissistic president, it was just another obstacle to overcome, another opportunity to assert his dominance over his perceived enemies.

As the final months of his fourth term unfolded, Dirrel's desperation grew. The reforms he pushed through in the judicial branch were widely condemned, with critics arguing that they undermined the very foundation of democracy. But to Dirrel, these reforms were not about creating a more just society; they were about solidifying his power and control.

Amidst this political turmoil, a cataclysmic event unfolded in the heart of Manhattan.

The alarm bells rang loudly throughout the White House, jolting President Dirrel B Johnson from his restless sleep. Disoriented and still in a haze, he darted his eyes around the dimly lit room, searching for answers. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw the grim expressions etched on the faces of those around him. His attention was drawn to the towering figure of James T. Conway, the Defense Secretary and retired Marine Corps general who had just stepped into the room. Conway's weathered face was etched with concern, his eyes filled with a grim determination.

"Mr. President, Manhattan is under attack," Conway stated with a sense of urgency.

Dirrel's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a flicker of excitement dancing in his eyes. "Under attack? By whom?"

Conway's voice was steady but tinged with alarm. "We're not entirely sure, sir. But it seems to be some kind of extraterrestrial force. They're like nothing we've ever seen before."

As Dirrel listened intently to Conway's report, his mind raced with thoughts of the political implications of this attack. He had always prided himself on his ability to manipulate situations to his advantage, and this unexpected crisis provided him with a golden opportunity.

While the military and intelligence agencies scrambled to respond to the threat, Dirrel's mind was already working overtime. This attack on Manhattan would consume the news cycle, diverting attention from his own scandals and potential indictments. If he played his cards right, he could present himself as the strong, capable leader that the nation needed in times of crisis.

The ominous purple glow of the swirling portal hung in the air, reflecting a sense of imminent danger that sent chills down the spines of those who witnessed it. Manhattan, once a bustling metropolis and a symbol of American power, now stood under attack from an unknown force. Dirrel B Johnson, the President of the United States, stared wide-eyed at the live drone footage displaying the horrifying scene unfolding on the streets of Manhattan. His heart raced with a mix of fear, excitement, and opportunity.

"There's just so many of them," Dirrel muttered under his breath, his voice laden with grave concern. "What are those green creatures, General Conway?"

General James T. Conway, the Defense Secretary and a retired Marine Corps general, stood beside Dirrel, his eyes fixed on the screen, his expression grim. "We don't know yet, Mr. President," he replied, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "They appeared out of nowhere, emerging from that swirling portal. We're still assessing the situation, but they seem to possess some remarkable abilities."

The creatures, as described in reports from the field, were a horrifying sight to behold. They stood at an average height of 27 meters, their slimy green skin glistening with an unholy sheen under the flickering city lights. Their limbs were elongated and grotesque, ending in sharp, claw-like appendages. What was most unnerving, however, was their ability to move underground, as if they were part of the very earth itself.

"These creatures can swim underground like water," chimed in a member of the National Security Council. "Reports indicate that they use some sort of acid to melt everything in their path. Guns are useless against them, and artillery is too slow."

As chaos ensued, Dirrel's thoughts swirled with a self-centered glee. The plans of his opponents, the investigations, and the looming indictments - all seemed to fade into insignificance now. This unexpected crisis provided him with an opportunity to not only secure his hold on power but to also shape the narrative in his favor. The destruction of the Manhattan District Attorney's office, a thorn in his side, was a twisted stroke of luck that couldn't have come at a better time. In his mind, it was a clear sign that fate itself had intervened on his behalf. The narcissistic president reveled in the belief that he was untouchable, his crimes washed away by the chaos that he had inadvertently unleashed.

Inside the underground command bunker, a flurry of activity filled the room. Top military officials, advisors, and experts were engaged in a heated discussion on how to tackle the threat at hand. Defense Secretary James T. Conway, a retired Marine Corps general known for his cool and level-headed demeanor, stood at the forefront, presenting options.

"We need something that can penetrate their tough exterior and cause significant damage," General Conway advised, his voice laced with urgency. "Conventional weapons have proved ineffective."

One of the National Security Council members, a middle-aged woman with an air of authority, chimed in. "What about using GBU-37 bunker busters from our hypersonic bombers? They could deliver a powerful punch and take out these creatures."

Dirrel paused for a moment, considering the option. He glanced around the room, taking in the worried faces of his advisors. But then a calculating smile played on his lips. He knew the risks associated with the bunker busters – the potential for collateral damage in the densely populated area was too great.

"No," Dirrel said with a hint of confidence. "We can't risk the lives of innocent civilians. We need a more precise and devastating solution."

The room fell momentarily silent as each person processed Dirrel's words. The President's motive was clear – he needed to portray himself as the hero who would protect the people, even if it meant sacrificing expediency for their safety. It was a calculated move, one designed to win him support and secure his re-election.

General Richard B. Myers, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, broke the silence and addressed Dirrel. "Sir, we have another option. The David Sling orbital kinetic bombardment system. We have 68 railgun satellites in orbit ready for deployment. Using these, we can hit the target within 12-15 seconds from any given time. The tungsten rounds they fire, traveling at Mach 30, possess incredible kinetic energy equivalent to approximately 11.5 tons of TNT. They can penetrate hundreds of meters of ground. This is our best chance at eliminating these green creatures."

Dirrel's eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. He knew that the use of the David Sling would be devastatingly forceful, potentially causing immense destruction. But that wouldn't concern him. The collateral damage caused by the railgun's impact would further fuel his narrative, rallying the nation around him as a fearless leader who didn't hesitate to do what was necessary.

"Do it," he commanded, his voice steady and unwavering. "Hit them with everything we've got."

From the depths of the darkness encompassing the underground bunker, Dirrel watched as the railgun satellites began their synchronized dance in the inky expanse of space. The cold metallic panels showcased a constellation of power, the ultimate manifestation of humanity's determination to defend its home.

The first tungsten round hurtled downwards, guided with precision by the satellite's advanced targeting systems. The air vibrated with a deafening cacophony as the projectile sliced through the atmosphere, leaving trails of ionized particles in its wake. In an instant, it struck the ground, unleashed—a deafening roar reverberated through the city, resonating with the collective gasp of those who bore witness to the destruction. A surge of dust and debris filled the battlefield as the ground beneath the alien creatures erupted in a violent display of force. The tremors shook their monstrous forms, momentarily halting their advance.

What followed was a relentless barrage of tungsten rounds, each impacting the ground with a force that defied comprehension. The sheer brutality of the onslaught left no room for mercy, no quarter given. The green creatures, though resilient, were no match for the wrath of humanity unleashed.

With every successful hit, another creature succumbed to the unleashed fury of the David Sling system. Their bodies were rent asunder, torn apart by the immeasurable kinetic energy unleashed upon them. Blood and ichor stained the devastated streets, mingling with the destruction left in their wake.

The commanders in the command bunker watched in awe and horror as the drones transmitted the devastating aftermath of the onslaught. The once seemingly unstoppable green creatures were now reduced to decimated carcasses, their grotesque bodies torn apart and scattered like broken pieces of a macabre puzzle.

Scientific advisors and military strategists exchanged bewildered glances, their minds grappling with the enormity of this unprecedented encounter. The combination of advanced weaponry and the strategic precision of the orbital kinetic bombardment system had rendered these monstrous creatures into a mere memory of terror.

"These alien creatures didn't stand a chance," the President mused silently to himself, a calculating smirk dancing upon his lips. "And neither will my enemies."

Unbeknownst to President Johnson, however, there were those within the bunker who sensed his true nature, his lack of empathy and integrity. As the battle raged on, they observed his demeanor, his pleasure at the destruction and his disregard for human life.

General Myers approached President Johnson, his face covered in a mix of relief and concern. The room grew silent as he spoke with a sense of cautious hope. "Mr. President, while the immediate threat has been neutralized, we must remain vigilant. We still do not know the origins of these creatures or if more will come through the portal."

President Johnson nodded, his eyes reflecting the harrowing experiences they had just witnessed. "General Myers, we must gather all available resources to investigate the source of this portal and ensure the safety and security of our nation. We cannot afford to be caught off guard again."

As the dust settled and the city began the monumental task of rebuilding, the world looked on in awe and trepidation. The events in Manhattan would serve as a stark reminder of humanity's vulnerability to the unknown. The battle had been gruesome, a clash of technology and the unimaginable.

In the days that followed, scientific teams scoured the remains of the alien creatures, conducting detailed examinations in an attempt to unravel the mysteries of their existence. The David Sling orbital kinetic bombardment system stood as a symbol of mankind's resilience, its destructive force a testament to humanity's resourcefulness in the face of unimaginable odds.

Yet, questions lingered in the air—questions about the origins of these creatures, their purpose, and what other secrets the universe held. As the world braced itself for what lay beyond these portals, the Franco-British Union, the United States, and the Russian Empire shifted their focus from their cold war stalemate and banded together in a unified effort to protect humanity from the unknown threats that awaited them in the depths of the unknown.

Little did they know, the battle against the green creatures was merely the beginning of a much larger conflict, one that would test their resilience, courage, and determination to survive in an ever-changing world. The destiny of mankind hung in the balance, uncertain and fraught with challenges, as they ventured into a future where the line between science fiction and reality blurred into terrifying new possibilities.