* * * *
“What the hell was that?” demanded the Admiral as the sensor readings shot off the scale.
“Zenon-5, Sir, it…it’s…gone.” stuttered a shocked and pale lieutenant.
“What do you mean it’s gone? The refinery? Pull yourself together solider and give me a proper status report.” bellowed the Admiral.
“Yes sir, sorry sir, it’s not the refinery, it's the moon. Zenon-5, they’ve completely destroyed it. There’s nothing left, other than a debris field.”
Silence descended on the room as everyone stopped to stare at the display and let the enormity of what she’d just said sink in.
“How many people were stationed on Zenon-5?” Faiz asked quietly.
“According to our computer records the crew compliment of the Zenon-5 complex is… was eighty-four thousand souls sir.”
“Order all military vessels to engage the enemy, free the weapons grid, one way or another were going to bring that bastard down.”
“Aye, sir.” she nodded and set the night watch to work.
Suddenly several of the displays off to his left winked out only to be replaced with white noise and static. The technicians were on it before he could give the order to repair the fault.
“Sir, I’m reading multiple systems failures across the board.” cried the lieutenant as more screens flickered and died. “Targeting, sensors, weapons, it’s cascading through all our systems at a phenomenal rate.” she was interrupted, as the ground juddered violently underneath their feet and the ceiling rattled, sending delicate ribbons of dust cascading down over them. The dust clung to her face and mingled with the sweat droplets on her forehead. “Nuclear detonation, ground zero is... Sir, it’s the Admiralty HQ. It was taken out by one of our own nukes?”
“Kill the computers, isolate everything, especially the data and communication feeds.”
“But sir that‘ll leave us blind and defenceless.”
“Just do it now before we lose everything! They’ve uploaded a virus payload into our systems and get me a hard line to the president.”
There was an explosion off to his left, as the terminal the technicians were working on erupted into a ball of flames, blowing them across the room. Panels dropped from above them as the twin automated defence turrets lowered themselves into place. Arming their weapons they swung through one hundred and eighty degrees to target the crew, working frantically to regain control of the locked-out systems and shut them down.
“Take cover.” barked Faiz as white hot lead ripped into the soft, vulnerable flesh, of the men and women in front of him.
He pulled out his service automatic, tipped over his steel desk for cover, and emptied his pistol clip into the nearest turret. The sharp staccato of gunfire drowning out the shouts and screams of those around him, ending in a deafening crescendo as the turret exploded, showering him with sparks and shards of hot metal that scorched his uniform. He ejected the empty clip and fumbled for a fresh one, but knew it was in vain. He could hear the motors whirring and resigned himself to his fate, knowing that the second turret would eliminate him before he could reload his gun. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable, and cleared his mind’s eye of everything, but the retirement cabin he would never live to see again. If he was going to die then at least he wanted to die thinking of something that mattered to him. He flinched involuntarily as several shots rang out in quick succession merging into an explosive roar then nothing, but silence, no pain, no blood, no life flashing before his eyes, just an eternity of silence.
Cautiously he opened his eyes and surveyed the blood stained carnage around him. Bodies littered the floor. Display screens, full of white noise, hung from the walls at crazy angles. Shattered, shorting, consoles spiting sparks and smoke. In the ceiling he could see two smouldering mounts each terminating in a mass of twisted tangled metal. He reloaded his gun as he tried to figure out what had saved him, a malfunction perhaps? Then he noticed a pistol protruding from under the battered and scared row of workstations in front of him. He bent down for a better look and was confronted by the lieutenant, wild eyed and trembling, gripping her gun at arm’s length and pointing it at the ceiling.
Gently he placed his hand on top of the gun, engaging the safety, as he lowered her arms. He spoke softly. “It’s okay lieutenant, the areas secure you can stand down for now.”
She nodded, steadied herself and slipped the gun back into its holster. Her face and hair caked in dust and sweat, her uniform splattered with the blood of her fallen comrades.
He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “What’s you name sister?”
“Tasha, second lieutenant Tasha, sir” she said saluting him.
“At ease solider.”
She nodded and gestured toward the handset that had been tossed onto the floor behind them, when he’d tipped the desk over in the confusion and heat of battle. It was flashing silently and insistently.
“Looks like I’ve got my hard line to the president at last. Salvage what you can, meds, ammo, you know the drill and let’s get ready to move out.” she nodded and set about her task as he bent down, blowing the dust off the handset, before picking it up and holding it to his ear. “Madame President?”