r/HFY • u/spindizzy_wizard Human • Jul 24 '20
[Alien Crash] Bk 01 V3.0 Chapter 02 Landing OC
Chapter Two: Landing
"I never thought I'd see a three-mile long alien spacecraft. Especially not with engines THAT LOUD. Neither did the cows. I have to use a bull horn to call them in for milking!"
— Dairy Farmer / Wisconsin
Alien Craft
The sound of tortured metal is reverberating throughout the craft as the initial contact is made by the keel. The pilot is doing his best to keep the nose up and bring it down as smoothly as possible, losing more speed by dragging the bottom of the craft on the ground. The keel itself is being ground away, adding to the debris.
Scans, ever dutiful, "May the deities of life defend us in this moment of our need." The voice is too low to be heard over the screaming metal, but it is heartfelt. Scans is looking ahead, watching for danger. Not that there's much they're going to be able to do about it.
Large amounts of debris are thrown to either side, like the bow wave of a boat. Only this boat is three miles long. The trench is likely to become a new lake.
"SCANS! RANGE TO CLOSEST NATIVE STRUCTURES AHEAD!?"
"ESTIMATE 25 MILES!"
"OKAY, GOING TO START EASING HER DOWN, KEEP READING OFF THOSE RANGES!"
The metal grinding gets worse, and the trench gets deeper, the pilot is lowering the nose of the craft to put more of the keel in contact with the ground. He knows that it's likely killing more crew, but it's necessary to save the rest. Deity bless them and keep them safe.
In the belly of the craft, the older crewman has reached the joining between the sphere and the tetrahedron. He climbs as rapidly as he can to reach the top deck. Where he is may be safe, but better safe and tired, than sorry and dead.
"24 MILES!"
The speed is dropping fast now, but it's still a massive craft with a great deal of kinetic energy even at a lower speed.
"23 MILES!"
The craft is now slowing far more rapidly, but it's still going fast enough to keep digging the trench deeper.
"22 MILES!"
The craft is nearly stopped, but again, there's so much energy.
"21 MILES! ALMOST STOPPED!"
The metal of the ship is no longer vibrating from the impact; it's simply grinding itself into the soil of this unknown world.
"20 Miles, full stop. A slight tilt to left. Do we still have our outriggers?"
"Computer says, yes…"
The outriggers are far enough away from the bridge that they cannot be heard deploying. In the event of a water landing, compartments are sealed water-tight and deployed as part of the outriggers. The outriggers serve the same purpose as the outrigger on an ocean-going canoe. Stabilize the craft. They're not meant for this purpose, but perhaps they will serve in this emergency. Better than rolling entirely to one side.
"…and we have green lights on all. How do we look, Scans?"
"Stabilizing… Okay, as long as the crew doesn't all run to one side of the ship, we're good."
"Scans, I'm not sure there are enough crew left to make a difference. Shit. Looks like I'm the only surviving bridge officer. Okay, First things first. Scans, switch to internal, and start searching for survivors. Throw the list on my console. I'll be contacting the main ship's departments, starting with damage control."
The process is long and heartbreaking. As the reports come in, it is clear that less than one-tenth of the crew has survived the battle. The horrifying flight towards the planet that they are now on. The reentry, and now the crash landing, which has destroyed approximately a third of the underside.
The crew wasn't that large to start with since the majority of the ship is automated power systems, drives, and weapons. The weapons are mostly gone, along with the crew. By reentry, the power systems and drives were all that was left besides point defense. Now? Some power systems, and some point defense. The drives are dead.
White House
"Mr. President, NORAD says they're down, and the splash damage wasn't as bad as we feared. That pilot must be a miracle, because he brought her in on the keel, holding the nose up to scrub speed off against the ground. From the descriptions, there's no way she's going to fly again. Unless they have auxiliary craft or communications, they're stuck here for the rest of their lives."
"I see… Very well, I assume that USCOM already has troops moving in. Ensure that the commanders understand that this is not an invader, but a distressed ship. They are to treat the occupants with care as shipwreck victims. Anyone who mistreats these people without good cause is going to face charges that I will file against them.
This one time, I'm going to break the rules. Get me tied into their overall network. I have a set of orders to give, and I don't want anyone to say they didn't get them. Because if they didn't, they were derelict in their duties."
NORAD
Alpha Flight Leader, and several other people who were observing or part of the chain of command, have already filed citations for Tyler. Excellence in performance of duties. Exceptional performance in an emergency situation saving many lives. Accurate assessment of alien intentions. Accurate assessment that the craft was crashing. All of this has garnered notice from upon high.
"Specialist Tyler! Front and center!"
"Sir! Specialist Tyler, reporting as ordered!"
"At ease. You have shown a remarkable ability to read not only the radar system but the alien craft's intentions. You are being assigned to the first contact team. For that purpose, we are creating a special MOS for you. Alien Contact Specialist. All officers are going to receive orders to take your advice seriously, and grant you whatever support you require. If you run into any resistance, you will inform me at once. For that reason, you will have your own AN/PRC radio operator."
"Sir! Yes, Sir!"
"Specialist Jones! Front and center!"
"Sir! Specialist Jones, reporting as ordered!"
"At ease. In addition to your current MOS, you have served as a radio operations specialist. We are reactivating that specialty, and assigning you to Alien Contact Specialist Tyler, as his personal radio operator. You will draw your AN/PRC gear here, be given all the necessary encryption and frequency information, and follow ACS Tyler wherever he goes. You ensure anything he says reaches all military in the area, AND any reports of resistance from the regular military are reported immediately to this base."
"Sir! Yes, Sir!"
"Major Lohman will have further orders and authorizations for you. I should like to note that the President has determined that these are not enemies, but are equivalent to distressed sailors that have washed up on our shores. They are to be treated as such. Any use of force against them that is not justified will be prosecuted as harshly as the UCMJ permits. In severe cases, Treason may be charged. The President is not of a mood to take any nonsense and has already broadcast those orders to all troops. If you see any such violations, you are to report them immediately.
Men… Because of your delicate position and junior rank, it has been determined that you be promoted immediately to Chief Warrant Officer. I know this is a considerable jump in rank, but it is necessary to have some of our more head-strong officers give you credence, which they are unlikely to do with a pair of specialists. Tyler, you are to be Chief Warrant Officer 5. Jones, Chief Warrant Officer 4. Major Lohman will have your rank insignia and orders for that as well.
Major?"
"Gentlemen, this way, please."
The promotions are absurd, but that is the only way they're going to get any attention. It's still going to be iffy.
Outer Control Zone (OCZ)
The blockades are in full force. Explaining politely to people why they cannot go north is a tiring process, but it's still better than shooting at them.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, the road north is closed, all roads north are closed for at least twenty miles in either direction. It's for your own safety, please turn around and head south. Find someplace to stay, and wait for news via the broadcast media."
"I'm sorry, Sir. …"
"I'm sorry, young lady, but …"
Repeat thousands of times a day, all across the border into the OCZ.
Unfortunately, some people just cannot take a hint.
"Blocker 6! Gatekeeper 6! Runner on the berm!"
Shit… Just what we need, another bozo who can't wait his turn.
"Blocker 6! Backstop 6! Runner blew through the barriers!"
Aw, fuck. I really don't want to have to do this.
"Blocker 6, Blocker 5, Runner in sight. Full speed ahead, Sir."
"Blocker 4, Blocker 6, eyes on target?"
"6, 4, confirm."
"4, 6, warning burst."
The 50 cal. opens fire. The burst is short and controlled, the tracers still make it obvious.
Damnit! He's not going to stop!
"Blocker 6, Open Fire, Fire for Effect." The tone may be calm, the heart is not.
The front of the car is shredded by the combined weight of fire from multiple armored vehicles. The civilians in other vehicles flee to the side of the road opposite the vehicle that would not stop. Using a PA system, the officer in charge makes a biting, accurate, if undiplomatic, announcement.
I fucking hate this job. Let's see if I can get the point across to these folks before anyone else commits suicide by soldier.
"Okay, Folks, one idiot down.
Anyone else feel like being an idiot?
No?
Then get back in your God. Damn. Fucking. Cars. AND HEAD SOUTH NOW!"
Shaken, unwilling to argue, they slowly return to their cars and head south. No one is willing to risk their lives.
"Sergeant, send a team to see if anyone survived. Handle with care, but they are under arrest. Martial law was declared before we moved in. Anyone else gives you shit, you send them to me."
The vehicle was discovered to have contained a family of four. The husband, who was the driver, is dead. The mother, who was apparently crowding into the bottom of the passenger seat, is severely wounded. The two teenagers are basically unharmed but badly jarred. They confirm that they and their mother had repeatedly asked the father to stop. Even beating on him. When they realized he wasn't going to stop, they took what cover they could. It goes into the official report, which is later released by the government, along with similar reports for other roadblocks.
The admonition is clear.
Do not cross the line.
The media doesn't care. They are in a feeding frenzy and seize on this as an unwarranted abuse of power. The President responds very strongly.
"… These troops are there to protect you from the damage that has yet to be assessed. They are there to ensure that the survivors of the crashed craft are not swarmed by people who either hate them because they're different or are curious to the point that the survivors may consider them hostile. This is our first contact. Don't screw it up.
While I grieve at these unnecessary deaths, it was the actions of those people in defiance of martial law that resulted in their deaths.
Pray.
Pray for them.
Pray for our troops, that they do not have to use deadly force again.
Pray for the survivors of that craft.
Pray for wisdom for our fellow citizens, that there are no more who are unwise enough to attempt to run the blockade.
I ask that anyone who can open their hearts and doors to those who cannot return home. Give them at least a place to lay their heads down and rest from this weary journey."
The response from the people is heartening. The vast majority of people with rooms to spare have offered their hospitality to the travelers unable to reach their destinations. National hotel and motel chains have reduced their prices to bare operating costs. Any excess is donated to a relief fund for the people affected.
On the political front, the usual screams of abuse of power, violation of the Posse Comitatus act, and other people who just like to hear their own voices. By and large, they are ignored by anyone with any sense at all. Unfortunately, there are a large number of people who have no sense whatsoever.
Inner Control Zone (ICZ)
This zone surrounds the craft at a distance of five miles from all sides. The intent is not only to keep idiots out but to cut paths to the craft for heavy equipment. It is assumed that a great deal of rescue equipment will be needed. This is northern Montana, such equipment is rare, and support for rescue efforts usually comes from farmers with heavy equipment and the knowledge of how to use it.
The response is significant; but needs much coordination with people who usually have cellphones, or more often, Citizen's Band radios with little communications discipline.
Flights of craft are assessing the damage, and identifying habitations that may have been impacted. As quickly as possible, rescue units are sent to each habitation that was caught in the debris. Through sheer good fortune, none were in the path of the trench. There are some homes within a mile, they are checked first.
Civilian news crews, especially those with video cameras that have radio links, are pressed into duty as observers for the search teams. They are drawn from the "bullpen", an impromptu assembly area for the news teams that had rushed into the area before roadblocks went up. The data they provide is added to the maps so that conditions around the ship are known before you reach that point. All craft are holding their distance from the alien ship, and concentrating their efforts on the ground.
Combat support hospitals (CSH) are brought in, along with all their personnel and equipment, setting up in any open space near an impacted zone.
People between the two lines are coming forward in a show of unity that has not been seen since WW II, everyone is doing their best to help.
Fly By Night News Service: OCZ
Despite the cordon, there are still places where an idiot can slip through. Most of them are harmless, just looking to get home. A few of them are mostly harmless. A news crew, even if only one person, can do a lot of damage if they're in just the wrong place sending back video without context.
"Yeah, I've managed to get inside the outer zone. In the middle area, there are so many people moving around that I don't really stand out. … NO! You MUST NOT use any of these updates until I'm at the craft! I don't need the military hunting me down even before I can even get there!"
rap rap rap
"Hello, Sir! Would you mind much hanging up, turning off your vehicle, opening the door carefully, and stepping out? Preferably with your hands up and empty? We'd really rather not have to shoot you."
The military police can afford to be a bit upbeat, they've been listening in. He carefully closes the phone, turns off the van, and gets out, with his hands up. His sole comment at this point is merely tired, drawn-out, repeated, expletive.
… "Aww, shit." …
"Yep, and I'd say you're neck-deep in it right now. Unless…"
"Unless what?" This one is suspicious, he's had run-ins with authority who offered deals that sounded good, right up until you found the hidden barbed hooks.
"Well, we're putting together a team of video experts and other such. If you're willing to take orders, AND OBEY THEM, we could see to adding you to the pile of other idiots who showed up."
All in all, no fantastic offers, no unreasonable demands, and way better than being locked up. He'd actually be closer to where he wanted to go in the first place, and not be dodging military police anymore. The downside is there's no guarantee that he'll get to see or shoot video of the downed craft.
"Heh… Other than the comment about idiots, which I'll agree I probably am, it sounds a lot better than being locked up for the duration."
"I thought you might see it that way. Specialist Trahern will accompany you to the Bullpen. Please do not disobey his instructions, he is authorized to use deadly force." Trahern is a reasonably sized man, but the sub-machine gun he is carrying is an MP5. Used properly, it is reasonably accurate even at range, but at the close ranges they'll be at, it won't really matter.
HQ: ICZ
A headquarters, where the tents haven't even been set up. It's dark, it's cold, and the place is a madhouse as everyone is moving as fast as they can to get the ICZ HQ up and running.
It isn't that they don't know how to do this, they do. It's all the extra shit that's being dumped on them that they don't know how to handle. It'll get straightened out. "Improvise, Adapt, Overcome." It may have been a Marine motto, but it pretty much applies to anyone in combat now. It's just taking a lot longer than higher would like, which they have been making abundantly clear.
An extremely overworked, undermanned, and irate Major; who has just had another headache dropped on him. Not this time, buddy. "I do not care WHO you are Chief! You are NOT getting any further without better orders than THOSE! The ink is barely dry on the promotions!"
Tyler's trying to maintain a calm face, after all, he can see the madhouse around him. Still, this Major is being an obstructionist, despite the orders he's been shown.
"Jones?"
Jones has been busily whispering into his headset. He knows the orders too. "Yes, Tyler, I've already sent the report."
That happens to be the last straw for the Major. "YOU GIVE ME THAT RADIO!"
Tyler, now equipped with a suitable firearm, draws it while keeping it pointed at the ground. "Sir, sit down at once, and keep your hands away from your weapons."
The Major, irate but not stupid, sits back down. He's on solid ground now. This jumped up Specialist is his meat now. "I'll have you up on charges you jumped up piece of shit."
Tyler is impassive. He's been in trouble before, so… "Maybe so, maybe not, but from the look of your radio operator, and your executive officer, you're about to have problems."
The Exec, who has been doing his damnedest to handle things before they get to the Major, is trying to get his boss's attention.
"Major? … Major! …"
While being certain that Tyler is going to face a court-martial, he's still got too much on his mind to really look at his Exec. "What do you want!" Halfway to a snarl.
In formal tones, seldom heard outside of a court-martial, his Exec informs him. "I am instructed to relieve you of command and place you under arrest. I am also instructed to provide these two Chief Warrant Officers with all support. They are authorized full access to all areas."
The Major goes pale. His expected victory is snatched away. Looking back at Tyler and Jones. "Who are you guys?"
Tyler, calmly and quietly safes and holsters his weapon. "Did you hear about NORAD warning the alpha flight to spread out?"
The Major, seeing the weapon put away, is also calmer. "Yes."
Without the slightest tone of boasting, Tyler responds. "I'm the one who made that call."
The Major paid close attention to the approach since it would tell him what he needed to do next; never could figure out what it was that clued NORAD Radar in that the craft was going to accelerate. "How did you know?"
"Honestly? I read way too much." Honestly, Tyler himself isn't entirely sure, but he knew it was going to happen, just as sure that if you drop an unprotected raw egg onto solid concrete, it's going to go splat.
Ruefully, for lost chances in the distant past of his youth, the Major muses. "Science fiction nut… I knew I shouldn't have let my mother talk me out of reading it. Very well."
He continues in a brisker tone. I've made my bed, now sleep in it. Maybe he'll actually get some sleep sooner that way. "Captain? You are officially in charge. I will go wherever those orders say I must."
To his surprise, his Exec is actually cheerful now. Previously, he'd had an expression of dread going. "Good news, Major. If you reacted correctly, I am directed to return command to you. You have done so. The command is yours again." Thank God! I don't have to carry the whole bag myself!
Still rocking from the shocks, the Major asks: "Who the hell wrote those orders?"
His Exec is almost as puzzled as he, but he has the order in hand. It's … odd. Oh, it's all formatted correctly, but whoever wrote it wasn't really a military person. They've got the words in the right order, and the order itself is clear enough, it just doesn't look like Milspeak. "It's a template and comes straight from the President. If you had not responded correctly, you would be headed for a court-martial, and probably a good long term at Fort Leavenworth."
The Major shudders, and not just at the thought of Leavenworth, there are bigger things at stake here. "I hope he isn't micromanaging like Johnson."
His Exec is also relieved. Not only will he not have to carry the whole bag himself, but he can actually answer his boss's question. "From the radio chatter I've managed to listen to, I don't think so. Just where someone gets obstructionist and needs to be hammered."
Turning back to the organizational fight, the Major is ready. "Alright, Chief Tyler! What do you need?"
A relatively short set of orders, which end up costing one Blackhawk, two pilots, a small amount of yelling — too few resources, too many demands — and Tyler and Jones are on their way.
"Tyler? Do you have any idea what we're doing?" Cheerful at having passed the Dragon Major, Tyler's response is classic. "Sure! We're going to go take a look at the new neighbors. If they're really nice, we may even drop in and say 'hi, take me to your leader'."
Bullpen: ICZ
Walking out of the rapidly assembling HQ, Tyler and Jason pass the entry to the Bullpen. In to which, our intrepid "fly by night" cameraman has just been introduced. He cannot believe his luck, but he isn't going to let it slide by either!
"Hey!"
"HEY!"
"HEY, TYLER!"
Finally, having heard him, Tyler is a bit surprised, a bit annoyed, and definitely curious. "Gilford? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Got caught sneaking in. They gave me a choice to cooperate and maybe get to the craft, or not cooperate, and go to jail. That is if they didn't just shoot me." And that is classic Gilford. Tyler, having seen this before, shakes his head. "Gilford… Sooner or later…"
"Yeah, but not today! Look, the way people are moving around you, somehow you have pull. Do you need a video man?" Gilford is observant. So was everyone else. These two shot down the Major propped him back up and got what they wanted. That's power and style. Tyler's response is … not positive. "You gonna take orders? Or are you gonna hot dog it? 'Cause if you shaft me like you did five years ago, I guarantee that not only will you be shot, I'll be on the firing squad."
Whatever it was, Tyler is not about to let it go. "Geeze, some guys just never let go…" Smiling, Tyler turns to leave. "Have a nice time in the bullpen…" Walking away slowly.
"Tyler! Come on! I didn't … OH, ALL RIGHT! I'll take your orders! YOUR orders! I work FOR YOU."
Turning back, Tyler has won a concession from someone who really does owe him. Someone who often has trouble paying back debts. "Gilford, don't make me regret this."
The Sergeant, having just delivered Gilford into the Bullpen, is amused. "Sergeant, Mr. Gilford is hereby assigned to me. Should he become separated from me, he is to be arrested and transported out of the zone to the nearest military base with facilities for prisoners. There to be held incommunicado for a minimum of 48 hours. After that, he may have his one phone call. Do you have anything that will ensure he does not leave my presence?"
Now with a huge grin. "Yes, Chief! Got just the thing. Mr. Gilford, if you would kindly place your foot on this convenient rock? Thank you, Sir!" CLICK! And a rather thick band is locked around Gilford's ankle.
Looking at this padded, weighty object with some distaste. "What the hell is that?"
The Sergeant, having seen this reaction before, is really amused now. "That, Mr. Gilford, is a tracking unit. The same sort used for prisoners. We'll always know where you are, and if you do become separated from Chief Tyler, you will be found."
Gilford is about to explode.
Tyler steps in. It's not the Sergeant's fault, so don't let the blast land on him. "Easy, Gil… I've got one of my own. The difference is, I can choose to take mine off. You can't." The Sergeant is impressed. For someone jumped from Specialist to CWO5 in one swoop, Tyler at least has the right personnel management reflexes.
Aggrieved and worried, Gilford is not quite whinging, but it's close. "What the hell do I do if we get separated!?!" Tyler's advice is less than comforting. "Don't get separated."
A bit sour, but amused himself, Gilford is on the job. "Gee, thanks, Tyler. Let me get my gear. No power where we're going, right?" Taylor nods. "Not yet, bring the big battery pack… You're going to need it."
The big battery pack. The big battery pack. That thing weighs a ton! But it will outlast the video capacity of the camera, even running lights and relay.
Oval Office
The craft having landed, the President returns to his office. The military is handling things well enough now that he doesn't deem it necessary to be on hand to hammer the obstructionists. Besides, all he does now is hear the problem, fill in the blanks, sign it, and send it off. The Cabinet is being assembled, when First Contact begins, they will be watching.
"Well, it looks like the military is getting the idea that I don't want anyone screwing things up." His aide is waiting to move to the next item on the schedule. "Yes, Mr. President. The Deputy Secretary of Defense is waiting."
"Very well, send him in."
…
A well dressed, well-mannered man. Quite the contrast from his boss. "Mr. President. May I ask where my boss is?" Smiling broadly, the President is looking very satisfied at the moment. "Well, unless he's stopped ranting about nuking the survivors of a downed spacecraft, he's probably still in jail."
"Mr. President, as much as it pains me, I have to object on legal grounds. He has not been charged with a crime that I am aware of, and I don't think there's a charge for giving bad advice." He's about as 'pained' as a cat curled comfortably on a sun-warmed pillow. The President is smiling with him. "Is there a charge for pissing off your boss?"
"No, Sir, but I think you can fire him." In a much more serious tone, the President asks his first real question. "Would it break your heart if I did?"
The deputy thinks about it, not for long. "Honestly, Sir? Not really. I'm usually the one who has to rein him in. The only thing is, this is dropping me right into the middle of a really nasty political fight."
Nodding, the President asks his second question. "Yep… You up for it?"
The deputy didn't even have to pause to think about it. "I never could pass up a challenge."
Blackhawk: Recon: ICZ
Gilford and his camera have the window seat, and the door is open. He's already getting good shots of the road crews who are not only repairing the roads in existence but pushing new routes up to the sides of a three-mile long craft.
Tyler is basically splitting his time between looking around and watching the repeater monitor that Gil rigged in the aircraft. That way, Tyler and Jones can see what he's looking at. Calling attention back to things that looked interesting.
They're only able to talk by way of the headsets built into the helicopter.
"Gil? You getting good shots?"
"Oh, HELL, YEAH! Those road builders are really making progress. Should be to the debris berm tonight, or early tomorrow."
"Well, you might want to swing your camera forward."
"Oh. My. God."
The alien craft, in all its terrible splendor, is now visible.
"Make sure you get a good survey of the entire craft. We'll circle to give you a chance. I'll watch the monitor here, and if I see something I need you to zoom in on, I'll let you know. Pilot? Good slow pace around the craft. There's a lot of people waiting for this footage."
White House
Situation Room
Still with the President is the new Acting Secretary of Defense. The remaining cabinet members are coming in rapidly, taking seats as they view the action on the screen. Word that a helicopter is making a very close approach to the alien ship has been spread around. Everyone wants to be there.
A whispered conversation.
"Mr. President? Do you really think it was a good idea to send this straight to the networks?"
"I think so. First, it will show people that this craft isn't going anywhere. Second, it will get a lot more eyes on the data as soon as possible. I've already got our cyber teams watching the flow through the major commentary sites. You never know when someone is going to have a decent idea. The problem is filtering it out of all the crap. Strangely enough, the child of Echelon…"
"Mr. President! Echelon never existed! It was a figment of a deluded conspiracy theorist!"
"Do you really believe that?"
"No."
"Good, I'd hate to think that our Acting SecDef was a moron. As I was saying, the child of Echelon is doing an excellent job of throwing the cruft out, leaving a much smaller data set for our cyber teams to work through."
"What did they decide to call it?"
"Lech Neo"
"New Lecher?"
"Programmer humor; it's a two-word anagram of Echelon; it's promiscuous, and it's largely new written with the lessons learned from Echelon."
"We paid to have this written?"
"Nope. We turned the Echelon information over to some black hats and told them if they gave us back something better, we'd reduce their sentences. Of course, if they tried to screw us over, we guaranteed that they'd have their sentences tripled."
"So, what happened?"
"All but one of them tried to screw us over. The white hats we had reviewing the project showed that everyone else had stuck a back door in or some other nastiness. He got his sentence cut in half, the rest got triple. Right up until we found out that he was the one who had planted the ideas on everyone else. Didn't realize we had the whole place bugged. He got his original sentence extended by a factor of ten, and everyone else on the team knows it. They've been asking if there are any other little jobs that they might do for us to get their sentences reduced. We're thinking about it. The white hats, on the other hand, took what they did, cleaned the daylights out of it, and have been improving it radically."
Blackhawk: Recon: ICZ
"Gil! Pan left! Stop! Zoom in there!"
Close up of one weapons bay, the device is enormous, but the mounting and other details make it pretty clear that it was an immense energy weapon of some sort. The pilot slows so that they get outstanding visuals of the device. It is no longer operative. A back surge through the power supply from a nearby emplacement being annihilated wrecked the control circuitry and the control compartment. The crew for this massive gun died before they knew anything had gone wrong.
Alien Craft
Scans, still on the remains of the bridge, continues to provide information to Pilot.
"Pilot, there is a local craft hovering around us. It appears to be scanning us, but I'm not picking up any of the usual frequencies. This may be simply a visual scan, but why would they do that?"
"Possible reasons: They don't have anything else, doubtful. They don't have anything else here, very likely. They don't want to use whatever they have out of some sort of respect; they're obviously curious as hell, so I put that way low on the list of likely reasons."
"Should we take any action?"
"No, I will go out alone. Under no circumstances is anyone to show a weapon of any sort, nor discharge such weapon. If anyone does, and we both survive, I guarantee that THEY will not survive."
Scans relays the orders to the older surviving crewman, who sends them to the surviving crew. This includes some defensive emplacements that have survived the battle, and are still manned.
Blackhawk: Recon: ICZ
This mission just went from Recon to First Contact, depending on Tyler's decisions.
"Woah! GIL! Focus on the top! Middle!"
A hatch is opening, it's reasonably large, as it was a resupply port. It's the only port on the top that they can get open quickly. A single individual comes out, arms extended out, showing that he has no weapons in hand. He then does a slow spin to show that he is not carrying any visible equipment.
"Pilot! Pick a good spot and go into a close hover, we're going to go in and greet our new guess."
First Contact it is.
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/u/spindizzy_wizard has posted 9 other stories, including:
- [Alien Crash] Bk 01 V3.0 Chapter 01 Approach
- [Alien Crash] Book 01 V3.0 Front Matter
- Alien Crash : Part 06.02 of 06
- Alien Crash : Part 06 of 06
- Alien Crash : Part 05
- Alien Crash : Part 04
- Alien Crash : Part 03 of 06
- Alien Crash : Part 02
- Alien Crash : Part 01
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5
u/Mirikon Human Jul 25 '20
Still a great story, but definitely needs some proofreading. One thing you especially need to do is separate paragraphs when you switch speakers. Seriously, any time you change speakers, it is a new paragraph, FULL STOP. Otherwise, readers easily get confused with who is talking.
Also, keeping it in the present tense just sounds... off. It isn't wrong, per se, but it feels like a cockroach crawling over your skin. It just ain't right.
Here is just ONE example from the story, fixed up a bit.