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Parker takes a second to consider the ground, and starts barking orders into his headset. "Hold on this side of the river. Stay in good cover, and engage them as them as they try to close to CQ. MG's and marksmen, focus on Godzillas, keep him suppressed and try and shoot them out of cover. Grenadiers, weapons free on the spider. Arrange Red, Purple, Blue, Orange, to White on our side of the river. Execute.
"Green Light."
Parker leans back into his chair as he watches the alien craft crash to the earth. Scattered shouts and cheers echo through the command center, but most remain intent on their duties. "Good shooting 1-2, RTB. 1-1, we're going to vector you in on a friendly airfield to get patched up before the flight home. LNO, get on the horn with the locals, tell them clear a LZ for Little Bird 1-1. Make sure they know that they have guests too, have them secure the crash site perimeter and wait for the cavalry. Speaking of, do we have a ETA on the Big Birds?"
1-1, remain beyond maximum weapons range and stay evasive. Try to draw their fire but do not engage. Focus on staying mobile. 1-2, let's welcome ET to earth.
Parker to ops. Dispatching Little Bird 1-1 and 1-2 to Air Contact 13 on the board. Loading up both Big Bird victors to deal with whats left. He turns to his own XO and get down to specifics. I need those interceptors in the air in five minutes, Skyrangers loaded with Gunman 1, 2, and 3, and Griffin 1 and 2 and in the air in 15. Interceptors are to engage only over an AO where the crash site can be secured by ground teams.
Parker nods his head, put more at ease by the competence of opposite numbers. It's agreed then. We share what we can between our research teams. I've got my boys working on cracking the bastard's comms. Sooner we know what they're doing, sooner we can stop it. He shift back into his chair, placing a worried hand on his chin. Additionally, I'm sort of out here by myself, but you all could benefit from a regular Skyranger shuttle service between your bases. Wouldn't take too much time with their souped up engines to get from spot to spot, and you can shift resources around to where they're needed.
Colonel Weston Parker wasn't much on formality, normally. Almost 40 years of special ops, black bag snatch and grabs, and other skulduggery sort of preclude large ceremonial formations. Normally, the sorts of operations he was familiar with not only weren't commemorated but officially never happened. But normally, you don't retire from almost 40 years of meritorious service only to be pulled back in 6 months later. Normally, you aren't told by a man with 4 stars on his shoulder that Roswell wasn't a hoax. Normally you aren't shown video of little green men that are armed to the teeth and pissed the f%*~ off. But that's why Colonel Parker was here. He didn't deal in normally. Parker strode into the cavernous hanger of Pacific Sentinel toward the raised podium set up toward one end between a Sparrow and a Skyranger, a large American flag hung between them. In the crowd, the ranking enlisted man bellowed "ATTEN-SHUN!" It was hardly necessary. The almost 200 military men and women now under Parker's command had been standing in formation at attention, and doubtless remain there until the end of the world, a time the Colonel was going to ensure was a long, long way off. "At ease." The sound of hundreds of feet shuffling to parade rest was deafening in the quiet hanger. "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Colonel Weston Parker, United States Army Special Operations Command, and until recently, retired." That bad joke got a rough scatter of laughter out of the assembled troops. Parker relaxed a little and finally began to look them over. "Some of you may know me, some of you may know of me, and some of you might have a guess what we're doing here, but most of you I imagine, are just as g*&#*&ned confused as me about this whole thing as me." A much bigger laugh this time. Good. They're going to need it. To Parker, it looked like a Children's Crusade arrayed before him. A bunch of kids playing soldier. But he knew out there there was a dozen Green Berets, a few Delta boys and SEALs, Marine Raiders, Rangers and Force Recon. Hell, they'd even grabbed some FBI HRT to act as a capture team and a couple of Airforce Para-Commando medics. They were at least as old as him when he got started, but he could never remember ever being that... young "Well, I'm here to give you the truth." The air in the room one again got hard, military. "Those of you who aren't already, you are now officially granted clearance level Delta Green. The paperwork will come later. Ladies and gentlemen, there's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to rip the band-aid off. The earth is currently being visited, and possibly prepared for invasion by, a hostile alien force from beyond our solar system." There was none of the expected shuffling or whispering. The assembled mass simply stared straight ahead. Good. "These creatures possess superior weapons technology as well as, we assume, faster then light travel. They have already performed attacks and abductions at several locations globally. Our government had partnered with others throughout the world to form a united front against these invaders. Doubtless, you'll have noticed the various uniforms assembled here, and doubtless you'll have figured out that each of you was hand pick as the most professional, exemplary soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines and agents this country has to offer. But we now have a responsibility greater then this country, truly the greatest mankind has ever known." Parker pauses and lets out a deep sigh. "This is the part, in the movies anyway, that I would tell you to forget the units you came from, to coalesce into a giant happy family and kick E.T. back into space." No recognition of E.T., mused Parker, god I'm old. "But that's not what I'll tell you now. What I'll tell you now is to remember your old units. Take pride in what you did and do. Take you memories, you skills. Hold onto your lives and families. Take the best of yourselves, and help us create the greatest fighting force humanity has ever known. Help us destroy a threat to not only our lives, our country and our families, but every family, every country, and every life on the planet earth. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to X-Com." 2 giant banners unfurl on either side of the American flag behind Parker. The assembled personnel clap, knowing, if not totally understanding, the importance of this situation. The blue and black pennants sway back and forth enblazened with the name "X-COM" and the slogan "Viglio Confido." My God, Parker though, how many will I have to send to die? From a side hall in filed older, balding African American man in a labcoat and sweater, security badge swinging wildly. Looking for all the world the stern professor, Dr. Emmanuel Washington, PHD Physics and Biology, was just that. "This Dr. Washington." Parker continued, "He leads the science team that will be supporting you in the field. He's already forgotten more things about these creatures then you'll ever know, so listen closely as he gives you all the details we have. You may be seated." As 200 trained killers and associates settled into their seats, Dr. Washington makes his way to the podium. Before he reaches it, Colonel Parker puts a hand on his shoulder and leans into him. "As soon as you're done here," Parker intones quietly, "I need you and your teams working on cracking the alien comms. If they send a dick pic, I need to know which of their freaky green balls is bigger." Washington, seemingly immune to humor of any sort, simply responds "Of course, commander." before taking the podium. Parker makes his way to a seat set aside for him next to the stage. Washington began. "Good evening everyone. I am Doctor Emmanuel Washington, lead scientist with the US X-Com project. I will now take you through a, regrettably, truncated power point presentation about the Alien visitors, their suspected biology, weapons, technology, sociology and disposition. This should only take a few hours. Lights please?" Parker settled into his chair, and employed a trick every soldier his age had mastered years ago, sleeping with their eyes open. It's not that he didn't think what the doc had to say was important, but he'd read and re-read every document the doctor had access to and some he didn't. He knew that just about every combat tested soldier in the room was doing the same thing, if for different reasons. They knew all they needed to know. There was a target. It needed to be killed. And they were the ones to do it.
Hey Boggs, I'm pretty sure you can buy as many Skyrangers as you can support. I hope so anyway, because otherwise my early game strat is borked.
I guess I'm the old man then. Hey Eragar, can Interceptors get the troop transport module?
Apparently my timeline is off by like... 30 years. So pretend that my background is just as well researched but like... later! THAYKS.
A trim man of middle age with a neat mustache flashes onto your screen. His camouflage uniform bears no badge of rank or insignia. "Parker here. X-Com is officially operational. PACIFIC SENTINEL is online and awaiting hostile contact. Pleasure to meet you all." |
