CHAPTER ONE

Two Hundred Meters below 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.

“WE HAVE CONFIRMED landings in major cities across the planet, Mr. President.”

“Washington?” the man at the head of the table asked tightly.

“No sir. Air defense here is some of the tightest in the world. We’ve been able to take them out before they got within thirty thousand feet. So far.”

President Mitchell Conner nodded tiredly, waving for the general to continue.

“New York, however, has over a hundred confirmed landings. Los Angeles is nearly five hundred. Beijing we think has almost a thousand. Near as we can determine the aliens are specifically targeting population centers. The bigger it is, the more they land.”

Conner scowled. “How does New York only rank a hundred then?”

“It doesn’t,” the general said. “New York ranked over three hundred by our tally, maybe more.”

“Air defenses get lucky?”

“No sir, Mr. President. The Odyssey went down over the city,” the General said, before adding, “and she went down shooting.”

Conner sighed, running his hands through his hair. They came back wet and stinking of sweat.

“Warrior to the end,” he said finally. “Alright. What are our assets on the ground?”

“In country, sir? Not good. Most of our units are overseas. We have two carrier task forces on recall now, but we can’t risk lightening our presence anywhere they might land. Close counts with these things.”

That was one thing that Conner wasn’t going to cross any of his people on. He’d read the reports as clear as anyone. He knew what happened if they missed any of these things. One part of the report stuck in his mind though.

“You say they’re targeting based on population?”

“Yes sir.”

“China? India?”

China and India were the powerhouses of the Block, literally the backbone that held the whole political beast together. While they both had extensive air defenses, they’d never been as effective as Confederate systems. Those two nations also accounted for over half the population of the entire planet between them. Well over half.

“Approximately 80 percent of confirmed planetary landings are in those two nations, sir.”

“Shit.” The President cursed, automatically wincing as he realized that his uncharacteristic choice of words had, of course, been recorded for posterity.

“That about covers it, sir.”

“I want the Block ambassador in here in fifteen minutes.”

“Sir, this is a secure facility . . .” A man in a black suit stepped forward, almost out of nowhere, and made his presence known.

“Fifteen minutes.”

The general looked into the eyes of his Commander in Chief for a long moment, then over at the Secret Service Agent in Charge who had objected. There were few people in the Administration who could stare down the President. Fewer still make their point stick. The AIC for the Service was one of those few.

Not this time, however. The man nodded after about thirty seconds. “Yes Mr. President.”