the desolate beach. It was a mix of stone and sand. It would be a pleasant place to spend time on a warm day, though many of the men were already familiar with it, having spent time there. The barren area provided little cover beyond small embankments and dunes.
As the battalion took up its position across the beachhead they were struck by the intimidating sight of the enemy ships approaching. They could only make out a rough blurred shape of each as they used the same chameleon camouflage technology Taylor had described. However, the spray gave their position away. They were all thankful for radar and other sensory technology, otherwise the coast would have gone undefended.
Captain Jones stood up on a grass embankment and held up his binoculars to his eyes. The enemy vessels could be seen as far as he could see either side of their position. The binoculars were having difficulty calculating the size of the near invisible craft. Six were heading for the area they were covering. Jones turned pack to his platoon, some were lying prone against the mounds, others standing open mouthed. All were watching the approaching forces.
“Right, boys! No time to dig in, get the BRUNs ready and take up positions!”
Within two minutes the entire platoon lay silently beyond the raised earth and dunes, looking over the bleak coastline. They were less than two hundred metres from the water, perfect range to lay down fire. The intercoms of each man in the unit cut in, Brigadier Dupont was addressing all men of both divisions as one.
“This is Dupont. Anticipate a hostile enemy, but do not fire unless fired upon. Remember, if it comes to it, they are weaker at their joints and face. Good luck to you all!”
Jones knew that the Brigadier would be surveying the situation from long distance, likely still in the Rennes base, though he didn’t envy him. The Captain had signed up for the kind of adventure and wars that he’d read about and witnessed on the news as a child, not the uncertainty of an advanced alien race. The unknown was scarier to the men than any army in the world.
“You heard the Brigadier, not a single shot unless we are fired upon!” shouted Jones.
He stared at the mysterious and imposing craft. They were travelling at a vast speed across the water. He wondered for a moment at their intentions. With no communication, it appeared odd to him that they would simply attack. As far as he was aware, no human had shown any aggression towards whoever they were. As they were just a few hundred metres from the shoreline the vehicles slowed and their cloaking technology came off.
They appeared crude in design, with harsh lines. Earth ships had long been designed to be incredibly efficient, whether they travelled by air or water. These craft appeared to use immense power with little finesse. The skins were of a raw metal-like fabric, and they were almost twice the size of a main battle tank. Jones shot a glance around at his men.
“Have we got the ARMAL launchers with us?”
“Yes, Sir, but for what?” Hughes asked.
“Just get them ready!”
They had three of the anti-armour launchers in their platoon, one for each section. The devices folded up onto the backs of the men carrying them. At ranges of up to a hundred metres they were capable of taking out light to medium armoured vehicles, and even something heavier at close range if it hit the sweet spot.
The time for preparation was over. The platoon watched in horror as the vehicles slid up onto the beaches, but they didn’t stop. Tracks on either side running the length and outline of the vehicles began to spin, pulling the huge craft onto the beach. The giant metal monsters resembled enlarged versions of WW1 tanks, which they had only ever seen in movies and museums.
“Jesus Christ!” shouted Saunders.
“Keep it down!”
The tracked monsters were crawling up the beach at less than ten kilometres an hour. Jones hoped that was all they were capable of, but he knew
As the battalion took up its position across the beachhead they were struck by the intimidating sight of the enemy ships approaching. They could only make out a rough blurred shape of each as they used the same chameleon camouflage technology Taylor had described. However, the spray gave their position away. They were all thankful for radar and other sensory technology, otherwise the coast would have gone undefended.
Captain Jones stood up on a grass embankment and held up his binoculars to his eyes. The enemy vessels could be seen as far as he could see either side of their position. The binoculars were having difficulty calculating the size of the near invisible craft. Six were heading for the area they were covering. Jones turned pack to his platoon, some were lying prone against the mounds, others standing open mouthed. All were watching the approaching forces.
“Right, boys! No time to dig in, get the BRUNs ready and take up positions!”
Within two minutes the entire platoon lay silently beyond the raised earth and dunes, looking over the bleak coastline. They were less than two hundred metres from the water, perfect range to lay down fire. The intercoms of each man in the unit cut in, Brigadier Dupont was addressing all men of both divisions as one.
“This is Dupont. Anticipate a hostile enemy, but do not fire unless fired upon. Remember, if it comes to it, they are weaker at their joints and face. Good luck to you all!”
Jones knew that the Brigadier would be surveying the situation from long distance, likely still in the Rennes base, though he didn’t envy him. The Captain had signed up for the kind of adventure and wars that he’d read about and witnessed on the news as a child, not the uncertainty of an advanced alien race. The unknown was scarier to the men than any army in the world.
“You heard the Brigadier, not a single shot unless we are fired upon!” shouted Jones.
He stared at the mysterious and imposing craft. They were travelling at a vast speed across the water. He wondered for a moment at their intentions. With no communication, it appeared odd to him that they would simply attack. As far as he was aware, no human had shown any aggression towards whoever they were. As they were just a few hundred metres from the shoreline the vehicles slowed and their cloaking technology came off.
They appeared crude in design, with harsh lines. Earth ships had long been designed to be incredibly efficient, whether they travelled by air or water. These craft appeared to use immense power with little finesse. The skins were of a raw metal-like fabric, and they were almost twice the size of a main battle tank. Jones shot a glance around at his men.
“Have we got the ARMAL launchers with us?”
“Yes, Sir, but for what?” Hughes asked.
“Just get them ready!”
They had three of the anti-armour launchers in their platoon, one for each section. The devices folded up onto the backs of the men carrying them. At ranges of up to a hundred metres they were capable of taking out light to medium armoured vehicles, and even something heavier at close range if it hit the sweet spot.
The time for preparation was over. The platoon watched in horror as the vehicles slid up onto the beaches, but they didn’t stop. Tracks on either side running the length and outline of the vehicles began to spin, pulling the huge craft onto the beach. The giant metal monsters resembled enlarged versions of WW1 tanks, which they had only ever seen in movies and museums.
“Jesus Christ!” shouted Saunders.
“Keep it down!”
The tracked monsters were crawling up the beach at less than ten kilometres an hour. Jones hoped that was all they were capable of, but he knew
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