Christopher Nuttall: A Learning Experience

Steve half-covered his eyes as a bright light seemed to shine down on them. It was hard to see the shape of the craft through the light, but it looked to be a crude spacecraft rather than the smooth UFO he’d been expecting. Indeed, it was little larger than a small executive jet, yet it hung in the air with effortless ease. The floodlight swept over the campsite, then started to fade slightly as the craft slowly lowered itself towards the ground.

It couldn’t be human , Steve realised, feeling a sudden lump in his throat. The others were silent, lost in their own thoughts. There were VTOL fighters and tilt-rotor aircraft, but nothing as large and capable as the craft facing them. As far as he could tell, it didn’t have any exhausts or anything else that might have suggested how it worked. It might as well be magic. But, as the light faded away, he realised that the hull was scorched and pitted. Cold ice ran down his spine as old instincts awoke. Alien the craft might be — and he was convinced it was far from human — but it was a warship.

“Shit,” Vincent said, breaking the silence.

There was a dull crunching sound as the craft touched down. Steve shook himself, then concentrated on observing as much as possible. There were no landing struts, as far as he could see; the craft had just settled down on the soft ground. For a long moment, all was still… and then the craft’s hatch opened. Bright light spilled out, illuminating strange alien creatures.

Steve caught his breath. He’d expected, he realised now, tiny grey aliens. Instead, he found himself fighting the urge to panic as the aliens came into view. They looked like eerie crosses between humans and spiders, perhaps with some crabs worked into the mixture too, as if someone had stuck a human torso and head on top of a giant spider and merged them together. Each of the aliens had six legs, greenish-red skin and dark eyes set within an armoured head, as if they had no skin covering their skulls. They’d have difficulty walking on uneven ground, Steve suspected, although as they pranced forward it became clear that they were more limber than he’d realised. It was impossible to determine their sex from their appearance. Or, for that matter, if they even had the concept of males and females.

He’d seen countless aliens on television and movies, ranging from men in bad makeup and poor suits to marvels of CGI. There was no reason, he was sure, that Hollywood couldn’t produce aliens as strange and inhuman as the ones facing him. But somehow he knew they were real. There was something about them that utterly destroyed any disbelief he might have felt, a sudden awareness that they were very far from human. Besides, he had a feeling that even a small human couldn’t have fitted into an alien-sized suit.

The sense of danger grew stronger as he realised what the aliens were carrying. Four of them were carrying silver tubes that seemed to be made for their hands, the fifth was merely holding a silver box in one clawed hand. He also had a silver band wrapped around his skull, perhaps a badge of rank. The silver tubes were weapons, Steve was sure, even though they were nothing like any human-built weapon. But there was something odd about the way the aliens were holding them, as if they’d never used them before. And yet… that was absurd, wasn’t it?

Mongo leaned forward as the aliens spread out. “This is real, isn’t it?”

“Sure looks that way,” Charles said.

Steve nodded in agreement, his mind working frantically. What was this? An attempt to make First Contact without trying to fly into the secure airspace surrounding the White House and the Pentagon? Or was it something more sinister? He found it hard to believe that any alien race invading Earth would bother with a handful of campers… unless, of course, they intended to dissect Steve and his friends. Or interrogate them on the state of the planet’s defences…

Kevin took a step forward. The aliens chattered suddenly — a high-pitched clattering that only added to the sense of inhumanity — and raised their weapons. Whatever they were actually saying , the meaning was all-too-clear. Kevin froze as the aliens aimed their weapons at his chest.

Part of Steve’s mind noted, dispassionately, that the aliens might not intend to use headshots — and, given their armoured heads, that might make sense. Or, for all they knew, the alien brains were actually located in their torsos, rather than their skulls. But it didn’t matter, he realised. The aliens weren’t acting friendly. Steve had been at enough meetings in Afghanistan between Coalition troops and local villagers to understand what compromised a healthy respect for security… and what was outright paranoia. The aliens were acting more like they intended to take prisoners than talk to the humans facing them.

The unarmed alien — Steve cautioned himself not to assume the alien was actually unarmed — lifted the silver box to his lips. There was another burst of alien speech, followed by a dull masculine voice coming from the box — a translator, Steve realised. He felt a flicker of envy — a portable translator would have been very helpful in Afghanistan — as the alien voice grew more confident. It spoke in oddly-accented English.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Steve said, when it became clear that no one else was going to speak. Perhaps the aliens would have tried French or Russian next if they couldn’t make themselves understood through English. “We understand you.”

There was another chattering sound from the alien. “You will board our craft,” the alien said. It — he, Steve decided — pointed one clawed hand towards the hatch. “Step through the hatch and into the hold.”

“Wait a minute,” Vincent said, shocked. “Where are you taking us?”

“That is none of your concern,” the alien informed him. He indicated the craft again, his claw flexing open and closed. “You will step through the hatch.”

Vincent reached for the pistol at his belt. There was a flash of light so bright that Steve moved to cover his eyes instinctively. Vincent’s body fell to the ground, a smoking hole in his chest. Steve stared in horror; he’d seen wounds from gunshots, IED strikes and even training accidents, but he’d never seen anything quite like this. The damage would have been instantly fatal, the dispassionate part of his mind realised; Vincent had been dead before his body hit the ground.

He balled his fists, then forced himself to relax. The lessons from a dozen Conduct after Capture courses rose up within his mind. There would be an opportunity to escape, he told himself firmly. He saw the same understanding in the eyes of his friends. The aliens would relax, sooner or later, and they would make mistakes. And, when they did, their human captives would be ready. The aliens might have advanced weapons, but advanced weapons didn’t mean anything in close-quarter combat. No one knew that better than the soldiers who had fought terrorists and insurgents for the last twenty years.

Be a good little captive , he told himself, as the aliens motioned for them to walk forwards, into the craft. Vincent’s body was simply left on the ground. Part of Steve’s mind wondered if it would be discovered before it decayed. What would a autopsy show if any traces were left when it was found? He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on observing the aliens. Bide your time and wait .

Fnfian Horde WarcruiserShadow Warrior

Earth Orbit

The interior of the alien craft was oddly disappointing. Steve had been expecting something thoroughly… alien , but instead it looked more like the interior of a military transport aircraft, one of the planes that moved US troops from one trouble spot to another. There were no seats, no portholes… the aliens motioned for the humans to stand up against the bulkhead, then stepped backwards, keeping their weird eyes firmly fixed on their captives. Steve watched them back, feeling a cold burning hatred burning through his mind. There would be an opportunity to strike…