The skies above Seville
22:00 GMT+1
Preston struggled to control his Eurofighter as the voice of the Sparrowhawk 1 communications officer rang in his ears. Slow motion images of that strange figure waving at him from the alien cockpit repeatedly ran through his mind. So those new spacecrafts had destroyed the spider just before it had killed him… The radio crackled, snapping him back into the present.
“Dolphin Squadron Leader here, requesting new instructions. How should we respond to the new contacts?”
“Morón Command here. Preston, talk to us. What’s going on? Preston?” Colonel Hidalgo sounded worried.
Preston was overwhelmed. His mind raced, trying to analyse the latest turn of events and what they might mean. Whatever he decided next could make the difference between life and death. The wrong choice would be fatal. He closed his eyes. It was time to let his instinct guide him. What did his heart say?
“All units, Diablo Squadron Leader here. Ceasefire! I repeat, ceasefire! Do not engage the new contacts. They’re allied units. I repeat, they’re allied units. From now on, we’ll call them by the codename ‘Hawk’,” it wasn't an original name, but he decided to be practical and use the first thing that came to mind.
“Diablo Squadron Leader, Barracuda Squadron Leader here. What about the new mothership?”
“What new mothership?” Preston was completely left out of the game.
“The one attacking 2012 UA.” The pilot seemed to be saying something obvious.
“What⁈” Preston asked himself.
Raising his eyes upwards, he was left speechless. 2012 UA was slowly on the move, its shields deflecting hundreds of explosions caused by plasma bolts fired from up above. Squinting, Preston sought to find out what was attacking their enemy. The answer knocked him for six. A new, even larger spaceship was descending vertically towards 2012 UA and launching a fearsome attack. At present, Preston could only see its lower side, the hull glowing red from the friction generated as it entered the atmosphere. Despite his limited view, it obviously had a very different design to 2012 UA and the spiders. By his estimate, it must measure around two miles long and a mile wide. It was rectangular in shape, like an aircraft carrier, and appeared to be made from a white or ivory-coloured metal. The front was divided into two, leaving an open space in the centre. Two large wing-like surfaces jutted out of the rear, each finishing in a prominent structure. He was eager to take a closer look but would have to wait until the new spaceship was closer to the ground. There was no way he could reach it at that altitude in his Typhoon. Preston soon noticed that it was also protected by a force field that could deflect the returning shots fired at it by 2012 UA.
“Sir, what about the other big spaceship?” Barracuda Squadron Leader repeated again.
“Same orders. Do not engage. It’s an allied unit,” even he couldn't believe it, but there was no other choice.
“Preston, General Echevarría here,” the general’s voice roared down the private channel. “What the hell’s going on?”
“General Echevarría, the new units are friends,” Preston placed special emphasis on the latter.
“What do you mean, ‘friends’? How do you know?” He sounded totally disgruntled.
“Simple, General. They just saved my life by destroying one of the spiders, just when it was about to fire at me,” Preston shuddered.
“That’s unbelievable…” General Echevarría murmured.
“There’s more. The new spacecraft are very similar to our fighter jets. They’ve got cockpits and… I saw one of the pilots waving at me,” Preston needed to be believed, every second lost was a life extinguished.
“It waved at you? You mean they’re human?” General Echevarría was beginning to get exasperated with all this madness.
“I don’t know. I can only say what I saw. But if they’re not human, they must be pretty similar to us.” He really wanted to believe it.
“What are they doing now?”
“The big spaceship is attacking 2012 UA with a similar type of weapon to the one it uses. The smaller spacecraft, the ones I’ve named ‘hawks’… They’re attacking the spiders. The hawks and spiders appear to be deadly enemies.” It was the only possible conclusion, it was obvious to him.
“This changes everything. Very well, Preston. I don’t want you to risk our birds unnecessarily. We’ll let our new friends take over the battle. Meanwhile, I’m going to contact the president to see what action we should take,” General Echevarría said goodbye, trying to appear calm.
“All units, Diablo Squadron Leader here. Temporary ceasefire of all hostilities, effective immediately. Regroup with your squadrons on the edge of your sectors. Wait for new orders,” Preston ordered over the shared channel.
The fighter jets temporarily withdrew and let the hawks take over the fierce battle against the spiders. As soon as the hawks had appeared, every spider circling the city had reacted and turned to face the new arrivals. Only the spiders blocking the access points into the city remained in position. Takeda joined the formation with Preston. He was rapidly analysing the spacecraft flown by their new friends. The hawks were extremely fast but didn’t appear to be able to change shape like the spiders and their handling was slightly inferior. What was more, their energy-based weapons couldn’t match the firepower of the spiders’ most powerful cannons.
“Sir, do you know if anyone’s managed to establish contact with the new spacecraft?” Takeda watched them fascinated.
“I don’t know. Wait… Sparrowhawk 1, Diablo Squadron Leader here. Have you managed to communicate with the new contacts?” Preston switched the channel.
“Negative, sir. We’re using every frequency and trying different languages. We’ve even used Morse code but if they’re receiving, either they don’t understand or they don’t want to answer,” the communications officer replied.
“Understood. Keep trying,” achieving direct communication could completely change the course of the battle.
“Look out! Nine o’clock, sir!” Takeda interrupted.
Preston whipped his head around for a better look. A new space shuttle had appeared. It was similar in shape to the hawks but three or four times larger in size. It had taken off from the north of the city and was attempting to climb into the sky but was being hampered by a spider that was in hot pursuit.
“Sir, that spider looks determined to shoot it down. What should we do?” Takeda looked anxious.
“Give me a second… It doesn’t look like the space shuttle is going to make it…” Preston was trying to analyze the situation.
He was right. The transport shuttle had been hit several times and its shield appeared to be weakened. It was firing back from a type of gun turret but was having no luck at finishing off its pursuer. The other hawks hadn’t yet noticed their companion’s predicament; they were inferior in number to the spiders and their hands were already full. Preston had only counted around fifteen so far. If they didn’t do something, the transport shuttle would be destroyed.
“OK, it’s time to return the favour. Kira, get ready. Let’s go get that spider,” Preston always paid his debts to his friends, even if they turned out not to be from Earth.
“Yes, sir. Weapons ready,” Takeda smiled, visualizing his target.
“Barracuda units, you have new orders. Split into your combat groups and provide back-up to Diablo 5-2 and me. Our target’s a spider that’s attacking one of the unknown allied spacecraft,” Preston had already outlined his plan of action.
“Barracuda Squadron Leader here, copy. We’ll cover you.”
Preston and Takeda swiftly wheeled around to confront the spider that was relentlessly firing at the transport shuttle. Suddenly, its plasma beams struck the shuttle’s fuselage, causing a small explosion. The transport shuttle shuddered from the impact but managed to keep climbing. It was heading towards its vast mothership, which was still locked in combat with 2012 UA.
“There’s no time to lose, Kira. Let’s use our missiles and .27mm cannons. If we don’t hurry, that goddamn thing will finish it off,” Preston armed a missile.
“Ready when you are.” Takeda did the same.
They were getting nearer and nearer. Fortunately, the spider and transport shuttle were about to fly right past them. The allies would only have one chance; after that they wouldn’t able to match the alien spaceships’ speed. Preston and Takeda fixed the spider in their sights.
“Let’s do it! Fox two!” Preston yelled.
“Fox two!” Takeda joined him, feeling all the adrenaline.
They simultaneously squeezed their triggers, their missiles rocketing forwards and machine guns spitting out bullets. The missiles exploded on the spider’s shield and several shots struck it at the same time. Its force field held firm but they succeeded in knocking it off course. Taking advantage of its momentary weakness, the transport shuttle landed several shots on the spider with its cannon. The shots penetrated its defences and there was a minor explosion. Now the spider changed shape; one of its limbs had been destroyed. It circled around to confront Preston and Takeda, raising its two main cannons.
“Fox two!” the pilot in Barracuda 1-3 shouted out.
“Fox two!” echoed Barracuda 2-2.
Another two missiles struck the spider and it pitched violently from side to side. Its shield appeared to be failing.
“Barracuda units, keep firing. The spider’s force field is getting weaker,” Preston tried to maneuver to attack again.
“Barracuda 2-5 here. Fox two!”
“Barracuda 3-3 here. Opening fire with my cannon.”
Another explosion rocked the spider and it shuddered wildly as it was struck by dozens of shells. A further small blast and now it began to lose altitude. It made a desperate attempt to defend itself, firing at the fighter jets with its main cannons, but its shot skimmed past Barracuda 3-3 and the two plasma beams vanished harmlessly into the sky.
“We’ve almost got it! Keep firing, pilots,” Preston could taste his prey, he had never come to hate an enemy, until that day.
Before Preston and Takeda were close enough to repeat their attack, another two fighter jets whizzed past and launched their missiles at the enemy. They watched as one of its main cannons was destroyed, edging the spider closer to its end.
“Show no mercy, Kira. Fire!” Preston shouted as he squeezed the trigger of his cannon.
“Fox two!” Takeda shouted something in unintelligible Japanese.
Preston’s shells hit the spider, penetrating its shield. Finally, there was a gap in its defences. Takeda’s missile rocketed in through the hole and instantly exploded on contact. The spider was blasted into a thousand pieces that were scattered across the sky.
The Barracuda pilots whooped for joy.
“That’s the way to do it,” Preston thought about Derek and James, they were going to avenge them and everyone else. “Let’s show these bastards that we mean business!”
Looking upwards, he saw that the transport shuttle had been lost from sight. It was probably about to reach the mothership by now. Up above, the two huge spacecraft continued to aggressively circle each other and fire deadly plasma bolts. Preston noticed that 2012 UA used almost all its cannons at once whereas its opponent fired fewer, more precise shots. It was almost as though it wanted to avoid collateral damage. After all, any shots that didn’t find their target in the sky would strike the ground down in Seville.
“All units, Sparrowhawk 1 here. We’ve detected ten more spiders leaving 2012 UA. They’re on their guard.”
Shit! Things were getting tough out there for the hawks, Preston thought. Now they really were outnumbered.
“Morón Command, Diablo Squadron Leader here. Requesting permission to engage the spiders again. Our allies are heavily outnumbered,” he looked around the combat zone and his first impression was bleak.
“Colonel Hidalgo here. You don’t think they’ll be able to finish off the enemy units by themselves?”
“Negative, Colonel. Twenty-seven spiders are still operative. Besides, this is still our battle. Our city that’s burning…” The flames over the city were a clear reminder.
“Very well. General Echevarría has just authorised the counter-attack,” Colonel Hidalgo replied moments later.
“Copy that. All units, check your ammo and fuel. Anyone running low, group together and head to Morón to rearm.”
Several pilots reported that they were out of missiles and almost all of their shells. Twelve aeroplanes separated to return to Morón Air Base.
“All other units, permission to open fire. Each squadron look after its sector. Remember, work as a group and launch simultaneous attacks. We’ve got to help our new friends,” Preston didn't want to feel faint again, they needed to win at all costs.
The fighter jets followed his instructions and swung around into position, once again ready to confront the spiders that were tearing up the skies above Seville. If they had any chance of defeating them during that long night, this was it. Meanwhile, the two huge spaceships were still embroiled in their savage high-altitude dance, attacking, evading, outmanoeuvring. It was impossible to say who had the upper hand; both their shields appeared to be holding, for the time being at least. Preston had no idea who either of them were but one thing was clear: they were bitter enemies. If he survived the night there would be plenty of time for questions. Right now, he had to concentrate on flying; his arms already ached from the stress and adrenaline rush.
“Diablo Squadron Leader, Morón Command here. Ground reinforcements are entering the combat zone. It’s the Legion, the ‘Alejandro Farnesio’ regiment. They’re approaching from the south. We need you to secure their deployment points. The Legion’s codename is ‘Paladin’. Two hundred men have already been deployed at the airport.”
“No one told me we already had troops on the ground,” something like that was very relevant, he didn't understand why they hadn't told him.
“We’ve had some coordination issues since the attack on the Juan Carlos I combat group. They arrived when Commander Aguilera handed over command to you.” The communications officer tried not to break down from the accumulated tension.
“Diablo Squadron Leader here, understood. Send us the coordinates for the landing points. We’ll do whatever we can, but this is a hot zone. The helicopters will have to enter and leave pretty damn quick,” there was no time to waste and he knew everyone was having a bad time.
“The pilots are aware of the situation. And another thing… There are several missile launcher detachments among the reinforcements. We need you to give them back-up. Sending over the coordinates…”
Preston glanced at his screen. The helicopters were going to drop the soldiers in Tablada, La Cartuja, near Santa Justa train station, Plaza de España and the Betis football stadium. He fired off orders to pilots across the various squadrons. It was vital that they covered the helicopters as they crossed the skies above the city and particularly when they landed to let the soldiers disembark.
“Morón Command, what about the Mechanised Infantry Brigade?” They were essential to keep civilians safe.
“They’re very close, currently heading along the A-4 motorway at full speed. Their codename is ‘Armadillo’. They’ll get in touch as soon as they’re about to enter the combat zone.”
“Copy. Diablo Squadron Leader out.” He turned his attention to new radar contacts.
The sixteen CH-47D Chinook helicopters flew in perfect formation in groups of four towards Seville. They were less than six miles from the combat zone. Each helicopter was transporting fifty legionnaires, tough soldiers who were grimly determined to crush any enemy that stood in their way. The legionnaires were a battle-hardened elite force within the army with numerous campaigns under their belts. The orders they had received were clear: spread out and secure various strategic points across Seville. This would mean further reinforcements could arrive and injured civilians could be evacuated. They would also support the aerial forces by setting up anti-aircraft systems that could be used against the enemy units in the sky. If they could secure these sixteen safe zones, it would make it easier for the main body of reinforcements to reach the city.
When they reached Seville, the Chinooks divided into pairs and headed towards their respective delivery points. It was not long before they were in the heart of the action, amid the swirling turmoil of explosions, spacecraft and aeroplanes. The fighter jets did a fine job of distracting the spiders so that the helicopters could progress without interruption. Once at their delivery points, each helicopter effected a swift and surgical landing. One helicopter hovered over each of the landing zones with its ramp already lowered. As soon as it touched the ground, the soldiers sprang out and took up defensive positions around the chopper. Once they had all disembarked, the Chinook took off and the next one landed to repeat the manoeuvre.
In less than two minutes, over eight hundred legionnaires had been deployed. The various sections and companies mobilised rapidly, swiftly following orders. They might be the most hardened soldiers in the Spanish Army, but there wasn’t a single legionnaire who didn’t gaze up in alarm at the mother of all air battles that was unfurling above their heads.
“Morón Command, Diablo Squadron Leader here. Package received. No transport casualties. Continuing with cleaning operation,” Preston had to admit that it had been a very efficient deployment.
He steered his Eurofighter after a spider that was firing at one of the hawks. Takeda was hot on its heels and another three fighter jets were also coordinating a simultaneous attack.
“Our weapons can’t penetrate their shields, but if we slow them down enough, it’ll make things easier for the hawks. Their guns can easily take them out,” Preston called out to Takeda.
“Yes, sir. How are you for ammo? I’ve only got one missile and two hundred and thirty shells.”
“Not much better… No missiles and five hundred shells. You should go back to Morón to rearm. I’ve got to stay here to coordinate the mission.”
“I’m not leaving, sir.” He meant it very seriously.
“Fine. Then stay close and watch out for any unexpected hostiles. Let’s finish off that spider.” Preston adored that boy, he had become an unstoppable warrior.
He fired off orders to his wingmen who were preparing to attack. Meanwhile, the hawk was skilfully evading the spider’s plasma beams. Its pilot was good, but the hawk’s shield had already been hit twice. It might not withstand a third strike. What a pity we can’t communicate with it, Preston thought. We could let them know we’re coming to help.
As soon as Preston authorised the attack, two of the F-35s at his side launched their missiles at the spider at the same time as a Eurofighter fired its cannon. The spider changed course to evade one of the missiles but the second exploded on its shield. Several shells also found their target. Another two aeroplanes in the group immediately fired their missiles. As soon as the hawk realised what was happening, it wheeled around in a half circle to face its pursuer. The spider escaped another missile and transformed to defend itself with its remaining cannon. Before it had time to let off a shot, the hawk fired its plasma weapons, shattering its shield. The spider blew up mid-air.
“Now that’s team-work!” one of the F-35 pilots shouted
“OK, good work. Now let’s get the next one,” there was no time to lose.
He contacted Morón Command to see how things were progressing. Despite their small victories, the news was discouraging. The situation was dire. They had lost another fourteen pilots and four more were missing after ejecting from their aircraft, including Aguilera. On the ground, things weren’t much better. The legionnaires had encountered firm resistance at several locations. Some of the spiders had transformed and were using their weapons as anti-aircraft plasma cannons. The infantry simply didn’t have enough firepower to destroy them. General Echevarría had requested support from the air cavalry. The awe-inspiring Tiger combat helicopters would certainly help, but they would take at least an hour to arrive. News from the Juan Carlos I combat group wasn’t much better. There were barely any survivors from the two destroyed frigates. What was more, the shock wave from the ion cannon blast had also damaged the other ships in the group to varying degrees. They were in no position to send more help. As for international support, the Sixth Fleet was still two hours away from being able to join the operation and the various air squadrons would take between thirty minutes to two hours to arrive.
Preston’s thoughts were fixed on 2012 UA. They still didn’t have a weapon with sufficient firepower to shoot it down and the new spacecraft didn’t seem capable of destroying it alone either…
37º 23’ 14” North, 6º 0’ 6” West
Isabel II Bridge, Seville
22:15 GMT+1
Triana Bridge was in a pitiful state. What had once been one of the most emblematic features of Seville was now just a series of twisted beams and shattered columns. Only the eastern section remained standing. The rest of the bridge had collapsed, except for the central column and part of its platform, which had sunk into the water. Bodies and human remains floated along the river and collected among the rubble under the bridge. The platform that had been the centre of the bridge was now blocking the river like some sort of apocalyptic dam.
A woman was dragging herself along the ground on the eastern section. Her mind was still struggling to process what had happened; she was driven by survival instinct alone. She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious but she had suddenly been jolted awake when a series of brutal explosions had hurled her through the air. She had hit the ground hard and rolled onto her back, staring up at the violent battle in the skies above. Deciding she must be dead, she had let herself slide back into oblivion. She couldn’t have said how long she was out but she eventually came round, dragged back into consciousness by the relentless blasts booming around her. It sounded like the end of the world.
Groping her way forwards, she stumbled off the bridge and took shelter in a small churros stand. It was closed. The streets were deserted; there was no one to come to her aid. No one answered her cries for help, at any rate. She lay down on one side of the churros stand and tried to wipe the blood from her face. It was gushing into her eyes, making it impossible to see. Patting her shirt, she realised it was in shreds; she tore off a strip of material and used it to gently clean away the blood. As she approached her left eye, she froze in horror. Her fingers brushed against pulpy flesh encrusted with dried blood. She decided to leave that area alone. It was better not to risk an infection. Putting it to the back of her mind, she pressed on and cleaned away the remaining blood; most of it was already dry and the bleeding had stopped by itself. That calmed her a little.
Finally, she could see more clearly, even if only from her right eye. It was now night in Seville; the street lamps flickered on and off in time with the punishing detonations. She was scared, but as the seconds passed and she glanced around her, a burning determination began to surge up inside her. Against all probabilities, she was still alive. There had to be a reason why. And then it struck her: this was the moment she had been waiting for. The moment when she would be the one to make a difference.
She pulled herself to her feet and rummaged in her trouser pocket. She had almost forgotten her mobile phone. Taking it out, she saw that she had a series of missed calls and messages. Most were from work colleagues, people in the Production Department. She dialed the number of Ana Fernández, head of Production. It rang several times and when an astonished voice answered at the other end, she spoke.
“It’s me… I’m back,” she said in a quavering voice.
At the local headquarters of the national news channel, no one could believe what they were hearing. They had been convinced she was dead. But here she was, on the phone and saying she wanted to broadcast a live report on the battle in Seville, no less. This is a gift straight from heaven, Ana Fernández admitted to herself. Since the attacks had started, they only been able to film what was happening in the sky from their facilities in La Cartuja, near Alamillo Park. It had been impossible to send reporters to other locations in the city because all the bridges had been cut off. They had tried sending a team to Triana, but one of those things was controlling Calle Odiel, the entrance into the neighbourhood. They had been no alternative but to turn back; enough people had already been lost today.
So having someone on the ground truly was a stroke of luck. However, there was one problem. She no longer had a cameraman… A technician at the studio quickly devised a solution; he would send an app to her mobile phone that she could use to livestream whatever she filmed.
They ran several tests with her doing a voiceover as she filmed the wall of the churros stand. It was just like making a videocall. But they hadn’t yet seen her face.
“OK, we’ll enter with you talking to the camera and explaining what happened to you, if that’s OK?” Fernández was racing to make the most of this unexpected opportunity.
“Fine,” she didn't care, she just wanted to do her job.
“Great. They’re just giving the breaking news that you’re out there and going to report live in a few moments’ time. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“OK. Stand with Triana Bridge behind you and start filming yourself so we can work out the best height for the shot.” Fernández wanted the most striking frame, one that showed the battle in the sky.
She followed Fernández’s instructions. Back at Production, they watched as, camera in hand, she stretched out her arm and slowly turned the camera around to reveal her face. What they saw filled them with horror. A wave of murmurs and moans ran through the room; an assistant retched and vomited.
“Oh my God! You poor thing!” Fernández said, aghast.
“What is it?” She didn't understand what all the fuss was about.
“You’ve got… There’s a scar across your face… And your left eye… I think it’s burst. We can’t put you on live television! You have to see a doctor, urgently…” Fernández was truly horrified.
“There’s no time for that. I’m fine. I’ll fix it. Give me a second…” Her face did not show the slightest emotion, she was catatonic.
They watched as she put the mobile phone down on the ground. She must be in a state of shock, the producer murmured to Fernández. It was hard to believe she was still standing, considering the state she was in. Meanwhile, they caught sight of her grimacing and heard her fight back a cry of pain. She was tearing off one of the sleeves of her blouse. A few seconds later she picked up the phone and turned the camera back on her face.
“That better?”
She had used the torn fabric as a bandage, covering the left eye socket and part of the horrendous scar that ran across the length of her face. Fernández couldn’t help wondering what she had done with the remains of the burst eye that had been hanging from the socket moments before. She tried to imagine herself in the same situation. She wouldn’t be half as composed and resolute. My God, if it were her, she would have run to the darkest hiding place she could find and wouldn’t have left until it was all over. Fernández had no time to dwell on it further because an assistant announced that they were ready to go live.
“Yes, I think that’ll work. But promise me you’ll leave if things get dangerous.”
“Nowhere is safe here. I’m filming until it’s all over.” Nothing else mattered except fulfilling her destiny.
“Don’t die on us, love,” Fernández half-whispered to herself.
“I’m ready, shall we start?” She looked at her, impatiently, with her one eye.
“OK, here we go… We’re on in three, two, one…” Fernández called out, gesturing for them to link up to the national transmission.
She began to speak with exceptional energy and passion. Her face shone with an irresistible force, as if she were possessed by a vengeful spirit that wielded words instead of weapons.
“Good evening. Seville is deep in the toughest battle it’s ever faced. As long as I’m alive, I’ll make sure you see what’s happening first-hand. My name is… Maria Luces.”