Chapter One
The belly of the enormous alien ship pushed down through the cloud cover, lightning dancing across its surface of gunmetal gray. Max’s stomach twisted in terror, but he focused on his instruments. The invader was as large as a battleship, but Max worried more about the even larger craft NORAD was tracking right behind it. It was large enough to carry an invading army. If Max had to fly his jet up their equivalent of a tail pipe, he would to protect the planet.
Dozens of smaller flyers dropped into the air below the ship. Max could see three different designs, and then all hell broke loose. The ships might have been alien, but Max recognized weapons fire. The tail of Dan-Dan’s jet burst into flames, and he punched out, his parachute engaging seconds later.
“Engage bogeys!” Ground One ordered. “Engage! All ships engage!” Fuck. Even the guys on the ground sounded panicked. Despite the fact that none of the jets had opened fire yet, one of the alien flyers exploded. A huge chunk went through Dan-Dan’s parachute, and Max watched... helpless... as a pilot he was responsible for sped toward the ground.
Max wanted to tear off his oxygen mask and scream, but he had a job to do. The fear and horror transformed to fury.
He took his F-35 into battle formation and lined up with an alien ship, only to have the damn thing pull impossible Gs as it went straight up into the atmosphere before diving back toward Earth. It was like watching a dolphin doing underwater acrobatics.
“Nose cold. No lock on radar. Negative lock!” Max reported. As the officer in charge, he had to stay cool, so he bit down the more desperate words that clawed up his throat. A new cluster of alien flyers closed on them from two o’clock, and Max barked orders for the wing to adjust formation.
“Ditzy! Bogey at your six! Increase thrust!” Max called. Dee must have punched it because her F-35 pulled away from the cigar-shaped flyer pursuing her. At least for a second, but then the alien accelerated so it passed Ditzy Dee so fast that it made her jet look like a fucking WWI Fokker Eindecker. The alien then shot past Piddle’s jet, and he didn’t have time to fire.
“Radar is bent. Radar is bent,” someone called out. Max pushed his jet toward the deck when his own radar showed one of the larger alien shapes on his six.
“Bells 2, maintain Angels 3.”
“I’m punching out!”
“Who has eyes on VJ?”
“Zippy is on the bug; weapon system down.”
“Patriot missile inbound. T-minus 45... 44... 43...”
The radio barked out orders and warnings. Max ignored all of them. Below, Earth was a patchwork quilt of fields and Iowa farms. A damaged jet spun toward the ground, crashing in a fiery explosion that sent black smoke into the air. Max didn’t even know whose jet that had been, or whether the pilot had punched out safely. Worse, Max hated himself because his first thought was gratitude that his own family lived far enough away that the fire couldn’t touch his parents or his little brother.
Max pulled the nose of his F-35 up and the g-forces pushed him toward losing consciousness. At this point, part of him wished he could. Then he wouldn’t have to see his world invaded by ships he couldn’t hope to fight. He levelled out. Since his computer couldn’t lock onto the enemy, Max broke every regulation by opening fire manually.
He must have hit his mark because the alien ship faltered.
“Bells, bogeys closing on you. Firewall that bitch.”
Max’s heart jumped at the warning and he opened the throttle. His on-board computer warned him as a half dozen ships moved on his position. For a half second, Max froze. He’d never done that, but his brain couldn’t decide between punching out or trying to take a few of the enemy with him. He thought of Daniels and the way the aliens had taken out his parachute. If Max was going to die, he didn’t want his life to end like that. Not like that.
Ignoring every warning light on his board, Max turned his jet toward the enemy.
He woke on his back in the center of a small room. His body ached, and the sound of that last explosion still echoed in his head. He scrambled to his feet and reached for his radio. And found it gone. Everything was gone. Someone had pulled off his flight suit, and Max was insanely grateful that he’d put it on over his uniform when the alarms had gone off. He couldn’t handle captured and naked.
Fear made Max’s mouth dry, but he called out, “Hello?” The walls deadened the sound. When Max touched the wall, it was smooth, warm metal. The ceiling was covered in what might have been alien pipes or intestines or electrical conduits. He had no way to judge.
An archway appeared on one wall a half second before the crack of light turned into a full door that slid away. Max slipped into a fighting stance. His heart beat against his ribs and the edges of his vision turned gray. Then the alien appeared.
It was short—four and a half to five feet—and the violet mouth reminded Max of his Great Aunt Velma’s crazy lipstick. However, the alien’s wide face was ringed with the same color, with stripes of purple pointed at her broad nose, and her nostrils were set wider than the corners of her lips.
Max breathed heavily. He braced himself for anything from vivisection to questioning, but instead the alien opened her mouth and wailed. The sound was like an opera singer mimicking fingernails down a chalkboard. Max cringed as shivers ran up his spine.
“Ahh. Okay, I didn’t understand that, assuming you were trying to say something to me.” Max’s chest hurt. He wasn’t sure if that was from pulling too many Gs or if he was on the verge of a fear-induced heart attack.
She wailed again, and the sound was so bad it made Max’s mouth water, and he had no idea what the hell would cause that. Apparently frustrated with his inability to communicate, she grabbed his arm and jerked him forward so fast that he didn’t have time to defend himself or counterattack. He stumbled after her, struggling to keep his feet under him to avoid getting dragged. The ship reminded Max more of a submarine than any aircraft carrier he’d been on. The corridors were narrow with heavy doors separating the sections. If they were in space, that probably made sense.
“That’s my planet down there. What are you people doing?”
She dragged him through a door into a corridor with deep bronzy-red walls. Max stopped. Every six or seven feet, a tiny alcove created enough space for one... individual. Many of them were humanoid, but far too many had tentacles or lacked heads. Or both.
“Fuck,” he whispered. Next to insectoids, tentacles were on his list of worst nightmares. He hadn’t even been amused when one of his boyfriends had wanted to play with a tentacle-shaped dildo.
The short female stopped near an alcove and wailed. A second later, another humanoid appeared. This one was taller and more bulky. The alien’s upper lip was huge compared to the lower one, making it look like the victim of a bee sting attack. The alien turned his head, and a half dozen nostrils went up the bridge of something vaguely nose-like. He wailed at the alien holding Max hostage, and she wailed back.
Max said, “I want to go back to my people.” He wanted that, but he wasn’t sure anyone cared. “Who are you people?” Max demanded. The pair holding him hostage, and probably discussing his painful death, were joined by a third alien. It was shaped like a pith helmet with a curtain of tentacles hanging below. Max shivered in horror.