Invasion Day: An Oral History of the Veech War Read online

  We tried to contest the landing, meeting them in the skies immediately, but that didn't end well, and they landed anyway. This went on for three days, while we sat and watched. Our fighters took a mauling, and we were scrambling about how to stop them. I'm not sure if this is true, but I heard nukes were planned. You'd have to ask someone else about that one.

  On the third day, the Jhi showed up. Those of us who had access to large telescopes were able to watch quite a show, though we didn't know what was happening. The two aliens fought in space and it seemed clear the Jhi were winning. We didn't know what to think. Some people lost hope. An even more aggressive group of aliens? We couldn't defend against one group of aliens, and now there were two. Others went with the whole an enemy of our enemy is our friend kind of thinking. We did know that the Veech were in trouble, and it left us with a lot of uncertainty.

  The Veech got caught with their pants down, sitting stationary in space with no time to build up velocity. Most of their transports were destroyed. It was a turkey shoot. Those few that did survive made a fighting withdrawal, leaving their troops, shuttles, and fighters stranded.

  What shocked us most was when the Jhi disappeared just as quickly, leaving a single Jhi destroyer to make contact.

  Despite losing their space forces, the Veech ground troops and shuttles organized and consolidated and began the process of taking over the planet. They still believed they could take the Earth or that their starships would return. Whatever the case, the Battle for Earth began.

  Kate Winston

  Manhattan, New York

  New York is cool. The first winds of fall flow through the mostly deserted skyscrapers and alleys. The sky, a beautiful blue, is dotted with wispy white clouds, which seem suspended in the air. I walk across 5th Avenue, a few cars moving through the streets with ample room. There is very little traffic.

  A few pedestrians can be seen enjoying the day, some heading into Central Park, others walking with jackets pulled tight. I enter the Metropolitan Museum of Art, its massive structure a comforting sight, despite a lack of pre-invasion crowds.

  Kate Winston is waiting on a lounge chair in the reception area. She sees me and stands. Kate looks to be in her early forties, with a rigid and stern appearance. Her face is thin, almost hawkish, despite the careful application of cosmetics. She nods and starts walking.

  It was a Friday, easy to remember because I was already making weekend plans. I had gotten to work late because, well, it was Friday. At that time, I was an art restorer. My job was to take old paintings and bring them back to life. I was also one of many who maintained paintings. We had some of the best restorers in the world here, as well as histories, curators, artists, designers, now… all gone.

  It was almost time to go, around 2:30, I think, and a group of us were in the break room, chatting about our weekend plans and just hanging out. Tom Jenkins, an usher for the museum, ran in and told us there was an emergent announcement from the White House. We turned on the TV and there was the President. You know what he said: "Something in the skies, be patient, don't go outside. Blah blah blah." Some of us even started laughing. We thought it was a joke. I mean, we thought the guy was an idiot to begin with, and this was just the icing on the cake.

  We made our way to the lobby and noticed... nothing. No one was making a big deal of the news. If anything, most people were excited about the alien ships. No one believed they were hostile. We were artists... optimists. People talked among themselves, some laughed. A few seemed worried and even rushed outside.

  One of the historians suggested we go to the top of the building and get a good view of the aliens. Everyone agreed, but I had recieved a call about a disagreement in the basement and I needed to calm some egos. I told them I'd meet them in a few minutes and headed to the basement. The basement of MET is a few floors deep, and I went to the second floor from the bottom; it's where a lot of the restorers, artists, and mount makers worked. It wasn't crowded, with it being Friday and almost quitting time. I did what I had to do and got a little lost in the work. The next thing I knew, I fell to the floor, grabbing my head.

  It's hard to describe. It was more than a noise, almost like a loud screech that you could feel throughout your whole body. It's cliché, but I felt like my head was going to explode. My entire body hurt. I couldn't breathe. My arms and legs tightened like I was paralyzed. I lay on the basement floor, almost catatonic. It seemed to last forever, though I was told it was less than two minutes. After it ended, I lay on the ground, disoriented, weak, nauseous, and bleeding from my ears.

  I made myself get up. I was alive, and I kept telling myself to get help. I wasn't really thinking, you know, just reacting. When I finally sat up, I saw the bodies of others who had been down in the basement. A few of them were moving, but others just lay there. I didn't panic because my thinking was so fractured, confused. I could hear a little from my right ear, but my left ear was silent. I was scared—so scared. I tried to yell for help, but I sounded like a baby kitten. I pulled myself to my feet, took a few minutes to stabilize, and drank some water. I tried to call for help, but you couldn't get reception with cell phones. I tried the landline, but no one up top was answering. By this time, two others were up and checking on our nearby colleagues. They didn't make it and we had to leave them there.

  We got on the elevator and went upstairs and what we found… (she cries.) They were all dead. Everyone! They were just lying on the floor, blood coming from their mouths, eyes, and ears. The blood. It was everywhere.

  They just fell where they were standing or sitting, just... it happened that fast. One of the guys from the basement ran outside, but I couldn't. I just stood there. I didn't cry, didn't call for help. I was in shock. I don't know how long I stood there, my brain not registering what had happened. Dead. Everyone. How could I accept it? I don't know how long it was, but someone came, took me by the hand and sat me down. They tried to talk to me, but I couldn't focus. I couldn't answer. Later, they put me on a city bus. I didn't even look at the streets, didn't ask about where I was going. I remember fires in the city, but my memory is hazy.

  The bus stopped and picked up survivors, all bleeding, all in shock, most having no hearing at all. The dead were everywhere. They drove us to Stamford, Connecticut. We were taken to the hospital, and that's where I stayed for the next week. After that, I was released, and I made my way to an aunt in upstate New York. I spent the war there, recovering most of my hearing and eventually working in a new shuttle plant. Just one of many in that area.

  Because of my previous experience, I was placed in quality control. I didn't know anything about shuttles or electronics, but I have a fine eye for detail and looked for what they wanted me to. We produced twenty-five percent of all shuttles made during the war. I am proud of that.

  I returned to the Met after the war. I feel at home here, among the art. In a way, it feels like coming home. The place had been closed for five years and needed a lot of cleaning and restoring. New York has come alive again, though nothing like what it used to be. (pauses) I just get so angry. So much was lost. Most of the greatest artists, poets, writers, and philosophers were all here or in other major cities. Why couldn't they have attacked those country people who know nothing? (she cries) I'm sorry, I'm sorry… that was wrong. Please, I miss my family, my friends, my life. It was all taken from me. I don't wish harm on anyone else. I would never wish what happened to me on someone else.

  Tim "Jackknife" Butler

  Atlanta, George

  I pull into parking lot A of Atlanta International Airport, park, and head to a coffee shop next to domestic Terminal B. The airport is bustling, people moving to catch a flight or returning from one. A group of sailors pass me, their black Terran Space Command uniforms in immaculate condition. They give me a nod and keep walking.

  The airport is quieter than before the invasion but still full of life. Gone are the sounds of wide-body jets taxiing and taking off. The new passenger shuttles using anti-gravity te
chnology keep this place quiet as a suburban neighborhood. I walk up to the coffee shop to see a middle-aged man in an airline Captain's uniform waiting for me.

  I was a flight commander for a group F-35As based out of Utah when the Veech arrived. I had just arrived at work, prepared to ram through some paperwork and get out early for a long weekend. I had just sat down when I got the first phone call. It was 9:30 A.M. I was told by my C.O. to bring my squadron up to ready status. That's it. It was definitely strange. I tried to ask for more information, but he gave me nothing. A lot of thoughts went through my head. I thought at first it was a drill or some visiting dignitary, but my C.O. didn't sound right. Whatever the case, orders were orders, so I stood up the squadron. We were ready. Then, we waited. We waited for an hour. I listened to the guys throw various reasons for their call up but stayed silent. I had nothing to add. Then I got my second call of the day at 10:38 A.M. Mountain Time. Aliens.

  Yeah, my initial thought was that it was a joke. I thought maybe the other squadron commander was trying to pull one off on my guys and me, but that went out the window when he contacted me with the same perplexed and suspicious attitude. He thought we were the ones trying to get him. (Smiles.)

  We conferred and realized that our C.O. wasn't messing with us. Then one of the techs piped in a video of the ships sitting in space. That did it. The squadron room exploded with questions. It was that moment you've thought about for fun, but never really seriously, you know? A piece of your world crumbles as if you start to doubt everything you know to be true. It was... surreal.

  We waited and waited. We didn't have any information, though people were scrambling all over the place. Confusion. That's the best way to describe it. I tried to call some of my contacts in the Pentagon, but nobody was answering. It was aggravating. I let my guys call their families but told them to keep the aliens out of it. Most of them told their families to stay inside, that sort of thing. I did the same thing.

  Then we waited and watched. We were glued to that screen like it was the Second Coming. The guys were all experienced pilots, they knew the game of hurry up and wait, but this was something new. The tension in the room was thick. Anxiety. Fear. Adrenaline. We had it all. One of the guys, a clown named Will, tried to keep the mood light by going over things he had learned from sci-fi novels. He told us we needed to splash them with water or give them riddles. It helped.

  We watched in real-time as the ships sat there. I remember it like it was yesterday. I think it was another hour or so before the media picked up on it. We switched to one of their channels instead of the satellites our tech guy had accessed.

  We finally got word that the brass was waiting on orders. Nobody wanted to be seen as the aggressor, so they kept our jets grounded. The guys didn't like that, but that's just how they are.

  After five hours of waiting, we saw the Veech launch their missiles. We couldn't believe it. We knew theoretically it could happen, but we convinced ourselves that they wouldn't attack after five hours of sitting. We watched as they shot out of the cruisers, then slipped right through our defenses. We didn't stand a chance.

  We saw them hit Earth. I remember the room being deathly silent. We couldn't stop watching it, you know? It's weird, but I can remember that moment with such clarity – the shock and fear, the sheer outlandishness of it. I imagine I'm not the only one who can remember it so vividly. There was no explosion, and for a minute, we had hope, but word soon came in about a sonic weapon. We didn't know what that meant.

  Being in Utah, we weren't close to any of the impact zones, and we hadn't heard a thing. A minute later, we got the go-ahead as their transport ships were seen opening and launching shuttles at Earth. The guys scrambled to their jets in record time, nobody wanting to waste a second. We were already launching when we received orders to head to L.A.

  En route to L.A, my squadron was joined by two more coming from New Mexico. Word came down that the shuttles had landed in L.A. and were unloading ground troops. We couldn't get there fast enough.

  In all, we were joined by fifteen squadrons on the way to L.A. We were told our orders and objectives, then set loose. It was a fantastic sight. Almost five hundred of the most advanced aircraft in the world flew into L.A. like angels of justice. We were ready for some payback.

  Did you know about their shields?

  Nope, not a thing. I believe we were the first to engage the Veech, so nobody had information on them. We found out fast, though. We launched missiles at their shuttles – fat things that couldn't miss. But we did miss, or rather, a number of our missiles did. They had some tech that threw off our locks. When we did hit them, a transparent dome would light up around the ship. The day couldn't get any stranger, so we just kept hitting them. We finally got one, and it was a sight to see! The thing exploded with more power than it should have. Must have taken out a thousand or so troops unloading from it. That's when the fighters, or interceptors, as they call them, showed up. There were hundreds of them, and it turned into the biggest air battle in history.

  The fighters were sleek metallic things with four wings, which we called X-wings. Yeah, I know, but what can I say? They looked familiar. They could fly, I'll give them that. They turned on a hair and had terrific acceleration. We simply couldn't compete. We were annihilated. Our systems couldn't track them, couldn't lock on. The few times we did, their shields protected them. They were too fast. That's the simple truth of it. The battle turned into a disaster for us. We lost unit cohesion, and our formations broke down, which just made everything worse. We flew into death that day. (He stops talking, takes a sip of coffee.) We lost a lot of good pilots. Will, the clown guy, died in the first few seconds.

  The battle was short. In minutes, they almost destroyed the greatest air force the world had ever seen. We took sixty percent causalities before we were ordered to withdraw and head west, finally coming under the protection of surface-to-air missiles that had been rushed out.

  Overall, I think the Veech lost a craft or two. That's it. Then, they let us go. We were nothing to them, an inconvenience at best. They had another objective. Some of my guys wanted to stay and fight, believing we just needed to figure out their weaknesses. They were lost in a battle rage. But orders were orders, and we needed to regroup if we could.

  A few pilots refused to leave, veterans of fifteen years and experts in their fields who just lost it. I know one of them had family in L.A. We didn't know at the time, but they were already dead. I guess he thought he was defending them and wouldn't let go. I don't know. These pilots cut communication to the wing. A couple of them crashed into the troop shuttles, hoping to take out just one more. They did, but it was an enormous waste of life. Nobody said it, but we knew we couldn't stop the Veech. The best we could do was regroup and hope someone came up with a way to at least give us a fighting chance.

  That battle…that battle changed everything. Before the battle, the pilots of the U.S. knew we would win. We might lose people, sure, but we knew we would win in a fight. Even in this battle, the pride and confidence of flying with our whole command and hundreds of other pilots was exhilarating. We had the most experienced pilots in the world, the best technology, a history that couldn't be questioned.

  Then, we lost. More than lost, we were almost destroyed. Not just in a physical sense; our confidence was shattered too. Fear gripped us. A fear of letting America down, of being too weak to stand and fight, of seeing the people we loved killed. We weren't the best anymore. Far from it, we were obsolete.

  Out of the sixty-five aircraft in my command, twenty-eight landed. Some of the other aircraft had higher survival rates than us because the F-35 wasn't primarily an air combat platform. The Raptors did much better, as their ariel maneuverability is much higher than ours, and that allowed them to keep out of reach and react faster.

  After the landings, we watched as the Veech organized and deployed troops in different directions. It was tough watching their troops head into America unmolested and knowing we couldn
't do anything about it. My guys stayed quiet, dealing with their issues and preparing themselves for the next round. We thought it would be soon.

  We wanted to fight but didn't know how to engage correctly. Two days passed. My men were jumpy, and morale was understandably low. By this point, I knew what had happened. High command simply didn't exist anymore, and those officers who survived, well, they weren't ready for it. No one was. Yeah, it wasn't a great time for us.

  Our break came when the Jhi showed up. I don't know the exact number, but I'd say about forty percent of the Veech interceptors on Earth headed back into space to defend the transports. There were still enough on Earth to baffle us, but things looked better.

  We watched the battle in space, along with the rest of the world. I can tell you, I felt my first sense of hope then. I didn't know who they were, but they gave us time and took the Veech down to boot. Anything else didn't matter at that moment. We saw the Veech transition out, and that was a glorious sight. Nothing was over, but everything had changed.

  My wing spent the next five years fighting the Veech, though there were no more great air battles. The Veech had enough interceptors to keep us from bombing their ground troops, but not enough to attack us and still leave their forces protected. Their shuttles were nothing to laugh at either. They were slower, fatter, and had weaker shields but were still formidable to us.

  It turned into a war of strafing runs and dancing with the Veech, as ground battles raged underneath us. The first two years were the roughest. The Veech still had a lot of interceptors then, and we couldn't commit to a large confrontation. We worked in conjunction with the ground forces because we needed their portable SAMs to keep the Veech back. It would have been nice to drop bombs on their bases, but it just wasn't possible to get close to them. They would have eaten us up. We threatened battle a few times to keep them honest and make sure they kept their interceptors at home instead of strafing our troops, but nothing came of it. The ground forces had to do it step by step, yard by yard.