Chapter 8: Landing

In spite of the briefing, shortly after they returned to the main operations room there was an explosion of heel stamping and military orders and three soldiers in battle fatigues rushed into the room and covered everyone with their vicious looking weapons.

“Nobody move,” ordered one of them.

Huw got up slowly and deliberately from his seat and sauntered across towards them.

“Halt, “ shouted the soldier.

“I’m not deaf,” said Huw quietly, “There’s no need to shout. I am Angel Two and in charge here. Please explain what you think you are doing.”

“Orders are to secure the area. All non-military are to be assumed hostile until proven otherwise. Halt where you are, or I will fire.”

Just then an army officer, a Brigadier by his badges, strutted into the room.

“What have we here, Sergeant?” he asked.

“Civilians, Sir,” replied the Sergeant, “Unable to understand or obey orders. I was almost forced to fire on that one.”

“Hullo, you must be Brigadier Martin; I’m Huw Harris, Angel Two. Please ask your men to go outside and guard the perimeter. What I need them for is to protect this field from incursions from outside. Also remind them that shooting nosy British civilians during that duty would be very inadvisable. I suggest they patrol with their weapons unloaded. You could also remind your Sergeant that threatening to shoot a man who is less than six feet away while still having the safety catch on is not terribly convincing.”

“Hmmf. I’ll decide where my men are deployed. Meanwhile your civilians will stay in this room until I give them permission to move. All communications will be routed through my comms staff. No ‘phone calls, no radio, nothing, is that clear?” snapped the Brigadier.

“How are you going to enforce that?” said the voice on the loudspeaker.

“Switch that off,” ordered the Brigadier.

“They can’t. We control these and the cameras and the microphones from Angel Control Room. Now listen to what Angel Two has to say,” replied the hidden speaker.

“Sorry, Brigadier,” said Huw, “I am in charge of this operation whether you like it or not. The exact wording of your orders is, I believe, as you were told at the briefing a few minutes ago, that you are to assist me as I see fit. If that isn’t what you think they are then read them again, or check with your headquarters.”

The Brigadier stormed out and was gone for two very tense minutes. When he returned he sent his three men out of the room and said to Huw, “You had better get clarification yourself. As far as the General is concerned ‘assist’ means help you. You are not qualified to make threat assessments nor to decide on military deployments, so I will assist you as I deem necessary. Is that clear?”

Huw sighed. “Just keep your goons from shooting civilians and keep them out of the way of operational personnel when the visitors arrive. Other than that you can play whatever games you like.”

“I expect the fly boys will shoot these so-called visitors out of the sky before they land. If the RAF makes its usual botch of things we’ll blast them as soon as they touch down.”

“No, Brigadier. These are invited guests of ours and will not be killed before, during or after their touch down. Any decision of that sort will be taken by authorities far higher up than your General or I. Now get out of my operations room and keep your men out of here and off the tarmac. What I need is sightseeing civilians kept out of harm’s way, politely and with no violence. If you and your men can’t do that, there are two policemen upstairs who can show you how to go about it.”

It was all Bronwen could do to keep a straight face as the Brigadier stalked out of the room.

“Wait a minute, are those figures right?” asked William.

The voice at the other end of the line evidently reassured him.

Turning to Huw he said, “It’s not coming in ballistic, nor is it flying. It’s coming down slowly through the atmosphere like a lift. It must be on powered descent, or they’ve a propulsion method we’ve never heard of.”

“We’ll see when it lands,” replied Huw, “What’s the new ETA?”

“Unknown, because they aren’t in any landing pattern we know or use, but they are sixty miles up and descending at about a hundred miles an hour.”

“About an hour, then?”

“Why an hour? Forty minutes according to my arithmetic,” Bronwen chipped in, and then blushed at her own temerity.

Gently Huw pointed out, “Your maths is impeccable, but they won’t want to hit the ground at a hundred miles an hour, Bronwen.”

In the event it was fifty minutes later when the visitors touched down slowly in a gout of almost invisible blue flame.

Even before the incoming ship was first sighted through binoculars, Iestyn was talking nineteen-to-the-dozen into his tape recorder. “This is Iestyn Williams speaking here in the advanced Control Room of Operation Angels Falling, the top secret code name for the reception of aliens from outer space who have decided to visit us, and which is capable of being set up on many sites were we expect them to land. I bring you minute by minute impressions of the atmosphere here and the demeanour of the two person team who will actually make the first moves toward our visitors. They must remain anonymous, but are both civilians, one of each sex with the male the senior by experience and training. They are waiting patiently but with the expectation rising, so does the tension. It is clear from their attitude that they have been well prepared and trained for this moment. The aliens’ vessel is clearly visible descending on to a now disused RAF base.”