Here we learn the fate of Jennifer as she is captured by the evil Narzuk aliens.

Jennifer was pacing back and forth in their family hideaway in the Brecon Beacons. The house was concealed in a wooded valley and could not be seen from the air. There was no electricity, but there was a wood-burning stove, which heated the house and cooked food. Jennifer’s children, Sally and Robert were playing with a puzzle in front of the burner as Jennifer talked to Peter’s sister, Ruth.
‘I’m fed up with staying indoors all the time!’ Jennifer moved her arms around in frustration, a fire burning in her eyes.
‘Peter did the right thing to tell you to stay here, you’ll be safe, but don’t wander outside. There have been reports of alien patrols,’ said Ruth, trying to calm Peter’s emotional wife.
‘How could he just leave us here? He always leaves us, he’s never at home when we need him!’ Jennifer shook her fist at no-one in particular, her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders.
‘When’s daddy coming?’ asked Sally.
‘Soon,’ lied Jennifer. ‘I’m going to get some fresh air!’ Jennifer grabbed her coat and walked out the door.
‘Come back!’ cried Ruth as she ran after her. ‘Jennifer come back!’ she screamed. Peter had warned her about Jennifer’s impulsiveness. Ruth tried to stop her, but then Sally shouted to her, and she ran back to the children, shaking her head. ‘Stupid woman!’ sobbed Ruth.
Jennifer walked through the woods and onto the hills at the top of the valley. It was a bright, sunny autumn day, the air was fresh, and she took in long lungfuls of it. She felt alive and happy as she remembered the times she spent walking with Peter in the hills; good times. She closed her eyes as her imagination ran riot: Peter hugging her and kissing her in the long green grass, the birds singing, She felt a gentle breeze and the warm sun on her face.
Then the birds stopped singing.
There was an eerie silence. All she could hear was the soft breeze. Her heart pounded as she opened her eyes. Her blood froze, and she couldn’t speak. In front of her were two Narzuks in black uniforms. As they grabbed her, she screamed in fear, sobbing, begging for mercy, Peter’s words ringing in her head, “Don’t leave the house.” She yearned to be back in the safety of her home, with her children.
But it was too late.
Now her children were without a mother and a father.
As the alien grabbed her with its thin, wiry arms she looked at its large black soulless eyes, which had red veins running through them. It had light green flaking skin. Its long sharp teeth chattered in excitement as it got closer to her, drooling saliva.
She gasped as another alien put a device into her neck and she became unconscious. They dragged her into a ship and placed her in an incubation capsule, along with a hundred others in the hold of the ship. The ship took off and accelerated at an astonishing speed. It sped over the green hills and mountains of the Welsh countryside, heading for Birmingham.
Hovering over the now-devastated city was a black alien ship over a mile wide, dominating the city, putting much of it in the shade. It emitted grinding and screeching noises, as if it had a cog loose, as much smaller craft of all shapes and sizes navigated back and forth around the ship, like bees around a nest.
Jennifer woke up and was shunted from the small alien ship. Her eyes were open, and she could hear herself screaming, but nobody took any notice. Her arms were strapped down so she could not move. She saw an alien commander in a black uniform, with greenish skin and big black eyes, looking at her perfect skin and well-bred features, like a scientist examining an animal in a laboratory.
She noticed a red armband on the sleeve, then her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the symbol. A swastika?
He ran a DNA scanner over her which beeped and flashed green; he nodded, smiling, his sharp teeth chattering. He pressed a button on the incubation pod and she fell asleep again, sedated. The craft landed, and the alien commander pointed to a larger transport ship.
‘Mothership,’ and pointed upwards. They looked up to see the mothership in high Earth orbit, like a small moon passing through the sky. The incubator pod moved through the air, controlled by another alien soldier in a grey uniform, who looked different from the others, subservient to the black-uniformed Narzuks. Jennifer’s incubator was stowed on the transport ship along with a thousand others from all over the UK. They all had perfect features like Jennifer, perfect skin hair, teeth, nails, and body: perfect DNA.
But the drugged women’s faces were expressionless and empty.
High above the United States Eastern seaboard, in Earth orbit, the massive black mothership, one hundred miles wide, hummed and ground away. Transport ships from all over the world docked to the ship and offloaded their precious human cargo. Thousands of women were being taken inside the black monolith spaceship above them, taken from every continent, all with perfect skin and facial features.
Jennifer, half-conscious, was aware of being transported down a long corridor, before falling unconscious again. When she woke, her heart pounded as she tried to move, but she was strapped down, covered by two wide straps, covering her now naked body. It was humid, hot, and she was lying flat inside a clear incubation pod, she could just move her head sideways, and she could see another pod, with another woman, next to her. She tried to speak, but no one could hear her. She looked into the eyes of the woman next to her—a look of terror, helplessness, and a mouthed “Help me!” A shiver went down her spine, and she took a sharp intake of breath, as an alien, green-skinned, with a white medical type uniform looked at her. She looked into the black eyes, and she thought she could detect a smile as the alien pressed a button, and a metal tube slid into her arm.
She screamed in pain, as it extracted DNA samples. The being collected the tube, smiled again and walked to the next pod. When she moved her head to the left side, she could see two tubes, one coloured blue, with a water symbol next to it. She sucked it and cool water trickled down her throat. Next to it was another wider tube, which she sucked and a porridge-like substance came out. ‘I will survive,’ she whispered in the hot sticky atmosphere.
As she looked up she could see she was inside a huge cathedral, cave-like structure, with a high roof. Lights flickered, and there were multiple floors on either side going up to the roof, like some huge, grotesque Italian Opera House, but on a vast scale. An eerie light shone about the cavern, the incubation pods muffling the screams of a million women. If only she had listened to Pete, her hero, strong blue-eyed, rugged and handsome. He had something of the red-blooded warrior about him. And the name he kept whispering in his sleep. Caius, Who is Caius?


SIRIUS TECHNOLOGY – weapons that could be used against aliens-PR7 RAIL GUN RIFLE

Below is an extract from my dominion first blood series where Vinnie and Peter try out some new
weapons to fight the aliens.

Vinnie and Peter in fresh military fatigues are in a TV room with other Special Forces soldiers. Like many soldiers who have seen a massive amount of combat, they have a wired look to their eyes, known as the ‘thousand-yard stare.’ Peter and Vinnie have it too—they have seen their fair share of combat in Iraq and Afghanistan.
And Yemen, don’t forget Yemen.
The assembled soldiers are amongst the best of the best of the Elite Special Forces, chosen, like Peter, for the Sirius project. Peter waves to someone he recognises from his Iraq stint. They sup their tea while watching a training video on project Sirius weapons technology, and how to operate them.
“This is the PR7 Rifle. It uses electrically-driven, electromagnetic, rail gun technology. This gives a constant acceleration along the entire length of the device, significantly increasing the muzzle velocity. It does not use explosive propellant—it is a strictly kinetic weapon. Each projectile travels at 2000 mph with a muzzle velocity of 1000lbs, enough kinetic force, in one bullet, to take out an armoured vehicle. It takes a magazine of thirty 20mm uranium-enriched projectiles and is powered by a unique electro-mag battery which is inserted into the stock, here. It can also fire a grenade with a range of 1000 yards.”
‘Kinetic energy,’ Vinnie raises his eyebrows. He has a natural interest in new rifle technology, being the best marksman in the regiment.
Peter has read a New Scientist article about a space-based weapon that was fired from a satellite orbiting Earth—a non-explosive, twenty-foot long tungsten projectile, which would hit earth travelling at Mach ten. Devastating. Project Thor or something. But a rifle? He has used the PR7 once before, at Buckingham Palace, but it would be good to get some proper training.
A Project Sirius officer addresses the soldiers.
‘I am Lieutenant Ross. We will go outside so you can train on the weapons. Alien activity is low in this area, but we will warn you of any incoming.’

Peter and Vinnie are in the dry, arid Mojave Desert. There is a light breeze, but the desert air dries Peter’s mouth. Peter looks up at the blue sky; a vulture is circling above. ‘Nice place,’ thinks Peter, as he gulps some water, and puts on his sunglasses. He examines his solid titanium PR7 rifle. He adjusts his sight, loads a grenade, aims and fired the grenade launcher, which takes out a bus—and half the hillside with it. A plume of dust fills the air around them. Peter rubs his shoulder, the recoil from the shot is ferocious—even though he has the strength of ten men, he feels the recoil.
‘Use a pad for the stock, Vinnie, it’s got a vicious kick,’ says Peter. Vinnie nods and then destroys a tank with two shots from the rifle.
‘Now that’s what I’m talking about,’ Peter admires his gun.
‘Nice rifle,’ says Vinnie, ‘I think I’m in love,’ rubbing his shoulder.
A siren sounds as Peter is about to fire another round. ‘We’ve got incoming!’ shouts the Lieutenant as soldiers run for the bunker. Peter just manages to dive into the bunker, and the huge steel door seals behind him as a black alien fighter flies past.



Below is an extract from my dominion first blood series where the President asks questions about the
Sirius Project. It aso captures the atmosphere of what an alien invasion what actually be like.

President Wilson, his young son and three rock-faced and black-suited secret service personnel are going down in a secure White House elevator, deep below the White House. Everyone looks tense. As the steel doors part, and they get out, they see a silver steel train with the American Flag and Seal of the President of the United States emblazoned on it. There are shouted orders and frantic activity as boxes and personnel are stowed onto the train, a stoney-faced Secret Service officer steps towards the President.
‘This way sir.’ Wilson and Scott are seated in the presidential car, along with boxes piled high with equipment. The President wipes his brow and gestures towards his staff, ‘Leave us please,’ as he leans forward to his friend General Scott, then faints as his head falls on the table. The knock to his head brings him around.
‘Frank! Are you ok?’ asks Scott.
President Wilson retrieves a pill from his jacket pocket, his hand shaking.
‘Anything I can to do to help?’ a concerned Scott helps the President get seated. The train moves away and accelerates to a tremendous speed as they are forced back into their seats. Wilson takes a drink of water and the colour returns to his face, but his voice is weak.
‘Bill, protocol dictates that I should hand over to the Vice President if I’m incapacitated, but I don’t trust him. He’s a backstabber, unreliable, power gone to his head. Anyway, he is in London.’
‘We managed to get him on an X-37D, but we’ve had no contact for 24 hours,’ replies General Scott.
‘The Secretary of Defense, Fraser? Nice guy, but I’m not sure he could cope—he’s also missing. I need loyal and competent people by my side. But when the time comes I want you to take over,’ he says, looking at his General. Wilson leans back and takes another one of his pills. Scott nodded.
‘So Bill, what is this Sirius Protocol, and are we ready?’
‘Well, sir.’
‘You call me Frank in private from now on please – we’ve known each other long enough, and I don’t know how long I’ve got.’
‘Okay, Frank. The Sirius Project was first mooted in the 1950s after Roswell. It was classified Above Top Secret so not many people knew about it.’
‘You mean you actually found a spacecraft—aliens?’
‘An alien craft was found. It was damaged but we recovered it and we have been doing research at Area 51 ever since. The aliens were dead but we have kept them preserved for research. Then in the 1970s, there was a secret meeting of the five permanent members of the United Nations Security Council where it was agreed to set up and fund Project Sirius. Since then France, UK and China have pulled out, thinking it was a waste of money. Only Russia stuck with us. Surprised eh? Over the years we have built some ingenious weapons, some with technology we gained from the alien spacecraft. But to be honest we’re not sure if it will work in practice, against the aliens I mean. Hold on…’
A panel and a blue phone flash. General Scott picks up.
‘It’s Chip again sir, multiple alien spacecraft have entered the Earth’s atmosphere, satellites are down, most communications are down.’ Wilson leaned forward towards Scott. ‘How come space command can contact us?’
‘Radio technology, the old-fashioned stuff seems to work best in these circumstances. Sir, can I launch the squadrons of F22s?’
‘Do it,’ ordered the President.
‘What chance do they have?’
‘We have equipped the F22s with the shielding technology we found on the Roswell ship. It’s controlled from Sirius headquarters. That’s where we’re heading now,’ Scott loosened his tie and took off his jacket.
The President’s son, Michael, walks in with an aide.
‘Dad, will the aliens be friends with us?’
‘I don’t think so, son.’ Wilson stood up and addresses his son.
‘You will need to be brave.’ The president digs in his pocket and puts a Secret Service badge on Michael.
‘You stick close to me, you’re my new Secret Service agent. Here’s your badge, son.’
They salute each other. General Scott smiles and salutes as well.
‘Where’s mummy?’ asks Michael.
‘She’s in New York son. We’re trying our best to find her and bring her home safe.’ The President looks pale as he hugs his son.
The red phone flashes as an aide walks in.
‘It’s your UN Security Council conference call sir, not sure they’re all there sir.’
President Wilson picks up the phone in eager anticipation of the events in other parts of the world.
‘Prime Minister Johnson, hello Boris, how are you faring?’
The British Prime Minister sounds out of breath.
‘Hello Frank, we’ve evacuated Downing Street and we’re at a secure location – a Sirius base outside London. It’s pretty chaotic, an alien spaceship has appeared over London, the population is terrified, scared the shit out of me, to be honest. We’re engaging now with a squadron of Eurofighters, we’re hoping this new Sirius technology you gave us will protect our planes. What’s that? What’s that noise? Christ! I’ve got to go!’
Wilson looks up at Scott, who shakes his head.
‘Anyone else there?’
‘Yakimov here!’
‘Alexey! How are you faring?’
‘Frank, not well. We have evacuated Moscow, alien craft are everywhere. Most of our Air Force is shot down. Were bunkered down in Siberia. We’re hoping this Sirius technology will help us, our Sukhoi’s have the new technology fitted, the shields, but it’s not working against these alien bastards! I know we have had our differences in the past, but the world must unite now Frank, else we are doomed. To be honest …’
The line went dead. Wilson and Scott shake their heads in dismay.
‘I need a stiff drink,’ the president mutters, head in hands.
‘Are you sure—in your condition?’ as General Scott wanders over to a drinks cabinet.
‘We need to find a solution to this alien threat, Bill.’ Scott is silent as he pours them a glass of whisky from a decanter.
‘Ice please,’ says Wilson as his friend passes him a glass of single malt—Glenmorangie. They sat in silence, trying to comprehend the enormity of their responsibility to the American people, and to the world at large.
‘You know Bill, when I was talking to Yakimov, I felt a sense of camaraderie, like I’ve never felt before. Like we’re all in this together. Maybe this crisis is what the world needs to bring people together.’
‘Assuming anyone survives of course,’ replies General Scott, then adds, ‘The enemy of mine enemy is my friend.’
‘Yes Bill, I take your point, but it’s more than that.’
President Wilson leans forward. ‘I heard from Smith at the CIA of a British guy. Captain Morgan—an SAS soldier of superhuman ability, the strength of ten men. Runs as fast as a leopard, indestructible,’ as he took a gulp of whiskey.
‘They call him Bulletproof Pete,’ smiled General Scott. ‘We tried to recruit him before but failed. Smith put a request into the British Government to put him on an X-37D in return for Sirius technology. They agreed. The British stopped funding the Sirius project so they’re short of kit.’
‘We need answers Bill, and fast. I pray to God he’s on his way.’ The President looks earnest, like a father awaiting the safe delivery of a child.
‘God speed Captain Morgan,’ prays Frank Wilson as he finishes his whisky.

An experimental, sleek-looking plane, black as the ace of spades, emerges from an underground hangar, X-37D emblazoned on the fuselage. It looks like a cross between a space shuttle and an SR71 Blackbird, brimming with stealth technology. It launches into the air and quickly accelerates to Mach 3. The skin of the plane shimmers and becomes semi-invisible. Destination: an air force base in the North of England.

The story continues in…


This scenario plays out in space command USA and the UN Office of Outer Space Affairs committee.

In Space Command, Chip punches up a program to transmit prime numbers. He presses a red button and numbers flash up on the screen; they are transmitted on all frequencies.
‘I just hope they are friendly,’ he mutters to himself, a knot of fear in his stomach. He looks around him, at his colleagues. Some are grim-faced, a few younger ones look like rabbits caught in a truck’s headlights. His friend Leonard is dialling his girlfriend under his desk, trying not to be seen.
‘Get out of New York now!’ he whispers.
‘But I have a hair appointment.’
‘Forget your appointment. Get out of New York now. Aliens are coming!’
‘Will they be friends with us? What shoes shall I wear?’
A military space shuttle flies out of the Earth’s atmosphere into space. President Wilson and General Scott watch from the shuttle’s onboard camera.
‘What can you see, Commander?’ asked Wilson.
‘The object is approaching fast: 10,000, 3,000, 1,000 miles. It’s slowing down—it’s huge, sir!’
‘Are you able to send a signal to it?’ asks a white-faced Wilson.
‘Trying on all frequencies. Sir my controls are frozen, I cannot steer the ship. I have lost control. I’m locked in some sort of tractor beam!’ Wilson and Scott look at each other. The joint chiefs stand crowded around the screen.
‘Sir, it’s destroying all the satellites. The ship is opening—Fuck!’
Laser beams emit from the lower section of the massive spaceship. Satellites in the immediate vicinity are destroyed like a bat feeding on mosquitoes. The shuttle drifts helplessly towards an opening in the spaceship. The Space Shuttle disappears inside as the screen goes dark.
Back in the White House, an agitated Scott confronts President Wilson.
‘Shall we launch a nuclear strike, sir?’
‘We are not certain of their intentions yet, let’s wait.’
‘But they have destroyed a bunch of satellites!’ the General exclaims.
The president looks pale and ashen.
‘Shall I invoke the Sirius Protocol?’ Scott looks Wilson in the eye.
‘The Sirius Protocol? I didn’t think that was real I thought it was just a ruse to get extra funding for the Defense Department.’
‘Oh, it’s real sir, a preparation for an alien invasion. After Roswell, we knew we had to prepare for this eventuality one day. With your permission, I am invoking it now sir. We have to move you to a safe location before it’s too late.’
Wilson appears shaky and drawn.
‘Do it. Fetch my son, he’s in the East Wing. And my wife, she’s at a charity event in New York. Do it now!’
As he looks out of the White House window, he realizes that the strange creature, Cassian, was right. The question is are they prepared?

The black monolithic spaceship stays in Earth orbit, unhindered. Eighty smaller, but still huge spacecraft, each one-mile wide, emerge from the mothership at precise intervals, each one as black and ugly as the mothership, making their way around the globe to all the main cities and population centres.

Jayesh Jindal, wearing a smart suit, pin backed hair and glasses, is sitting in her office in Vienna, her brain reeling. She is on her third cup of coffee, well beyond her normal limit of one a day. She is an Indian astrophysicist and works for the UN Office of Outer Space Affairs committee. The office is charged with making first contact with aliens, and Jayesh is its ambassador.
She wipes her brow with a tissue as she strides into the small control centre where her staff of five are in a frenzy of activity.
‘Has the friendship message been translated?’ Jayesh puts her hands on her hips.
‘Yes ma’am. English to Spanish, Mandarin Chinese, Arabic and Hindi,’ says a smart looking Chinese girl with glasses.
‘Transmit now, Li.’
‘Okay ma’am.’
‘Where is your family?’ asks Jayesh.
‘Salzburg, ma’am.’
‘I have a bad feeling about this. Leave now. It will be safer than Vienna. Same for the rest of you. I will pack up. Go!’ she shouts. She watches as her staff grab their bags and rush out the door, then she walks to the window. Down below, crowds of people are running in the streets, in all directions, cops failing miserably to control the traffic, cars crashing, and shops being looted. ‘This is how it starts’, she thinks.

The story continues in


This blog has a go at how an alien invasion would start.

Two junior astronomers based in the communication complex are doing the night shift. Banks of computers and monitors line the walls. Nick, longhaired, scruffy, unshaven and hung over, nods off then sleepily gazes up at his screen.
Nick grimaces at his coffee and then looks at his screen again. ‘Chris, have a look at this. Is this shit coffee making me see things or can you see an object moving towards Earth?’
Chris, even more longhaired, and even scruffier, stares at his screen.
‘You mean that object?
‘Yes, I mean that fucking object—it’s not an asteroid, it’s too solid! Call the boss,’ says Nick.
‘You mean bell end?’ asks Chris.
‘Just call him,’ orders Nick.
Chris is on the phone to his boss. ‘Yes sir, we have a very large object moving towards Earth… about 100,000 kilometres distant and closing fast. Speed? Hold on a minute. 20,000 miles per hour. No, hold on. Sorry sir, it’s changing, 19,000 miles per hour. Can’t be right. How can it be slowing down?’
In Air Force Space Command (AFSPC) sits Chip, a young, muscular, crop-haired space radar operator. He is surrounded by other operators and banks of screens. In the front of the huge room is a screen twenty feet tall and fifty feet wide showing every single satellite and other space objects, and their position in Earth orbit, shown in real time.
Chip gets excited. ‘Sir! I’ve picked something up on the space radar. It’s coming in fast, sir.’ His superior, General Grimbald, looks annoyed.
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘Why’s that?’ asks the General, showing his yellow teeth.
‘Because it’s slowing down, sir!’ General Grimbald looks agitated.
‘Must be a fault in the system,’ he replies, his eyes darting this way and that.
Chip is frustrated. ‘But sir!’
‘Do a full system diagnostic. That’s an order!’ barks the general.
‘But sir that will take three hours!’ Chip is jumping with agitation.
‘Do it! That’s an order! The only reason you got this job, Lieutenant, is because that jumped-up asshole of an uncle of yours is in the White House.’
General Grimbald walks away. His greasy, black hair is in contrast to his pale, unhealthy-looking face. His dark, shifty eyes dart back and forth as if searching for something, he then checks his watch. Chip waits until the General leaves, then discreetly taps out a message on his mobile phone, then decides what he is going to do. Disobeying a direct order could mean a court-martial, but if the Earth was being invaded, he needed to do something.
He finishes the message to his uncle, General Scott, in the White House and decides to wait for an answer. Running a system diagnostic would consume a lot of computing resource. A bead of sweat drops from his forehead, as he looks at his colleagues, hoping he has made the right decision.