The idea of the fledgling Xenonauts organization having an above-ground base in Iceland made sense to those who held the joint organization's purse strings on both sides of the Cold War. The island was, after all, the site of mankind's first encounter with an alien threat, and thus researchers would not have to travel far to study the crash site. Iceland was also remote by global standards, and the base's location was remote by Iceland's standards, so maintaining secrecy was made much easier. Even if some wilderness-dwelling Icelander were to somehow stumble upon the base, such people weren't exactly the sort who made frequent contact with media outlets, or indeed, the rest of humanity in general.
The base itself was essentially a small runway, administrative building and laboratory with security checkpoints in those early days. However, as planning and thought on the subject expanded with the organization's research, an unfortunate flaw in the plan was revealed: aliens are in space, and thus could hypothetically observe items from orbit, meaning that it was only a matter of time until the aliens pinpointed the base's location. So, at great expense, an underground facility was constructed. As the years passed and more thought was put into what, exactly, an alien invasion might entail, the facility was expanded. In those early post-Iceland Incident times, funding was extravagant, and both sides of the Cold War were using the Xenonauts as a test bed for their more outlandish ideas just as much, if not more, than they were using it for its intended purpose.
The possibility of aliens tracking aircraft back to base was considered, and so the funders saw it as the perfect opportunity to test out their theories for underground hangers, and built an (at the time) unnecessarily massive underground hanger facility, complete with underground runways leading up and out through the side of the nearby cliff. Another time, the threat posed by orbital bombardment was under consideration, and so the funders saw it as the perfect excuse to explore their concepts for an ultra-high yield large-scale nuclear bunker. The end result was a base that may very well be the single most resilient fortress in human history.
Things progressed in this manner. A hypothetical problem would be brought up by the Xenonauts, their funding nations' agents would spend lavishly on a countermeasure, and the governments on both sides of the iron curtain tolerated it due to the crippling fear instilled in them by the Incident. However, governments change, under both capitalism and communism, and so a new generation of leadership started grasping the reins of power, and a more skeptical eye was leveled at the so-called "Xenonauts". The last straw finally came in the form of the price tag for the multi-billion dollar experimental underground submarine hanger...which had been constructed for an organization that had no submarines.
After that, funding was cut, and the organization became all but abandoned. The Xenonauts base went from a marvel of modern engineering and technology, to an object lesson on Goverment's astronomical capacity for throwing away taxpayer's money. Then the invasion began, and the base changed form again:
It's the last, best hope for the human race.
---
Xenonauts Commander John "Jack" Miller had never experienced a direct, sustained orbital bombardment, but it was going about how he'd imagined. The enemy, in high orbit, was utterly pulverizing the little corner of Iceland where the last stronghold of human resistance rested. He and his xenonauts were not entirely undisturbed by the awesome display of kinetic firepower. The base shook as if experiencing an earthquake. Yet, it still stood resolute. The base's engineers had chosen their location well, and dug deep. In addition, the base's comically over-engineered structure and fortifications had (due to the biases of the time) been designed with the assumption that hypothetical alien space bombers would be dropping high-yield nuclear warheads, not rounds from kinetic weapons.
Of course, the alien's guns could hardly be considered weak. However, by the absurdly high standards of the base's designers, it would have been considered a bombardment of middling power. As a result, despite twenty minutes of sustained bombardment, the aliens had achieved nothing except flinging an awe-inspiring amount of dirt into the air, absolutely atomizing the idyllic boreal forest that the base was located in, triggering minor earthquakes that could be felt all the way in Reykjavík, and - admittedly - destroying most of the hidden weapons and cameras that littered the surface.
The tremors continued for several minutes after the bombardment concluded. When those had stopped, Air Chief Green released his white-knuckled grip on the command console and grinned at Jack.
"Well, that's one way to test the bomb yield it can handle."
Jack cracked a smile at his friend, appreciating the attempt at levity, even if it was forced. The Chief, just like Jack, was struggling valiantly to contain his rising panic. True, the base had withstood the bombardment, but the bombardment itself was of relatively minimal consequence. What really mattered was the way the entire dynamic of the war had just shifted in less than an hour. What had once been a game of cat and mouse that the xenonauts were (arguably) winning, had now been transformed into a siege. Everything was teetering in the balance, almost more so than on that terrible day of the bombings, when human civilization was brought to the brink.
If the xenonauts were destroyed, Jack was confident that organized resistance to the invasion would collapse. The aliens' goals were still a mystery, but whatever fate awaited humanity in a world where the xenonauts were defeated was not one worth considering, Jack was equally confident of that.
They caught us with our pants down, but we still have cards to play.
In anticipation of a bombardment just like this one, the base's detection equipment was quite some distance away, in a wide radius around the base's general area. Which was why the Xenonauts were able to detect the dozens of alien transport craft rapidly approaching the base's location.
Jack sighed. "Shit. Ok people, we've drilled for this, let's get ready to receive our guests."
He turned to Combat Chief Wilson. "They're gonna be digging around for the entrance. Get the Doormen ready for when they start knocking."
The one-armed man gave a ghost of a smile and nodded.
---
Grek-Dahl had half expected the landing to be opposed, like it was in the vids, but instead the shuttles reached the ground, and he and his men exited with little fanfare, the shuttles bolting back for orbit to prepare for the second wave, should it be needed. He spared the rest of his combat teams a glance, and was reassured by what he saw. Not a single one of the feckless, imbecilic vorcha could be found among their ranks. Only proper batarian warriors like himself, and a few hulking krogan. It was only rational. This was the citadel of the shadowy enemy they had been unknowingly fighting for months. He had come to loathe the hairy brown primates who called this miserable rock home more than even the vorcha during his time here, but he still had to give the ones he faced today an ounce of grudging respect, warrior-to-warrior, despite his hatred. The walls of their great fortress had been strong, despite their primitive origin, and even in the face of a ruthless bombardment and total encirclement there was no sound of desperate pleading in the local babble to be heard over the radio. He had heard such pleas before when fighting the cowardly so-called "soldiers" of the race's many nations' armies more times then he cared to count, and it never got any less revolting.
But here, there was silence.
It was refreshing, for a time. But then he and the rest of the attack force began sweeping the area for one of the entrances their intelligence said was supposed to be here, and as more time passed with no success, the silence stopped being refreshing and became annoying.
Grek-Dahl finally broke the silence by speaking with his team leaders. "Where the hell is the door?"
One of his fellow batarians answered first. "Perhaps their fortress is not as impregnable as we were led to believe? It's possible we simply vaporized whatever primitive installation was here."
Another batarian grunted a laugh. "That'd be way too lucky a break for this miserable cock-up of an invasion. Those captives we tortured probably just fed us a bunch of bullshit we wanted to hear. I'd bet there was never a base here to begin with."
"Which would mean we just spent twenty minutes bombing a random bit of wilderness into the stone age for no reason." A krogan interjected. "Hmmph. Just when you think we couldn't possibly make ourselves look any more stupid..."
A few meters away, a warrior raised his voice. "Hey, I found something!"
The bored members of the attack force headed over, crowding around the batarian. He reached down to his feet, digging through the dirt with his gauntlet. He revealed metal beneath it.
"I bet this is a door, and I'd also bet that they covered it in a thick layer of dirt to camouflage it. The shock wave must have stripped most of it away."
The krogan who had spoken earlier harrumphed. "It will probably just be plain old steel, but who knows how thick it is. It could be a while until we can cut through it. Breaching with a charge might be better."
Fortunately (or, perhaps, unfortunately) for the attackers, the defenders did them the courtesy of opening the door for them. Both the one they stood huddled around, and the second one nearby that they had yet to discover. The assembled troops scampered away in surprise, before cautiously walking back and peering through. Behind the doors lay a tunnel, a surprisingly long one at that.
The krogan laughed aloud. "Well, I might've seen more obvious traps then that, but I can't recall. I say we roll a few dozen disruptor bombs down the tube and call it a day."
Grek-Dahl glared at him. "That it is not your decision to make. Nor is it mine. I must consult our superiors."
The krogan rumbled another, less genuine laugh. "Tell me, batarian, does your kind's tongue even have a word for 'initiative'?"
Grek-Dahl's eyes twitched, and he drew breath to berate the impudent alien, only to pause at something he'd heard. Something from the tunnels. Every member of the attack force inched forward in morbid curiosity as the noise grew louder. Grek-Dahl couldn't help but lean in himself to listen.
It...sounds like one of those primitive air-breathing engines the enemy's aircraft use...no, it's impossible!
Rationally, Grek-Dahl knew it was not a jet plane approaching them - it would have been here already if it was - but he couldn't help the panicked thought that he might be wrong.
"Run you fools!"
The noise was a roar now, and the gathered troops bolted. Seconds later, a hulking mass soaring out of the tunnel. It was not a jet as Grek-Dahl had feared, but some manner of primitive armored war machine. It was not alone, as a second machine came flying out of the other tunnel barely a second later. The first machine landed on an unfortunate krogan that had picked the wrong direction to run, and got flattened for his trouble. The machine drifted a few meters, leaving a trail of krogan viscera in its wake. For the few seconds Grek-Dahl had to look at it, he registered what it was: a primitive tank, albeit with obvious attempts at upgrades using stolen technology. Then he and a dozen other aliens were massacred by a canister shot fired in a crossfire from the two tanks. After firing their shots, the two machines charged, routing their enemies before them.
---
Xenonauts Sergeant Russo had not fooled himself into believing he was xenonauts combat team material. He was a recently-retired army tanker in his late 30s who would make a middling infantryman at best. However, he was still quite familiar with guard duty, which combined with his desire to fight for humanity any way he could after the bombings meant that he accepted the xenonaut's offer to hire him on for the security teams. However he was pleasantly surprised to discover that he would be guarding his post with a tank.
In a rare moment of pre-invasion generosity, the US liaison officer to the Xenonauts had managed to scrape up two of the brand-spanking-new M1 Abrams tanks for use by the xenonauts in testing. In the post-invasion world, the state-of-the-art tanks had made excellent guinea pigs for testing theoretical uses of alien technology with armored vehicles, thought their bulk meant they couldn't practically be brought on missions. Yet.
Schneider, his driver and fellow American, was laughing maniacally as he managed to run over another alien.
"That's right fuckers, get flattened just like you flattened Denver!"
Nyurgen, his gunner and an ex-Soviet tanker who spoke so little English that Russo found it easier to give orders with taps and hand signals, was muttering to himself in a mixture of what sounded like Russian and presumably whatever Siberian language he had as his apparent mother tongue. If his estimation of Nyurgen's personality and the occasional translations he got from other Soviet xenonauts were accurate, then it was probably mostly swearing. The gunner didn't stop muttering, even as he slaughtered anything that he could see with the coaxial machine gun.
Borucki, the tank's Polish loader, who had spoken so few words since Russo had met him that he was reasonably certain he could count them on his fingers, loaded another canister round and slapped Nyurgen on the shoulder. The turret whirled on the largest group of aliens Nyurgen could find, and were promptly turned into a large group of dead aliens as the main gun's deafening report sounded. Russo also watched as, not too far away, Sergeant Haas - the East German ex-tanker who loved to complain in their downtime (only half jokingly) about having to use 'Yankee' tanks 'constructed through the exploitation of the working class' - and his tank went on a rampage of their own.
The aliens eventually (sort of) got their shit together and started looking for whatever passed for cover in the desolate wasteland their bombardment had created. One of the rhinos started glowing, making it immediately obvious that he had those strange mass effect...superpowers, for lack of a better term, that Russo had heard so much about. He flared bright, and a wave of swirling power slammed into the front of the tank, forcing Schneider to stop cold. Russo could hear the tanks hull shrieking as whatever insane alien space-nonsense had just been done to it did...whatever the hell it did. He had no idea , but it sure as hell didn't sound good. He lightly punched Nyurgen in the left shoulder, which was Russo-Nyurgen for 'kill the fucker right in front of us.' The man didn't need to be told twice, laying into the big bastard with the coax. The idiotic oaf of an alien charged the tank in response. Russo almost laughed, but started to get nervous as the creature showed no signs of stopping.
Fortunately, the rhino's shield's buckled at the last second under the withering fire and Nyurgen replaced his organs with a few dozen 7.62mm rounds. If the idiot had any intentions of playing the 'am I really dead?' game, Schneider ended them by gunning it forward and crushing the big guy's skull beneath the left tread, which only produced even more roaring laughter from the vengeful driver. Haas's tank was busy engaging the remaining aliens, who were firing some kind of...artificial fireballs and other exotic projectiles at the offending tank, succeeding in scoring Haas's armor, but little else. Russo signaled Schneider to bring the tank over to assist Haas, only to have Command's tinny voice rattle in his ear.
"Attention Doormen unit, enemy aircraft approaching, withdraw."
Russo grunted to himself in mild annoyance, then spoke. "Punch it Schneider, back through the tunnels!"
Just as quickly as they'd arrived, the two human tanks vanished into the tunnels, whose armored doors slammed shut.
---
Former US Navy Commander (recently unretired) and newly press-ganged Xenonauts Captain Jeremy Gold grunted in satisfaction at the two sinking alien submersibles his beloved (formerly USS) Dace had just sunk. Unfortunately, as the submarine's detection equipment got a handle on what they were looking at, his satisfaction proved short-lived. The hidden armored door to the Xenonauts submarine hanger had a man-sized hole cut in it. The older man sighed and took the waiting headset from one of his officers.
"Command, this is Dace, you have probable intruders in the submarine hanger. Say again, probable intruders in the submarine hanger."
---
XENOPEDIA: X-MBT-1 "Cerberus"
The Xenonauts Main Battle Tank Mk 1 is a rare example of me getting something on my Research Department Budgetary Christmas List in the days before the proverbial blank check we enjoy in the post-invasion world. At first glance, an MBT would not seem to be suitable for the sort of missions our troops tend to go on. Which is 100% correct. Or, at least, we know it is now. In the dark days of penny pinching before the war, it was not so obvious. Thus, the idea for using two of the not-so-secret new US military MBTs as test beds for hypothetical uses and upgrades for armored vehicles in the face of an alien invasion was floated to our miserly purse-holders by yours truly.
It seems the planets were aligned that day, as they actually gave me the damned things, much to my surprise. While we've had no practical opportunity to use them in combat due to their size, my team and I have still used them as guinea pigs for the countless ideas the alien materials and technology have given us. The advanced ceramics the tanks came with have been replaced with salvaged alien materials that are just as - if not more - resilient, for a fraction of the weight. We judged the weapons systems as they were to be adequate enough - for the moment - in terms of firepower and accuracy, so the primary usage we've found for the Mass Effect in this tank is reducing its weight by an absurd degree. The M1 was already quite fast for a tank, but now it moves and handles with speed comparable to a significantly lighter vehicle.
By far the most useful result produced from the experiment we conducted with these tanks was the invention of mass effect-assisted suspension and shock absorbers. You can be quite a bit rougher on these vehicles than the base model, and the transmission and other vitals will be just fine. Of course, our drivers' tendency to do 'tricks' with the tanks has been a source of headaches for my staff, but it has also unintentionally provided useful test data so I can't complain too loudly
With the increased security measures post-bombardment, my guinea pigs have been pressed into service as an actual combat model. I'm somewhat dubious about it, both because of the experimental nature of the platforms, and because I'm skeptical of how useful they'll be. Surely, if the enemy has attacked us to the point where we must guard our gates with tanks, we've got bigger problems.
Speaking of 'gates', some of my more annoying staff members have dubbed the model 'Cerberus' due to the fact that most of their time outside of the lab is spent parked in front of the proverbial gates to our proverbial Underworld. As much as the metaphor annoys me, I can't deny its accuracy.
