7:15 a.m.

Democratic Republic of the Congo

30 miles southeast of Kisangani

The trio of rugged SUVs bounced down the muddy trail that passed for a road in Africa. The vehicles each contained four passengers, a driver and a trio of highly armed soldiers. However, as it the case of the one in the middle of the line, a driver, a pair of heavily armed bodyguards, and a ruggedly dressed man who was their charge. The man that they were sitting around was dressed as ruggedly as the two guards; he wore a pair of mud-caked combat boots, wore Jungle Camo, and was armed similarly as well, he packed both a .357 magnum and a reliable AK-47 automatic assault rifle, stockless and slung partly over his shoulder. Though his eyes were shielded by a pair of wrap-around nonreflective sunglasses, it was still possible to tell what his mood was, a state of anxiety.

It was being discovered that the populations of the local villages that lined the Congo Basin were disappearing, being slaughtered by unknown foes. Except for the occasional puddle or smear of blood, there were few other indications as to who was responsible. Not even bodies.

Gregory "Bullseye" Keaston was upset because he didn't have a clue as to who the culprits could be. As a man who prided himself in knowing what every last thing that was happening in the Congo, the mystery deeply disturbed him. No one went out into the jungle on patrol. Nor to even use the bathroom. Even Keaston wasn't taking any chances. He had left nearby Kisanagi with a full guard entourage, all of his bodyguards armed to the teeth. He was taking these precautions for a variety of reasons, most and foremost was the fact that he preferred to live to sixty.

Everyone was nervous, on edge. They didn't know which of the remaining handful of villages would be next, if they themselves were next. The four Merc bases in the Congo kept near continuous radio contact.

Keaston was the Leader of an Elite company of mercenaries, known throughout the region as "5 Commando". Lately they had been hired by the Congolese Government to foot security in the sparsely populated forest that made up much of the territory. Keaston personally disliked such a menial job, rather fighting in the numerous civil wars that regularly occurred in Africa, and not brandishing weapons at villagers to keep them in line. Still, Security paid the bills.

But the current situation with the butchered villages was beyond Keaston's scope. He couldn't understand who would benefit from such atrocious actions, or even who it was.

Keaston only knew one thing: There were now secret, unknown forces at work in the Congo.

Soon, their transport arrived at a heavily guarded gate. Beyond was a sprawling network of buildings and roads, carved out of the thick rainforest. A Among them was a small airstrip, reserved for helicopters and VTOL (vertical take-off and landing) aircraft. As their vehicle pulled into the base, Keaston could see a pair of Harrier jump-jets on the strip, surplus from the Royal Air Force. The other two were missing, probably still on patrol.

The brown SUV stopped in front of a rather small building that served as the base Command Center. Keaston opened the door and stepped out into a rather humid morning. He knew that he would be sweating before nine.

A Merc hurried out of the building to greet his CO then firmly saluted Keaston.

"At ease, soldier."

Keaston entered the structure, quickly making his way to the small room that served as his office at Alpha Site, 5 Commando's main base of operations. The few decorations were mainly a mix of mounted antique rifles and shotguns, as well as a small, worn model ship that sat on a small lockbox in the corner.

Keaston plopped down in the small but comfortable chair that was the room's only apparent comfort. He shrugged, seeing the stack of reports that had gathered on his desk in the three days that had spent in Kinshasa, the DRC's capital. The Congolese President had called Keaston and several other defense contractors and ranking generals to a secret meeting to discuss the security of the Congo. He could tell that the President was nervous, nervous about the events taking place half a world away in the Caribbean.

Keaston's observation of a sweaty Congolese President reinforced his view on a key human characteristic: Man fears what he sees and cannot understand.

You fear the jungle because you cannot see more than ten yards into it. That was why men only ever traveled into the Jungle heavily armed to the teeth with various weapons of their choice.

He began to wonder how he could use this current situation to gain leverage over the leader of the DRC, perhaps to gain more power in the Congo, when a nervous-looking Merc hurried in and saluted him. It was Sergeant Jack Defoe, the ranking CO of Alpha Site and the guy in charge when Bullseye himself wasn't available. They went back to the early days of the firs Congo war, and had been good buddies since. He was one of the few men Keaston would fully trust with his life.

"At ease, report."

"Sir," he started, "We sent out a Harrier patrol at oh-seven-thirty, sir. The patrol never returned."

This only annoyed Keaston. "Have you tried hailing them?"

"Yes sir, we even contacted the airstrips in the immediate area, as well as our auxiliary camps. No one at any of them has reported contact."

"What about radar, don't tell me they pulled a Houdini on that too?"

"That's what I meant sir, they vanished. We were preparing to send up our other two Jets when you arrived unexpectedly. I came here immediately to request you approval for the mission."

"Granted. Things are screwed up enough as it is, I don't want to lose a couple of valuable pilots to jungle fever. Dismissed."

The last word was barely out of Keaston's mouth when alarm sirens begat to go off all over the base. He and the Merc officer who reported sprung into action, double-timing it up two floors to the Command Room. People either sat at monitor stations watching computer screens or shouted into radios or telephones, but all of them were noisy. Keaston and Defoe walked up to the chief Monitor.

"Get the Congolese Air Force on he line, we got a situation-"

"One lone plane, traveling south, speed five-eighty-"

"Where are they, they're not on radar-"

Keaston stormed up to an operator, the Merc was talking furiously to the person on the other end.

"What the hell do you mean those Mig Jets are unavailable? Half the Congo's being invaded!"

"Soldier, what in hell is going on?"

Sir, glad to see a friendly face. One of the Harrier patrol planes reappeared on radar sir. He's radioed that he is being attacked."

"What? By who?"

He's not making any sense, something about Manta Rays."

"Manta Rays? What the Hell?"

"That's what's he's saying Sir." The Merc walked over to a circular radar screen and pointed to a tight cluster of dots on the screen.

"This is them, sir. They're too small to be piloted jets. Maybe drones?"

"The Congo Army doesn't have drones," Defoe said.

Keaston went for the radio mike and began speaking to the distressed flyer. "Pilot, this is Bullseye, report again. Who is attacking you?"

"A shaky voice crackled fro the other end.

"I don't know sir they came out of nowhere. There's at least a dozen of them."

"Where's your wingman?"

"He's dead sir, they got to him first. They're toying with us. I'm going mach one and they're flying circles around me-" The pilot's voice became increasingly hysterical. "Oh my god there closing in, holy-"

The line suddenly turned to static as a blip disappeared from the screen.

"Holy shit, we lost him," was the only words Defoe said.

Memories of the failed mission in Tibet flooded back to Keaston Flying Mantas. The Sentinel. He prayed that it wasn't this. Not now.

"Sir the blips are still on radar, bearing two-two-six. Shit, they're heading for us!

"The ETA," Keaston asked, half-shouting.

"Two minutes sir!"

"Okay, that's it, Battle Stations, everyone! Activate the SAMS, prepare to fire on my command." Keaston barked orders, and his underlings obeyed immediately.

We're receiving target telemetry, visuals still thirty seconds away. The bandits aren't generating heat for the SAMS to lock on. They're not registering on the IR sensors."

"Then activate all available AA Guns., They don't need heat." In all of his years, Bullseye had never heard of a plane that produced no heat. Even the Stealth Fighters the Americans used produced visible heat. What the hell were these things?

Suddenly a new noise filled the now crowded Control Room. A proximity alarm.

"Now what," shouted Bullseye.

"Sir we're detecting multiple targets approaching overland, twelve hundred yards and closing fast."

"How many of these things now?"

"At least a half dozen Sir, range one thousand, Damn, they're fast."

Send a message to Kinshasa," he told the radio operator. "Tell them we're under attack by unknown forces, Will hold as long as possible."

"Yes sir," he replied.

"Now mobilize forces to combat those approaching overland."

"The range is five hundred yards, visible any second."

Keaston hurried to an observation window. What he saw in the distance scared him.

Whatever they were they were ripping through everything, trees, shrubs, ground foliage, all of it was sent flying through the treetops by the approaching bandits, sent flying through the air like missiles. And then they were here.

Keaston barely saw them, they were moving so swiftly under their own kinetic force. What he saw was what looked like a half dozen giant cannonballs had just flew from the treeline, several had enough free space to roll to a halt, the other three not so fortunate. One ripped into a barracks and out the other side, sending the contents of it flying before stopping. Another had slammed into the side of the Mess Hall, punching a hole through it and disappearing inside. The last had rolled down the short airstrip and rammed the doors of a small closed hangar, narrowly missing a Huey helicopter, nearly bowing them in.

Keaston instantly recognized them for what they were. In the last second of normal life he glimpsed the blank eyes that belonged to the rest of the army, His army. And then he knew it. The End had begun. It was his last thought as the various creatures began to rip his world apart.

A split second later the two-story, wood-framed Mess Hall simply exploded outwards, chunks of flaming debris showered down on the surrounding structures, setting them ablaze in the process. On cue, the next Tank fired its Ring Laser, almost completely destroying the barracks it had just ripped through, along with the nearly three dozen soldiers still inside.

Another explosion ripped through Command itself, blowing out the entire upper level and instantly killing everyone inside. Keaston and Defoe had split to the central stairwell when everything clicked in their heads at seeing It's minions return for them. They were halfway down to the First Floor when the explosion above sent them flying. Burning debris and glass rained down on them and they hurriedly got of the now hazardous stairwell.

Chaos and pandemonium reigned outside. The Tanks had quickly made short work of the Mercs who despite a valiant fight, had succumbed in the end. The Creatures had proceeded to make short work of everything else. But even as they searched through the charred ruins of the facility, they discovered that their primary targets were not among the dead.

Their quarry, despite all odds, had somehow escaped.

In the hours after a message was sent to the Congolese Government from the 5 Commando Main Base, more reports of attacks by an unknown force began to surface. Rumors of mass slaughter and destruction taking place in the jungles of Central Africa were slow to make it to the news in those first crucial hours of what would eventually be called the Siege. It would be days before the story hit full light. Days further before the Governments of Earth could take action.

Just like Xanadu wanted.

Well, thisis where I left off for a while. Some of the changes have helped answer some of the questions about things that should have never come up. This story is far from dead. Stay tuned for future updates.