Invasion Day: An Oral History of the Veech War by Micah Gurley (good books for high schoolers .TXT) 📕

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 technology 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.