Plates rattled in the house, followed by a woman’s laughter.

Sergeant Casey could distinctly hear someone placing silverware on the large dining room table as he lowered himself into the bushes next to the house and scanned the yard, detecting no movement.

Slowly, he made his way to the corner of the house and crawled to the edge of the yard. Years spent in reconnaissance had taught Casey to ignore the minor discomforts that accompanied a Gilli suit; the feeling that he had become a home for half the bugs in the state and various itches were something he could live with for the moment.

It was dark enough for the security team to activate their night vision equipment. While the night goggles were good for detecting movement, they were a distinct detriment to wearer; losing depth perception among the worse of the problems, but the nature of the mission required a constant eye on the actors once they left the house. The team existed to keep the unwanted out and the participants within vicinity of the house.

Casey searched the woods for any sign of light, then pulled the goggles over his eyes and performed the same search. This time, he saw the hump of a figure lying a little too far into the yard. “Number four, move back a pace.” The soldier responded with slow movements, but soon regained the cover of the brush.

“Casey,” came a voice on his radio. “We are almost ready to make the flyby. You know what to do.”

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The sergeant recognized Turner’s voice and clicked his microphone twice in response.

Behind the house, the load master who had been fixing the fake saucer had rigged a light that would slide down a cable and over the house, then stop in the ravine where it would automatically shut off. Supposedly, the lights of the saucer would turn on at that same moment, but like most military actions, Casey thought it would be a miracle if the setup worked as expected.

The sound of people enjoying themselves still came from the house, a chorus of catcalls telling of a bad call in the football game on the television.

It was as if a sudden pressure warned Casey.

Without understanding what was happening, he pulled the night vision gear from his face and rolled to the ground facing the house.

A light more powerful than he could have imagined came into view behind the house, barely clearing the trees and passed overhead, a feeling of utter weight pressing on him as the light seared the exposed skin of his face.

The huge craft dropped into the gully with a horrendous breaking of tree limbs. Its light pulsed once, then dimmed as Casey rolled into the cover of the woods and tried to regain his vision. His hands trembled as he rubbed his eyes.

There was no way in hell that was the rigged light.

“Control.” he received nothing but static in reply. A repeated attempt to contact Turner was just as useless. Mentally, Casey shifted gears and made decisions that Turner would make if the radio gear were working correctly.

“Two and Three check out the gully.”

“Affirmative,” the reply almost surprised Casey. He had expected none of the communications gear to work. What the hell was going on in the house? Where was Turner?