The alien ship shot up into the night sky and the copilot craned his head to watch the amazing maneuver.

The missiles shot through the space the alien had occupied only a brief second before and continued while unable to lock on to a target.

“Flaring,” the pilot’s voice drawing the copilot back into the work of landing the helicopter. They passed close over the flames of the burning cars and dropped to a few feet over the lawn in front of the house. From this close, they could see the damage done to the house during the battle. Part of the roof collapsed, the east wall hanging away from the house, and the porch a wreck. Scorch marks fouled the front of the house with black streaks.

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It was not enough damage. The house was still intact, which meant there could be survivors in the place and, by direct order, there could be no survivors. The troops had to go in and clean the place out.

Dust and grass blasted into the rotor wash, clouding the house from sight as the pilot concentrated on landing the ship. With a soft bump, the helicopter settled on the ground and the troops were running from the open doors to either side.

“Clear.”

The pilot pulled up on the collective and the Blackhawk rose to the comparative safety of the sky.