Airman First Class Grayson stood outside the large hangar he was assigned to guard at Wright Patterson Airforce Base. He was fresh out of basic, and regretted choosing "standing around" as his career choice. Grayson, having grown up near Dayton, had heard all of the stories about "Hangar 18" and the little green men it supposedly contained. Up until today, he had dismissed these stories as urban legends. That was all about to change.

"Why did I join Security Forces?" he mumbled, looking over at the other Airman assigned to guard the giant metal eyesore that was the hangar.

"I don't see an 18 on the door, wonder how the stories got around..." the Airman replied with a sly grin. A1C Grayson simply ignored him. The sound of screaming jet engines drowned everything out as two F-86 Saber Fighter Jets lifted off a nearby runway. Jeeps scrambled on and off the tarmac and the two men could hear a CO shouting orders at someone nearby.

Just then, an emergency siren sounded, and a Jeep approached the hangar. The driver stopped next to the doors, and a tall, pissed-off Lieutenant stepped out. "The base is under a security threat," he said angrily. "Something shot over the state of Ohio at Mach 6. Maybe it's the Russians, maybe it's not."

Grayson took note of his statement, as the Cold War had everyone on edge.

"You men keep your asses planted right here. More Security Forces are on the way."

"Yes, Sir!" they both shouted as the Lieutenant entered the jeep.

It sped away as the Airman next to Grayson turned to him. Grayson noticed his nametape read Collins. "So, Airman Collins, why would they post extra security for this hangar and not any of the others?" Just then, the ground behind them shook as a sound reverberated through the hangar.

"Let's just keep our asses planted here." said Collins, timidly.

Grayson agreed, and flipped on the radio on the ground next to him, their one form of entertainment. A news broadcast came through, "Were getting reports that two F-86 Saber Jets were shot down near Winchester, Indiana. They appear to have been chasing something from the Dayton area. Whether or not the Russians are responsible is unknown at this time. Citizens are advised to remain calm and not hinder emergency services."

Unable to believe his ears, Grayson turned up the volume. A female news reporter was talking now, "Objects have been reported all over the eastern seaboard, appearing to be headed in the direction of a recent aerial battle that left two American pilots dead. We don't know at thi..." The radio cut to static and strange beeping metallic noises.

"No way, man!" Collins protested as Grayson attempted to open the Hangar's door. Pulling out his sidearm, he shot the locked handle and forced it open.

Grayson was met with a bright light and a white medical interior. At the end of the Hangar, he saw four tubes with green liquid and child-like bodies. He quickly realized they had scrawny appendages, gray skin, and large black expressionless eyes. Grayson found himself trembling violently, and as he examined the bodies in each tube, he noticed that the fourth was broken, its liquid spilled all over the glass covered tile floor.

"Holy shit!" he shouted, turning to see Collins standing behind him, with blood running from his eyes and nose.

Collins slumped over, revealing the four foot tall being standing behind him. There was blood dripping from its right arm and a hole in Collin's back. It raised its large head to look up at him. Grayson ran for the door, blindly firing his sidearm the whole way. Reaching daylight, he heard gunfire and screaming. His last sight was a fiery base and large stilt-legged machines walking about fighting the USAF personnel. He felt a sharp pain in his back, and fell to the ground. A strange metallic beeping noise filled his head as he embraced the blackness of death.

Written by Dillan_Thomas_Addington
Content is available under CC BY-SA