The elevator platform three hundred feet below Ayers Rock had become a scene of chaos.
The leader of the Chinese forces, a young captain, had just witnessed four of his men being vaporized as they stood in the transfer booths. The booths that should have transported them to Mars.
The explosion of the Trojan Device on the red planet had not only killed the men who had already undergone the transferal process, it had caused the booths at Ayers Rock and Egypt to destroy the molecular structure of those just beginning the transfer as well.
And now, the rest of the troops were demanding answers, screaming and shouting at the captain as he searched for an explanation.
Suddenly, a loud humming came from the transparent hexagonal containers where the four unfortunate soldiers had just been killed.
The large contingement of men began to back away from the noise, looking at each other and their captain in bewilderment.
All four of the booths exploded violently, sending sharp pieces of the transparent material out in a wide fan.
Twenty men fell to the floor in shreds.
Twenty others screamed out in agony as they were savagely wounded by the slithers of toughened acrylic.
Then, panic set in.
People started running and diving and ducking for cover behind anything they could find in case anything else blew up.
The captain clenched his left arm. Pieces of skin hung from his forearm, intermingled with the shreds of yellow uniform.
He was shouting orders to his men in Chinese, reminding them of their military status, attempting to restore some sanity.
It was right at that moment a group of fifteen young Aboriginal men stepped out from the shadows.
The young Aboriginals had now lost their fear.
They had gone beyond feeling scared for their own safety. What they were feeling was rage. Rage at the fact that this group of invaders had soiled the sacred land of Uluru. Rage that the Chinese had discovered a secret thousands of years old that the Aboriginals themselves hadn’t even known about. Rage at the knowledge that this mysterious device buried deep below the Australian desert was being used for all the wrong reasons.
Now it was time to act.
With a shrill battlecry, the Aboriginals leapt from their positions and started a berserk attack on the unsuspecting Chinese soldiers who were still cowering from the possibility of explosions.
Within seconds, the entire platform erupted into a wild battle as men with sharp wooden implements and spears fought soldiers with automatic rifles.
The Aboriginals surprise gave them the upper hand for a brief moment, as they ran through the throng of soldiers in a wild animal rage, clubbing, bashing and stabbing as many of them as they could.
One of the young natives headed straight for the control panel where he had seen the Chinese leader go earlier to activate the platform elevator. He ducked into the small alcove and fidgeted about for the button.
He found it, and pushed the button.
The ground shook, and dust billowed all around the battle scene as the elevator began to rise slowly back to the surface.
The Chinese forces were now retaliating with gunfire. But the fast-moving Aboriginal men made targeting difficult, and some of the soldiers were shot by their own men as the young natives ducked and weaved through the group.
The captain ordered his men to congregate into groups, making it harder for the Aboriginals to pick them off with their hand-held weapons.
The ploy worked.
The Aboriginals now found themselves cut off from the main group, standing in the open. Easy targets.
Miraculously, they were all still alive. But now, they were unprotected, standing in a clearing in the centre of the platform.
Several groups of ten or more Chinese troops surrounded them. Dozens of others lay on the ground, bloody and wounded from booth shrapnel and the Aboriginal wood and stone weapons.
The young man who had activated the elevator stepped back out onto the ground and stood silently, as they all moved upwards on the vibrating surface.
He dropped his head as several gun barrels were raised towards him. It was all over.
A shot rang out.
Then another. And several more.
The Aboriginal lifted his head. He was still alive! Three Chinese soldiers fell to the ground, their yellow uniforms turning dark red with blood.
The young man looked up in surprise.
Ringing the entire perimeter at the top of the platform shaft were at least a hundred Special Forces from the 75th Ranger Regiment. Another thirty were rappelling down the side of the rocky shaft.
The Chinese captain looked up and frowned. He ordered his men to drop their weapons.
The Aboriginals raised their arms into the air and let out a loud roar of victory.
It was all over.