Anna was excitedly getting ready, doing last minute touches to her hair and make up, checking to see that her dress fit properly. Tonight was the big date. The BIG date. The love of her life was going to take her on her ultimate dream date, something they had worked out weeks ago. She was excited and nervous, and slightly neurotic all at the same time. She had always felt like this relationship was too good to be true. That this man, that she laughingly called her Prince Charming and whose real name was Edward Prince, couldn’t be real. The man of her dreams, and sometimes she wondered if maybe that’s where he existed. Or worse, that he was real, but that his perfectness meant that he had to be balanced out somehow, with some horrible secret. Like maybe he was married. Or, more likely in her mind, he had other women he dated, other Sleeping Beauties to his Prince Charming.
In the end, though, she always shook those thoughts off. Edward was real, and his relationship with her, which had started over a year ago now, was, despite her fears otherwise, perfect. Like any man, he had his flaws. Early in their relationship, he actually thought taking her to a football game was a good date. She went good naturedly, but ever since then, he went to his games without her, which was fine by her. He had a tendency to slurp his soup when he ate, too, which was something that in any other man would be a deal breaker. But because this was Edward, she was willing to over look it. There were other little things that pointed to his being less than perfect, but none of that mattered. He was the love of her life, her soul mate. The two were made to be together. She just needed to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Then the doorbell rang. Excitedly, she smiled and walked to the door. She stopped briefly to give herself a last look in the full-length mirror before opening it. She had on a floor length, strapless ball gown that hugged her curves. It was a brilliant white color, at Edwards request. It had elegant, simple lines, with a faint curl pattern visible on the lower part of the dress. Her black hair was in an updo similar to Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, something she spent the better part of the last few hours to get just right. Her accessories were also simple and elegant, including a pearl necklace and a simply designed diamond bracelet. The bracelet was a gift from Edward, and made her smile. She picked up the white purse that matched the dress from the end table, and opened the door.
There, at the door, was Edward. He had a strong jaw line that was accented by a neatly trimmed beard. His hair was close cut on the top of his head, too, in a way that highlighted his bright, blue eyes. He was wearing a modern black tuxedo with a white vest and tie that matched her dress perfectly. In his hands, he had a huge, beautiful bouquet of red roses. He smiled, seeming to catch his breath upon seeing her.
“You look beautiful,” he said after locking eyes with her again. “These are for you,” and he handed her the bouquet.
“They are beautiful,” she said, meaning it. She put them in a vase that she kept by the door. Since dating Edward, she always kept a vase by the door. He didn’t always bring flowers, but he did often enough that have a vase by the door became very convenient.
“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand. She took it and nodded.
He led her from her condo to the outside via the elevator, where he looked at her with mischievous smile on his face that had her wondering what it was he had planned. He never would tell her what it was they were doing tonight, only that it would be the ‘most romantic thing she would experience.’ She half-wondered if he was going to ask her to marry him, but that didn’t seem likely. They talked about that, and while it wasn’t something either was against, they were just not ready for it at this point. Still, if he did ask, she was pretty sure she would say yes.
All of those thoughts quickly vanished when she saw what was waiting for them on the street. Instead of Edwards’s BMW, there stood a large, white horse drawn carriage. White seemed the theme here, with two white horses pulling the carriage. It had four large wooden wheels, the two in the back being bigger than the two in the front. The seats were padded, and there was a roof on the back, providing cover in case the night’s weather didn’t go as planned. On the front seat was a driver, in a while suit and top hat, who tipped it at her as they came outside. And Anna swore that she saw the whole thing… sparkle. It was wonderful!
“My lady,” Edward said, opening the door on the carriage and sweeping his arm to indicate that she should board.
She happily did so, and then after closing the door, he came around the other side and did the same.
“On driver,” he said with an imperious wave of his hand, then turned to her and the two of them laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.
The carriage rode down the road, but instead of heading into town, where she expected to be taken to an elegant restaurant, it was headed out of town, towards the more rural areas. Before she could ask where they were going, she heard a popping noise, and turned to see that Edward had opened a bottle of champagne. Pouring some into two glass flutes, he handed one to her. She smiled upon taking it.
“Why, my dear Edward. Are you trying to get me drunk before we even get to dinner?” she asked, and the two laughed some more.
The countryside was beautiful, and they two enjoyed the view and the excellent champagne in silence as they traveled down the road. It wasn’t long, however, before Anna figured out where it was they were heading. It was right after they turned down the beach road and started following the coastline. Only one restaurant of any note was down he. She smiled and turned to look at Edward, who only nodded, as if reading her mind. Then, he looked off to the distance, and pointed. She turned and saw it as they rounded a hill. There, on top of a beautifully manicured hill was a castle. A princess style castle, complete with towers and spires, it was decorated with blue and green banners, and she could see windows and balconies light by candlelight. It was Château par la Mer, the famous French restaurant that was built as a replica of a place in France by a local restaurateur.
It wasn’t a very large castle, of course, being just a restaurant, but it was breathtakingly beautiful, and had two stories of dining areas. It was generally only frequented by the wealthy and local celebrities, but lots of people found a way to eat there at least once, just for the experience of it. Tonight seemed no different, as the place was packed, as evidenced by the full parking lot and the overworked valet staff. This posed no problem for them, however, with the carriage pulling to a stop at the main gate. A host in a black tuxedo came out and opened the door, allowing first Anna, then Edward, to exit the carriage. Edward gave him his reservation number, and the man nodded, as if expecting that particular reservation, asked them to wait a moment, and left them. She wondered briefly just how long Edward had been planning this. Edward smiled at her, and in that smile, time seemed to stop. She really did love this man, perfect date or not.
A moment later, the host returned and asked them to follow him. He led them upstairs to a tower near the front of the building. He eventually showed them to a private balcony, where a small table for two, two high backed, padded solid wood chairs and a stunning view of the ocean awaited them. The rest of this floor of the tower could also be viewed, where other diners were enjoying their meals and conversation, but the balcony was positioned in such a way that it was, at most, background noise, and often unheard at all.
Edward, ever the gentleman, pulled her chair out for her, and she sat down, drawing her shawl around her for warmth. The host, noting this, reached up and touched what appeared to be a torch in the wall above the balcony door, but, it turned out, was a very cleaver heater. She smiled at him, and nodded in return, then turned to leave. Edward sat down across from her and gazed into her eyes.
“Shall I order for both of us, or would you like to order for yourself?” he said, lifting the menu.
“I think I’d like to order for myself,” she said, smiling again and taking the menu. The menu was a surprisingly large collection of French cuisine, both well known and things she had never heard of before. Just as she had decided, their waiter appeared. He spoke in thick, almost fake, French accent, and she had to stifle a laugh.
“Bonsoir, la madame, monsieur,” he said, standing at a stiff attention. “I am Gaston, your waiter this evening. Would you like to start with a selection from the wine list?” Edward nodded, and selected a red wine. “An excellent choice, monsieur. Now, if you are prepared, I shall take your order.”
Anna ordered first, and asked for the duck confit, which got her an approving look from Gaston. Edward surprised her, and ordered ratatouille, and when she asked with her eyes, he said “It’s the most amazing ratatouille I’ve ever eaten.”
Gaston agreed, took their menus and headed off to bring their orders to the chief. Anna just couldn’t bring her self to use the word ‘cook’ in a place as fancy as this. The two talked some about the beautiful weather and the view, and a relatively short time later, Gaston returned with their food. They ate without ceremony, continuing the conversation about what had happened during work and life during the brief time since they last saw each other, and enjoyed the view of the waves gently lapping against the shore. The duck was fantastic, and she even tried some of Edward’s ratatouille, which was equally amazing. Now she knew why this place was so expensive. It was worth every penny. After dinner, she excused herself to use the lady’s room, and when she returned, Edward had paid the bill and they were all set to leave.
“Where to now, my Prince?” she said, smiling at him.
He smiled back, a smile that reached up to his eyes. “Why, to the beach, of course. A moonlight walk would be perfect after a meal like that, don’t you agree?”
She did. They exited the castle through a rear entrance and went straight onto the beach. They stopped briefly just before the sand to take off their shoes, and socks in Edward’s case, and then walked into the sand barefoot. Allowing the joy of feeling the sand beneath her feet to get the better of her, she ran off into the moon light coast, giggling like a little schoolgirl. Edward was caught off guard at first, but chased after her, laughing himself. The simple pleasure of running through sand was exhilarating, and she eventually stopped and spun around and around, her dress billowing out beneath her. Edward came up behind her and caught her before she fell backwards into the sand. They looked into each other’s eyes, and he smiled that dashing smile that always melted her heart.
He helped her get back onto her feet, offered her his arm, and the two slowly walked down the beach, just outside of the water line, towards the pier. As they walked, their conversation turned to more intimate things than they spoke about at the restaurant.
“And then the dog jumped back into the lake after it!” Edward was saying as they were both laughing. “Dad had to dive in to get it and drag it back into the house. Took him an hour.”
They laughed for a moment. Then, simultaneously, they paused and looked up at the moon. Edward sighed, and Anna looked up at him, touching his cheek, begging him to talk with that movement.
“You know,” he said, looking back down at her, “I didn’t expect to be here in my life.”
“Here, on the beach, with me?”
“No,” he said smiling, “You were a wonderful surprise, sure, but dreaming of being with the most amazing and beautiful woman in the world is not a new thing for me. The fact that I am here, with you, is exactly where I want to be.”
“Then what do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean, in my life in general. I thought,” he paused, as if frustrated, “I thought I’d have, I don’t know… accomplished more by now.”
She laughed at him, and when he looked down, she held up her arm to ward away any anger he might be feeling. “Oh, I didn’t mean any insult,” she said. “It’s just that, you’re a successful business man, who owns and operates one of the largest, most profitable computer companies in the world. You give thousands to charity every year, and have even started a scholarship fund to aid underprivileged kids get an education in the computer industry. What more could you want?”
He looked down at here, love burning in his eyes. “I forget sometimes,” he whispered.
“Forget what?” she asked.
He stood up straighter then, looking at her with a new determination. “I forget what an amazing woman you really are.”
With that, he leaned down and pulled her close to him. The two were an inch apart from each other, and without a word, they kissed. It was a slow, soft, passionate kiss. The moon was full behind them, over the water, shining down as if it were a spotlight, giving only them light and leaving the rest of the world dark. It was perhaps the most intimate kiss Edward had ever given her, as if he were transferring a piece of his soul to her through the kiss. And she kissed back, willingly, taking the gift and returning it in full.
Finally, they pulled apart from each other. It felt like they had been embracing for centuries. She felt dizzy, light headed, but in a pleasant way, as if she were floating. Then, he told her to look down, with that mischievous smile on his face. When she did, she saw that they were, indeed, floating, about two feet off the ground. Somehow, however, this didn’t surprise or alarm her. She held onto his arm, and he smiled. He pointed to the moon, and she nodded.
They took off like a shot. From the rate at which the ground was receding, they must have been traveling at an amazing speed, but she didn’t feel any sense of movement. There was no wind, no feeling that she gets in the pit of her stomach when moving fast. It was as if the world simply fell away, while they remained were they were.
It took mere moments before the moon came up to them. At first, she wondered if they would simply hit the moon head on, but then, the scene shifted. She knew that it must be them that were rotating to land on the moon, but it appeared as if the sky were turning around so that the moon were positioned below them. They landed on the soft white moon sand, which was somehow spongier and more comfortable than the beach sand.
They stopped and gazed up at the sky. There was the Earth, looking down at them. The bottom half was covered in shadow, but the top half shown in brilliant blues, greens and whites, as if it were a luminous ornament hung in the sky just for their viewing pleasure. She leaned on him, feeling his warmth and loving the sensation of it.
“Is this a dream,” she said, realizing that speaking and breathing in space would normally be impossible. Yet, this all felt normal, and right. “Am I dreaming right now?”
He gave a little laugh, then looked down at her. “Maybe I’m dreaming,” he said to her, and she was hypnotized by the reflection of the Earth in his eyes. “Does it matter?” he asked at last. “If this is a dream, I saw we go with it, and enjoy it.”
She thought about that for a second, and then nodded.
“So,” he said after a moment of gazing at the Earth. “Where shall we go in this dream?”
Her eyes opened wide and light up like Christmas lights. “Oh, everywhere!”
He smiled at her again, and took her hand. Once again, the ground fell away from them and they were zooming through space with no sense of movement. She hugged him, and then decided she wanted to try something. She stretched out her arm, still holding his hand, and then stretched out her other arm. She looked, and saw that he had done the same. They both smiled, and finally, she felt like she was flying. They took a moment to bank and turn and do loop de loops around the Earth, before moving on to the rest of the solar system.
He pointed towards the sun, and said, “let’s start at the beginning.”
She looked towards the sun, then turned back to him and shook her head. “No,” she said, and pointed out away from the sun. “Let’s start at the outside, and work our way back.”
He looked surprise, then nodded his head, a big smile on his face. They flew. They flew away from the sun, and the Earth, past the asteroid belt, and even zipped within site of Saturn and it’s rings, but never went close to any of these place. They just flew past. Until, after only a few moments, they were far away from the sun, in a part of the solar system that was very dark. And yet, she wasn’t cold. At last, they reached their destination. The little planet of Pluto, with it’s orbiting moon of Charon. The two were close, and Anne watched as they moved around each other, like lovers in an eternal dance.
As if reading her mind, Edward turned to her and said, “Shall we?”
They danced then, floating in space, keeping time with the cold gray planets below them. They spun and twirled, held each other close and moved to the music of the stars. When they stopped, they collapsed into each other’s arms, and laughed and smiled. They nodded at each other and moved on, back towards the sun and to the next planets.
They came upon Neptune before Anna was even aware of it. It was a bright blue orb, reminding her of the ocean they had left behind. The flew around it, awed by the majesty of it’s color and silent strength. The moved on and soon came across it’s twin, Uranus. Twin was a misnomer, Anne saw, as the blue of this world was not the deep color of the ocean, but rather the bright blue of the sky. And Anne was also surprised to see that it had rings.
“I thought only Saturn had rings?” she asked.
Edward smiled, shaking his head. “Would you like to see Saturn’s rings?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, and the two held hand again and flew off.
When they arrived, her breath was just taken away. As they arrived, the sun could be seen peaking out from around the back of the world, which caused shadows to be cast on the rings and giving the whole planet the appearance of a record player. Edward took her in closer, though, bringing her right down to the rings themselves. They were like giant circles of ice and snow, and were all the more amazing as they flew through them. Then, Edward took them back up and out the top again, as if they were dolphins, rising out of the water. She smiled and laughed.
“More,” she said. “Show me more.”
They moved on to Jupiter then. The massive gas giant took up their entire field of view in a way that no other world has so far, even the ones they had flown close to. It was as if the world would never stop growing bigger and bigger the closer they got to it. Then, she realized Edward was taking them to the great Eye. The massive storm clouds that made up the eye roiled and moved, and she watched transfixed. It was the most amazing thing she had seen so far this night, and the brightness of it surprised her. None of the other worlds were this bright so far, not even Earth. It was as if Jupiter had an internal light source. Eventually, Edward convinced her to come away, and they continued their flight around the system.
He lead them up and over the asteroid belt, though even from here, the thousands of giant rocks spinning in space were impressive. But then, there was Mars. It was amazing to her exactly how red it looked. From orbit, it had the appearance of Arizona from an airplane. She could see the cracks in the surface that the original astronomers thought were canals, or perhaps dried riverbeds. She turned to Edward, and then dove towards the surface. She touched down in a particularly rocky area of the surface, with very little sand. The surrounding rock formations once again reminded her of the deserts in the South West, with everything having that rust color on it. The sun was in the sky where she landed, and she was amazed at how much smaller it was compared to on Earth. Edward landed next to her, and the two lay back on the rocks, looking up at the sun. She lay quiet for a while, simply enjoying the moment.
Edward eventually got up on one arm and turned to look at her. He brushed some hair out of her face and stared into her eyes for a very long time, a serious expression on his face.
“I truly do love you,” he said.
She smiled. “I truly love you, too.”
He smiled in return, and then leaned down to give her a kiss. It wasn’t the long, deep, passionate kiss from the beach, but more of a loving, tender kiss. Not that it mattered a whole lot, her toes still curled. Then, suddenly, he got up and held out his hand to help her up.
“Come on,” he said, “We still got two more planets to visit.”
She reached out her hand, and he helped pull her up. She shook her head slightly, bringing her self into the present. She had almost forgotten where they were until he said that. Before they flew into the Martian sky, she took Edward’s arm and made him look at her.
“Edward,” she said, her voice sounding tiny and afraid, even to her. “Is this real? Or is this a dream?”
He smiled at her again, but not in any kind of condescending way. It was a smile full of excitement.
“I love that you ask questions like that,” he said. “I don’t really know, Anne. All I know is that I am here with you, and I don’t care if it’s real or not.”
Her heart felt full with her love for this man, and she thought she was going to cry.
“Come,” he said, wiping away a tear that escaped, “Come dance with me around the sun.”
She nodded, and once again took his hand. The two once again flew into the air, out into space, and through the solar system. Before she knew it, they had zipped passed Venus and Mercury, and were heading towards the sun. If she had though that Jupiter was huge, she was mistaken. The sun had completely taken up her field of vision before they had even gotten close to it. Strangely, however, its light did not blind her. Nor did its heat affect her.
The colors were amazing; deep, almost black reds, bright oranges, and yellows so bright they were practically white. And it was all in constant motion, flickering, rolling and extending arms that were miles long.
Edward came up to her then, and put one arm around her waist. He took his other arm and raised her hand with it and, holding her close, started to waltz. They danced in the light of the sun, waltzing back and fourth in time to the movements of the bright star behind them. She could almost swear she heard music this time, a low, deep, primal music. The music of the cosmos itself.
She didn’t know how long they spent there dancing, but she didn’t care. She held tight to him, being close to him, and found that, as he said earlier, it didn’t matter if this was a dream of not. She just wanted to be with him. Sadly, though, the music eventually came to an end, and so did their dance.
“It’s getting late,” he said, sounding as sad as she felt. “I think it’s time to go home.”
She nodded, feeling tired from their journey. She looked down and saw that apparently their dance had taken them away from the sun and back to Earth. Slowly, reluctantly, they descended. They flew through the clouds, an amazing site in and of itself, and down to the road that was just outside her condo. Although she was sad to see the evening end, she felt happy. It was truly an amazing night, and it didn’t matter if all of it was a dream. She would remember it for the rest of her life.
“I had a truly amazing night,” he told her, echoing her thoughts. “It wasn’t quite the evening I had planned, but I think it was even better. I’m just not sure how I’m going to top it.”
They both laughed. Just then, she realized that the sky was getting lighter. She looked over his shoulder and saw that the sun was just beginning to peak out behind the horizon. It was sunrise. They had been out all night. He turned with her and, holding each other, they watched the sun rise. It cast brilliant oranges and pinks across the sky, and Anna could swear that it was as if the sky was smiling at them. She nodded to her self, thinking that it was appropriate.
Turning once again back to the door of her condo, they kissed their good nights. This time, it was a kiss that they both put their full bodies into. She could feel the heat travel through her body, and she felt like the two of them were going to melt into each other. It was a wonderful feeling, and one that she knew would stay with her trough the day.
“Good night, my Prince,” she said.
“Good night, my dream girl,” he said with a wry smile on his face.
She giggled. Then, she turned and went into her condo. She stretched and yawned and found herself being drawn to her bed. She didn’t even bother to undress, simply collapsing into her bed in a wonderful kind of tired. She drifted off to sleep, with dreams of dancing planets and Edward swimming through her head. She had never felt so happy.
The alarm clock buzzed, flashing eight o’clock. Edward shot his arm out and slapped the button that shut the annoying sound off. He rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting the dream to end. But it was no use. It was over, and the alarm had only sealed that fate. He thought of Anna and he smiled. She was so beautiful, and it really was an amazing date. He had never experienced anything like that, not even in his wildest fantasies.
He sat up and stretched. He scratched the beard stubble that had grown on his face and ran his hands through the mass of tangled hair on his head. While there, he pulled off the headband like device that was on his head. It was thin and consisted of two thin bars that ran around from one ear to another. He looked at the back of it, which had a box with a few green indicator lights on it. One was blinking, which indicated that the connection with the network box was still on. He set it down on the table next to the network box, which had a similar green blinking light.
He reached over to the box and pulled out a small memory chip. He turned it over in his hand thoughtfully, a slight smile on his face. He then pulled out a clear, plastic container that had a hand written label on it and placed the chip in it. On the label was a single word, ‘Anna.’
“You really are the most amazing woman I’ve ever know,” he said as he placed the chip on a shelf with some other’s, labeled everything from ‘Space Explorer,’ to ‘Victorian Duke.’
“My dream girl.” He reached two fingers to his mouth and kissed them, then touched them to the memory chip. “I’ll see you again tonight, I think.”
And with that, he got up out of bed and headed to the shower, passing the uniform that indicated he was a truck driver. He was humming a tune that he head hear during their dream, a waltz. It was going to be a good day, the thought.
The End
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Week 3
Well, week 3 is finished! True confessions time, I had to cheat a little on this one, and finish the last couple hundred words this morning. But, I feel good for having done so. Not only did that allow me to hit my word goal (it clocks in at just over 5,000 words), but it allowed me to end it the way I wanted to. This was a difficult story to write, simply because I'm not good at romance. Still, I'm proud of this one, because it stretched me as a writer. All in all, I'm happy with this story. So, enjoy! These last three stories have all been sci-fi, and I'm feeling a little fantasy this week, so I think Week 4's story will be a good, old fashioned sword and sorcery. Stay tuned!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
For Glory and Honor
The airlock leading to the shuttle bay opened with a hiss, and Lieutenant Commander Sutherland watched as two very young looking officers in their deck uniforms entered the hallway. They were both fresh out of the academy, very noticeable by their lack of tour ribbons, along with the youngness of their age. One was a tall, handsome Caucasian man, who Sutherland guessed was from North America; with close cut light brown hair and striking blue eyes. The other was a hard looking man with dark, almost reddish skin, that the Lieutenant Commander knew meant he was a Native American. He also had close-cropped hair, though his was a deep, raven black, and his eyes were almost as black as his hair.
The two stood at attention and saluted. Sutherland saluted back, waiting for the proper expression before signing the two through.
“Lieutenant Junior Grade Dan Williams and Lieutenant Junior Grade John Littlestone, reporting for duty and asking permission to come aboard, sir,” the Caucasian man said.
“Permission granted,” Sutherland said, completing his salute. “Welcome aboard the UNS Monitor, gentlemen. I’m Lieutenant Commander Mark Sutherland, communications officer and third in command of the Monitor. I’ll show you to your quarters and then introduce you to your eventual commanding officer on the flight deck. In the meantime, if you gentlemen will come with me?”
“Yes, sir,” the two said in unison, which caused Sutherland to smile.
He lead the two down some corridors, occasionally having to step up to make it through another airlock like door. As they walked, he spoke some about the Monitor.
“As you are no doubt aware, the Monitor is a top of the line, cutting edge Carrier, with the capacity for more than 80 fighters, including F-121 Interceptors, F-130 Valkyries, H-90 Eagles and DS-85 Pelicans. You boys, being the newbies on board, will no doubt be flying the Interceptors.”
He could see that Williams was disappointed by not being able to fly the Valkyries, but Littlestone seemed impassive. He thought he would perk them up a little.
“What you may not know, however, is that we just received a squadron of the latest FX-214 Whisper stealth fighters.” He paused to let that sink in, and saw that both officers looked at him with excitement on their faces. The Whispers were so new that no one had even seen one at the academy yet, but everyone had heard about them. “Commander Winters, our CAG Officer, has determined that all eligible pilots will train on the Whispers. She wants everyone to get a feel for the new tech before assigning a crew to the squad.”
He could see both officer’s brighten with excitement at the prospect of getting their hands on a Whisper, but William’s in particular had an amazing reaction to the news. His face lit up like a kid at Christmas, just chomping at the bit to tear into those presents sitting under the tree. It caused Sutherland to wonder about the Lieutenant’s maturity level.
They continued to walk down the corridor, this time in silence, as the two officers day dreamed and Sutherland made a mental note of Williams. He didn’t know exactly what it was about Williams that had him concerned, while Littlestone, who had the same reaction, didn’t bother him. He decided to see if he couldn’t find out.
“So,” he started as conversationally as he could, “I see from your files that you both graduated at the top of your class at the academy. You had your choice of assignment, pending the approval of the CO of said assignment. What made you buys pick Monitor?”
“That’s easy, sir,” Littlestone answered first. “As an officer that just finished state of the art training on the latest state of the art fighters, I felt it only fitting that I should work on the latest, state of the art ship.”
Sutherland nodded. It was arrogant, but not more so than he had heard from other pilots straight out of the academy. “What about you, Williams?”
“Me, sir?” he said in false modesty. “Well, sir, I became a fighter pilot for one thing, to fight in this war. Not to toot my own horn, but I was the best of the best at the academy, sir. Monitor is the best of the best in the fleet, and I knew that it would serve on the front line. I intend to keep my best of the best record by proving myself in real combat, sir.”
There it was, Sutherland though. Glory hound. He’d faced them before, and it never ended well for them. Though, in the case of Williams, he knew that his boast was not a hollow one. He really was the best pilot from his class. Commander Winters would have his hands full with them. He would make sure to pass this onto the Commander when he finished this tour.
The remainder of the tour went pretty much as normal. Sutherland showed them around the ship, including the wall mounted touch screen maps, where the main officer’s mess hall was, as well as where the pilot’s mess hall was, the rec room, gym and finally, their quarters. Given that they were the newest junior officers on board, they would share quarters. Still, a room with just the two of them was better than what they were used to at the academy, and the two thanks the Commander for the tour.
“Tomorrow, bright and early at 0600, you are to be Briefing Room 5,” Sutherland said, reading from his palm computer. “There, you will meet Commander Winters, get assigned to your squadrons, and no doubt get your first duty assignments.”
“Yes, sir,” Williams and Littlestone said in unison, and both saluted.
“Get some rest, men,” Sutherland said, and returned the salute. “And good luck.”
The door closed behind him as he walked away, and Williams and Littlestone looked at each other. They stayed quiet for several long seconds before bursting into laughter.
“Luck?” Littlestone said as they both turned to stow their gear. “He obviously doesn’t know us.”
“Oh, I know all about you boys,” the very angry looking woman said as they arrived at their briefing at 0559. They stood in a terrified attention, holding a salute that had yet to be returned. “Best of the best at the academy,” she said, as she circled around them. “Big fish from a small pond.”
Her gaze held contempt in them as she looked them up and down. When Williams saw this, instead of being further intimidated, however, he became determined to prove to this woman that he really was the best of the best. He clenched his jaw, stopped his trembling, no matter how slight it was, and squared off his shoulder, standing at an even more rigid attention that previously. The commander noticed all of this, and nodded slightly, as if approving of the new attitude.
“Well, your in the ocean now, boys,” she continued. “My ocean. And I am a shark, that eats academy fish for breakfast. You boys got that?”
“Sir, yes sir!” the two said in unison. Winters nodded again. She had heard about their unison ‘sirs’ from Sutherland, and figured these two had plenty of opportunity to practice them at the academy.
“Good,” she saluted them back finally, and the two completed their salutes and put their arms down to their sides. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, waving towards the two of them in a grand gesture while speaking to the other pilots in the room. “I’d like to welcome the newest members of the Monitor flight crew.” She turned to look at them, and seemed to get irritated that they had not moved as of yet. “Take some seats, gentlemen.”
Littlestone moved first. He nodded his head and, grabbing Williams by the arm, dragged his friend up the short flight of stairs to find some seats in the middle of the large, rounded room.
“Let’s see,” Commander Winters continued, reading from a computer pad, “we have Lt. John Littlestone, call sign Three-Step, and Lt. Dan Williams, call sign Eagle. Interesting call signs. I can’t wait to hear the story on them. They will be joining Gray Squadron under the command of Lt. Lupo. Lupo, say hello.”
A big wall of muscle with a clean shaven head stood up and waved at the two new recruits and smiled a smile that did nothing to reassure Littlestone. “Hello. You two can call me Big Shot. Welcome to the Grays.”
A few of other pilots sitting near Big Shot cheered and waved as well.
“Okay, now that introductions are over,” Commander Winters re-took control of the conversation, “let’s get on with today’s duty assignments.”
She tapped some commands on the console before her, and the large screen behind her flared to life, showing a list of pilots, patrol routes or other duties. In one quick glance, Littlestone saw that Gray Squadron had a rear patrol today, probably because of the two of them. It was a test flight to check out the new fish. Before he could look any further, however, the lights in the room dimmed and red lights started flashing. Simultaneously, a siren started going off. A female voice came over the comm. system.
“Enemy craft sighted, fighters inbound. All pilots are to report to their craft and scramble to engage. This is not a drill.”
“You heard the woman,” Winters shouted, “everyone move out!”
“This is it,” Williams was saying to Littlestone. “Our first day here, and we get to jump into the action right away.”
Littlestone sighed. Williams knew that while, outwardly, his friend never shared his enthusiasm for battle, once they were out there, the two hotshots were peas in a pod. Everyone was rushing out of the briefing room in an orderly fashion. Before Williams had a chance to question where they would be going, Big Shot came up behind them and slapped them both on the back, causing Dan to loose his breath and cough.
“You two are with me,” he said with a big smile, showing that a few of his teeth were missing. “Since we didn’t have time to assign you two more experienced wingmen, you’ll both be flying as mine.”
“Yes, sir,” William said, happy with this arrangement. Being able to show off in front of the boss was even better than just relying on computer data to prove his expertise.
The two followed him down a short hallway to the locker rooms, where they changed into flight suits. Then, they ran to a lift, traveled in quite for a few moments, and exited the lift into the controlled chaos that is the flight deck. Unlike the ancient nuclear aircraft carriers of Earth’s past that Dan’s father kept at his naval museum, the flight deck of a space carrier was, by necessity, enclosed. It was flat, however, with several of the fighters being brought up on flat lifts through the floor from the maintenance and repair deck below it. It was essentially one long, square tube at the front end of the ship, with crews swarming all over the place and fighter pilots rushing to pull on flight suits and get into their ships.
Big Shot pointed them towards one end of the deck, where several Interceptors waited. The ships were arrowhead shaped with missiles attached, or being attached by crews, to the wings, a small looking, wedge shaped cockpit on the top and a booster thrusting out the back end. All in all, they were perhaps the ugliest fighters in the entire fleet. Or at least, Williams thought so. However, they were the workhorse of the fleet fighter contingent, having been in service for several decades now with little to complain about and plenty to praise about in their performance.
“These two will be yours,” Big Shot said, patting one of the ships and pointing towards another. Williams noticed that the name plate still had the previous pilot’s name there. ‘Lt. Xavier “Zorro” DeMarcos.’
“You’ve got some big shoes to fill there, fish,” Big Shot said to Williams, who blushed and hesitated slightly before he stepped into the cockpit. He briefly wondered what happened to Zorro, but figured it was best not to dwell on such things. As the deck crew did minor, last minute preparations to the fighter, he could see Three-Step in the fighter next to his. He was touching the nameplate on his, another case of the wrong name, and was saying a prayer of some sort. Williams never understood the purpose of doing any of that, but whatever worked for his friend, he would let slide.
He went through his own pre-flight superstitions. He pulled a small wooden statuette of an eagle in flight from his flight suit, and set it down behind some controls so it would be visible, but out of the way. He patted it and said “give me luck.” Then, he patted the cockpit window after it closed, connecting himself with the ship. “Fly for me, girl? Like you did for Zorro, fly for me.”
“Gray squadron, prepare for launch,” came Big Shot’s voice over his helmet speaker as he pulled on his gloves. “Check in.”
He heard the other members of the squadron check in using call signs, and waited until only he and Three-Step were left. “Eagle, checking in,” he said, followed by Three-Step.
“Launch,” came the command from Big Shot. And without hesitation, in the same order they checked in, Gray Squadron launched, rushing down the flight deck as fast as they could, so that when they hit space, they were already going at top speeds. As he passed through the force field that kept the flight deck from the vacuum of space, everything went dark and silent, and he took in a deep breath. He always loved this part. There was this brief moment where the gravity of the ship gave way to space, and he could feel the weightlessness before his own ship took over again. It made him feel connected to the universe.
Before he could really enjoy that feeling, however, an enemy fighter craft flew right by him. It was long and thin, slightly curved in the front, like a single talon, with crescent shaped wings on the very rear of the ship. It was so close to him as it flew by that he could count the rivets holding the plating together.
“Keep your eyes open, Eagle!” said Big Shot, sounding annoyed, but continuing. “Gray Squadron, form up on me! Let’s go get these Xenorite bastards.”
Xenorite was the name that an unknown biologist had given the strange, hostile race of aliens humanity had first encountered over 2 years ago. Even though, during the course of the war human’s were now forced to fight in, the true name of the alien species was discovered, Xenorite was what everyone kept calling them.
The dogfight seemed to last for hours. Big Shot turned out to be a very skilled pilot, and it took everything that Three-Step and Eagle had to keep up with him a lot of the time. But, through it all, Eagle learned a few new tricks to pull on an Interceptor, as well as put in a few that he knew that no one else on the squadron knew. During that time, he also got in two confirmed kills and three assists.
Then the tide of the battle turned. The attack on the Monitor had been broken, and everyone switched focus from defense to offense. The fighters moved out to attack the Xenorite cruiser. That was when the alien’s revealed their trap. Hundreds of fighters appeared from behind the small moon their ship was orbiting, and with Gray Squadron leading the charge, Eagle, Three-Step and Big Shot were the first to greet this new threat.
“Break formation!” Big Shot was calling. “Break formation! Return to Monitor, repeat, return to… arrgh!”
Eagle watched as his commanding officer’s fighter was hit by enemy fighters. First one, then a second and third, and finally a swarm of them were flying over and past, as if the human were nothing but a ribbon to cut as they crossed the finish line. But that was before the worst part. A green beam of energy came out from the Xenorite cruiser and latched onto Big Shot. A tractor beam, Eagle thought.
“They have Big Shot,” he said into his microphone. “I’m going in to get him.”
“I’ve got your wing,” came the instant reply of Three-Step, causing Eagle to smile despite the seriousness of the situation. The two of them rapidly dodged in and out of the tail end of the cloud of enemy fighters, mostly focused on reaching the rapidly receeding Big Shot than on taking down Xenorites. But, the aliens had other plans, and it didn’t take long for a group of four fighters to break off from the rest and swarmed on Eagles craft. Despite his best efforts to avoid being hit, he soon found himself taking hit after hit. He knew this was it. His first real battle, and he was going to die in it. He found himself feeling disappointed. Then, another blast hit his ship, and threw him hard forward. He felt a sharp and overwhelming pain in his abdomen, and then his whole world went black.
He awoke lying on his back, staring at a bright, white ceiling with lights just out of his field of vision. He turned to look around and felt his head swim and his stomach lurch at the motion. He groaned, which activated some kind of movement from the other side of whatever room he was in. He figured it must be an infirmary of some sort, maybe back on the Monitor. He couldn’t remember what happened after the dogfight. He kept his eyes closed for the moment, though. The darkness helped ease the sensation that his brain was disconnected and sloshing around in a thick liquid in his skull. A somewhat androgynous voice came to him.
“I knew you would wake soon,” it said, slowly pronouncing each word individually, as if English were not the speaker’s native tongue. “They not believe me that I keep you alive.” There was a smug satisfaction behind that statement, and Dan just had to know who was talking to him. He opened his eyes slowly, only to view a nightmare.
He had seen Xenorites before, but only in video or pictures, and one corpse during training. He had never seen one moving and talking before. They were surprisingly human like in appearance, although with several obvious differences. For one, their skin tended towards a rust-red color, though this one seemed pale compared to the other’s he’d seen, almost pinkish. The close cut hair on top of its head was salt and pepper colored that, on a human, would give the appearance of age and wisdom. The noise was small and flat, but the nostrils were wide and flared. The ears were also flat against the skull, and smaller than a human’s. Earth scientists have determined that their range of hearing was not as broad as humans were. The eyes, however, were the most frightening part of the alien because of how much they resembled a human’s. They were slightly larger than the average human’s, with whites and a corona of color, in this case a light gray, and a black pupil. All in all, they were very human like, and he could even see the joy in the alien’s eyes to be talking to a living human.
Beyond it’s face, Dan couldn’t see much. It had on a loose fitting, bright red outfit that appeared to be made out of some kind of plastic. It also wore white gloves that were made out of the same material. Around it’s neck was what appeared to be a surgical face mask, and Dan’s stomach lurched again as he began to wonder if this was an alien doctor.
“What the hell have you bastard’s done to me!” he said, and started to struggle to get up from his bed. Two things prevented him. First, the swimming sensation in his head returned, forcing him back down. Secondly, he noticed for the first time that his arms and legs were strapped down to the bed. He closed his eyes and groaned again.
“Calm,” the alien said, raising one hand palm facing him. “Calm, human. I save you.”
“You what?” Dan said, opening his eyes again. The Xenorite was pointing to Dan’s stomach area. Moving slowly, he lifted his head to look down. He saw that he was shirtless, and that a white bandage had been taped to the left side of his abdomen. There was some red on the bandage, but over all, it seemed pretty clean.
“I save you,” it said again. “You had metal in stomach. I doctor. I remove metal. Surgery,” the alien said that word very slowly, pronouncing each syllable. “I save you life, keep you alive.”
It smiled and seemed very proud of itself. Dan was very confused. Why would the Xenorites want to keep him alive? Suddenly, he felt very tired, and lay his head back down on his bed, sighing.
The alien nodded. “You tired. Good. You rest, sleep. I come back, check you later.”
Dan wanted to stay awake, find out what was going on, but found that he was just too tired. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately. It felt like he had just fallen asleep when someone shaking him jarred him awake. He fluttered his eyes open to find himself looking into the very concerned eyes of Three-Step.
“Dan!” he said, stopping the shaking. “Thank God, I was afraid those bastards had done something to you!”
“Wha…?” Dan replied, still groggy.
“Here,” John said, helping Dan sit up.
Dan looked around. He was still in a clean, white room, but this time, he was on a bunk, instead of a hospital bed. A quick glance gave the appearance that this room was more like quarters, with a door leading to a closet, another one to a head, a small table with chairs, and even a dresser or some kind. He noticed that there were two other bunks in the room, and that there was someone else in one of them. Whoever it was didn’t look so good, rolling back and forth and groaning.
John followed his gaze and nodded. “That’s Big Shot. He’s not doing so well after coming back from that so-called doctor. I don’t know what they did to him, but I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
Dan pushed himself out of the bunk and made his way across the room. John was right, Big Shot didn’t look like he was going to make it. The man’s face was black and blue with burses, and he had blood all over the white robes he was wearing. Dan noticed that he was wearing the same kind of robe himself, but his had no blood on it. Whatever happened to the Lieutenant, it was bad.
“Lieutenant?” he said, crouching down and touching the big man on the shoulder. “You in there, Lieutenant?”
“I’ve been trying that for hours now,” Three-Step said. “He’s unresponsive. Just rolls back and forth like that, groaning.”
“How long?” Dan asked, looking back at his friend.
“How long have we been here?” John asked, with a bitter laugh on his lips. “Well, I was never unconscious like you two were, my ship managed to avoid being hit during the run. I’ve been in here ever sense. Near as I can tell, we’ve been here for at least a day, 18 hours minimum. The L T was placed in here by that damn quack they call a doctor about 3 hours ago, and you just got here a few minutes ago. I was afraid you were dead.”
Dan nodded. That seemed to fit how long it felt. He’d always had a good sense of time. Before he could say or do anything else, though, the door to the room slid open, and four Xenorites came in. One was the doctor that he had spoken to before, still in his red uniform. The other two were larger and carried obvious sidearms. They wore more obviously military uniforms, and had the look of seasoned veterans about them.
The doctor was saying something and pointing to Big Shot.
The three soldiers nodded and moved across the room to take Big Shot. Both Dan and John jumped up to stand between them and the lieutenant, but they were prepared for that. Dan was pushed aside easily, still groggy from his sleep and not at full strength from his wounds. He hit the ground hard, and was out of breath and sweating from the exertion. John had slightly better luck, managing to land a punch to the noise of one of the soldiers, which caused him to stumble back clutching the now bloody facial feature. The other two, however, worked together to subdue John. One grabbed him from behind, holding his arms back, while the other punched him in the stomach. Dan watched as the punching continued, and looked over to the doctor, who had looks of concern on his face. When he looked back at Dan, Eagle pleaded with him through his eyes to stop.
The doctor stepped into the room then, shouting something in their alien language, and again pointing at Big Shot. The two aliens stopped beating on John, looked at him, then nodded and replied something short in a shout that Dan thought sounded an awful lot like ‘Sir, yes Sir.’ The two then got their companion up and the three of them lifted Big Shot out of the bunk and carried him out the door. The doctor, however, lingered behind for a moment, looking from John to Dan and the back to John.
“I sorry,” he said in English, then moved out of the room himself.
As soon as everyone was gone, Dan rushed to Three-Steps side. He tried to help his friend up, but found that he was just too weak. John, however, was able to push himself up off the floor. His face was bruised, and from the way he held his ribs, Dan guessed that they were either bruised or broken as well.
“Bastards,” John said. He made his way to one of the bunks and lay down on it. “Probably going to cut him open.”
“What?” Dan said, not sure he heard John correctly.
“Yeah, why else would they take him? It’s obvious even to us that he’s dying. He’s of no other use to them. This way, they can find out more about our anatomy, what makes us tick, and our weaknesses.”
He thought about the doctor who took Big Shot away, the same doctor that he saw when he first woke up. He seemed very excited that he had saved Dan from certain death. It didn’t seem very likely that he just took Big Shot away to cut him open without
trying to save him first.
“I’m not sure that I buy that,” he said after a bit.
“What?” John said.
“That doctor,” Dan said, explaining. “I’m not convinced that he’s willing to just cut into Big Shot without trying to save him first.”
“Are you serious?” John was instantly angry. “These things are trying to kill us all! We’re at war, remember? What possible reason would there be to save Big Shot? It’s just not how they think, Dan.”
“Normally, I’d agree, but there’s something different about that Doctor.”
“Did they cut into your head?” John was almost yelling now, and started to get up out of the bed, but flinched and grabbed his ribs when he did so. He sat back down, and then sighed. “Did I ever tell you why I joined the military?”
“No,” Dan said, “I don’t think you have.”
“Four years ago, when this war started, do you know where my mother was?” He didn’t actually wait for Dan to answer, which was good, because Dan had no idea. John never talked about his mother, and Dan figured he was about to find out why.
“My mom was at Vega 4 Research Outpost. You remember that? A station full of civilian scientists that were researching a new terraforming method. Then, the Xenorites show. Do you remember what they did?”
Of course Dan did. Every single human being knows what happened to Vega 4.
“They attacked without provocation. And they didn’t just settle for destroying the outpost. No, they slaughtered every last person on the station, leaving them behind as proof of their viciousness. My mother, Dan. My mother! They’re animals! Every last one of them. They don’t want to save us. They want to torture us, find out what we know, and then kill us for sport! That so called doctor of theirs? He’s just the best with the tools.”
His energy spent, John seemed to collapse into himself, and then lay down on the bed. Dad stayed where he was in quiet contemplation. Up until today, Dan would have agreed with John about the Xenorites being animals. Vicious and without morals. At least, that’s what the reports all said, and he believed them. But, he still couldn’t bring himself to believe that the doctor from earlier was like that. There was real concern and kindness in those eyes.
The next day passed without any conversation between the two. Once, a guard came in, weapon dawn the whole time, and gave them food. Dan ate, but John declined any food offered by the aliens. Later, after both John and Dan were sleeping, Dan was awoken by a gun poking into his back. There were to guards, both armed, and the Doctor in the room. The Doctor indicated that Dan should be silent by pointing to him and then putting his hand over his mouth. Dan did as ordered, and gut out of bed and walked down the corridor. He was taken back to the medical bay he had been in before, and the Doctor came in behind him, saying something to the guards, who remained outside.
The doctor indicated that Dan should sit, then went to a desk and picked something up. He walked over to Dan and picked up his arm, indicating that Dan should open his hand. The Doctor then dropped something into it.
“I sorry,” was all he said, and Dan saw that he looked genuinely remorseful.
Dan looked into his hand, and saw a pair of dog tags. He knew instantly who’s they were, and he clutched them tight in his hands.
“I try everything I know, but humans not like us inside. I try. I sorry.”
Dan looked across the room at the alien that stood before him, realizing that this was a gesture of good will.
“I believe you,” he said after moments of silence, and meant it. Suddenly, glory seemed very fleeting, and not worth fighting for.
The silence stretched on for some time before Dan breached it.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now,” the Doctor started, but then hesitated. He looked Dan up and down, then nodded to himself, as if deciding something about Dan. “Yes. Now, them,” and he nodded at the door as he said that, “They will kill you. You and you friend. They will ask you questions, and if you no answer, or if you yes answer, they will kill you.”
Dan saw sadness in the alien’s eyes. He only nodded, though. “That’s to be expected. We don’t serve much purpose alive if we don’t have any information to give.”
“No,” the Doctor said. “No more kill. No more death. I help you. You and you friend. No more death.”
He pointed to Dan’s hand, and Dan looked again, turning the dog tags over. That’s when he saw a small key card. It must be to the cell he and Three-Step where in.
“Here,” the Doctor said. “Map to fighters. You fighter there. Go, escape. No more death. No more kill.”
He handed Dan another small, flat card, but this one had a button on it. Dan pressed it, and saw a map appear as a hologram before him. Better yet, the map showed where all the living things on board the ship were. This was amazing. With this map, he could easily avoid any patrols or other Xenorites to get to his ship and get out.
He looked up in awe at the alien doctor. Then, he reached out his hand. The Xenorite hesitated, looking at the offered limb as if unsure of how to proceed. Dan helped by grabbing the Doctor’s arm and putting it out, then flattening out his hand. Dan then gripped it with his, and shook his hands.
“Thank you,” he whispered. Then, the doctor knocked at the door. Dan was taken back to his cell with Three-Step, who still lay on the bed, trying to ignore Dan. Dan didn’t care at this point, though. He held up the dog tags.
“Big Shot is dead,” he said simply, but for that he only got a grunt.
“The Doctor gave me his dog tags. And with them, a way to escape.”
That got John’s attention. He rolled over, and Dan showed him the key card.
“You believe that butcher in there?” John said. “It’s probably a trap. A last bit of sport with us before killing us.”
“Be real for a second, John,” Dan said. “Why would they do that? Why not just kill us? Besides, if they are just going to kill us anyway, wouldn’t you like the chance to escape before they do it?”
This caused John to pause, then he sat up. “Okay, if I can take a few of them out before I go, I’m in. Let’s see what this little toy of yours does.”
They went up to the door, but found that there was no lock on it. At least, not on the inside. That made sense, if this was a prison, why put the lock on the inside?
“Okay, wait,” Dan said. “He also gave us this.”
He turned on the map, and John looked it over in surprise. “That still doesn’t get us out of this room.”
“No, this key opens something, and my guess is it’s the lift. It will take us directly to the launch bay, where we can get out of here.”
“We still need to get out of this room,” Three-Step said, feeling like a broken record.
“I know.” Dan said. “They have to come back with food tomorrow. What if we fake an illness? Get the Xenorite that comes in to lower his guard, and we escape?”
“This isn’t a movie, Dan,” John said. “That never works in real life.”
“Let’s just give it a try.”
“Whatever,” John said, and returned to his bed.
Dan waited. It took what felt like another day, but sure enough, eventually the door opened and in came a guard. Dan fell to the floor instantly, clutching his side, where the bandage still was. He groaned. The guard, keeping his gun on Dan, came further into the room to check out Dan. He didn’t get far, though, before one of the chairs from the table hit him across the head and knocked him out.
“Okay, so it worked,” he said, picking up the gun. It looked odd, but had a normal trigger, so John figured that he could at least fire it, if not anything fancy. “But, don’t let this go to your head. We still gotta steal a ship and get out of here.”
They exited the cell and crept their way down the hall until they reached what looked like a lift. Dan inserted his card key, and the door opened. Then, inside, he inserted the key into the only slot inside, and the lift moved. He checked his map, and sure enough, they were heading straight to the hanger deck.
“Traffic looks light in the hanger bay,” Dan said, “Must be in FTL. That could be a problem.”
“We’ll get to that when we get there,” John said, pointing his gun to the door as the lift came to a stop.
No one was in immediate site, but the two ducked behind some barrels that smelled like oil. They did a quick view of the hanger bay, and saw that, sure enough, one of their ships was sitting at the bay, near where they were.
They made it over to the ship by crouching low. When they got there, they saw it was John’s ship, which was what Dan expected, his being the only ship that didn’t take a hit before being dragged on board. Dan climbed up to the cockpit and opened the canopy while John stood watch. He got as far as climbing into the pilot’s seat to do the pre-flight check before he heard John swear below him. When he looked out, he saw why. Several Xenorite soldiers with rifles of some kind were running towards them, yelling at them, probably to stop or freeze or something similar. They must of set off some kind of alarm.
“Get the ship started up, Dan!” John shouted, firing back at them. Then, he started to climb up the ladder into the rear seat of the cockpit. He didn’t get half way up, however, before being shot. Dan watched in horror as he saw the bullet burst out the rear end of his friends skull. John was dead instantly, and fell to the ground below him. The alien’s kept firing, bullets bouncing off the thick metal of the hull.
Tears streaming down his face, Dan punched up the controls for the fighter, closing the cockpit and starting up the engines. He turned on the ships guns and fired off a few shots at the soldiers, which sent them scattering for cover. That gave Dan the time he needed. He taxied the ship onto the runway and started it down the tube. He saw that, indeed, the ship was in FTL, which presented a problem for him when he exited, as his ship was not going FTL. Best-case scenario, he would end up in a random part of the universe, alone. Worst case scenario, the ship exploded upon exiting the cruiser. But, he didn’t have much choice. There’s no way these soldiers would let him live now, and the Doctor would not be able to help this time. So, he gunned it.
He closed his eyes just before exiting the force field holding in the atmosphere of the ship. The ship lurched to the side, and it felt like it was hit by another ship. Had he rammed into the side of the cruiser? Then, there were other jarring pushes to the ship as it jostled back and forth. He opened his eyes to read controls and try to re-gain control of the ship. But nothing he did worked. Suddenly, the jostling stopped, and he found himself in normal space. He was still in a solar system, because he could see a sun. Judging by it’s size, he would guess he was in this system’s outer planets. He hoped it wasn’t a Xenorite controlled system, because that would help him get home.
He put out a broadcast S.O.S., and then sat back and prayed. Surprisingly, he got a return signal after only an hour. It was from the Monitor! He was still in the same system the dog fight took place in. The Xenorite cruiser must have hidden out in the outer planets, probably for repairs, before hitting FTL a few days later. He would be picked up by the Monitor now, and get proper medical care from human doctors.
He looked at the dog tags in his hand, and thought of Three-Step. He knew something that the alien Doctor had told him was true. No more killing. No more death. His desire for glory was gone. This war needed to end, and it would only end due to people like that Doctor. And Dan Williams had determined right then and there to become another one.
The End
The two stood at attention and saluted. Sutherland saluted back, waiting for the proper expression before signing the two through.
“Lieutenant Junior Grade Dan Williams and Lieutenant Junior Grade John Littlestone, reporting for duty and asking permission to come aboard, sir,” the Caucasian man said.
“Permission granted,” Sutherland said, completing his salute. “Welcome aboard the UNS Monitor, gentlemen. I’m Lieutenant Commander Mark Sutherland, communications officer and third in command of the Monitor. I’ll show you to your quarters and then introduce you to your eventual commanding officer on the flight deck. In the meantime, if you gentlemen will come with me?”
“Yes, sir,” the two said in unison, which caused Sutherland to smile.
He lead the two down some corridors, occasionally having to step up to make it through another airlock like door. As they walked, he spoke some about the Monitor.
“As you are no doubt aware, the Monitor is a top of the line, cutting edge Carrier, with the capacity for more than 80 fighters, including F-121 Interceptors, F-130 Valkyries, H-90 Eagles and DS-85 Pelicans. You boys, being the newbies on board, will no doubt be flying the Interceptors.”
He could see that Williams was disappointed by not being able to fly the Valkyries, but Littlestone seemed impassive. He thought he would perk them up a little.
“What you may not know, however, is that we just received a squadron of the latest FX-214 Whisper stealth fighters.” He paused to let that sink in, and saw that both officers looked at him with excitement on their faces. The Whispers were so new that no one had even seen one at the academy yet, but everyone had heard about them. “Commander Winters, our CAG Officer, has determined that all eligible pilots will train on the Whispers. She wants everyone to get a feel for the new tech before assigning a crew to the squad.”
He could see both officer’s brighten with excitement at the prospect of getting their hands on a Whisper, but William’s in particular had an amazing reaction to the news. His face lit up like a kid at Christmas, just chomping at the bit to tear into those presents sitting under the tree. It caused Sutherland to wonder about the Lieutenant’s maturity level.
They continued to walk down the corridor, this time in silence, as the two officers day dreamed and Sutherland made a mental note of Williams. He didn’t know exactly what it was about Williams that had him concerned, while Littlestone, who had the same reaction, didn’t bother him. He decided to see if he couldn’t find out.
“So,” he started as conversationally as he could, “I see from your files that you both graduated at the top of your class at the academy. You had your choice of assignment, pending the approval of the CO of said assignment. What made you buys pick Monitor?”
“That’s easy, sir,” Littlestone answered first. “As an officer that just finished state of the art training on the latest state of the art fighters, I felt it only fitting that I should work on the latest, state of the art ship.”
Sutherland nodded. It was arrogant, but not more so than he had heard from other pilots straight out of the academy. “What about you, Williams?”
“Me, sir?” he said in false modesty. “Well, sir, I became a fighter pilot for one thing, to fight in this war. Not to toot my own horn, but I was the best of the best at the academy, sir. Monitor is the best of the best in the fleet, and I knew that it would serve on the front line. I intend to keep my best of the best record by proving myself in real combat, sir.”
There it was, Sutherland though. Glory hound. He’d faced them before, and it never ended well for them. Though, in the case of Williams, he knew that his boast was not a hollow one. He really was the best pilot from his class. Commander Winters would have his hands full with them. He would make sure to pass this onto the Commander when he finished this tour.
The remainder of the tour went pretty much as normal. Sutherland showed them around the ship, including the wall mounted touch screen maps, where the main officer’s mess hall was, as well as where the pilot’s mess hall was, the rec room, gym and finally, their quarters. Given that they were the newest junior officers on board, they would share quarters. Still, a room with just the two of them was better than what they were used to at the academy, and the two thanks the Commander for the tour.
“Tomorrow, bright and early at 0600, you are to be Briefing Room 5,” Sutherland said, reading from his palm computer. “There, you will meet Commander Winters, get assigned to your squadrons, and no doubt get your first duty assignments.”
“Yes, sir,” Williams and Littlestone said in unison, and both saluted.
“Get some rest, men,” Sutherland said, and returned the salute. “And good luck.”
The door closed behind him as he walked away, and Williams and Littlestone looked at each other. They stayed quiet for several long seconds before bursting into laughter.
“Luck?” Littlestone said as they both turned to stow their gear. “He obviously doesn’t know us.”
“Oh, I know all about you boys,” the very angry looking woman said as they arrived at their briefing at 0559. They stood in a terrified attention, holding a salute that had yet to be returned. “Best of the best at the academy,” she said, as she circled around them. “Big fish from a small pond.”
Her gaze held contempt in them as she looked them up and down. When Williams saw this, instead of being further intimidated, however, he became determined to prove to this woman that he really was the best of the best. He clenched his jaw, stopped his trembling, no matter how slight it was, and squared off his shoulder, standing at an even more rigid attention that previously. The commander noticed all of this, and nodded slightly, as if approving of the new attitude.
“Well, your in the ocean now, boys,” she continued. “My ocean. And I am a shark, that eats academy fish for breakfast. You boys got that?”
“Sir, yes sir!” the two said in unison. Winters nodded again. She had heard about their unison ‘sirs’ from Sutherland, and figured these two had plenty of opportunity to practice them at the academy.
“Good,” she saluted them back finally, and the two completed their salutes and put their arms down to their sides. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, waving towards the two of them in a grand gesture while speaking to the other pilots in the room. “I’d like to welcome the newest members of the Monitor flight crew.” She turned to look at them, and seemed to get irritated that they had not moved as of yet. “Take some seats, gentlemen.”
Littlestone moved first. He nodded his head and, grabbing Williams by the arm, dragged his friend up the short flight of stairs to find some seats in the middle of the large, rounded room.
“Let’s see,” Commander Winters continued, reading from a computer pad, “we have Lt. John Littlestone, call sign Three-Step, and Lt. Dan Williams, call sign Eagle. Interesting call signs. I can’t wait to hear the story on them. They will be joining Gray Squadron under the command of Lt. Lupo. Lupo, say hello.”
A big wall of muscle with a clean shaven head stood up and waved at the two new recruits and smiled a smile that did nothing to reassure Littlestone. “Hello. You two can call me Big Shot. Welcome to the Grays.”
A few of other pilots sitting near Big Shot cheered and waved as well.
“Okay, now that introductions are over,” Commander Winters re-took control of the conversation, “let’s get on with today’s duty assignments.”
She tapped some commands on the console before her, and the large screen behind her flared to life, showing a list of pilots, patrol routes or other duties. In one quick glance, Littlestone saw that Gray Squadron had a rear patrol today, probably because of the two of them. It was a test flight to check out the new fish. Before he could look any further, however, the lights in the room dimmed and red lights started flashing. Simultaneously, a siren started going off. A female voice came over the comm. system.
“Enemy craft sighted, fighters inbound. All pilots are to report to their craft and scramble to engage. This is not a drill.”
“You heard the woman,” Winters shouted, “everyone move out!”
“This is it,” Williams was saying to Littlestone. “Our first day here, and we get to jump into the action right away.”
Littlestone sighed. Williams knew that while, outwardly, his friend never shared his enthusiasm for battle, once they were out there, the two hotshots were peas in a pod. Everyone was rushing out of the briefing room in an orderly fashion. Before Williams had a chance to question where they would be going, Big Shot came up behind them and slapped them both on the back, causing Dan to loose his breath and cough.
“You two are with me,” he said with a big smile, showing that a few of his teeth were missing. “Since we didn’t have time to assign you two more experienced wingmen, you’ll both be flying as mine.”
“Yes, sir,” William said, happy with this arrangement. Being able to show off in front of the boss was even better than just relying on computer data to prove his expertise.
The two followed him down a short hallway to the locker rooms, where they changed into flight suits. Then, they ran to a lift, traveled in quite for a few moments, and exited the lift into the controlled chaos that is the flight deck. Unlike the ancient nuclear aircraft carriers of Earth’s past that Dan’s father kept at his naval museum, the flight deck of a space carrier was, by necessity, enclosed. It was flat, however, with several of the fighters being brought up on flat lifts through the floor from the maintenance and repair deck below it. It was essentially one long, square tube at the front end of the ship, with crews swarming all over the place and fighter pilots rushing to pull on flight suits and get into their ships.
Big Shot pointed them towards one end of the deck, where several Interceptors waited. The ships were arrowhead shaped with missiles attached, or being attached by crews, to the wings, a small looking, wedge shaped cockpit on the top and a booster thrusting out the back end. All in all, they were perhaps the ugliest fighters in the entire fleet. Or at least, Williams thought so. However, they were the workhorse of the fleet fighter contingent, having been in service for several decades now with little to complain about and plenty to praise about in their performance.
“These two will be yours,” Big Shot said, patting one of the ships and pointing towards another. Williams noticed that the name plate still had the previous pilot’s name there. ‘Lt. Xavier “Zorro” DeMarcos.’
“You’ve got some big shoes to fill there, fish,” Big Shot said to Williams, who blushed and hesitated slightly before he stepped into the cockpit. He briefly wondered what happened to Zorro, but figured it was best not to dwell on such things. As the deck crew did minor, last minute preparations to the fighter, he could see Three-Step in the fighter next to his. He was touching the nameplate on his, another case of the wrong name, and was saying a prayer of some sort. Williams never understood the purpose of doing any of that, but whatever worked for his friend, he would let slide.
He went through his own pre-flight superstitions. He pulled a small wooden statuette of an eagle in flight from his flight suit, and set it down behind some controls so it would be visible, but out of the way. He patted it and said “give me luck.” Then, he patted the cockpit window after it closed, connecting himself with the ship. “Fly for me, girl? Like you did for Zorro, fly for me.”
“Gray squadron, prepare for launch,” came Big Shot’s voice over his helmet speaker as he pulled on his gloves. “Check in.”
He heard the other members of the squadron check in using call signs, and waited until only he and Three-Step were left. “Eagle, checking in,” he said, followed by Three-Step.
“Launch,” came the command from Big Shot. And without hesitation, in the same order they checked in, Gray Squadron launched, rushing down the flight deck as fast as they could, so that when they hit space, they were already going at top speeds. As he passed through the force field that kept the flight deck from the vacuum of space, everything went dark and silent, and he took in a deep breath. He always loved this part. There was this brief moment where the gravity of the ship gave way to space, and he could feel the weightlessness before his own ship took over again. It made him feel connected to the universe.
Before he could really enjoy that feeling, however, an enemy fighter craft flew right by him. It was long and thin, slightly curved in the front, like a single talon, with crescent shaped wings on the very rear of the ship. It was so close to him as it flew by that he could count the rivets holding the plating together.
“Keep your eyes open, Eagle!” said Big Shot, sounding annoyed, but continuing. “Gray Squadron, form up on me! Let’s go get these Xenorite bastards.”
Xenorite was the name that an unknown biologist had given the strange, hostile race of aliens humanity had first encountered over 2 years ago. Even though, during the course of the war human’s were now forced to fight in, the true name of the alien species was discovered, Xenorite was what everyone kept calling them.
The dogfight seemed to last for hours. Big Shot turned out to be a very skilled pilot, and it took everything that Three-Step and Eagle had to keep up with him a lot of the time. But, through it all, Eagle learned a few new tricks to pull on an Interceptor, as well as put in a few that he knew that no one else on the squadron knew. During that time, he also got in two confirmed kills and three assists.
Then the tide of the battle turned. The attack on the Monitor had been broken, and everyone switched focus from defense to offense. The fighters moved out to attack the Xenorite cruiser. That was when the alien’s revealed their trap. Hundreds of fighters appeared from behind the small moon their ship was orbiting, and with Gray Squadron leading the charge, Eagle, Three-Step and Big Shot were the first to greet this new threat.
“Break formation!” Big Shot was calling. “Break formation! Return to Monitor, repeat, return to… arrgh!”
Eagle watched as his commanding officer’s fighter was hit by enemy fighters. First one, then a second and third, and finally a swarm of them were flying over and past, as if the human were nothing but a ribbon to cut as they crossed the finish line. But that was before the worst part. A green beam of energy came out from the Xenorite cruiser and latched onto Big Shot. A tractor beam, Eagle thought.
“They have Big Shot,” he said into his microphone. “I’m going in to get him.”
“I’ve got your wing,” came the instant reply of Three-Step, causing Eagle to smile despite the seriousness of the situation. The two of them rapidly dodged in and out of the tail end of the cloud of enemy fighters, mostly focused on reaching the rapidly receeding Big Shot than on taking down Xenorites. But, the aliens had other plans, and it didn’t take long for a group of four fighters to break off from the rest and swarmed on Eagles craft. Despite his best efforts to avoid being hit, he soon found himself taking hit after hit. He knew this was it. His first real battle, and he was going to die in it. He found himself feeling disappointed. Then, another blast hit his ship, and threw him hard forward. He felt a sharp and overwhelming pain in his abdomen, and then his whole world went black.
He awoke lying on his back, staring at a bright, white ceiling with lights just out of his field of vision. He turned to look around and felt his head swim and his stomach lurch at the motion. He groaned, which activated some kind of movement from the other side of whatever room he was in. He figured it must be an infirmary of some sort, maybe back on the Monitor. He couldn’t remember what happened after the dogfight. He kept his eyes closed for the moment, though. The darkness helped ease the sensation that his brain was disconnected and sloshing around in a thick liquid in his skull. A somewhat androgynous voice came to him.
“I knew you would wake soon,” it said, slowly pronouncing each word individually, as if English were not the speaker’s native tongue. “They not believe me that I keep you alive.” There was a smug satisfaction behind that statement, and Dan just had to know who was talking to him. He opened his eyes slowly, only to view a nightmare.
He had seen Xenorites before, but only in video or pictures, and one corpse during training. He had never seen one moving and talking before. They were surprisingly human like in appearance, although with several obvious differences. For one, their skin tended towards a rust-red color, though this one seemed pale compared to the other’s he’d seen, almost pinkish. The close cut hair on top of its head was salt and pepper colored that, on a human, would give the appearance of age and wisdom. The noise was small and flat, but the nostrils were wide and flared. The ears were also flat against the skull, and smaller than a human’s. Earth scientists have determined that their range of hearing was not as broad as humans were. The eyes, however, were the most frightening part of the alien because of how much they resembled a human’s. They were slightly larger than the average human’s, with whites and a corona of color, in this case a light gray, and a black pupil. All in all, they were very human like, and he could even see the joy in the alien’s eyes to be talking to a living human.
Beyond it’s face, Dan couldn’t see much. It had on a loose fitting, bright red outfit that appeared to be made out of some kind of plastic. It also wore white gloves that were made out of the same material. Around it’s neck was what appeared to be a surgical face mask, and Dan’s stomach lurched again as he began to wonder if this was an alien doctor.
“What the hell have you bastard’s done to me!” he said, and started to struggle to get up from his bed. Two things prevented him. First, the swimming sensation in his head returned, forcing him back down. Secondly, he noticed for the first time that his arms and legs were strapped down to the bed. He closed his eyes and groaned again.
“Calm,” the alien said, raising one hand palm facing him. “Calm, human. I save you.”
“You what?” Dan said, opening his eyes again. The Xenorite was pointing to Dan’s stomach area. Moving slowly, he lifted his head to look down. He saw that he was shirtless, and that a white bandage had been taped to the left side of his abdomen. There was some red on the bandage, but over all, it seemed pretty clean.
“I save you,” it said again. “You had metal in stomach. I doctor. I remove metal. Surgery,” the alien said that word very slowly, pronouncing each syllable. “I save you life, keep you alive.”
It smiled and seemed very proud of itself. Dan was very confused. Why would the Xenorites want to keep him alive? Suddenly, he felt very tired, and lay his head back down on his bed, sighing.
The alien nodded. “You tired. Good. You rest, sleep. I come back, check you later.”
Dan wanted to stay awake, find out what was going on, but found that he was just too tired. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately. It felt like he had just fallen asleep when someone shaking him jarred him awake. He fluttered his eyes open to find himself looking into the very concerned eyes of Three-Step.
“Dan!” he said, stopping the shaking. “Thank God, I was afraid those bastards had done something to you!”
“Wha…?” Dan replied, still groggy.
“Here,” John said, helping Dan sit up.
Dan looked around. He was still in a clean, white room, but this time, he was on a bunk, instead of a hospital bed. A quick glance gave the appearance that this room was more like quarters, with a door leading to a closet, another one to a head, a small table with chairs, and even a dresser or some kind. He noticed that there were two other bunks in the room, and that there was someone else in one of them. Whoever it was didn’t look so good, rolling back and forth and groaning.
John followed his gaze and nodded. “That’s Big Shot. He’s not doing so well after coming back from that so-called doctor. I don’t know what they did to him, but I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
Dan pushed himself out of the bunk and made his way across the room. John was right, Big Shot didn’t look like he was going to make it. The man’s face was black and blue with burses, and he had blood all over the white robes he was wearing. Dan noticed that he was wearing the same kind of robe himself, but his had no blood on it. Whatever happened to the Lieutenant, it was bad.
“Lieutenant?” he said, crouching down and touching the big man on the shoulder. “You in there, Lieutenant?”
“I’ve been trying that for hours now,” Three-Step said. “He’s unresponsive. Just rolls back and forth like that, groaning.”
“How long?” Dan asked, looking back at his friend.
“How long have we been here?” John asked, with a bitter laugh on his lips. “Well, I was never unconscious like you two were, my ship managed to avoid being hit during the run. I’ve been in here ever sense. Near as I can tell, we’ve been here for at least a day, 18 hours minimum. The L T was placed in here by that damn quack they call a doctor about 3 hours ago, and you just got here a few minutes ago. I was afraid you were dead.”
Dan nodded. That seemed to fit how long it felt. He’d always had a good sense of time. Before he could say or do anything else, though, the door to the room slid open, and four Xenorites came in. One was the doctor that he had spoken to before, still in his red uniform. The other two were larger and carried obvious sidearms. They wore more obviously military uniforms, and had the look of seasoned veterans about them.
The doctor was saying something and pointing to Big Shot.
The three soldiers nodded and moved across the room to take Big Shot. Both Dan and John jumped up to stand between them and the lieutenant, but they were prepared for that. Dan was pushed aside easily, still groggy from his sleep and not at full strength from his wounds. He hit the ground hard, and was out of breath and sweating from the exertion. John had slightly better luck, managing to land a punch to the noise of one of the soldiers, which caused him to stumble back clutching the now bloody facial feature. The other two, however, worked together to subdue John. One grabbed him from behind, holding his arms back, while the other punched him in the stomach. Dan watched as the punching continued, and looked over to the doctor, who had looks of concern on his face. When he looked back at Dan, Eagle pleaded with him through his eyes to stop.
The doctor stepped into the room then, shouting something in their alien language, and again pointing at Big Shot. The two aliens stopped beating on John, looked at him, then nodded and replied something short in a shout that Dan thought sounded an awful lot like ‘Sir, yes Sir.’ The two then got their companion up and the three of them lifted Big Shot out of the bunk and carried him out the door. The doctor, however, lingered behind for a moment, looking from John to Dan and the back to John.
“I sorry,” he said in English, then moved out of the room himself.
As soon as everyone was gone, Dan rushed to Three-Steps side. He tried to help his friend up, but found that he was just too weak. John, however, was able to push himself up off the floor. His face was bruised, and from the way he held his ribs, Dan guessed that they were either bruised or broken as well.
“Bastards,” John said. He made his way to one of the bunks and lay down on it. “Probably going to cut him open.”
“What?” Dan said, not sure he heard John correctly.
“Yeah, why else would they take him? It’s obvious even to us that he’s dying. He’s of no other use to them. This way, they can find out more about our anatomy, what makes us tick, and our weaknesses.”
He thought about the doctor who took Big Shot away, the same doctor that he saw when he first woke up. He seemed very excited that he had saved Dan from certain death. It didn’t seem very likely that he just took Big Shot away to cut him open without
trying to save him first.
“I’m not sure that I buy that,” he said after a bit.
“What?” John said.
“That doctor,” Dan said, explaining. “I’m not convinced that he’s willing to just cut into Big Shot without trying to save him first.”
“Are you serious?” John was instantly angry. “These things are trying to kill us all! We’re at war, remember? What possible reason would there be to save Big Shot? It’s just not how they think, Dan.”
“Normally, I’d agree, but there’s something different about that Doctor.”
“Did they cut into your head?” John was almost yelling now, and started to get up out of the bed, but flinched and grabbed his ribs when he did so. He sat back down, and then sighed. “Did I ever tell you why I joined the military?”
“No,” Dan said, “I don’t think you have.”
“Four years ago, when this war started, do you know where my mother was?” He didn’t actually wait for Dan to answer, which was good, because Dan had no idea. John never talked about his mother, and Dan figured he was about to find out why.
“My mom was at Vega 4 Research Outpost. You remember that? A station full of civilian scientists that were researching a new terraforming method. Then, the Xenorites show. Do you remember what they did?”
Of course Dan did. Every single human being knows what happened to Vega 4.
“They attacked without provocation. And they didn’t just settle for destroying the outpost. No, they slaughtered every last person on the station, leaving them behind as proof of their viciousness. My mother, Dan. My mother! They’re animals! Every last one of them. They don’t want to save us. They want to torture us, find out what we know, and then kill us for sport! That so called doctor of theirs? He’s just the best with the tools.”
His energy spent, John seemed to collapse into himself, and then lay down on the bed. Dad stayed where he was in quiet contemplation. Up until today, Dan would have agreed with John about the Xenorites being animals. Vicious and without morals. At least, that’s what the reports all said, and he believed them. But, he still couldn’t bring himself to believe that the doctor from earlier was like that. There was real concern and kindness in those eyes.
The next day passed without any conversation between the two. Once, a guard came in, weapon dawn the whole time, and gave them food. Dan ate, but John declined any food offered by the aliens. Later, after both John and Dan were sleeping, Dan was awoken by a gun poking into his back. There were to guards, both armed, and the Doctor in the room. The Doctor indicated that Dan should be silent by pointing to him and then putting his hand over his mouth. Dan did as ordered, and gut out of bed and walked down the corridor. He was taken back to the medical bay he had been in before, and the Doctor came in behind him, saying something to the guards, who remained outside.
The doctor indicated that Dan should sit, then went to a desk and picked something up. He walked over to Dan and picked up his arm, indicating that Dan should open his hand. The Doctor then dropped something into it.
“I sorry,” was all he said, and Dan saw that he looked genuinely remorseful.
Dan looked into his hand, and saw a pair of dog tags. He knew instantly who’s they were, and he clutched them tight in his hands.
“I try everything I know, but humans not like us inside. I try. I sorry.”
Dan looked across the room at the alien that stood before him, realizing that this was a gesture of good will.
“I believe you,” he said after moments of silence, and meant it. Suddenly, glory seemed very fleeting, and not worth fighting for.
The silence stretched on for some time before Dan breached it.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now,” the Doctor started, but then hesitated. He looked Dan up and down, then nodded to himself, as if deciding something about Dan. “Yes. Now, them,” and he nodded at the door as he said that, “They will kill you. You and you friend. They will ask you questions, and if you no answer, or if you yes answer, they will kill you.”
Dan saw sadness in the alien’s eyes. He only nodded, though. “That’s to be expected. We don’t serve much purpose alive if we don’t have any information to give.”
“No,” the Doctor said. “No more kill. No more death. I help you. You and you friend. No more death.”
He pointed to Dan’s hand, and Dan looked again, turning the dog tags over. That’s when he saw a small key card. It must be to the cell he and Three-Step where in.
“Here,” the Doctor said. “Map to fighters. You fighter there. Go, escape. No more death. No more kill.”
He handed Dan another small, flat card, but this one had a button on it. Dan pressed it, and saw a map appear as a hologram before him. Better yet, the map showed where all the living things on board the ship were. This was amazing. With this map, he could easily avoid any patrols or other Xenorites to get to his ship and get out.
He looked up in awe at the alien doctor. Then, he reached out his hand. The Xenorite hesitated, looking at the offered limb as if unsure of how to proceed. Dan helped by grabbing the Doctor’s arm and putting it out, then flattening out his hand. Dan then gripped it with his, and shook his hands.
“Thank you,” he whispered. Then, the doctor knocked at the door. Dan was taken back to his cell with Three-Step, who still lay on the bed, trying to ignore Dan. Dan didn’t care at this point, though. He held up the dog tags.
“Big Shot is dead,” he said simply, but for that he only got a grunt.
“The Doctor gave me his dog tags. And with them, a way to escape.”
That got John’s attention. He rolled over, and Dan showed him the key card.
“You believe that butcher in there?” John said. “It’s probably a trap. A last bit of sport with us before killing us.”
“Be real for a second, John,” Dan said. “Why would they do that? Why not just kill us? Besides, if they are just going to kill us anyway, wouldn’t you like the chance to escape before they do it?”
This caused John to pause, then he sat up. “Okay, if I can take a few of them out before I go, I’m in. Let’s see what this little toy of yours does.”
They went up to the door, but found that there was no lock on it. At least, not on the inside. That made sense, if this was a prison, why put the lock on the inside?
“Okay, wait,” Dan said. “He also gave us this.”
He turned on the map, and John looked it over in surprise. “That still doesn’t get us out of this room.”
“No, this key opens something, and my guess is it’s the lift. It will take us directly to the launch bay, where we can get out of here.”
“We still need to get out of this room,” Three-Step said, feeling like a broken record.
“I know.” Dan said. “They have to come back with food tomorrow. What if we fake an illness? Get the Xenorite that comes in to lower his guard, and we escape?”
“This isn’t a movie, Dan,” John said. “That never works in real life.”
“Let’s just give it a try.”
“Whatever,” John said, and returned to his bed.
Dan waited. It took what felt like another day, but sure enough, eventually the door opened and in came a guard. Dan fell to the floor instantly, clutching his side, where the bandage still was. He groaned. The guard, keeping his gun on Dan, came further into the room to check out Dan. He didn’t get far, though, before one of the chairs from the table hit him across the head and knocked him out.
“Okay, so it worked,” he said, picking up the gun. It looked odd, but had a normal trigger, so John figured that he could at least fire it, if not anything fancy. “But, don’t let this go to your head. We still gotta steal a ship and get out of here.”
They exited the cell and crept their way down the hall until they reached what looked like a lift. Dan inserted his card key, and the door opened. Then, inside, he inserted the key into the only slot inside, and the lift moved. He checked his map, and sure enough, they were heading straight to the hanger deck.
“Traffic looks light in the hanger bay,” Dan said, “Must be in FTL. That could be a problem.”
“We’ll get to that when we get there,” John said, pointing his gun to the door as the lift came to a stop.
No one was in immediate site, but the two ducked behind some barrels that smelled like oil. They did a quick view of the hanger bay, and saw that, sure enough, one of their ships was sitting at the bay, near where they were.
They made it over to the ship by crouching low. When they got there, they saw it was John’s ship, which was what Dan expected, his being the only ship that didn’t take a hit before being dragged on board. Dan climbed up to the cockpit and opened the canopy while John stood watch. He got as far as climbing into the pilot’s seat to do the pre-flight check before he heard John swear below him. When he looked out, he saw why. Several Xenorite soldiers with rifles of some kind were running towards them, yelling at them, probably to stop or freeze or something similar. They must of set off some kind of alarm.
“Get the ship started up, Dan!” John shouted, firing back at them. Then, he started to climb up the ladder into the rear seat of the cockpit. He didn’t get half way up, however, before being shot. Dan watched in horror as he saw the bullet burst out the rear end of his friends skull. John was dead instantly, and fell to the ground below him. The alien’s kept firing, bullets bouncing off the thick metal of the hull.
Tears streaming down his face, Dan punched up the controls for the fighter, closing the cockpit and starting up the engines. He turned on the ships guns and fired off a few shots at the soldiers, which sent them scattering for cover. That gave Dan the time he needed. He taxied the ship onto the runway and started it down the tube. He saw that, indeed, the ship was in FTL, which presented a problem for him when he exited, as his ship was not going FTL. Best-case scenario, he would end up in a random part of the universe, alone. Worst case scenario, the ship exploded upon exiting the cruiser. But, he didn’t have much choice. There’s no way these soldiers would let him live now, and the Doctor would not be able to help this time. So, he gunned it.
He closed his eyes just before exiting the force field holding in the atmosphere of the ship. The ship lurched to the side, and it felt like it was hit by another ship. Had he rammed into the side of the cruiser? Then, there were other jarring pushes to the ship as it jostled back and forth. He opened his eyes to read controls and try to re-gain control of the ship. But nothing he did worked. Suddenly, the jostling stopped, and he found himself in normal space. He was still in a solar system, because he could see a sun. Judging by it’s size, he would guess he was in this system’s outer planets. He hoped it wasn’t a Xenorite controlled system, because that would help him get home.
He put out a broadcast S.O.S., and then sat back and prayed. Surprisingly, he got a return signal after only an hour. It was from the Monitor! He was still in the same system the dog fight took place in. The Xenorite cruiser must have hidden out in the outer planets, probably for repairs, before hitting FTL a few days later. He would be picked up by the Monitor now, and get proper medical care from human doctors.
He looked at the dog tags in his hand, and thought of Three-Step. He knew something that the alien Doctor had told him was true. No more killing. No more death. His desire for glory was gone. This war needed to end, and it would only end due to people like that Doctor. And Dan Williams had determined right then and there to become another one.
The End
Story Number 2
So, I finished Story 2. Just. I realized about Wednesday that I didn’t like this story, but by then it was too late to stop and do something else. But, better a story I don’t like than no story at all. So, I pushed myself to finished it. And in that, I am grateful, for even though this story isn’t as good as the first one is, the fact that I finished it is an accomplishment. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started stories and then didn’t finish them because I thought they sucked. I mean, it feels good to follow through on something. And hell, maybe there’s something salvageable in this story, and I can re-write it later. In the mean time, hopefully it’s an enjoyable read. See you all next week!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Scouts
The quiet stillness of the marshlands was interrupted by the sloshing of marching boots through the thick water. A group of six soldiers in long, heavy gray coats, with black belts and blue trousers were the owners of those boots, and looked just miserable as they slowly made their way through the muck and water. All of them carried rifles at the ready, though one had a sidearm in his holster.
“Why are we out here again, Sarge?” one of the men asked. His face was round, but hard, and had a large wooly beard covering his cheeks. He had lost his army hat, known as a kepi, last week, and had never received another one. He didn’t mind, though. There were boys back at camp that didn’t even have boots.
“Keep it down, Johansson,” a large man with a close cut beard and mustache in the front of the column said to the man that asked the question. He wore the same uniform as the others, kepi included to try and cover his bald head, but his jacket included three yellow chevrons on his sleeve.
“Aw, come on, Sarge,” Johansson said, waiving the bigger man off, “you and I both know ain’t no Yanks out in this swamp. Only thing can hear us is the ‘gators and the birds.”
The man called Sarge brought the group to a halt with a swift hand signal, bringing groans of relief from the other men. He then turned and marched to the back of the line to look Johansson in the eye.
“Now you listen here, boy,” he said through gritted teeth, jutting a finger straight into the other man’s chest. “We are but a few miles away from Baton Rouge, which as you well known is occupied by the enemy. We do NOT know if the Yanks are out here. That’s part of why we’re here. Now, keep quiet and march.”
Before Sarge could get back to his position at the head of the column, another man spoke up.
“He’s right, Sarge.” This man had a shock of bright red hair, and was clean-shaven. In fact, it looked like he was barley old enough to shave, not more than 17. “We’ve been marching through this muck for hours now. If there were Yanks about, we’da seen ‘em by now. Plus, we ain’t been marching no search patrol. We been goin’ in a straight line, as if we’re heading someplace particular. What are we doing out here, Sarge?”
The other men nodded their heads and mumbled their agreement with the boy’s statement. Sarge stopped and stared him hard in the eyes, but the kid did not flinch. He was fearless, which was actually one of the things that Sarge liked about him. He sighed and shook his head. When he looked back up, he tried to focus his face into the most angry he could, despite not actually feeling this way. These were good men, his men, and God above help him he loved them.
“Since when did you all become such lazy soldiers?” he asked, staring them all down. A few looked confused, but most looked ashamed right away. “We’re known as some of the best scouts this Confederate Army has, and look at y’all now. Gabbin’ at me as if I weren’t your sergeant, but your best friend. As if this wasn’t a war, but stroll in a country lane. Sorry lot you are.”
He sighed again, and looked the group up and down, slowly, quietly, letting them stew in the knowledge that he was not quite pissed yet, but that even a cough at this point could tip him over.
“Now, shut your yaps and get back in formation. We march for another hour, and then we set up camp. If you’re good little girls,” he said with a smirk, knowing that particular dig would hurt a couple of the more manly men in the group, “I will fill you in on our mission after camp is set up.”
No one replied, which was good enough for Sarge. He grunted and nodded, and then made his way back to the front of the column. With another signal, they continued their march. As Sarge promised, an hour later the group was looking for a campsite. It didn’t take long before Johansson found a large island of dry land. Well, relatively dry land. The group took off their packs and set up their blankets on the ground. Not counting their ammo, guns and some dry tack for rations, it was all the provisions they carried with them. Sarge commanded the kid, Private Buckley, or Buckeye as the group liked to call him, both as a parody of his name and due to his steady aim, to start a fire, while he sent two other men, Smith and Farley, to get something for dinner. A little less than an hour later, the group sat around the small fire, cooking the six lizards Smith and Farley had returned with.
“Okay, Sarge,” Buckeye said, breaching the silence even though Sarge hadn’t given him permission, as such. “We’ve set up camp, and even ate dinner, if you want to call it that. So, you gonna fill us in on our mission?”
Sarge had just lit up a large cigar, which he took a long drag on before exhaling a long trail of sweet smelling smoke before answering. He took a long look around at the assembled soldiers before him. They were good men, good scouts who were all loyal to him, even if they weren’t the most disciplined. He grunted and nodded, his typical form of approval.
“Okay, Private,” he said, pointing the butt end of his cigar at the kid, “you got it. One debriefing. As you know, General Breckinridge plans on re-taking Baton Rouge from those damn Northerners. We’ve been marching west from Camp Moore, planning on coming up on the city from the east.”
“Yeah,” Johansson said, interrupting. “We know alla that. What does any of that have to do with us being here?”
“Johansson, so help me,” Sarge growled, “if you interrupt me one more time, I’ll take you down myself, and leave you for the Union soldiers to take.”
Johansson closed his mouth with an audible clip noise, which was really more shenanigans and less Johansson following orders, but Sarge would take it.
“That’s more like it,” he growled. “Listen up, girls. Here’s the tail. A few nights ago, we spotted something flying through the night sky. It looked like a ball of fire, and it appeared to fly from Baton Rouge, cut across the sky, and then land out here somewhere, in the swamp.” He paused for a moment, letting what he had said so far to sink in. “Our job is simple. We’re to follow the trajectory of that object, and find out exactly what it is. Preferably quickly, so we can report back to General Breckinridge before he launches the attack.”
“What was it?” Smith asked. “A new weapon, being tested by the Yanks?”
Sarge nodded. “That’s what command seems to think, at any rate.”
“If it is,” Buckeye said, “the whole Confederate Army is in some serious shit. And if it isn’t, the shit would be limited to just us.”
“Correct again,” Sarge nodded. Sometimes, the kid was oddly well spoken. “But, butter a group of expendable scouts like ourselves than good men like Breckinridge. At least, so says command, and I ain’t one to argue with ‘em.”
There was a moments silence, as Sarge expected, before anyone spoke up. To his surprise, it was Corporal Whitney. Whitney was a thin, short man, who, like Sarge himself, was bald, though in Whitney’s case, it was because he shaved it off, along with all the rest of the hair on his head. His almost comically square head held two small blue eyes, which were boring straight into Sarge right now. Whitney was normally a quiet man, one who didn’t waits time with words when actions would do, and usually followed orders without question. When Whitney spoke, Sarge listened.
So, when the man did speak up, and said, “That’s it?” it left Sarge somewhat dumfounded.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’” Sarge asked in return. “Of course that’s it. What did you expect, Corporal?”
“I mean,” Whitney continued, the anger evident in his tone, “we’re seriously out here chasing a fireball from the sky? It cold have been anything. Sounds like command has us out here chasing our tails.”
“What are you saying, Whitney?” This time it was Johansson who responded to the corporal. “That someone wanted us out of the way and sent us on a wild goose chase?”
“That’s what it feels like,” Whitney replied.
“I don’t buy it,” Johansson said after pondering it for a few seconds. He paused for a moment to take a bite out of his charged lizard, chewing it down as if it were the finest porterhouse stake. Still chewing, he continued. “Who would someone want us out of a big battle like the one the old man is planning? And why? Like Sarge said, we’re some of the best scouts the army’s got. Be a shame not to put us to use. And even if someone did want us specifically out of the way, why use something so strange? Why not just order us to sit this one out? Wouldn’t be the first time we got that order, would it Sarge?”
Sarge only grunted in response. He was thinking. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d always felt like something of an outside, even in the army, and especially when the army commanders didn’t want him and his participating in a big battle. But, this felt different. No, something real was out there, and it was important that he and the boys here find it.
“I don’t believe it,” he said at last, cutting through the conversation happening by the fire. The others looked at him, confused about what he was saying.
“Sarge?” Smith asked.
“I don’t believe for a hot second that the brass put us out here on a wild goose chase. I don’t believe that they want us out of the coming battle. I believe ‘em about this being for real, and that we need to find out if this is a new Yank weapon.”
There was a few moments of silence, where only the crackling of the fire could be heard. Then, everyone verbalized their agreement with Sarge’s statement. All but Buckeye, that is.
“What’s up, kid?” Johansson said, jabbing his fellow soldier in the ribs and bringing him back to reality.
“Do you hear that?” Buckeye said, still not looking Johansson in the eyes.
“Hear what?” the older man said, straining his ears. “I don’t hear nothing.”
“Exactly,” Buckeye said.
Johansson looked at the younger man as if he had lost his mind. Then, Whitney spoke up again. “No, he’s right. Listen.”
“I told you, I don’t hear nothin’,” Johansson said, getting irritated. He was sure that the two were making fun of him.
“They’re not making fun of you, Johansson,” Sarge said, catching on. “There’s nothing to hear. There should be something going on out here. Birds, crocs, some kinda noise. Ain’t nothin’.”
Johansson listened again. This time, he understood, and shivered at the though. “That ain’t natural,” he said at last.
“Sure ain’t,” Smith said. “It reminds me of when Farley and I were hunting. We couldn’t find nothing except those lizards, and we were a good mile or two away from here before we found that. What do you make of it, Sarge?”
“I don’t know,” Sarge said, looking around, trying to find any kind of animal.
Finally, Farley spoke up. “Maybe it’s the fireball. Whatever it was, maybe it scared off the animals.”
“That would mean we’re pretty close,” Buckeye said in almost a cheerful tone, as if proximity to their goal was something exciting. Which, Sarge though, it was, because it meant they were that much closer to getting out of this God forsaken swamp.
“In that case,” Sarge said, “we should get ready for tomorrow. We’ll set up watches, and everyone not on watch will sleep. Clear?”
Everyone nodded, and the camp settled down for the night. Farley and Buckeye drew first watch, and settled in next to a tree. Buckeye kept shifting his weight, scaning the area and the sky, as if expecting another fireball to drop on them during the night.
“What’s going on with you, Buckley?” Farley was the only man in the group that didn’t call him Buckeye. “You look like you got rattlers in your pants.”
“Nervous,” Buckeye said. “Ain’t never been in a place with no animals at all. Even after a battle, there’s crows. Here… nothing. Ain’t natural.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Farley said, a smirk on his face. “Personally, I’m looking forward to a quiet night, where nothing happens on our watch.”
True to Farley’s wish, the night passed uneventfully. Buckeye slept fitfully, and was joined in that state by Smith and Johansson. A cup of coffee later, however, and the three were up and running again. It wouldn’t be the first time they had been forced to work without sleep during this war. While sitting around the camp fire eating the hard tack they had for breakfast, Farley could be heard humming.
“What’s that you’re humming over there, Farley? Is that the birthday song?” Johansson asked. “Well, shoot, how did you know that today was my birthday?”
Farley stopped and looked Johansson up and down, trying to determine if the loud mouthed soldier was joking or not.
“I didn’t,” he said after coming to the conclusion that Johansson wasn’t teasing. “It’s my birthday today. August Fourth, year of our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Sixty Two.”
“No foolin’?” Johansson asked, “We share a birthday?”
“Hey, me too,” Smith added, throwing the remainder of his coffee on the fire.
“Yeah,” Buckeye said a moment later, “it’s my birthday today too.”
The four of them looked at each other in shocked silence, then turned to look at Sarge and Whitney. Whitney only nodded, having heard the whole conversation. It took some convincing, but eventually Sarge admitted to this day being his birthday as well.
“You mean to say that all six of us share a birthday?” Johansson said after everyone was silent for a moment. “That’s down right creepy.”
“What’s so creepy about it?” Sarge stated, standing up in that forceful manor that indicated he wanted everyone working instead of sitting. “So, we all share a birthday. Who cares? We got a job to do, and we’re going to do it. Break camp!”
He said that last bit at a yell, and everyone stood to attention when he did. “Yes, Sergeant!” they all said in unison. Working as the well-oiled machine they were, the camp was taken down and packed away, the fire was out, and most signs that they were even there were cleaned away, all within a few minutes. Not long after that, they were marching through the swamp again.
The quite was noticeable now, almost like a thick fog, and it felt to all six soldiers that they were marching through it as well as the swamp. With no animals in site, the only companions the men had were the cypress trees, who all seemed to be bent away from them no matter what direction they were headed in. Even Sarge didn’t have an answer to that. So, instead, they continued to move on.
“Hey, Smith,” Johansson whispered to the man in front of him during the march. “What do you make of it?”
Smith never turned around. “Make of what?”
“The birthday thing.”
“I don’t know,” Smith said, finally turning to look at his fellow scout. “It’s been bugging me since we found out, though. How is it that we didn’t know this already? I mean, how long have we all known each other?”
“Since the start of the war, I think,” replied Johansson, trying to think. “It feels like forever, but I can’t remember any of you before the war.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Smith replied. “And that’s bugging me too. I’ve been trying real hard to remember anything outside the war, and other than a few vague memories of my life, I can’t. Can you?”
Johansson thought for a few minutes, his tongue sticking out in concentration, before replying. “No. Not really, I mean. I got some memories of my dog when I was a kid, and my girl back home, but… I can’t even remember her name, now you mention it.”
“Something you boys want to share back there?” Sarge said from the front of the column.
“No, Sarge,” they both said in unison, and then returned to marching in silence. About an hour later, they all stopped without Sarge’s having to tell them, and stared at the damndest sight they had ever seen.
“I think we’re here,” Buckeye said.
Before them was more swamp, but this time, all the trees and the foliage on the ground was burnt black. The smell in the air was that of burning swamp gas, and made Farley and Whitney gag slightly. The devastation seemed to go on for miles, making it hard to tell where the center of it was, but when they took a closer look at the edge they had reached, it was obvious it was circular.
“It’s like, it just burned to here, then stopped,” Smith said, looking at the foliage at the edge of the burn zone. “It’s a perfect circle of burn, Sarge. I never seen anything like it.”
None of them had. “If this is a new weapon of the Union, we might as well surrender now,” Sarge said, echoing the thoughts of every one there.
They all just stood and stared for some time before Sarge shook them out of their thoughts. “Well, we still gotta figure out what caused this, and whatever that is, it’s in the center of this burn zone. So, let’s get a move on.”
“Sarge,” Buckeye said, “I got a bad feeling about this. Like we ain’t gonna come outa there.”
Sarge turned to the boy, and then nodding to Whitney, pulled the boy aside while the Corporal made sure everyone’s gear was ready for whatever they were about to experience.
“Look, boy,” Sarge said to the obviously frightened private, “I ain’t gonna lie to you. I don’t like the feel of this place neither. But, we’re Confederate soldiers, and we got us an assignment, from General Breckinridge hisself. I don’t plan on letting the old man down, and I don’t plan on letting you let him down neither. I know you’re scared. Hell, I’d be shocked if you weren’t. But pull yourself together, act like a soldier, and get marchin’. Am I clear, private?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” Buckeye replied. He didn’t look less scared, but he did look relieved to be reminded that he was simply a private following orders. Following orders was easy.
With that taken care of, Sarge returned to the front of the line and lead his scouts into the burn zone. He hesitated slightly before taking his first step, but once he had his foot in the mud on the other side of the char line, walking in was easy. The others followed suit without any hesitation, and he nodded. These were good men.
Once they got inside the burn zone, the air itself seemed to close in on them. The burned trees, unlike the ones before, seemed to lean in at them, as if trying to grab them in sharp clawed hands. The mud here was even thicker than outside, and at several points, someone’s boot gut stuck and had to be pulled out before the march could continue. Then, Buckeye saw it. A faint blue glow, coming from the center of the zone. It didn’t seem to move, but it was pretty bright, especially the closer they got to it.
“Everyone, spread out,” Sarge said in an instinctive whisper. The column broke apart as the six men moved away from Sarge and started forming a half circle of their own. They hadn’t gone far, though, before Farley jerked his rifle to his shoulder, aiming at something in the blackened Cyprus trees, ready to fire. He panned back and forth, looking for whatever it was that caught his eye. Everyone else stopped moving, raised their own rifles, and started scanning the area themselves.
“What did you see, Farley?” Sarge asked after a few seconds of not seeing anything.
“I don’t know, Sarge,” the man replied, lowering his rifle, but still scanning the area. Sarge recognized this look. He was hunting. He had caught wind of his prey, and it took a lot to shake Farley out of his hunt once he had a quarry.
“Tell me what you do see,” Sarge said, essentially giving Farley permission to actually hunt. Farley didn’t need to be told twice. He crouched down and started scanning the ground. He examined everything. Mud, rocks, tree branches, everything.
“Someone defiantly moved through here,” he said after a few minutes.
“Some one?” Sarge asked, emphasizing the word ‘one.’
“Yes, sir.” Farley said. “Broken twigs and branches on this tree would indicate someone about five and a half feet tall, and a very light foot print indicates that it was a person, not an animal. Though,” he paused, pointing to the ground. Sarge could only barely make out the foot print, and only after Farley had pointed it out to him. It was faint, and had a tread unlike any boot he’d ever seen. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Whoever left this is very good at keeping himself concealed.”
“Indian?” Smith asked.
“Not likely,” Farley said, “this foot print is obviously a heavy boot, though I’ve never seen treads like that before. My guess is its military.”
“Noted,” Sarge nodded, then turned to the rest of the group. “Everyone keep a sharp eye out. Do not fire unless you have a clear shot, let’s not waste ammo. In the mean time, we keep moving towards that glow.”
The group continued moving slowly forward, though everyone was actively scanning the trees for any signs of movement. It was painstakingly slow, but no one wanted to rush it in the least. As they got closer, the light started to form into a shape. No, Sarge realized, it wasn’t changing shape. As he got closer to it, his perspective changed. He realized that it wasn’t just one light, but several. And they appeared to be attached to something.
It was long and cylindrical, almost cigar shaped. He could swear that he saw fins on the back of it, and that it was standing on some short, stubby legs or feet. And the whole thing had a metallic cast to it. It was like some kind of building. Before he could study it any further, though, there came a cry.
Buckeye let out a scream, followed by the firing of his rifle. Everyone turned to face where he was, but when they did, he wasn’t there. It was as if he had just vanished into thin air.
“What the hell just happened?” Sarge asked, still holding his rifle up and moving it from side to side, looking for the attacker.
“I don’t know,” came the reply from Johansson, the man nearest where Buckeye was. “I was lookin’ right at him. Somethin’ gray and blurry came from that tree, and before I could move my rife in his direction, the kid was gone.”
“Circle up, back to back,” Sarge said, and everyone moved to form a circle by him, with their guns aiming out. They looked like some kind of great, gray porcupine. “Farley, what do you see?”
Farley lowered his rifle, broke the formation, and kneeled down at the site where Buckeye disappeared.
“More tracks,” he said, “this time, a lot of them. Who ever this was, attacking Buckley took effort away from their stealth. The prints are deeper. I’d still say this was one person, though. It looks like they took Buckeye, and headed back towards the light. Wait, what’s this?”
“What?” Sarge asked. He hadn’t looked down since Buckeye screamed. He was still scanning the trees. He felt like he was being watched, and he suspected that it came from that metallic building. He was ready to order a retreat.
“It looks like blood. Buckeye must have hit him when he fired. It’s leaving a trail of blood back towards the source of the light.”
“Blood? That means who ever this is can be killed,” Smith said. Sarge hadn’t realized it, but, like Smith must have, he had been thinking of whoever this was as being more than a man. A ghost or something. But blood made him realize this wasn’t true. But, blood or no blood, who ever this was, he was quicker than lightning, and could take them at a moment’s notice. And take them back to the lights. That was the source, the lights.
“Form a firing line,” Sarge said, “Aim for the light.”
The men formed two lines, one of two and a second of three, including himself. The two in front, Smith and Johansson, kneeled. Sarge couldn’t help but notice the missing Buckley in that formation.
“Ready! Aim! Line one, fire!”
The two rifles discharged to a loud booming noise and clouds of smoke. Before the smoke could dissipate, he continued giving orders.
“Reload! Line 2, fire!”
He saw the rifles of the first line pull in and the men reach for the pouches carried over their shoulders. He and the other two men raised their rifles and fired in unison. The thunder was louder, and the smoke was thicker.
“Keep firing!” he shouted, and the two lines continued to do so, for three more rounds. Then, he heard the buzzing. He couldn’t see much behind the smoke, but he saw that the lights on the building were still glowing their blue radiance. What was causing the buzzing noise, he couldn’t see. But, it was getting louder.
“Scatter!” he cried, not wanting wait for whatever attack was coming. No one else needed to be told twice, and everyone ran in different directions, trying to reach the trees for cover. As the buzzing reached it’s peak, Sarge saw where it was coming from. There was some kind of gun now sticking out of the top of the building. It fired, with no noise but the buzzing, which stopped as soon as the weapon discharged. Lightning flew from the muzzle of the gun and across the swamp, until it slammed into Smith’s back as the man tried to reach cover. Smith flew through the air and landed hard, face first, in the mud and muck of the burnt swamp. His eyes were wide, staring at the smoking hole in the back of Smith’s jacket. There was no way they could stop this thing.
“Retreat!” he cried, seeing that Johansson and Whitney were already doing just that. He ran after them, not bothering to see if the others were following. He was terrified, his only thought was to flee from this hell he found himself in and back to the rational world. He heard to buzzing building up behind him, and ran all the harder. But, it wasn’t enough. The lightning flew out from the gun again, and this time, he knew, it came straight for him. When it hit, he felt an electric fire course through his body, and every fiber of his nerves were light up in pain. His body seized up as he flew through the air from the impact, muscles freezing up. Thankfully, he passed out before he hit the ground. He prayed for death just before blanking out.
When he awoke, lying on his back staring at bright white lights, he thought that was what had happened to him, and maybe the lights were heaven. Then, a voice that sounded like thousands of bees brought him back to the nightmare hell he had hoped he had escaped from.
“Ah, you are awake,” the voice said, “good.”
Sarge’s head burst into a red pain, as if hundreds of tiny men with pick axes were trying to cut into his skull. He shut his eyes and groaned in pain. The voice continued, and he heard it clearly through the pain.
“I apologize,” the thousand bee’s said as one. “I did not realize that my mind touch would cause you pain. I shall switch to verbal communication.”
And with that, the pain ended. Sarge fell back on the hard platform he was laying on, and gasped for air. He felt cold sweat trickle down his forehead and neck. He attempted to open his eyes, but re-closed them when the lights caused him pain. Guess whatever the bee-voice did to him wasn’t completely gone.
“Who…” he gasped, but all that came out was a raspy gasp.
“Take your time,” the voice said again, only this time, it seemed to be coming from across the room rather than in his head. “You are still recovering from the shock of the stun blast.”
Sarge took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to moisturize his dry throat. He spoke again. “Who…” it was still raspy, but at least understandable. “Who are you,” he finally got out.
“Ah, a basic question. Good, it means you are still able to reason. I had feared that I had injured you when you fell.”
Sarge heard the creature take a deep breath and sigh before continuing to speak. It seemed an oddly human gesture from such an inhuman voice, and that simple action comforted Sarge.
“My name is N’tall, but I suspect that is not the answer you were searching for with your question,” the voice continued. “I am from a race that calls ourselves the F’ress, which simply means ‘People of the Soil.’ I am from another world, one orbiting a star that is, in fact, in the constellation that you call Orion.”
“Another world?” Sarge gasped. “Orion?” He opened his eyes and witnessed a demon from hell itself.
The creature that had been speaking to him wasn’t very tall, about 5 feet, but it was thin and muscular. Those muscles, however, were kept under skin that was the color of ash and smoke. It wore what appeared to be a skirt or kilt, made of a shiny black material that almost looked metallic. Over its otherwise bare chest was a utility strap that had all kind of weird, unknowable alien tools. It’s head, however, was what made it look the most inhuman. It was slightly oversized, and oval shaped, and it was dominated by two large, saucer shaped, black, multi-faceted orbs that he could only guess were eyes.
It didn’t appear to have a nose, but its mouth was the most horrific feature. It was round, half the size of the eyes, and covered by hundreds of tiny, sharp mandible-like protrusions, that were continually moving, even when it wasn’t speaking. And when it did speak, it moved in an undulating pattern that caused Sarge to feel dizzy with nausea. He closed his eyes again and tried to get off the table he was on, wanting nothing more at that point than to run away. But he found he was bound to the table, his arms and legs tied down.
“You have been bound for your own protection,” the thing said.
“What do you want?” Sarge said through gritted teeth.
“My people have been watching this world for many years now,” N’tall said. “We were gratified to find a world with intelligent life, and so we narrowed our focus to humans. As we became more curious about humanity, we sent in observers. Scouts, if you will. We surgically altered them to look like humans, but our cultures are so different that the scouts were discovered and killed, usually as foreign spies of some kind or another.”
My God, Sarge thought. That meant there were others like this thing wandering around the world, causing who knows what kind of mischief. Maybe they were responsible for the war!
“We decided to change our tactics,” the creature continued. “A scientist of some renown among our people had a new surgical practice that might aid in our observations. We gathered some recently deceased humans, and, using this new technique, transferred the minds of some of our best spies and soldiers into the bodies of the humans. We were able to extract some of the memories of these recently dead humans, and merge them with those of the soldier taking the body.”
Sarge opened his eyes again, staring at the demon that called himself N’tall. It had moved closer to him, and appeared to be pacing as it told its story, even waiving an arm in another unnervingly human like gesture. He wasn’t quite sure he understood what it was the creature was describing, but it sounded like demon possession.
“Through a combination of surgery and hypnotic techniques, we were able to convince these brave volunteers that they were human. The process wasn’t perfect, of course, most of their memories were vague or missing, but it was enough. They could pass as recent survivors of a tragedy. In one specific case, we were able to make it appear that our scouts were soldiers that had survived the opening battle of a war.”
Sarge groaned. His first real memory was right after the battle of Bull Run. He and the other guys in his scout troop had woken up in a hospital tent. He only had a bare fraction of his memory, and the doctor said he had amnesia. They all did. A horrible suspicion began to creep up his spine and into the base of his brain.
“I see you begin to suspect where my story is going,” N’tall continued. “This is then a perfect opportunity to re-introduce you to the men that had served under you.”
Sarge looked on in terror as the inhuman thing pushed a button on the wall, and then the wall itself split in two. The two halves moved backwards and receded into the remaining wall, as if it were nothing more than a big door. Sarge watched as five gray coats and blue trousers came into the room. In each uniform was a gray horror, similar to N’tall, though each with subtle differences. This one had smaller eyes, that one had a larger mouth, and this other one was shorter than the others. Sarge could even see which ones were who among his men, simply by the way they stood.
“What kind of sick game is this?” Sarge demanded, bile rising in his throat at seeing those demons in the uniforms of his men. He knew the truth, that these demons were his men, but part of his mind refused to acknowledge it.
“The uniforms?” N’tall asked, “Yes, it does seem to be twisted, I grant you. The process of returning a mind to its correct body is difficult, and there is always some adjustment. Our scientists and doctors felt it would be beneficial to these scouts if they wore familiar clothing.”
N’tall turned to Sarge then, and moved across the floor to get next to the man. It was the closest that he had come, and Sarge could smell something that reminded him of raw fish.
“And now,” N’tall said, “To you.”
“What are you going to do?” Sarge demanded, “Turn me into one of those things? Return me to my demon body? I won’t allow it, damnit! I’m not a demon, I’m human!”
“Return…?” N’tall asked, pulling back some in surprise at Sarge’s outburst. Then a noise escaped his mouth that sounded like the bees making up his voice were jerking back and fourth. The other five demons in the room joined in. It sounded to Sarge like they were laughing. What was so damn funny?
“You misunderstand, Sarge,” said another buzzing voice that had the faint similarity to Whitney.
“Yes, indeed,” N’tall continued. “You are, as you say, perfectly human. You have always been.”
“What?” Sarge said, “But… the amnesia, the working with your… scouts. We all even have the same birthday!”
“Yes, you’re birthday,” N’tall said, and his round mouth contorted into an oval shape. Sarge suspected it was a smile. “You were convenient, a leader for my scouts to follow. And now, you will serve them another purpose.”
Sarge’s eyes opened wide as the five demons that were once his men moved across the room.
“You see,” N’tall said, “the transference process uses up a lot of energy. My scouts need to replenish. And humans,” his voice turned low, as if he were whispering a secret to Sarge, “are an excellent source of nutrition for my kind.”
Sarge screamed.
The End
“Why are we out here again, Sarge?” one of the men asked. His face was round, but hard, and had a large wooly beard covering his cheeks. He had lost his army hat, known as a kepi, last week, and had never received another one. He didn’t mind, though. There were boys back at camp that didn’t even have boots.
“Keep it down, Johansson,” a large man with a close cut beard and mustache in the front of the column said to the man that asked the question. He wore the same uniform as the others, kepi included to try and cover his bald head, but his jacket included three yellow chevrons on his sleeve.
“Aw, come on, Sarge,” Johansson said, waiving the bigger man off, “you and I both know ain’t no Yanks out in this swamp. Only thing can hear us is the ‘gators and the birds.”
The man called Sarge brought the group to a halt with a swift hand signal, bringing groans of relief from the other men. He then turned and marched to the back of the line to look Johansson in the eye.
“Now you listen here, boy,” he said through gritted teeth, jutting a finger straight into the other man’s chest. “We are but a few miles away from Baton Rouge, which as you well known is occupied by the enemy. We do NOT know if the Yanks are out here. That’s part of why we’re here. Now, keep quiet and march.”
Before Sarge could get back to his position at the head of the column, another man spoke up.
“He’s right, Sarge.” This man had a shock of bright red hair, and was clean-shaven. In fact, it looked like he was barley old enough to shave, not more than 17. “We’ve been marching through this muck for hours now. If there were Yanks about, we’da seen ‘em by now. Plus, we ain’t been marching no search patrol. We been goin’ in a straight line, as if we’re heading someplace particular. What are we doing out here, Sarge?”
The other men nodded their heads and mumbled their agreement with the boy’s statement. Sarge stopped and stared him hard in the eyes, but the kid did not flinch. He was fearless, which was actually one of the things that Sarge liked about him. He sighed and shook his head. When he looked back up, he tried to focus his face into the most angry he could, despite not actually feeling this way. These were good men, his men, and God above help him he loved them.
“Since when did you all become such lazy soldiers?” he asked, staring them all down. A few looked confused, but most looked ashamed right away. “We’re known as some of the best scouts this Confederate Army has, and look at y’all now. Gabbin’ at me as if I weren’t your sergeant, but your best friend. As if this wasn’t a war, but stroll in a country lane. Sorry lot you are.”
He sighed again, and looked the group up and down, slowly, quietly, letting them stew in the knowledge that he was not quite pissed yet, but that even a cough at this point could tip him over.
“Now, shut your yaps and get back in formation. We march for another hour, and then we set up camp. If you’re good little girls,” he said with a smirk, knowing that particular dig would hurt a couple of the more manly men in the group, “I will fill you in on our mission after camp is set up.”
No one replied, which was good enough for Sarge. He grunted and nodded, and then made his way back to the front of the column. With another signal, they continued their march. As Sarge promised, an hour later the group was looking for a campsite. It didn’t take long before Johansson found a large island of dry land. Well, relatively dry land. The group took off their packs and set up their blankets on the ground. Not counting their ammo, guns and some dry tack for rations, it was all the provisions they carried with them. Sarge commanded the kid, Private Buckley, or Buckeye as the group liked to call him, both as a parody of his name and due to his steady aim, to start a fire, while he sent two other men, Smith and Farley, to get something for dinner. A little less than an hour later, the group sat around the small fire, cooking the six lizards Smith and Farley had returned with.
“Okay, Sarge,” Buckeye said, breaching the silence even though Sarge hadn’t given him permission, as such. “We’ve set up camp, and even ate dinner, if you want to call it that. So, you gonna fill us in on our mission?”
Sarge had just lit up a large cigar, which he took a long drag on before exhaling a long trail of sweet smelling smoke before answering. He took a long look around at the assembled soldiers before him. They were good men, good scouts who were all loyal to him, even if they weren’t the most disciplined. He grunted and nodded, his typical form of approval.
“Okay, Private,” he said, pointing the butt end of his cigar at the kid, “you got it. One debriefing. As you know, General Breckinridge plans on re-taking Baton Rouge from those damn Northerners. We’ve been marching west from Camp Moore, planning on coming up on the city from the east.”
“Yeah,” Johansson said, interrupting. “We know alla that. What does any of that have to do with us being here?”
“Johansson, so help me,” Sarge growled, “if you interrupt me one more time, I’ll take you down myself, and leave you for the Union soldiers to take.”
Johansson closed his mouth with an audible clip noise, which was really more shenanigans and less Johansson following orders, but Sarge would take it.
“That’s more like it,” he growled. “Listen up, girls. Here’s the tail. A few nights ago, we spotted something flying through the night sky. It looked like a ball of fire, and it appeared to fly from Baton Rouge, cut across the sky, and then land out here somewhere, in the swamp.” He paused for a moment, letting what he had said so far to sink in. “Our job is simple. We’re to follow the trajectory of that object, and find out exactly what it is. Preferably quickly, so we can report back to General Breckinridge before he launches the attack.”
“What was it?” Smith asked. “A new weapon, being tested by the Yanks?”
Sarge nodded. “That’s what command seems to think, at any rate.”
“If it is,” Buckeye said, “the whole Confederate Army is in some serious shit. And if it isn’t, the shit would be limited to just us.”
“Correct again,” Sarge nodded. Sometimes, the kid was oddly well spoken. “But, butter a group of expendable scouts like ourselves than good men like Breckinridge. At least, so says command, and I ain’t one to argue with ‘em.”
There was a moments silence, as Sarge expected, before anyone spoke up. To his surprise, it was Corporal Whitney. Whitney was a thin, short man, who, like Sarge himself, was bald, though in Whitney’s case, it was because he shaved it off, along with all the rest of the hair on his head. His almost comically square head held two small blue eyes, which were boring straight into Sarge right now. Whitney was normally a quiet man, one who didn’t waits time with words when actions would do, and usually followed orders without question. When Whitney spoke, Sarge listened.
So, when the man did speak up, and said, “That’s it?” it left Sarge somewhat dumfounded.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’” Sarge asked in return. “Of course that’s it. What did you expect, Corporal?”
“I mean,” Whitney continued, the anger evident in his tone, “we’re seriously out here chasing a fireball from the sky? It cold have been anything. Sounds like command has us out here chasing our tails.”
“What are you saying, Whitney?” This time it was Johansson who responded to the corporal. “That someone wanted us out of the way and sent us on a wild goose chase?”
“That’s what it feels like,” Whitney replied.
“I don’t buy it,” Johansson said after pondering it for a few seconds. He paused for a moment to take a bite out of his charged lizard, chewing it down as if it were the finest porterhouse stake. Still chewing, he continued. “Who would someone want us out of a big battle like the one the old man is planning? And why? Like Sarge said, we’re some of the best scouts the army’s got. Be a shame not to put us to use. And even if someone did want us specifically out of the way, why use something so strange? Why not just order us to sit this one out? Wouldn’t be the first time we got that order, would it Sarge?”
Sarge only grunted in response. He was thinking. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d always felt like something of an outside, even in the army, and especially when the army commanders didn’t want him and his participating in a big battle. But, this felt different. No, something real was out there, and it was important that he and the boys here find it.
“I don’t believe it,” he said at last, cutting through the conversation happening by the fire. The others looked at him, confused about what he was saying.
“Sarge?” Smith asked.
“I don’t believe for a hot second that the brass put us out here on a wild goose chase. I don’t believe that they want us out of the coming battle. I believe ‘em about this being for real, and that we need to find out if this is a new Yank weapon.”
There was a few moments of silence, where only the crackling of the fire could be heard. Then, everyone verbalized their agreement with Sarge’s statement. All but Buckeye, that is.
“What’s up, kid?” Johansson said, jabbing his fellow soldier in the ribs and bringing him back to reality.
“Do you hear that?” Buckeye said, still not looking Johansson in the eyes.
“Hear what?” the older man said, straining his ears. “I don’t hear nothing.”
“Exactly,” Buckeye said.
Johansson looked at the younger man as if he had lost his mind. Then, Whitney spoke up again. “No, he’s right. Listen.”
“I told you, I don’t hear nothin’,” Johansson said, getting irritated. He was sure that the two were making fun of him.
“They’re not making fun of you, Johansson,” Sarge said, catching on. “There’s nothing to hear. There should be something going on out here. Birds, crocs, some kinda noise. Ain’t nothin’.”
Johansson listened again. This time, he understood, and shivered at the though. “That ain’t natural,” he said at last.
“Sure ain’t,” Smith said. “It reminds me of when Farley and I were hunting. We couldn’t find nothing except those lizards, and we were a good mile or two away from here before we found that. What do you make of it, Sarge?”
“I don’t know,” Sarge said, looking around, trying to find any kind of animal.
Finally, Farley spoke up. “Maybe it’s the fireball. Whatever it was, maybe it scared off the animals.”
“That would mean we’re pretty close,” Buckeye said in almost a cheerful tone, as if proximity to their goal was something exciting. Which, Sarge though, it was, because it meant they were that much closer to getting out of this God forsaken swamp.
“In that case,” Sarge said, “we should get ready for tomorrow. We’ll set up watches, and everyone not on watch will sleep. Clear?”
Everyone nodded, and the camp settled down for the night. Farley and Buckeye drew first watch, and settled in next to a tree. Buckeye kept shifting his weight, scaning the area and the sky, as if expecting another fireball to drop on them during the night.
“What’s going on with you, Buckley?” Farley was the only man in the group that didn’t call him Buckeye. “You look like you got rattlers in your pants.”
“Nervous,” Buckeye said. “Ain’t never been in a place with no animals at all. Even after a battle, there’s crows. Here… nothing. Ain’t natural.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Farley said, a smirk on his face. “Personally, I’m looking forward to a quiet night, where nothing happens on our watch.”
True to Farley’s wish, the night passed uneventfully. Buckeye slept fitfully, and was joined in that state by Smith and Johansson. A cup of coffee later, however, and the three were up and running again. It wouldn’t be the first time they had been forced to work without sleep during this war. While sitting around the camp fire eating the hard tack they had for breakfast, Farley could be heard humming.
“What’s that you’re humming over there, Farley? Is that the birthday song?” Johansson asked. “Well, shoot, how did you know that today was my birthday?”
Farley stopped and looked Johansson up and down, trying to determine if the loud mouthed soldier was joking or not.
“I didn’t,” he said after coming to the conclusion that Johansson wasn’t teasing. “It’s my birthday today. August Fourth, year of our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Sixty Two.”
“No foolin’?” Johansson asked, “We share a birthday?”
“Hey, me too,” Smith added, throwing the remainder of his coffee on the fire.
“Yeah,” Buckeye said a moment later, “it’s my birthday today too.”
The four of them looked at each other in shocked silence, then turned to look at Sarge and Whitney. Whitney only nodded, having heard the whole conversation. It took some convincing, but eventually Sarge admitted to this day being his birthday as well.
“You mean to say that all six of us share a birthday?” Johansson said after everyone was silent for a moment. “That’s down right creepy.”
“What’s so creepy about it?” Sarge stated, standing up in that forceful manor that indicated he wanted everyone working instead of sitting. “So, we all share a birthday. Who cares? We got a job to do, and we’re going to do it. Break camp!”
He said that last bit at a yell, and everyone stood to attention when he did. “Yes, Sergeant!” they all said in unison. Working as the well-oiled machine they were, the camp was taken down and packed away, the fire was out, and most signs that they were even there were cleaned away, all within a few minutes. Not long after that, they were marching through the swamp again.
The quite was noticeable now, almost like a thick fog, and it felt to all six soldiers that they were marching through it as well as the swamp. With no animals in site, the only companions the men had were the cypress trees, who all seemed to be bent away from them no matter what direction they were headed in. Even Sarge didn’t have an answer to that. So, instead, they continued to move on.
“Hey, Smith,” Johansson whispered to the man in front of him during the march. “What do you make of it?”
Smith never turned around. “Make of what?”
“The birthday thing.”
“I don’t know,” Smith said, finally turning to look at his fellow scout. “It’s been bugging me since we found out, though. How is it that we didn’t know this already? I mean, how long have we all known each other?”
“Since the start of the war, I think,” replied Johansson, trying to think. “It feels like forever, but I can’t remember any of you before the war.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Smith replied. “And that’s bugging me too. I’ve been trying real hard to remember anything outside the war, and other than a few vague memories of my life, I can’t. Can you?”
Johansson thought for a few minutes, his tongue sticking out in concentration, before replying. “No. Not really, I mean. I got some memories of my dog when I was a kid, and my girl back home, but… I can’t even remember her name, now you mention it.”
“Something you boys want to share back there?” Sarge said from the front of the column.
“No, Sarge,” they both said in unison, and then returned to marching in silence. About an hour later, they all stopped without Sarge’s having to tell them, and stared at the damndest sight they had ever seen.
“I think we’re here,” Buckeye said.
Before them was more swamp, but this time, all the trees and the foliage on the ground was burnt black. The smell in the air was that of burning swamp gas, and made Farley and Whitney gag slightly. The devastation seemed to go on for miles, making it hard to tell where the center of it was, but when they took a closer look at the edge they had reached, it was obvious it was circular.
“It’s like, it just burned to here, then stopped,” Smith said, looking at the foliage at the edge of the burn zone. “It’s a perfect circle of burn, Sarge. I never seen anything like it.”
None of them had. “If this is a new weapon of the Union, we might as well surrender now,” Sarge said, echoing the thoughts of every one there.
They all just stood and stared for some time before Sarge shook them out of their thoughts. “Well, we still gotta figure out what caused this, and whatever that is, it’s in the center of this burn zone. So, let’s get a move on.”
“Sarge,” Buckeye said, “I got a bad feeling about this. Like we ain’t gonna come outa there.”
Sarge turned to the boy, and then nodding to Whitney, pulled the boy aside while the Corporal made sure everyone’s gear was ready for whatever they were about to experience.
“Look, boy,” Sarge said to the obviously frightened private, “I ain’t gonna lie to you. I don’t like the feel of this place neither. But, we’re Confederate soldiers, and we got us an assignment, from General Breckinridge hisself. I don’t plan on letting the old man down, and I don’t plan on letting you let him down neither. I know you’re scared. Hell, I’d be shocked if you weren’t. But pull yourself together, act like a soldier, and get marchin’. Am I clear, private?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” Buckeye replied. He didn’t look less scared, but he did look relieved to be reminded that he was simply a private following orders. Following orders was easy.
With that taken care of, Sarge returned to the front of the line and lead his scouts into the burn zone. He hesitated slightly before taking his first step, but once he had his foot in the mud on the other side of the char line, walking in was easy. The others followed suit without any hesitation, and he nodded. These were good men.
Once they got inside the burn zone, the air itself seemed to close in on them. The burned trees, unlike the ones before, seemed to lean in at them, as if trying to grab them in sharp clawed hands. The mud here was even thicker than outside, and at several points, someone’s boot gut stuck and had to be pulled out before the march could continue. Then, Buckeye saw it. A faint blue glow, coming from the center of the zone. It didn’t seem to move, but it was pretty bright, especially the closer they got to it.
“Everyone, spread out,” Sarge said in an instinctive whisper. The column broke apart as the six men moved away from Sarge and started forming a half circle of their own. They hadn’t gone far, though, before Farley jerked his rifle to his shoulder, aiming at something in the blackened Cyprus trees, ready to fire. He panned back and forth, looking for whatever it was that caught his eye. Everyone else stopped moving, raised their own rifles, and started scanning the area themselves.
“What did you see, Farley?” Sarge asked after a few seconds of not seeing anything.
“I don’t know, Sarge,” the man replied, lowering his rifle, but still scanning the area. Sarge recognized this look. He was hunting. He had caught wind of his prey, and it took a lot to shake Farley out of his hunt once he had a quarry.
“Tell me what you do see,” Sarge said, essentially giving Farley permission to actually hunt. Farley didn’t need to be told twice. He crouched down and started scanning the ground. He examined everything. Mud, rocks, tree branches, everything.
“Someone defiantly moved through here,” he said after a few minutes.
“Some one?” Sarge asked, emphasizing the word ‘one.’
“Yes, sir.” Farley said. “Broken twigs and branches on this tree would indicate someone about five and a half feet tall, and a very light foot print indicates that it was a person, not an animal. Though,” he paused, pointing to the ground. Sarge could only barely make out the foot print, and only after Farley had pointed it out to him. It was faint, and had a tread unlike any boot he’d ever seen. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Whoever left this is very good at keeping himself concealed.”
“Indian?” Smith asked.
“Not likely,” Farley said, “this foot print is obviously a heavy boot, though I’ve never seen treads like that before. My guess is its military.”
“Noted,” Sarge nodded, then turned to the rest of the group. “Everyone keep a sharp eye out. Do not fire unless you have a clear shot, let’s not waste ammo. In the mean time, we keep moving towards that glow.”
The group continued moving slowly forward, though everyone was actively scanning the trees for any signs of movement. It was painstakingly slow, but no one wanted to rush it in the least. As they got closer, the light started to form into a shape. No, Sarge realized, it wasn’t changing shape. As he got closer to it, his perspective changed. He realized that it wasn’t just one light, but several. And they appeared to be attached to something.
It was long and cylindrical, almost cigar shaped. He could swear that he saw fins on the back of it, and that it was standing on some short, stubby legs or feet. And the whole thing had a metallic cast to it. It was like some kind of building. Before he could study it any further, though, there came a cry.
Buckeye let out a scream, followed by the firing of his rifle. Everyone turned to face where he was, but when they did, he wasn’t there. It was as if he had just vanished into thin air.
“What the hell just happened?” Sarge asked, still holding his rifle up and moving it from side to side, looking for the attacker.
“I don’t know,” came the reply from Johansson, the man nearest where Buckeye was. “I was lookin’ right at him. Somethin’ gray and blurry came from that tree, and before I could move my rife in his direction, the kid was gone.”
“Circle up, back to back,” Sarge said, and everyone moved to form a circle by him, with their guns aiming out. They looked like some kind of great, gray porcupine. “Farley, what do you see?”
Farley lowered his rifle, broke the formation, and kneeled down at the site where Buckeye disappeared.
“More tracks,” he said, “this time, a lot of them. Who ever this was, attacking Buckley took effort away from their stealth. The prints are deeper. I’d still say this was one person, though. It looks like they took Buckeye, and headed back towards the light. Wait, what’s this?”
“What?” Sarge asked. He hadn’t looked down since Buckeye screamed. He was still scanning the trees. He felt like he was being watched, and he suspected that it came from that metallic building. He was ready to order a retreat.
“It looks like blood. Buckeye must have hit him when he fired. It’s leaving a trail of blood back towards the source of the light.”
“Blood? That means who ever this is can be killed,” Smith said. Sarge hadn’t realized it, but, like Smith must have, he had been thinking of whoever this was as being more than a man. A ghost or something. But blood made him realize this wasn’t true. But, blood or no blood, who ever this was, he was quicker than lightning, and could take them at a moment’s notice. And take them back to the lights. That was the source, the lights.
“Form a firing line,” Sarge said, “Aim for the light.”
The men formed two lines, one of two and a second of three, including himself. The two in front, Smith and Johansson, kneeled. Sarge couldn’t help but notice the missing Buckley in that formation.
“Ready! Aim! Line one, fire!”
The two rifles discharged to a loud booming noise and clouds of smoke. Before the smoke could dissipate, he continued giving orders.
“Reload! Line 2, fire!”
He saw the rifles of the first line pull in and the men reach for the pouches carried over their shoulders. He and the other two men raised their rifles and fired in unison. The thunder was louder, and the smoke was thicker.
“Keep firing!” he shouted, and the two lines continued to do so, for three more rounds. Then, he heard the buzzing. He couldn’t see much behind the smoke, but he saw that the lights on the building were still glowing their blue radiance. What was causing the buzzing noise, he couldn’t see. But, it was getting louder.
“Scatter!” he cried, not wanting wait for whatever attack was coming. No one else needed to be told twice, and everyone ran in different directions, trying to reach the trees for cover. As the buzzing reached it’s peak, Sarge saw where it was coming from. There was some kind of gun now sticking out of the top of the building. It fired, with no noise but the buzzing, which stopped as soon as the weapon discharged. Lightning flew from the muzzle of the gun and across the swamp, until it slammed into Smith’s back as the man tried to reach cover. Smith flew through the air and landed hard, face first, in the mud and muck of the burnt swamp. His eyes were wide, staring at the smoking hole in the back of Smith’s jacket. There was no way they could stop this thing.
“Retreat!” he cried, seeing that Johansson and Whitney were already doing just that. He ran after them, not bothering to see if the others were following. He was terrified, his only thought was to flee from this hell he found himself in and back to the rational world. He heard to buzzing building up behind him, and ran all the harder. But, it wasn’t enough. The lightning flew out from the gun again, and this time, he knew, it came straight for him. When it hit, he felt an electric fire course through his body, and every fiber of his nerves were light up in pain. His body seized up as he flew through the air from the impact, muscles freezing up. Thankfully, he passed out before he hit the ground. He prayed for death just before blanking out.
When he awoke, lying on his back staring at bright white lights, he thought that was what had happened to him, and maybe the lights were heaven. Then, a voice that sounded like thousands of bees brought him back to the nightmare hell he had hoped he had escaped from.
“Ah, you are awake,” the voice said, “good.”
Sarge’s head burst into a red pain, as if hundreds of tiny men with pick axes were trying to cut into his skull. He shut his eyes and groaned in pain. The voice continued, and he heard it clearly through the pain.
“I apologize,” the thousand bee’s said as one. “I did not realize that my mind touch would cause you pain. I shall switch to verbal communication.”
And with that, the pain ended. Sarge fell back on the hard platform he was laying on, and gasped for air. He felt cold sweat trickle down his forehead and neck. He attempted to open his eyes, but re-closed them when the lights caused him pain. Guess whatever the bee-voice did to him wasn’t completely gone.
“Who…” he gasped, but all that came out was a raspy gasp.
“Take your time,” the voice said again, only this time, it seemed to be coming from across the room rather than in his head. “You are still recovering from the shock of the stun blast.”
Sarge took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to moisturize his dry throat. He spoke again. “Who…” it was still raspy, but at least understandable. “Who are you,” he finally got out.
“Ah, a basic question. Good, it means you are still able to reason. I had feared that I had injured you when you fell.”
Sarge heard the creature take a deep breath and sigh before continuing to speak. It seemed an oddly human gesture from such an inhuman voice, and that simple action comforted Sarge.
“My name is N’tall, but I suspect that is not the answer you were searching for with your question,” the voice continued. “I am from a race that calls ourselves the F’ress, which simply means ‘People of the Soil.’ I am from another world, one orbiting a star that is, in fact, in the constellation that you call Orion.”
“Another world?” Sarge gasped. “Orion?” He opened his eyes and witnessed a demon from hell itself.
The creature that had been speaking to him wasn’t very tall, about 5 feet, but it was thin and muscular. Those muscles, however, were kept under skin that was the color of ash and smoke. It wore what appeared to be a skirt or kilt, made of a shiny black material that almost looked metallic. Over its otherwise bare chest was a utility strap that had all kind of weird, unknowable alien tools. It’s head, however, was what made it look the most inhuman. It was slightly oversized, and oval shaped, and it was dominated by two large, saucer shaped, black, multi-faceted orbs that he could only guess were eyes.
It didn’t appear to have a nose, but its mouth was the most horrific feature. It was round, half the size of the eyes, and covered by hundreds of tiny, sharp mandible-like protrusions, that were continually moving, even when it wasn’t speaking. And when it did speak, it moved in an undulating pattern that caused Sarge to feel dizzy with nausea. He closed his eyes again and tried to get off the table he was on, wanting nothing more at that point than to run away. But he found he was bound to the table, his arms and legs tied down.
“You have been bound for your own protection,” the thing said.
“What do you want?” Sarge said through gritted teeth.
“My people have been watching this world for many years now,” N’tall said. “We were gratified to find a world with intelligent life, and so we narrowed our focus to humans. As we became more curious about humanity, we sent in observers. Scouts, if you will. We surgically altered them to look like humans, but our cultures are so different that the scouts were discovered and killed, usually as foreign spies of some kind or another.”
My God, Sarge thought. That meant there were others like this thing wandering around the world, causing who knows what kind of mischief. Maybe they were responsible for the war!
“We decided to change our tactics,” the creature continued. “A scientist of some renown among our people had a new surgical practice that might aid in our observations. We gathered some recently deceased humans, and, using this new technique, transferred the minds of some of our best spies and soldiers into the bodies of the humans. We were able to extract some of the memories of these recently dead humans, and merge them with those of the soldier taking the body.”
Sarge opened his eyes again, staring at the demon that called himself N’tall. It had moved closer to him, and appeared to be pacing as it told its story, even waiving an arm in another unnervingly human like gesture. He wasn’t quite sure he understood what it was the creature was describing, but it sounded like demon possession.
“Through a combination of surgery and hypnotic techniques, we were able to convince these brave volunteers that they were human. The process wasn’t perfect, of course, most of their memories were vague or missing, but it was enough. They could pass as recent survivors of a tragedy. In one specific case, we were able to make it appear that our scouts were soldiers that had survived the opening battle of a war.”
Sarge groaned. His first real memory was right after the battle of Bull Run. He and the other guys in his scout troop had woken up in a hospital tent. He only had a bare fraction of his memory, and the doctor said he had amnesia. They all did. A horrible suspicion began to creep up his spine and into the base of his brain.
“I see you begin to suspect where my story is going,” N’tall continued. “This is then a perfect opportunity to re-introduce you to the men that had served under you.”
Sarge looked on in terror as the inhuman thing pushed a button on the wall, and then the wall itself split in two. The two halves moved backwards and receded into the remaining wall, as if it were nothing more than a big door. Sarge watched as five gray coats and blue trousers came into the room. In each uniform was a gray horror, similar to N’tall, though each with subtle differences. This one had smaller eyes, that one had a larger mouth, and this other one was shorter than the others. Sarge could even see which ones were who among his men, simply by the way they stood.
“What kind of sick game is this?” Sarge demanded, bile rising in his throat at seeing those demons in the uniforms of his men. He knew the truth, that these demons were his men, but part of his mind refused to acknowledge it.
“The uniforms?” N’tall asked, “Yes, it does seem to be twisted, I grant you. The process of returning a mind to its correct body is difficult, and there is always some adjustment. Our scientists and doctors felt it would be beneficial to these scouts if they wore familiar clothing.”
N’tall turned to Sarge then, and moved across the floor to get next to the man. It was the closest that he had come, and Sarge could smell something that reminded him of raw fish.
“And now,” N’tall said, “To you.”
“What are you going to do?” Sarge demanded, “Turn me into one of those things? Return me to my demon body? I won’t allow it, damnit! I’m not a demon, I’m human!”
“Return…?” N’tall asked, pulling back some in surprise at Sarge’s outburst. Then a noise escaped his mouth that sounded like the bees making up his voice were jerking back and fourth. The other five demons in the room joined in. It sounded to Sarge like they were laughing. What was so damn funny?
“You misunderstand, Sarge,” said another buzzing voice that had the faint similarity to Whitney.
“Yes, indeed,” N’tall continued. “You are, as you say, perfectly human. You have always been.”
“What?” Sarge said, “But… the amnesia, the working with your… scouts. We all even have the same birthday!”
“Yes, you’re birthday,” N’tall said, and his round mouth contorted into an oval shape. Sarge suspected it was a smile. “You were convenient, a leader for my scouts to follow. And now, you will serve them another purpose.”
Sarge’s eyes opened wide as the five demons that were once his men moved across the room.
“You see,” N’tall said, “the transference process uses up a lot of energy. My scouts need to replenish. And humans,” his voice turned low, as if he were whispering a secret to Sarge, “are an excellent source of nutrition for my kind.”
Sarge screamed.
The End
Saturday, January 9, 2010
First Story is done!
Yes, that's right, I've finished my first story, and it clocked in at 6,147 words. And it’s Saturday, so I am right on schedule! Now, I just need a name for it. I'll get it posted here tomorrow, and then I can start my next story. I gotta say, I'm pretty proud of myself. It's not the best, most original work I've ever done, but it felt pretty damn good to write every day, even if it was only a couple hundred words. Stay tuned tomorrow for story number 1!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Day 1
Here we are, at day 1. I have a basic outline of the story I want to write first, as well as a few websites I needed for research. I have a goal of between 5,000 and 7,500 words by January 9. If I write 2,000 words a day, that means I can get done as early as 4 days in, or January 6. I like having that buffer, however, but I’m still going to aim at 2,000 words a day. Anyway, that’s my update for now. See you in seven days!
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