Iron Mike (25 page)

“Well … hell’s bells,” Kari said softly. She was going to ask more about her father’s reaction when the bellow sounded throughout the camp.

“We’re moving out! Fall in! Fall in!”

Paul grabbed Soldier Girl and her bag of puppy chow, shooting Mike and Kari a quick grin of thanks before running up to the second vehicle, an older model Army jeep. The first vehicle was a tow truck manned by Big Jim Johnson of Big Jim’s Towing & Salvage, and it was the only large vehicle in the front segment of the convoy. Four snipers stood confidently on the back of the tow truck, their weapons ready. Paul plunked the puppy food onto the floorboard of the jeep and gently set Soldier Girl on top of the bag, climbing into the seat right beside her.

“We’re covering their six,” Mike told Kari quietly as they watched the small convoy of military and personal vehicles begin crawling through grass. “Headset said the Trois don’t seem to be able to see or hear, so we can move around in small groups all we want. It’s when we pull out with the five-tons or bigger trucks that the bastards come running to the chow line.”

Kari winced. “I really hope that’s just an expression.”

Mike grinned and shrugged. “Lock and load, babe. Looks like we’re going to see some human-on-bitches action.”

“Babe?!” Kari repeated incredulously.

Mike gave her a cocky wink before returning his attention to his weapon.

March 17.

Darby

Second Lieutenant Stuart Darby was a happy man. He was finally given the go-ahead to stop screwing around with NFK’s most notorious “guest,” the two-bit hoodlum Daniel “Rusty" Tillison, and get some definitive answers. Tillison was arrested a few months back when Ricochet and Kershaw raided Otter Creek Gun Range, but the Army didn’t really know what to do with him after his arrest. The stockade was destroyed in January and had never been rebuilt; it was low priority, compared to building housing for all of the refugees and civilians now on the post. Tillison had been taking up oxygen in BEQ more than long enough, in Darby’s opinion.

Darby accepted the salutes from the MPs standing sentry outside of Tillison’s room. There were two prisoners sharing the domicile at 32 New Construction Way, New Fort Knox, Kentucky. One of the prisoners, a scumbag named Don Montero, liked to play with knives before stealing whatever he could. He was temporarily relocated for the duration of Tillison’s interrogation; at Lieutenant Darby’s request, however, he was moved to 34 New Construction Way, one apartment over. He would be able to hear every sweetly-spoken word, Darby was certain.

“Ready, sergeants?” Darby asked the two men who accompanied him. Neither man was in uniform, and both were large, beefy men with dark scowls hiding expressions of delighted malice.

“Hooah, sir!” they replied in unison. The MP on the right unlocked the door with a very unprofessional grin, and the three interrogators entered Rusty Tillison’s room.

Tillison saw them come in and smirked. He wasn’t the least bit worried. Grunts came and went in the three months he’d been held after his “arrest.” He protested his confinement, of course, protested the unwarranted murder of his cousin, Hank Tillison, (though, truth be told, he was just as glad Hank was dead), and he most vehemently protested their inability or unwillingness to appoint him a lawyer. Apparently, the only surviving JAG officer was also medically qualified, and they preferred having her fix their wounded rather than prepare his defense. That was a shame, really. He wouldn’t have minded getting his hands on some tits and ass.

Despite all his protesting, Rusty Tillison was actually quite comfortable with his accommodations. He missed television, he missed beer, and he missed pussy. Two out of three of those were impossible to come by anyway.

“Howdy, gentlemen,” he said, a smug grin on his face. “You got me a lawyer yet? Or does it take all three of you to take my dinner order? You know, I keep telling them. I’ve told them over and over! I don’t like meat sauce in my spaghetti, soldiers! I’m a ball man - I want meat
balls
in my spaghetti!” He grinned, showing nasty yellowed teeth. “Oh, wait - I forgot. This is the Army - there ain’t no balls in the Army!”

Tillison guffawed loudly at his own joke. Man, that one just got funnier and funnier every time he told it!

Then ... for the first time since his imprisonment, things went wrong.

In fact, things went straight to shit.

Mike

The reports Mike heard and the news they received was much grimmer than he let on to Kari. The Trois did indeed seem to be hunting humans, and while they appeared blind and deaf, they also seemed to have a keen sense of smell and could easily feel the vibrations of heavy vehicles. Hardin knew he needed to move his people, but he gave Mike abysmally low odds of the group actually reaching the Eastern Shore.

Hardin and Mike had looked at each other grimly as they listened to the report from a Resistance cell in Indiana. “If the Trois who are out hunting us realize we’re a large enough group, they somehow communicate it to their Mother Ship or whatever the hell controls the Razers,” the voice on the radio said. “At least one Razer formation, sometimes two, comes straight from hell, and we’re picking up our dead for days. And they’re like those fucking slugs – next to impossible to kill. We’re using flame throwers like you suggested, Colonel, but they’re in short supply here. A few of our snipers picked off three of the Trois, but the others never even seemed to notice.”

They signed off then, leaving the precious radios in Headset’s eagerly capable hands. That’s when Hardin offered Mike an out. “Son, you and the old man’s daughter did a hell of a thing, getting us this equipment. I know Kasoniak wanted you to see us to the bridge, but I think my men can handle it from here. You two should start back to Kentucky.”

It was been very tempting. Mike had already seen more than enough of war. All he wanted to do was get Kari back to NFK, lay her down in a cot and make love to her until neither of them could walk. “Respectfully, sir, I’ve seen your men. They’re exhausted, and they’ve been at this for months now. Private Kasoniak and I are relatively fresh eyes and hands, Major, and we’re already here. It's up to you, of course, sir, but we’re ready to work if you can use us.”

Hardin nodded gratefully. “Glad to have you, then, soldier. We’re moving out in twenty minutes.” Mike turned to leave the tent, and Hardin called him back. “Take care of that girl, son,” he said, his eyes flickering with something that might have been moisture.

“Yes, sir,” Mike said somberly. He didn’t ask, and Hardin didn’t tell.

As Hardin’s convoy pulled out, Mike looked at the girl, his gut tightening at the thought he would be taking her into battle soon – real warfare, not a training exercise. It would be her first time in combat. Mike had seen her handle herself, and he had every confidence she would perform brilliantly … but at what cost? How would it change the girl he cared about?

“What’s eating you?” Kari asked, her tone half-curious, half-accusatory. “You mad I gave away Soldier Girl?”

Mike shook his head, smiling. “Soldier Girl, huh? Cool name, and no, I’m not mad. Now as far as you flirting with that punk …” Mike laughed, and Kari laughed with him, the sound as soothing as warm rainwater falling on his soul.

“He reminds me so much of Stephen,” Kari said softly.

Mike simply nodded, not replying. When the last of the larger AVs pulled out, he mounted his bike. Hershey jumped into the sidecar immediately – no way was he being left behind! Mike frowned, petting the dog on the head for a moment. Kari set the remaining puppy into the nest area on the floorboard where she cried for her sister for a few minutes before settling down.

They left a good five hundred yards between the last truck and themselves, which saved their lives. There was a sharp inhalation, like a “whump” of air being pulled out of their lungs, and the truck in front of them exploded. It was an inferno within seconds. Kari started, almost spilling her bike. Mike quickly drove around the burning wreckage, gesturing for the other trucks to keep moving. There was no point in stopping; there could be no survivors in that firestorm, and the Trois were still a danger.

He and Kari turned to face the two Trois that stood on the corner of Little Creek and Shore Drive. One of them still pointed some kind of weapon at the burning truck. Mike motioned for Kari to cut her engine, and she did. She took out the digital camera and began snapping photos, trying to zoom in for detail the Resistance didn’t have.

“We’re upwind of them,” Mike said, annoyance heavy in his voice. “I need you to stay here, Kari. Be bait. I’m going to try to circle around them.”

“Mike, that might –”

“It’s an order, Private,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do not engage – repeat, do not engage, unless they fire first.”

Kari gave a sharp, annoyed nod, and Mike let it go at that, happy to have any agreement from her. He started his engine up and began a slow, zigzagging course toward the two squat but well-muscled aliens. Jeezus. They were uglier than the pictures Kasoniak had shown them by a New York mile. Up this close, he could see that their skin was scaled and pinkish, with gray and red veins visible under the skin. There was something similar to a heart providing circulation of blood - he could see it pumping in the middle of the chest of the larger Trois. The smaller of them turned toward Mike with a high-pitched sound, something Mike felt in his teeth.
Dolphin song,
he thought irrelevantly.
Although that
’
s an insult to the dolphins.

Mike made it to the first Trois and stopped his bike near a telephone pole, shouting “Hershey, no!” as Hershey immediately jumped out of the sidecar and faced off with the alien, his teeth bared menacingly.

The aliens split forces, as Mike hoped they would, but he wasn’t in position, yet. There was nothing he could do about it – the dog was on his own. Mike quickly grabbed his carbine and one of the canvas belts Headset had given him. He wrapped the belt around the nearby telephone pole like a lineman and climb-walked the pole in record time, his breathing coming way too fast and harsh. He was finally able to straddle a lower crossbar and get a good vantage point. Mike didn’t know which of the wires he sat near – if any – were live. Parts of the city supposedly had power a few weeks ago. Just as he pulled his M4 carbine into position, he heard Kari scream.

Mike’s blood chilled, the pounding in his ears slowing the entire world down as he surveyed the scene below him. Hershey was covered in blood, harrying a Trois as if the beast were a deer and he a wolf, lunging in to give and receive vicious bites and kicks. More importantly, though, Kari was backed against an overturned dumpster, firing her carbine uselessly at the presumed head of the second creature. Its antennae swayed back and forth rapidly as though the beast were communicating … or protecting its soft spot?

Mike didn’t think. He sighted and squeezed, knowing the shot was off before he even heard the report. The round bounced off the Trois’ back as harmlessly as a pea off an elephant. He’d missed the soft spot by more than a yard.

He didn’t miss the second time, and the Trois dropped hard, gray matter splattered onto the cracked and pocked pavement. Mike swallowed, hearing nothing from Kari, and took a quick reconnaissance while he was up the pole. The convoy was well ahead of them, and the heavy armored vehicles were already four blocks east.

A sharp yelp of pain brought Mike back to task. Hershey had apparently hamstrung one leg of the Trois, although it still managed to move quickly and lethally on its two useful legs. It was holding a small triangular object in its hand and was pointing it at Hershey, trying to get a fix on the dog, just as Hershey lunged in again and tore out the muscles on its second leg.

“Good boy,” Mike said softly, sighting and squeezing. Hershey yelped in surprise as his prey dropped directly in front of him. Mike rappelled down the telephone pole as quickly as he could, running to check first on Kari and then his dog.

“GET THIS DISGUSTING THING OFF ME!” Kari snarled the words as she kicked and struggled to unpin herself. The Trois had fallen forward with Mike’s shot, trapping Kari between the dumpster and its body.

The creature was only about five feet tall but it was solid mass. Mike grunted as he rolled it off of Kari. “Damn, that son-of-a-bitch has to weigh more than three hundred pounds!” he gasped while Kari stood on wobbly knees to catch her breath.

Hershey limped up to them, and Kari gasped in alarm, tears filling her eyes. The dog was drenched in blood. “Ohhh, Mike,” Kari whispered.

Mike nodded grimly. “Yeah. He was attacking the other Trois. It took all three of us to bring them down, Kari, but just one of them has taken out whole squads before, so I count us lucky to be alive. We need to get moving. I… I’ll put Hershey down.”

The tears in Kari’s eyes spilled over her cheeks. “God, I’m so sorry, Mike. I was starting to love that stupid, dopey dog,” she sniffled. “What can I do?”

Mike shrugged and called Hershey to him. The dog moved stiffly, but he came, his tail wagging proudly.

“You’re a good boy,” Mike said, his voice breaking. “You’re such a good boy. You kick ass, Hershey, you know that?” As he spoke, Mike eased his hands over the dog, wincing at the worst of the blood. He pushed slightly against a wound while Hershey panted at him. “Umm, Kari? Can I get a canteen, please?”

Kari brought one over. She looked away, not wanting to see the heartbreak in her lover’s eyes or watch him do the deed. It was cowardice, flat out, but she didn’t have it in her to watch. She opened the canteen and handed it to him, looking away again.

“It’s not his blood,” Mike said, wonder and joy in his voice. “Kari, he’s not bleeding at all! He’s limping, but his paw’s not even broken.”

Kari and Mike hugged Hershey and laughed and hugged him more. By the time they adequately expressed their relief, they were all filthy.

“So, a couple of things we need to pass on, then,” Mike said to Kari. “It helps for the sniper to have high ground. The area of their … skulls, I guess? Anyway, the area in the middle of their antennae is almost a perfect target, but it’s small and the weaving of their antennae protect it. Good news is the Trois aren’t as invulnerable as we thought. Let’s go look at that stinking corpse and see how Hershey did his damage.”