Skyfire (11 page)
Authors: Doug Vossen
Jack was laughing. “I hate that shit, man. It’s like, come on. My doctor is NOT twenty-three and hot with fake tits and whore makeup. He’s a seventy-four year-old Iranian dude from Ridgewood who went to Harvard. Stop it. Just stop it, porn.”
“Your doctor is whoever the fuck the Army says it is. Good luck, champ!” Karl teased.
“I know, tell me about it.”
Now I miss Steve,
thought Jack.
Specialist Harrison burst through tent flap, completely out of breath. “Sir, get out here right now. You need to see this. You need to fucking see this.” He was gasping. Jack and Karl couldn’t tell if it was from extreme physical exertion or fear, or both.
“Harrison, calm down man,” said Jack. “What happened? Are you OK?”
“Major Rugerman! Sir! GET THE FUCK OUTSIDE!” Jack wasn’t bothered by the rough language and lack of military courtesy. He had known Harrison for years; Harrison was a loyal, hardworking, likeable soldier. If Harrison said to get the fuck outside, Jack was going to listen.
Jack pulled aside the front tent flap, flooding the S2 shop with light. He and Karl walked outside. Immediately, they saw a commotion by the trailers augmenting the Brigade TOC.
There are far too many people just standing around when we have all have important work to do. Wait a second, what the hell?
Jack noticed a single pale, bald head in the distance, almost two heads higher than the tallest soldier in the crowd. He and Karl picked up a jog toward the TOC.
This isn’t real. This is NOT real.
Standing before the soldiers was a pale, eight-foot tall being that looked as if it could tear everyone apart. It wore a tight, fitted body suit that appeared to be made of resilient polymer conducive to a high range of motion. It reminded Jack of what he’d imagined space suits would become in the future.
I can’t get over just how much this looks like… a better version of a human.
It wasn’t killing everyone right away; this relieved Jack.
Did this… person come from the thing over the city? I need to find out what the hell is going on. Please god, just let that thing over the city be its ship. Let them be friendly.
Somehow Jack knew the situation would not resolve that neatly; he knew this being was only the beginning of a longer and much more complex scenario.
Soldiers milled around, gawking at the visitor.
“Fuck, this is a mess,” said Jack. “Colonel McColgan!” Jack saw the colonel and battalion commanders, also standing by and gawking uselessly. Whatever this statuesque being was, it was so important that even the most experienced military officers and NCOs, men with over twenty years of experience, were dumbfounded.
“Major Rugerman! Get over here!” yelled the colonel.
Jack pushed through the throng of soldiers with Karl closely in tow. It was just like Karl to insert himself into every interesting situation. With his credentials and position as a Delta operator, he could get away with it the majority of the time. Other soldiers wouldn’t ask questions for fear of looking stupid, being out of the loop, or simply not being as ‘badass.’
Jack continued pushing through the disorganized cluster, grabbing any noncommissioned officer in his path and instructing them to move their soldiers to their assigned sections. “We’ll disseminate all of the information that comes from this as soon as possible. Maintain discipline!”
Sergeant Major Earle had taken notice of the crowd and began doing what noncommissioned officers do best. “Gentleman, do NOT make me put a size eleven in that ass! Get back to your sections and let the adults talk! Get your shit set up! We’re about to have a fuck ton of work to do!” The younger soldiers quickly scurried away. The slightly older sergeants trudged away more reluctantly.
Jack approached the colonel. They had been in Iraq together once before; they shared a mutual level of trust and respect. “Sir, what the hell happened? What the fuck is this thing?”
“I am Legate Ronak of Æther,” responded the eight-foot tall being.
The colonel laughed. “Yeah Jack, he’s Legate Ronak of Æther.” The absurdity of the situation was clearly getting to the colonel: first, a completely foreign phenomenon hovering over one of the most important cities in the country, and now the revelation of extra-terrestrial life on Earth. And it was all happening less than a year before he was set to retire.
Legate Ronak of Æther. Of course it is,
thought Jack
. “
Ronak, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Major Jack Rugerman of Bay Ridge.” Jack extended his hand.
I sincerely hope this thing doesn’t want to kill me.
Ronak studied Jack up and down with an expressionless face, as if analyzing him. Then Ronak extended his hand. Jack’s hand disappeared in Ronak’s.
“How in the hell does this Prometheus lookin’ motherfucker know English?” said Karl. “He speaks it better than you do, Jack!”
Leave it to Karl to say what everyone is thinking as soon as it pops into his head. I swear, this retard has no filter.
Ronak stared at Karl with a puzzled look. He turned back to the colonel and the S2. “It is prudent to go someplace to discuss options - away from those who lack influence in this organization. Panic must be controlled. Knowledge of my existence will cause panic. This knowledge is unavoidable given the circumstances. Time is very much of the essence; I’m sure you have many inquiries.” Ronak’s voice was eerily flat, devoid of any trace of emotion.
“Right this way,” said the colonel, gesturing to one of the trailers. “Jack, you’re with me.”
They walked up the detachable metal stairs that led to the entrance of the aluminum-covered building. Ronak, walking behind Jack, had to awkwardly duck to get his broad, eight-foot frame under the doorway. Once inside the temporary structure, Ronak’s bald head brushed the ceiling; he barely fit. The inside of the building consisted of long folding tables arranged in rows, with long makeshift benches constructed of layered plywood and 2x4 planks. It was not aesthetically pleasing, but it was the best way to set up work stations on short notice. Jack and the colonel picked up two metal folding chairs and sat beside one of the tables. Jack did not realize Karl had followed him in.
The colonel looked at Karl. “Who might you be?”
“I’m Karl McMullin.”
Jack knew it was only a matter of time before Karl put his foot in his mouth, funny as it often was. “Sir, this piece of work is Karl McMullin. He’s technically a major like me, but works with CAG now. He’s too cool for school for that rank shit. Isn’t that right, Karl?”
“Whoa, I’m not any-”
“OK, why the hell is he here?” asked the colonel.
“Sir, even though he’s a little douchey, he’s a good guy. It couldn’t hurt for him to just listen,” Jack said.
The colonel looked skeptical.
“Sir, he’s OK. We almost failed chemistry together back at the academy during plebe year. Chances are, when all the cool guy missions happen he’ll have a role, anyway. He’s a pain in the ass, but he knows what he’s doing.”
“Fine. Major McMullin, enjoy your seat at the big boy table. Don’t piss me off,” said the colonel.
“The big boy table is a folding table in a trailer park in Jersey City,” joked Karl. “I always knew I was looking in the wrong place!”
“Jesus Christ Karl, shut the fuck up for two seconds! Do you want to be here or not?” said Jack.
“Sorry, sorry.”
The colonel glared at them and then turned to their visitor. He gestured to the bench across the table for Ronak to sit down. “Ronak, forgive our rudeness. Please begin at your convenience.”
JESSICA
Jessica’s neck snapped backward, going limp in Callie’s arms. Her eyes rolled into the back of her small head. She felt the burning sensation of bile engulfing her abdomen, wrapping tightly around her esophagus like a rusty strand of barbed wire. The sensation flipped to her back and tore up her tiny spine.
Mommy, why? I promise, I was a good girl
!
She felt abandoned. The fear swarmed her cerebellum, spidered around her two brain hemispheres before diving into the great infinity of her young, still-developing pineal gland.
Mommy, I like pink, not red. I like pink. Not red. I LIKE PINK! NOT RED! MOMMY!
“Hold it together Jess, we’re almost there! They’ll have doctors and everything!” Voices from the outside world faded.
A unique new sensation arose within Jessica and forced communication in her pained state.
Young one, why do you fret? Your intentions are just as ours. Ours are yours.
Mommy, why? I was a good girl!
Irrelevant, young one. You belong with us now. Come along, then.
Strangely, Jessica was able to understand what this dark presence wanted without hearing any words. Ideas and intentions not her own coursed through her head.
Mommy, where are you? I’m having a bad dream! The red feeling is back! MOMMY, NO!
Jessica awoke in a dark room. She felt around with her hands and feet, but couldn’t feel anything, including the floor. She heard the sound of her pulse in a slow, rhythmic motion that slowed with each beat.
It’s so dark in here. Where am I?
Coexist with us. We are united in the great infinity, little one. Feel our eternal embrace, for it is your grip just the same. Oh, the progress we can make when you accept inevitability, my child.
You’re scaring me!
We will see such wonderful things together.
Jessica tried walking forward, but couldn’t feel the floor underneath her feet. She squinted, focused as hard as she could, but no matter how hard she tried, it was impossible to discern any shapes or silhouettes. Jessica was filled with an immense sense of impending doom.
“Hello? Mom? Trent!” she screamed. “Anyone? Callie?”
She understood nothing of what was happening to her. She only felt abandoned and dirty, as if no amount of showering would ever erase the unclean feeling. A putrid, disgusting essence hung like a stagnant cloud all around her. Already exhausted from her encounter with the red feeling, she now felt an overwhelming sense of emotional revulsion.
Mommy, I’m too tired to take a shower right now. Can I just do it tomorrow? I just need to close my eyes for a second. I need a quick nap. So tired…
HUGHES
“Dude, we’re almost there. You’re doing great,” said Callie between labored breaths. She wasn’t sure if she was talking to Trent or herself, but her endurance was quickly fading. She was stunned by Trent’s stamina.
Goddamn it, I cannot let these dumb bitches die! Arggghhhh! My fucking legs are about to fall off!
Trent closed in on the strands of barbed concertina wire stretched between two M998 humvees. All foot and vehicle traffic was funneled into this spot to control access to and from the battery entrance. Two M240B 7.62mm caliber machine guns were manned by young soldiers. The soldiers tensed up at the sight of the trio rushing the gate.
“Help us! Come on, help! We’re friendlies!” Trent yelled. His back, biceps, shoulders, and legs burned mercilessly. He was operating on fumes. Any adrenaline he’d started with was all but gone.
The soldiers manning the wire raised their rifles. The two machine gunners rotated their gaze, placing the buttstocks of their weapons into the meaty parts of their right shoulders.
Oh my god, you idiots. What the fuck!
“Halt. Who’s there? Stop to be identified!”
“I have a sick girl!” said Trent in a pathetically weak voice as he lumbered toward the barricade. He stumbled. Callie was catching up. Trent had nothing left.
“I have…” whispered Trent. He fell to a knee, almost dropping Jessica. The weight of his pack made it impossible for him to stand back up.
I just need to breathe for ten seconds, then I’ll make it to that ECP.
I can’t stop. I’m better than this. C’mon Hughes! Stop being a fucking faggot!
The yelling of the low ranking, inexperienced checkpoint guards faded from his mind. He no longer had the strength to comprehend instructions.
There wasa warning shot
.
CRACK!
Trent felt the micro changes in air density above his head, a sixth sense combat had blessed him with years prior. He recoiled, put his back to the barricade and wrapped himself around Jessica. He once again heard the ominous sound he had heard many times before. It was the sound of a lion tamer’s whip cracking about six feet above his head. It finally registered.
These fucking idiots are shooting at me! Shit that’s right, WE’RE armed. These kids at the gate are terrified!
“Hughes! Why are they shooting at us?” cried Callie.
“CALLIE, STOP WHERE YOU ARE!!!” yelled Trent.
“What the fuck?”
“CALLIE, NOW!”
Callie dove to the ground.
Trent gently placed Jessica on the pavement and hit the quick release on his assault pack. He stood with his back to the soldiers. They were about fifty meters from him, yelling indistinguishably.
I still have my rifle. It’s slung at the ready. Slow movements or these fucking eighteen year-old shitheads will kill me. All of this will have been for nothing.
Trent put his hands in the air to indicate his non-hostile intentions. He slowly turned to face the soldiers in the twilight. He composed himself as well as he could. “Gentlemen, I am going to place my weapon on the ground. We mean you no harm.”
“Put your weapons down!”
“I am going to take my hands down to unsling my rifle now. Do not shoot me.” Hughes took the rifle off his body, held it in the air by the slip ring separating the barrel of the carbine from the bolt assembly housing.
I feel naked. I don’t like being in a warzone without a fucking gun. These goddamn kids are about to steal my shit, I know it. They’re fucking POGs too. How embarrassing.
“Mahhhh….” breathed Jess into the October sky, as if uttering her final breath.
Trent slowly took a knee, both hands still in the air. He lowered his rifle to the pavement two feet from Jessica’s prostrate body. She was writhing in pain, making sounds that cut into Trent’s soul. Her hands were wrapped around her head, her knuckles white.
Callie stared at Trent, scared but impressed that he was able to hold it together. This was the first time she had been shot at; whether or not it was merely a warning, she was still shaking. “Dude, be careful,” she said. We got this far.”
Trent began walking toward the barricade, his hands on top of his head. The two soldiers walked toward him at a brisk pace, their weapons at the ready.
I need to put as much distance as I can between me and Jess.
“Down on the ground, shithead!” screamed one of the soldiers, his voice cracking. He looked like he had graduated from high school not six months prior. His rifle was bare, with only iron sights for aiming.
Fuck, I wonder if this kid’s team leader knows how much of an asshole he is. Is he even locked and loaded?
“Relax, dude. I understand you’re scared. I’m not going to hurt you. I have nothing to do with the thing over the city. I have a sick girl.”
“Face down on the ground!”
Trent could see the kid’s rank - he was an E2 Private. Fresh out of basic training.
The soldier’s silent partner was too scared to even participate in the unfolding situation. The soldiers on the machine guns mounted atop the humvees were even more oblivious.
“Listen, kid,” said Trent, now ten feet away from the soldier. “I didn’t shoot you before, I’m speaking to you in English with a North Jersey Accent, I’m wearing a Yankees hat, and I have a sick girl with me. Don’t let this get out of hand, man. Trust me, I’ve seen it before. I’ve been you when I was seventeen.”
The soldier hesitated. “What do you want?” He was trembling. This was clearly the first time he had encountered anyone who was armed outside of training. He was not even an infantry soldier. Chances are, he was stuck on a nonsense guard detail when all he wanted was to be an auto mechanic in the motor pool.
Jesus, no wonder the Iraqis hated the shit out of us back then. I’m not saying they were right to emplace IEDs, but I kind of get it now. We’re total cunts.
“OK man, we’re getting somewhere. Is that a 10
th
Mountain patch on your left shoulder?”
“Yeah,” replied the soldier, calming a little. Trent could see he was winning him over.
“I was in 10
th
Mountain for four years a little over a decade ago. What brigade is this?” Trent asked.
“First,” replied the soldier.
“Awesome, man. I was in first. In Triple Deuce. I did two tours with you guys back during the Iraq war. You guys are a badass unit. I miss my friends from there every day. Besides Fort Drum being boring, you happy you landed in 1
st
BCT?”
The soldier grunted in acknowledgement. Trent almost had him.
“Hey man, can you please not point that rifle at my face? I just want to get this girl to the aid station. I’ll go willingly anywhere you need me to go after that.”
C’mon, fuck-ass. Lower your weapon.
The private lowered his weapon. “OK, but if you try anything, there’s a thousand of us and three of you.”
“Fair enough. I’m going to get my friends and equipment now, OK?”
“Go,” instructed the private.
“Callie, get up slowly and grab Jessica. Don’t move until I come to you. Stay on your knees. Yell to me clearly that you understand.”
“I understand!” yelled Callie.
Trent jogged back to Callie and Jessica. He took a knee and strategically placed his assault pack upright between the group and the main battery checkpoint.
“Dude, what the fuck was that?” whispered Callie.
“Some kid who doesn’t know how to do his job yet, who’s terrified of the end of the world. He let fear get the best of him when he saw people holding guns running at him.”
“Fuck that guy. I should fucking bitch slap his ass. Jesus Christ!” said Callie a bit too loudly.
“I know, I know. He’s a shithead. I need you to unbuckle that pistol belt and leave it on the ground. The radio doesn’t work anyway. Put the handgun in your bag. Make sure the lever is down toward the back of the gun. Do this slowly, so they don’t see, and do it when I stand up to put my pack on and sling my rifle. When I start walking forward, pick up Jessica. You’re refugees now. I’m probably going to get detained. Take her with you, Callie. I am counting on you. I fucking mean it. This girl needs to live. Where she goes, you go.”
“How the fuck will they let me do-”
“Shut up, just follow my lead,” said Trent. “This is important. Please, Callie. Please.”
“What the fuck is taking so long?” yelled the young soldier, his voice again cracking.
“Callie.”
“You got it, dude. You had our back, now I have yours,” said Callie.
Hughes resigned himself to his current situation.
The only way out is through, I guess.
Trent rose to his feet and walked toward the entry checkpoint, Callie and Jessica in tow. They walked quickly.
“Hey man, here’s my rifle and pack,” said Trent. “These two are my kid and my girlfriend. Their bags have her meds, some food and bottled water. She’s really sick, man. Come on. Please. Where’s the aid station?”
“Give me the weapon. You guys carry your bags until we get inside,” said the private.
“Understood. Not a problem at all.
”
The private handed the trio off to two soldiers on a roving watch to inspect guard posts. The group walked deeper into the firebase. The US Army had been there presumably less than seventy-two hours; it was amazing how much they had already established. Concertina wire wrapped the entire periphery of Liberty State Park. Sandbagged fighting positions had been dug twenty meters behind the wire at intervals of thirty meters, all the way around. Two soldiers appeared to be manning each position, armed with a combination of rifles, light machine guns called Squad Automatic Weapons (SAWs), and machine guns identical to those at the entry checkpoint.
Good to see the 40% of my paycheck that’s taken every two weeks is going toward something good instead of paying off the national debt. Fucking retards. “Hey, there’s a colossal thing over Manhattan and giant eight foot monsters running around! Dig this fucking foxhole! What’s that? You think we should analyze this situation uniquely? Shut up, stupid! Here, dig this hole! Put the dirt into these bags and build a wall! Your government is in control! Pay no attention to the fact that Firebase Liberty has been brought to you by our sponsors – the American bondholder and the Chinese government!”
Trent’s mind raced, fueled by a combination of anger and determination to see Jessica to safety. It was usually around this time that Trent poured a healthy helping of Irish whiskey onto the circus consuming his brain, but he had no such luck. One of his greatest strengths - quick thinking and action - was balanced by an even bigger weakness - his brain becoming a runaway train that he could only keep on track with alcohol. It was an extremely unhealthy coping mechanism that bordered on addiction and occasionally got him into trouble in social situations.
“Trent, where are they taking us?” said Callie. “I saw big signs saying ‘Aid Station’ back there. This is going in the opposite direction. Jessie’s feeling really hot, man. Like, super hot.”
Shit, she’s right. They’re detaining all of us.
Trent sized up the young sergeant and his partner escorts.
The sergeant’s a little older and he’s got a wedding ring on. Probably kids, too.
“Hey man, I get it if you need to detain me, but please let my girlfriend and our daughter go to the aid station first. You’re a thousand deep here, what the hell are a little girl who needs medical attention and her mother going to do to you?”
“I’m taking you to the TQ booth.” TQ stood for “Tactical Questioning.” It was a more media-friendly way of saying “interrogation.”
“Dude, come on. This isn’t Baghdad in 2006. Take me and do whatever, but not the girls.”
Maintain composure. This could get ugly fast. Appeal to his humanity and American-ness.
“Just feel the little one’s head, man. She’s fucking burning up. She stays like this much longer, she’ll get brain damage. Remember at basic when someone went down with a heat injury and they’d strip them down and throw icepacks on them until the medevac came? If we don’t get her cooled down in the next few minutes, she’ll have brain damage.”
The solider looked at Trent, then walked over to Jessica.
“Come on, dude,” continued Trent. “We’re all Americans here. None of us have anything to do with the weird shit you’ve been seeing around here. We’re like you. We live fifteen minutes away by car. Please.”
