Skyfire (4 page)

“Jess, just close your eyes.  There’s nothing worth looking at right now.  Let’s go.  I’ll keep you safe.” 
The turns life can take,
thought Trent.

JACK

Beneath his seat, Major Jack Rugerman felt reverberations from the poorly maintained Jersey City access road. 
Glad our tax dollars are going to good use. 
He rode in a four seated M-998 Humvee with the driver, Specialist Brendan Harrison, two soldiers for dismounted security, and a gunner scanning his sector of fire with a belt-fed M-240B machine gun. 
Awesome.  My weekend’s out the window.  All that money, all those leave days I put in six months ago… Goddamn it.
  Jack was more concerned about his vacation plans being foiled because the military made him plan everything he wanted to do several months in advance.  The severity of the current situation was still lost on him. 

Their military convoy of around fifty vehicles extended along Johnston Avenue for over a mile, from Liberty State Park all the way to the more populous area of Jersey City, a good distance from the Route 78 overpass.  They were in chalk two of five chalks.  Within six hours, the remainder of the 1
st
Brigade Combat Team would be on site, ready to establish a base of operations.  Details were extremely scarce.  The last forty-eight hours had been a whirlwind of preparation and deployment. 
I sure as shit hope someone has some answers when we get out of the trucks. 
The only orders Jack had received thus far regarded pre-deployment activity.  There had been nothing regarding the operation once the brigade established itself at Liberty State Park. 
At least my job’s a little easier. “Hey S2, what’s the enemy situation?”someone will ask. And my response:“I have no idea.”

“Sir, we’re almost there,” said the driver.  Do you want to get out and go ahead of us to see what’s going on?”

“Yeah.  Dismounts, stay on me.  Hit me on the truck internal frequency if you need anything.  I’ll give you more info when I get it.  My rucksack is in the trunk with the rest of the S2 shop’s computers.  I’ll guide you in once they give us a spot.

“Roger, sir,” replied Harrison.

“Thanks, guys.”

Jack and the dismounts were clad in their Army Combat Uniform (ACUs), body armor, ballistic eye protection, and Kevlar helmets with metal night vision goggle mounts.  They began walking southeast, toward the Hudson River’s edge.  Ordinarily this area was a steady stream of tourist traffic going to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and the Liberty Science Center.  Now, it was a ghost town. 
The Army is setting up a firebase in Jersey City of all places?  What the hell is going on?

Jack couldn’t finish his thought before his eyes settled on the most frightening thing he had ever seen in his life: a large, geometric mass sitting about 10,000 feet over lower Manhattan. 
Holy shit.  This is huge.  I need to find Colonel McColgan.
  Just then, Jack remembered his DMT-induced journey into the great beyond, courtesy of Steve Wells. That had been almost a decade ago.

“Major Rugerman!” yelled the Brigade Sergeant Major, Sergeant Major Fredrick Earle.

“Sergeant Major!” yelled Jack. He and the dismounts began jogging toward the Sergeant Major.

“The TOC (Tactical Operations Center) is in here for now, until the rest of the trailers get towed in.”

“I need the colonel.  Have you seen him?” said Jack.

“He went on a leaders’ recon with the battalion commanders and a small security element about an hour ago to get a better look at … well, whatever the fuck that thing above the city is.” 

Colonel Patrick McColgan had taken command of the 1
st
Brigade about four months prior.  He was combat-tested; he actually knew what it was like to get in a firefight, to lead soldiers.  He had been involved, in some capacity, in every U.S. conflict since Dessert Storm.  He was pragmatic, though occasionally more hands-on than some liked. But most of his men recognized that having a leader who was too hands-on was infinitely better than having one with no experience and who didn’t care.  Jack’s only issue with Colonel McColgan stemmed from the New York/Boston sports rivalry.  The colonel, much to Jack’s dismay, loved the Red Sox and the Patriots. He and Jack gave each other shit about it on a daily basis. 

“Sergeant Major, Where should the 2 shop set up?”

“Park over there by the main artillery battery. About thirty meters to the right of those 105s. Coordinate with the Fire Direction Officer to make sure you’re not all up in his shit.”

“You got it.”  Jack turned to the two dismounts. “Guys, go back to the truck and get them over here and show them where to park and where the TOC is.  After that, start unpacking our shit.  Obviously this isn’t a drill.”

“Roger, sir.”  But the two dismounted soldiers didn’t move.  They just stood there, staring at the object over the city.

“Guys, get the truck.  I’ll find everything out and let you know what I learn when you start setting up.  I have a feeling this is going to be a little different than Iraq and Afghanistan,” said Jack.

“OK,” said one of the dismounts.  They turned and made their way back along the column of military vehicles.

Jack walked back to the Sergeant Major and gave him a nod and a laugh.

“I guess it can never be easy, sir,” Earle said jokingly.

“Yeah, I guess not.  Is the S3 around?”

The Brigade S3, a lieutenant colonel, was responsible for planning and coordinating all the brigade’s operations.  He was third in command behind the colonel, whom Jack greatly respected, and the executive officer (XO), who he did not always see eye to eye with.  The S3, Todd Fry, was in his mid-forties and had spent almost twenty years in the Army.  Jack had first deployed with Fry when Jack was a platoon leader, during his three years in the infantry prior to switching to military intelligence. 

“Lieutenant Colonel Fry is over by the communications guys.  He’s checking on the few things that aren’t broken at this point,” said Sergeant Major Earle.  I think we’re going to have to run this TOC old school for a while, till we can figure out why there’s no power grid, internet, or GPS.”

“Radios are good to go, right?  I can hear everyone just fine on my truck radio and my personal MBITR,” said Jack.

“Sir, you are talking to the wrong man about that.” Sergeant Major Earle spit out the buildup of saliva from the large pocket of Copenhagen smokeless tobacco in his lower lip.  “All I know is that the radios are only working if they are on frequency hop, cypher text, and on the correct time setting.  Standard settings are jammed, for lack of a better term.”

“Yeah no shit, put the radios on the right settings.  So we only have point-to-point comms and nothing that relies on centrally located infrastructure … What about the birds?  Can they fly?” Jack was referring to the helicopters from the aviation battalion.

“They’ll fly, but they’re doing it blind. Without GPS.  Let’s hope these retarded pilots still know how to read a map.”

“Fantastic.  I’m not even going to ask about the howitzers and the mortars then,” said Jack.

I need to find the S3 and talk to him alone.  He’s the only one I can be 100% candid with.  Anyone else will think I’m absolutely bat-shit crazy.
  Jack looked around and noticed the S3 standing with his thumbs in the front crook of his rigger belt, quietly observing the S6 communications shop as it set up and assessed which equipment was still operational.  The S3 noticed Jack at the same time and began walking toward him.

“Jack, it’s good to see you,” said Lieutenant Colonel Fry.

“Look, I need to talk to you alone about this, right now,” blurted Jack.

“What?  Right now?”

“Yes, please sir.  It’s important.  You’ve known me long enough that I wouldn’t pull you away from something like this if it wasn’t important,” said Jack.

“OK, let’s take a walk.” Fry used one of his fingers to sweep out an old, tasteless dip from the inside of his bottom lip.

“Don’t ask me how, but I think I know what that thing is over the city,” said Jack.  “I mean, not 100%, but I have an insight as to what it is, and it’s not from here.”

“No shit, Jack.  That’s all you’ve got?”

“No, sir.  There’s more.  There’s a lot more.  I am not going to get into the specific timeline and details because I need to protect myself and my career.  But here it goes.”  Jack then told Todd everything that had happened since his first experience with DMT.  How that first mystical journey eventually led to Jack taking leave three separate times to travel to the Peruvian Amazon and participate in several Shamanic Ayahuasca ceremonies.  These ceremonies had all involved an ancient botanical tea containing DMT, in addition to MAO inhibitors that earned the key ingredient its appropriate nickname, ‘the vine of souls.’

“OK, so you took drugs and saw stuff?” asked the S3.  “I did LSD at Arizona State in the parking lot of a Phish concert once.  It made me like Phish.  And Phish fucking sucks.”

“Negative, sir.  I am telling you it’s not ‘drugs’ in the traditional sense.  It’s not like I got hopped up on molly and told everyone I loved them like some dickhead at a club in Seaside Heights.  The place where DMT sends you is most certainly real.  We just can’t imagine it or perceive it.  There’s no mistake about the fact that your body produces a shitload of this stuff when you die.  Look at it like this: if I farted and you didn’t have a nose or ears, would you even realize I did?”

“Fine. For the sake of argument then, what the fuck does this have to do with the giant thing hovering over the city?” asked Fry.

“Sir, I’m not 100% sure, but I definitely saw something very similar to this during my first journey to the other place.  This wasn’t the happy, lovey-dovey, hippie bullshit part of the experience, either.  When I saw that … thing for the first time, it was right before I returned to our reality. All I can say is that I felt an impending sense of dread I cannot describe.”

“Again, this is a lot to digest, but for the sake of argument, what are we talking about?  Aliens? Ghosts? Demons? What the fuck are you saying?”

“Well, it sure as shit ain’t Al-Qaeda.  I’m saying that I don’t know, but whatever it is, it does not bear any resemblance to anything we currently know or understand.  Everything you see in life is put into a framework of something you already understand.  You see an alien movie and the thing has arms, legs, and a tail.  You watch a ghost movie and the thing looks like a semi-transparent person. And so on and so on.  This is something we have not yet known, and we’re all going to need a fucking open mind,” said Jack.

“Jesus, I’m looking at a giant thing of … shapes. Floating over New York City.  I’ll believe anything at this point.  Look, let’s just get set up and see what we can figure out.  I need to get with the aviation battalion XO and figure out what the hell is flyable at this point so we can get a closer look.  We’ll talk more later.  Keep what you said to me under your hat for a while.  We don’t want people thinking you’re any more of a crazy person than they already do.”

I knew I could talk to him,
thought Jack
.
“You got it, sir.  I’ll go set up my guys.” 
Somehow, I think in a few hours nothing will seem crazy to anyone anymore.

Jack began clearing out the natural debris in the area that would soon be his makeshift intelligence section.  “Warrior two delta, this is Warrior two actual, over.”

“Two delta,” responded Jack’s driver.

“Yeah man, where you guys at?”

“Sir, we’re two minutes out. Those fucking POGs from the BSB are in our way like a bunch of fuckin’ fags.”

“Roger.  Make sure you point the vehicle back toward the highway when I guide you in to park.”

“Why, so we can drive away real fast from the fucking magic cloud that’s flying over New York City?” Specialist Harrison had shifted into smartass mode.

Ugh, here we go with the bitching. 
“Yeah Harrison, so we can drive away real fast from the fucking magic cloud that’s flying over New York City.  Thanks, dude.” 
Fuckin’ jackasses.  Love’em.

“Hooah, sir.”

A few moments later Jack’s humvee and crew arrived and began establishing the brigade intelligence section.  Two hours later a sixteen by thirty-two feet GP Medium tent was up, a generator just outside it, a camouflage net above, concealing it from the air. 

Somehow, all this seems dumb.
 

The humvee was parked on the side of the tent with the generator attached to its towing pintle.  There was enough fuel on site to supply the brigade for approximately two weeks. 

Sergeant Martin needs to get his ass over here.  He’s got to see this. 
Jack’s second in command, Master Sergeant Michael Martin, was the non-commissioned officer in charge of the brigade S2 shop.  He was scheduled to arrive in the next chalk of trucks coming down from Fort Drum.  It was a slow-going drive, with refueling stops and speed restrictions for the heavier vehicles. 

“Harrison, when you’re done unpacking the rest of our radios, get the big ass antenna set up and start doing radio checks on our section internal frequency every 15 minutes, until Sergeant Martin is up on the net.  I want to get him and everyone else mentally prepared for this,” instructed Jack.

“Roger, sir,” replied Harrison.