Xenophobia (5 page)

“
Five thousand miles
,” the ambassador cried. “
That’s the distance from Germany to China
.”

“
Yes
,” Dupree said. “
As a point of comparison, the sail was
roughly the size of the Continental US
.”

“
But that’s huge. And yet, now, there is no such shield
.”

“
That’s correct. We theorized that this was an ablative shield, slowing the craft as it approached our sun. Once the craft passed the orbit of Mars, the sail appeared to retract
.”

“
And that didn’t bother you?”

“No, we saw no cause for panic.”

“
You saw no cause for panic
,” the ambassador replied, a sense of indignity carrying in his voice. “
We’ve seen rioting in Munich, Stuttgart and Bonn. The US embassy in London has been torched. In your homeland, protests have erupted in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Salt Lake City, Chicago, New York and Washington DC, and you say there’s no cause for panic? Can you understand that for the majority of mankind, whether this thing fuses hydrogen or looks pretty against the backdrop of the stars is irrelevant? What we need to know is if there is a credible threat against Earth?
”

“
Mr Ambassador
,” the radio crackled. “
I will tell you the same message I told President Addison: To the best of our knowledge, the answer is, no, there is no immediate threat. This kind of hysteria is the very reason why the blackout was imposed. I may not agree with the President’s decision to arm the Orion, but I understand why he kept this discovery secret.
”

The anger in the ambassador’s voice rose above the unrest in the room.

“
You have no right to act on behalf of humanity without the consent of the United Nations. You think you rule the world, that you are best placed to make decisions for the rest of us, but you have no right to represent mankind as a whole.
”

An uproar broke through the crowd.

“
We thought we were doing what was right. We thought we were doing what was in the best interests of humanity.
”

More yelling erupted.

“
What would you have done?”
asked Dupree, his voice carrying above the confusion simply because of his microphone. He was yelling above the noise. “
What could you have done if you’d known? It's easy to criticize our actions in hindsight, but we did what we thought was best. We had to ensure stability. We wanted to prevent panic. You don’t yell fire in the middle of a crowded movie theatre unless there’s no other alternative. We wanted to avoid inducing fear in the general populous. We wanted to avoid a global meltdown of confidence.
”

“
What arrogance?
” cried the ambassador. “
You thought you could contain this forever? You thought no one else would discover the craft? The alien spaceship threatens all of mankind, not just the US.”

“
But it’s not a threat
,” Dupree pleaded. “
Don’t you see? They weren’t using the sun to cover their approach, they were using the sun to slow down, they swung around the sun to shed their excess speed. They always intended to come to a rest beside us. They -”

A squawk on Jameson’s handheld military radio snapped the three of them back to reality. They weren’t sitting in the safety of the US heartland listening to some theoretical debate. They were in Africa, in a country
smoldering, about to burst into
civil war.

“Sarge? This is Mathers. I’ve got two vehicles approaching, maybe four clicks out. Looks like they've pulled off the road.”

“Roger that,” Jameson replied into the radio. Turning to Bower, he added, “You need to get your staff and patients ready for possible hostile contact.”

With that, Jameson grabbed his M4 rifle and ran down to Elvis and Smithy, yelling at them to finish up and grab their weapons.

Darkness fell.

Nothing happened for several hours.

Sitting there with her back against a low stone wall, Bower struggled to deal with the tension. The night air was stuffy. A hot, humid breeze blew in from the west, negating the earlier, cooler breeze from the south. Dark clouds sat on the horizon. Flashes of lightning rippled above the hills. The crash of thunder was but a distant murmur, but it was growing louder as time passed. Bower wanted to feel the storm burst overhead, breaking through and bringing relief from the sweltering heat. With no word from the soldiers, all she could do was to sit tight and wait for the impending storm.

The moon rose after sunset, softening the night. Dark shadows stretched across the village. Huts and fences cast elongated shadows on the ground, appearing as
silhouettes
against the horizon. Occasionally, Bower caught a glimpse of movement and her heart stopped. The soft crackle of a radio would assure her she’d seen a soldier moving about the desolate village and not a rebel sneaking into the camp. The stars were radiant, with the planets Mars and Jupiter glistening like diamonds next to the Moon. Bower couldn’t appreciate their beauty, her eyes barely noticed the fine pin-pricks of celestial light.

“What are they going to make of all this?” Kowalski asked, his back leaning against the low brick wall outside one of the huts.

They who? Bower vaguely wondered, but she was distracted, thinking about the patients who had fled, wondering how they were faring.

Bower and Kowalski had housed the remaining patients inside the empty huts, rigging mosquito nets over them.

The nurses and doctors wore long sleeve shirts with loose elastic bands around the wrist, along with gloves to protect their hands. In addition, they wore broad-rim hats with mosquito netting to protect the face and neck, but still mosquitos buzzed around trying to find a way in. They’d sprayed repellant, but Bower swore the mosquitos had come to savor the smell.

Bower missed Kowalski’s question. She’d worked with him for the past six months, ever since he transferred from Sudan. Bower liked him, but she found it hard to understand what he said at times. Kowalski was originally from Czechoslovakia. His English was technically correct, but his speech was clipped. The rhythm with which he spoke and his sharp accent meant Bower had to concentrate on his words or she’d miss his points entirely.

Kowalski pointed at the sky. “You think they’ll think we’re nuts?”

“They’d be right,” she replied, casting her eyes up and recognizing the constellation of Orion.

“It must be quite something,” he added, with his natural cadence slightly accentuating the close of each sentence. “Do you think they’ll help us?”

“Well, if Africa is any yard stick to go by, it’s clear we can’t help ourselves. We can do with all the help we can get.”

“Their space ship, what do you think it looks like?”

“I don’t know. Big, I guess.” Her mind cast back to the various radio broadcasts they’d listened to, and although there had been some mention of telescopes being pointed at the alien spaceship, there hadn’t been any descriptions offered. Bower figured their little corner of the world was probably among the few places on Earth that hadn’t seen any images of the alien spacecraft. In her mind’s eye, she could imagine the hype and borderline panic that must be gripping the Western world with its 24x7 media frenzies. Overnight, such images would have become ubiquitous, with every television network pundit offering an opinion on the weird shapes. Bower could understand why NASA kept the alien presence secret for so long as the media had a way of encouraging hysteria.

“I think they come in peace,” she added in soft tones. “Maybe it’s just me reading my own hopes into their intents, but they have to come in peace. After all, they’re intelligent, more intelligent than us. Anything else wouldn’t make sense.”

“Really?” Kowalski replied. “Technical achievements and intelligence are not synonymous. I mean, here we are, by far the most intelligent species on the planet, and we’re forever waging war against ourselves. I don’t know that intelligence counts for much. Look at the warring tribes of Africa, the tension between China and Japan, Israel and the Middle East, it seems we’re all too keen to drive each other into the ground.

"To be more advanced doesn't mean someone’s necessarily more intelligent. They may be advanced enough to cross the vast expanse of space, but I don't know that makes them any brighter than us, just as you and I couldn’t be described as smarter than Galileo or Aristotle.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” Bower replied, surprised by the notion.

"If anything, technology allows us to be dumb without consequence."

Bower laughed, saying, "You think they're dumb?"

Kowalski laughed as well. "Not dumb, but there's a danger in reading too much into how technically advanced they are. Morals rarely keep up with technology, and collective intelligence can drop away. As life becomes more abstract, more divorced from reality by technology, it’s easy to lose sight of what’s right and wrong."

“You think they’re evil?”

“I don’t know what to think. I doubt anyone does. And I doubt it’s as clearcut as our black and white stereotypes portray. I mean, all we have to go on is Hollywood and their depiction of aliens with acid for blood and massive armies ready to invade the planet. So I guess my point is, any assumptions we come up with are probably going to be absurdly off-key. This morning, I doubt anyone expected ET to turn up on their doorstep, and yet, here he is.”

Bower watched as Kowalski swatted a mosquito trying to get under the netting bunched loosely on his shoulder.

“Think about our fairytales,” he continued. “Whether it’s Snow White or Star Wars, there’s always pure evil against naive innocence, the black knight riding against King Arthur, but real life is never that clear cut. Reality is complicated.”

Bower lowered her voice, trying to sound masculine as she added, “Kind of like,
Luke, I am your father.
”

Kowalski laughed, and she figured he appreciated the irony in how she chose a fictional example of the complexity he was describing. She knew precisely what he meant. Africa was neither black nor white. Some days the continent seemed nothing but a murky, thick-as-pea-soup grey.

Joking around with Kowalski help distract Bower from the tension of the night. Sweat dripped from her brow. Dark clouds swirled overhead, blocking the starlight. Humidity hung in the air. At any moment, the storm would break. She should have headed inside the hut but the nurses were quite capable of caring for the remaining patients. Besides, the tension of waiting for the unknown kept her outdoors. She had to know. Would the rebels attack? Or would they pass them by? One hospital and a couple of doctors were small fish in a big pond, and she knew it.

Suddenly, Bower was aware of someone beside her, a ghost resolving in the dark. Startled, she turned, on the verge of screaming. White eyes pierced the darkness. Jameson crouched next to her. His face was painted in a disruptive pattern, in jagged shades of charcoal and black. His radio crackled with a soft hiss.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Kowalski said, expressing what Bower felt.

Jameson grinned, his teeth a stark contrast to the night. He handed them a couple of flak jackets.

"Here, put these on."

Bower slipped the Kevlar vest over her head as Kowalski asked, "No helmets?"

"No spares. Keep your head down and you won't need one."

"Thanks," Bower said, feeling clumsy as she strapped the heavy vest in place. She'd worn Kevlar before in training scenarios, but never under fire.

Jameson spoke into his radio, saying, “Recon Sit Rep.”

Over the static, Bower heard, “I’ve got three parties in the scrub, at 11, 3 and 7. Over.”

“Roger that.”

Kneeling down beside them, Jameson drew a large circle in the dust with his finger. “They know there’s been an outpost here. They’re feeling us out, looking to see if anyone’s home, probing our defenses.”

“Where are they?” Kowalski asked.

“Imagine a clock, with high noon facing due north.”

He drew three lines, pointing at where the hours 11, 3 and 7 would have been if his circle had been a clock face.

“We’ve got movement at these locations. They’re spoiling for a fight.”

“What do we do?” Bower asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” she replied, incredulous. “You scared me half-to-death and now you’re telling me you’re not going to do anything about a bunch of murderous thugs creeping up on us in the dark?”

Her words were low, almost as though she were uttering something blasphemous.

“Rules of engagement. They haven’t demonstrated hostile intent. We have to wait for them to initiate contact.”

“They have us surrounded and that doesn’t bother you?” she asked.

Jameson pointed at the bulky contraption strapped to the front of his helmet. “Night vision. They think they’re moving in under the cover of darkness, but we hold the tactical advantage.”

“Do you have a gun I could use?” Kowalski asked.

“Have you ever fired a gun before?” Jameson asked in reply.

Kowalski paused slightly before answering. “My father took me hunting as a teen.”

“Well, no offense to you and your father, but combat is rather different to shooting at furry little animals that can’t fight back. You’re more likely to shoot one of us than you are one of them.”

“But we need to protect ourselves,” Kowalski replied. “What if we’re overrun?”

“You’ve got to trust us on this. Let us do our job.”

Kowalski didn’t look too impressed by that response.

“Listen Doc, if I come through this with a bullet in my ass, I promise, I won’t tell you how to do your job, OK? Right now, you've got to let me do mine.”

“Sure,” Kowalski replied. From the subtle tone in his voice, Bower could tell his feathers had been ruffled.

“Have either of you been in a combat situation before?”

Neither Bower nor Kowalski answered verbally. They simply shook their heads.

“All right. You’ve got to prepare yourself for what could happen. You will hear gunfire. Don’t freak out. Keep your head down. Stay low. If you need to move around, crawl. We’re going to fire some illumination flares when contact commences, but that’s not to light them up, it’s to destroy their ability to see in the dark, make it harder for them to pick out silhouettes moving at night. It's a bluff, to mislead them, to make them feel like it's a fair fight. When it comes to warfare, there’s no such thing as a fair fight, there’s kill or be killed.”

Bower nodded her head understanding she was being given privy access to the battle plan the Rangers had formulated.

“Rifle fire is loud. It’s intimidating, overwhelming, but I want you to listen for something else. Try to ignore the gunfire and listen for the sound of any impacts near you.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant. Jameson must have picked up on that from the look on her face as he mimicked two distinctly different sounds.

“You’ll hear something like
ppft BANG, ppft BANG
.”

Bower screwed her face up.

“If you hear that, they’re shooting at you. Remember, these guys are firing supersonic rounds, so you’ll hear the round whiz pass and strike something near you before you hear the gunfire itself,
ppft BANG
.”

Bower nodded.

“There’s going to be a lot of noise, a lot of confusion. You’ll swear someone’s shooting at you, but don’t freak out, listen for where the rounds are landing, listen for the impact. That’s your best guide. There will be a lot of echoes, a lot of sound bouncing around off the mud huts, off the jungle, and that can be disorienting, confusing. Listen for impacts. If there’s none, you’re fine, they’re not firing at you.”

Kowalski nodded, which reminded Bower to nod as well. She felt like a school kid taking instruction from a Phys-Ed teacher.

“If you see poofs of dust or chips of mud and rock flying, the bullets are coming from the opposite direction, from roughly 180 degrees. Stay low.

“You’re going to want to run, but don’t. Don’t try to get away. As tempting as it is, you don’t want to run from gunfire as you’ll make yourself an obvious target. Move closer. I know it sounds strange, but it’s all about angles. If you move away from the shooter, in the direction the bullets are traveling, you’ll make yourself an easy target. You want to do the opposite. Move under cover toward the shooter as that destroys his angle. By moving closer you’re moving up against an obstacle that hides you from sight. From there, crawl laterally, left or right, but stay out of sight.

“Remember, if you can hear gunfire those bullets have already passed you by. You’ll flinch and duck but if they were on target they'd have hit you already.

“If you hear a whiz or a crack but no impact, they’re shooting high and the bullets are flying past. Just stay low and don’t panic.

"If there’s a lull in the fighting, stay put. You’ll just draw attention to yourself if you move around. We will come for you. We know where you are. We’ve aligned our fields of fire to cover this location, so don’t leave here, if you do you could be hit by friendly fire as much as by rebel fire.”

Bower swallowed the knot in her throat.

“Stay low. Don’t panic,” she repeated back to him, already feeling panicked. In her time in Africa, she’d had a few close calls with some of the tribesmen, but never anything that made her feel like she was in a war zone. With the UN presence, the civil war in Malawi had ground to a halt, but now she sensed some of the fear she’d seen in the villager’s eyes when she had first arrived.

“I need you to communicate this to your staff. OK?”

Jameson was looking into her eyes, his eyes darting between each of her eyes, looking to see if she understood. Bower felt out of her depth.

“OK.”

“The rebels are undisciplined. They’ll fire at shadows. They’ll let off a long rat-a-tat-tat. If you listen, you’ll hear us firing back, but our rounds are smaller and we’re using muzzle suppression to avoid a flash that would give away our position. Our rounds will sound more high-pitched, like the crack of a whip. And you’ll only ever hear the Rangers firing controlled bursts. Just one or two shots at a time, but don’t worry about that. Firefights are about precision, not bluster. We’ll only fire when we’re on target, when we’re sure of a hit. If you hear lots and lots of machine gun fire, don’t be scared. Remind yourself, they’re wasting ammo and they’re giving away their position. If anything, they’re making our job easier.”