by P P Corcoran
His earlier work includes various products and flash fiction for the gaming industry. He worked as both author and editor for Games Design Workship on their award-winning games "Traveller," "2300 AD," "Dark Conspiracy," and "Twilight: 2000."
Dr. Gannon has many credits in non-fiction; his most noteworthy is his book "Rumors of War and Infernal Machines: Technomilitary Agenda Setting in American and British Speculative Fiction." Now in second edition, it won the 2006 American Library Association Award for Outstanding Book, and was the topic of discussion when he was interviewed by NPR (Morning Edition).
Dr. Gannon has been a Fulbright Fellow at Liverpool University, Palacky University (Czech Republic), and the University of Dundee. He also received Fulbright and Embassy Travel grants to these countries, as well as The Netherlands, Slovakia, England, and Italy. Holding degrees from Brown (BA), Syracuse (MS), and Fordham (MA,PhD), he has published extensively on the interaction of fiction, technology (particularly military and space), and political influence.
Prior to his academic career, Dr. Gannon worked as a scriptwriter and producer in New York City, where his clients included the United Nations, the World Health Organization, and The President's Council on Physical Fitness.
Connect with Charles here:
www.castrumpress.com/authors/charles-e-gannon
A Mission of Mercy
by Mark Lynch
“Human nature is complex. Even if we do have inclinations toward violence, we also have inclination to empathy, to cooperation, to self-control.”
-Steven Pinker
“Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge..”
-William Shakespeare
Second Lieutenant Christopher Taylor opened his eyes slowly, attempting to identify his surroundings. His entire body ached, and he was cold...freezing in fact. A bright artificial light shone above his head, nearly blinding him. He needed to blink several times to adjust his eyes to the glare. The first thing which became apparent was his total nakedness, with not even a rag or blanket to cover his dignity. No wonder he was freezing. He tried to move but discovered he could not. That was when Taylor started to panic.
When he attempted to lift his head, Taylor felt a tightening around his throat. He soon realized that a tight leather strap was secured across his neck. Likewise, his wrists and ankles were similarly secured. Taylor fought and struggled but to no avail. The straps were tight and escape impossible. His mind raced as he tried to come to terms with his predicament.
Stay calm, he told himself, there must be some kind of logical explanation. He took in his surroundings; his eyes scanning from left to right and back again. Taylor discovered he was secured to a metal slab set in the middle of what looked like a surgery or an operating theater. He glanced to his right-hand side and was horrified to see a tray of sharp utensils laid out; surgical knifes, scalpels and a variety of horrific looking instruments which he couldn’t identify. Taylor experienced a cold chill of terror running through his body as he continued his vain struggle against the restraints.
He realized where he was now. Taylor wasn’t sick or injured. He didn’t require surgery, nor was he under an anesthetic. They’d finally come for him. The officer knew all too well what would follow, he’d seen it before - the hideous and barbaric ‘experiments’ carried out against his fellow American and British POWs, a number of captured Russians and so many wretched Chinese peasants. He knew the pain and horror they would put him through. He opened his mouth to scream but couldn’t make a sound.
What had the bastards done to him? Taylor lay helpless on the metal slab, secured by his restraints but otherwise totally naked and exposed. He was nothing to them – nothing but a living, breathing and conscious body, prepared for vivisection.
The surgeon entered the theater a few minutes later. He was a small and slight man dressed from head-to-toe in medical garb and wearing latex gloves. A surgical mask covered his face, only exposing his dark, oriental eyes – eyes that were cold, pitiless and entirely devoid of humanity. The surgeon calmly advanced over to the operating table, looking over Taylor’s exposed body as if it were a slab of meat. Taylor tried to engage his captor - to plead with him - but the words wouldn’t come. He remained speechless and entirely helpless.
The cruel medic paused when he reached the side table and took his time to look over the collection of vile instruments. After careful consideration the man choose a long and sharp scalpel. He held his gloved hand up to the light to examine his foul tool in more detail. The terror pulsated through him; his breathing became labored and his body drenched in cold sweat. The surgeon leaned over the table, carefully lowering his scalpel to a point just below Taylor’s ribcage. The Lieutenant felt the cold steel against his skin, the knife cutting through his exposed flesh. He watched his own blood flow from the incision. At last Taylor found his voice, and this time his horrified scream filled the room.
He awoke in an instant, his head shooting up from his sweat drenched pillow. It took several moments for Taylor to compose himself and to realize where and when he was; his bed, his quarters located within the Roswell Army Air Field. He switched on the table side lamp before checking the clock on the far wall of his bedroom. The time was 04:32am, and the date the seventh...no, the eighth of July 1947. The war was long over, and it had been almost two years since Taylor’s liberation from the hellish Pingfang prison camp. He was safe, but still the nightmares were frequent and so vivid.
The man was alone in his bed. Anna had left him a year ago and he’d agreed to the divorce a couple of months back. She’d no longer been able to tolerate his vivid nightmares and violent mood swings. Taylor couldn’t blame her. They’d been high school sweethearts, marrying two days after Pearl Harbor and just before he’d taken up his commission. They’d both realized he might not survive the war, and Taylor often wished he hadn’t.
It could all have been very different had it not been for that one fateful and tragic mission. On April Fool’s Day 1945 Taylor’s B-29 super-fortress set out from Saipan with the rest of the 17th squadron. Their bombing target was an enemy military base in Eastern China, except Taylor’s plane never made it back. They’d experienced engine troubles on the return flight – a sick irony that the B-29 was almost impervious to A-A gunfire, yet a mechanical failure had brought them down. Their plane crash-landed deep in enemy territory and Taylor was the only survivor. Some would say he was lucky but, given what happened after...
A Japanese patrol had found him soon after the crash, taking him prisoner. Taylor had been frightened at the time. He knew how the IJA treated their prisoners, having heard all about the Bataan Death March and numerous other atrocities. Nevertheless, nothing could’ve prepared him for what was to come.
They took him to a facility deep in Manchuria, far from the front line and from prying eyes. It didn’t take Taylor long to realize this place wasn’t a normal POW camp. The inmates were under the ‘care’ of an obscure section of the Kwantung Army named the Epidemic Prevention and Water Purification Department but known by most as Unit 731.
Conditions within the facility were predictably terrible; The cells medieval and unfit for human habitation, the food sparse and inedible and the guards all sadistic thugs. Taylor and his fellow POWs attempted to adjust to the brutal conditions, but it soon became clear that something even more sinister was occurring behind closed doors. It wasn’t until his captors forced him to work as an orderly that Taylor experienced the full horrors of the evil facility.
He’d discovered that Unit 731 were responsible for developing new biological and chemical weapons for the Japanese military and also for conducting human experimentation, specifically to test the limits of a human being’s physical endurance. The vivisections were just one of the vile experiments conducted by the surgical division. Prisoners, mostly Chinese, were strapped to operating tables and cut open while still alive and fully conscious. They’d made Taylor watch while they did it. He’d heard their blood curdling screams and smelt the foul stench of cr
eeping death.
He witnessed so many horrors during those dark days – people mutilated and tortured, women raped and deliberately infected with syphilis and gonorrhea, and POWs tied to stakes and brutally murdered with grenades and flamethrowers, to name but a few. To this day he didn’t know how he’d survived those horrific months. They’d beaten him, starved him and tortured him, but he wasn’t strapped to a table and cut open like the others had been.
Taylor survived up until August 1945. The end of the war was close, not that the prisoners knew it at the time. The guards took Taylor and the remaining POWs out into the countryside one afternoon. He was certain that they meant to kill them all, to eliminate all witnesses to their atrocities. It had only been by blind luck that they’d survived, having been found and freed by an advancing unit of the Red Army, just moments before his captor’s intended to shoot them.
The Japanese lost the war but the monsters of Unit 731 evaded justice. That bastard MacArthur had made a secret deal to keep these war criminals from ever facing trial, and now the animals worked for Uncle Sam, passing on the ‘knowledge’ they’d gained from their sick and sadistic experiments. Taylor and the other survivors had been ordered to keep their mouths shut, and the whole ugly incident was covered up.
After the war he’d returned to active service and got posted to an out-of-the-way USAAF airbase in Roswell, New Mexico...left to live alone with his nightmares.
Taylor tried in vain to return to sleep but he realized his efforts were futile. Eventually he gave up on his attempts at slumber and got out of bed, intending to go to the kitchen sink to get a glass of water. He was half way down the corridor when he heard the sound of his phone ringing. The loud bell gave him a fright. Who the hell would be contacting him at this ungodly hour? It must be some kind of emergency on the base. He apprehensively picked up the receiver and listened to the voice on the other end; “Taylor? Taylor, it’s O’Neill.”
Captain O’Neill, his commanding officer. The man was a decent CO, understanding enough and not the type to phone you up in the middle of the night without a good reason.
“Sorry to call you so early, Lieutenant. I hope I didn’t wake you?” said O’Neill.
“No sir,” Taylor answered, “I was up anyhow. What’s happening?”
There followed a lengthy pause before O’Neill answered. Taylor swore he heard O’Neill sigh down the phone before he spoke. “There’s been an incident...A report of an aircraft crashing about 30 miles north of the base. A rancher called it in earlier this evening. Apparently, he saw a disc-like object falling from the sky and an explosion on the horizon. He phoned in the report to Chaves County Sheriff’s Department and they contacted us, thinking it must have been one of our planes that went down. Trouble is, we didn’t have anything in the air at that time. Anyway, the commander wants it checked out right away.”
“Jesus Christ!” Taylor swore.
“I know! I know!” O’Neill said apologetically. “Chances are the report is bullshit. Either that or its some experimental plane or balloon which Special Weapons haven’t told us about. However, there’s a chance it might be something the Soviets have cooked up – a spy plane or a rocket, or something like that.”
“Oh, come on!” Taylor exclaimed, “The God damn Russians! Here in New Mexico?”
“Why not?” O’Neill asked, “The Reds captured a lot of German scientists at the end of the war. Who knows how far they’ve come? Look, I know it’s a pain in the ass Taylor, but I need a good man out there to check things out. I’m assigning you a security detail and a couple of jeeps. The Sheriff’s Deputy will meet you outside the perimeter gate and escort you to the site. Okay then?”
“Sure.” Taylor replied, in the full knowledge that he had no choice but to obey his orders.
He replaced the receiver and returned to his bedroom, where he proceeded to get dressed, and all the time wondering what kind of wild goose chase he’d been drawn into.
#
Forty-five minutes later, Taylor was on the road, heading north through the arid desert landscape of rural New Mexico. As always, the atmosphere was dry and hot, but with an hour until dawn, the land remained cloaked in darkness. Taylor and his team traveled in two open-top jeeps which followed behind the Deputy’s patrol car. O’Neill had taken no chances when organizing the security detail. He’d assigned Taylor a seven-man squad under a young corporal called Fischer. All of the USAAF troops were armed with either M1 Garand rifles or M3 ‘grease’ guns and dressed in full combat gear.
It was almost as if the brass were expecting trouble...Did these lunatics really believe the Russians had landed in New Mexico? It seemed implausible to say the least. The great ‘Red Scare’ was all over the papers and radio these days. Taylor didn’t hold any resentment towards the Soviets himself – After all, they’d saved his life back in Manchuria. But, after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the whole world was living in an age of intense paranoia and fear. Taylor would have to make sure Fischer and his men didn’t get trigger happy on this morning’s mission.
They had to drive off-road for a couple of miles before they reached the crash site. The Deputy’s patrol car slowed to a crawl as apparently the policeman didn’t want to get too close. Taylor told his driver to overtake the police vehicle and keep driving.
Taylor set eyes upon the wreckage and was immediately mesmerized. The aircraft, if indeed that’s what it was, appeared circular in shape, looking like a saucer in fact. It wasn’t overly large in size, perhaps measuring 30 odd foot in length. The craft had clearly crashed into the ground at great speed judging by the size of the crater it occupied but, as far as Taylor could tell, the body was still largely intact. It had no wings or propellers and he’d no idea how it flew.
Taylor stood and observed the site for several moments before the most obvious thing struck him – the machine was glowing! It remained dark out, yet the downed flying saucer was illuminated by a light green glow which could only have been produced artificially. Taylor had never seen anything like it before.
The two jeeps came to a halt about 50 yards in front of the downed aircraft. The men hopped out of the vehicles with their weapons at the ready. Taylor could tell the boys were uneasy, scared even – “Man, it’s weird.” “What the hell is it?” “I don’t like this, guys!”
“Pipe down men!” Taylor proclaimed in an authoritative voice, “We’re professionals and we have a job to do, so keep it together!”
The command seemed to have the desired effect but in truth the very same thoughts and questions were going through his own head right now.
“You guys, set up a defensive perimeter here.” He ordered, whilst facing his detachment of enlisted men. “Corporal Fischer, come with me.”
Taylor and Fischer cautiously advanced in the direction of the downed aircraft. The Lieutenant was alert, not knowing what to expect. Taylor became fixated on the illuminated metallic exterior of the vessel. He almost tripped over a piece of debris lying in his path, leaning down to take a closer look at this scrap of loose metal. He waved his bare hand over the debris, expecting it to be burning hot – but instead the material was ice cold. Taylor threw caution to the wind and reached out to touch the piece. As soon as his fingertips made contact the material lit up and Taylor felt a surge of energy pulsating through him. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life.
“Jeez Lieutenant!” exclaimed Fischer, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Taylor ignored the man. He proceeded to lift the piece of debris up with his one hand. The part was about four or five-foot-long and yet as light as a feather. The material was so thin it looked as if it would snap in his hands and yet was strong and seemingly robust. He didn’t know of any metal with these properties. Taylor had no idea where this vessel came from, but he was sure it wasn’t a Russian spy plane. He’d seen first-hand the Red Army’s troops when they invaded Manchuria and knew they didn’t have technology as sophisticated as this – not even close. But, if the aircraf
t wasn’t American or Soviet, then who the hell did it belong to?
“It looks like something from another world.” Fischer muttered, “Hell, maybe they’re God damn Martians!”
The soldier laughed nervously at his own quip. At first, Taylor thought the suggestion was ludicrous, but then he got to thinking. He recalled Orson Welles’ famous War of the Worlds radio play which they’d first broadcast back when he was a kid. Taylor remembered the mass panic the play caused, as thousands of people thought the Earth really had been invaded by little green men. Taylor never had much time for those trashy science fiction pulp novels and comics, with their far-fetched stories of little green men and flying saucers, but now the evidence was here, right in front of his eyes...What other explanation could there be?
Taylor pondered this question as he moved closer to the downed craft. Corporal Fischer carefully followed in his trail, clutching a tight hold on his sub-machine gun. Taylor approached the side of the vessel, observing and admiring the perfectly formed spherical shape, tarnished only by the damage inflicted when it hit the ground. The metallic glow intensified the closer he got. Taylor felt the power flowing through him, as if his body and mind were both feeding upon the potent energy emanating from its metallic exterior. Was such a thing possible? Why not? After all, the advanced beings who had constructed this extraordinary machine must be capable of producing any number of wonders.
Taylor continued to circle the saucer, closely examining the curved exterior. He was searching for something, but for what he couldn’t say. It happened suddenly – a surprise, but yet not entirely unexpected. There was a soft buzzing sound, closely followed by movement, as a panel on the exterior of the saucer began to slowly open, revealing the inside of the alien craft.
Taylor and Fischer both stood back and watched in awe as the hatch opened fully, as if by magic.
