by Bruce George
***
Mike’s first choice for a recruit was one from the heart. It was Alphonso Benson. He had been one of the survivors of the suicide attack in Iraq that had nearly killed Mike. He wanted to help the other survivor, Denerious Jackson, but he had passed away several years ago. Benson was only a few years younger than Mike and was now living in the veteran’s hospital, in Atlanta, Georgia.
According to the records, he had had a history of drug abuse for several years. That piece of information had sealed Mike’s decision to recruit him first. He felt guilty that he had never made an effort to follow up with him and see how he was doing. Mike’s own recovery had gone on for such a long time that thoughts of the other two survivors got away from him. This would be his chance to make amends.
The shuttle had no trouble entering America’s airspace. The camouflage of the small craft was amazing. It had the ability to bend radio and light waves around it, something that the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) had been working on for years. But the difference in their work and what Mike now had was literally light years apart. The shuttle truly was invisible.
They had chosen to land in the parking lot at two in the morning. Atlanta was a busy town at all times, but not so much at that hour. Bambi held the landing, just long enough to let Mike get out, and then she took off and hovered at five hundred feet over a nearby park.
Before they left the Mother Ship, Mike had a few clothing items made for him and one was that of an Army Sergeant First Class. He felt comfortable wearing it, as that was his legitimate enlisted rank, when he had been wounded. He walked into the hospital and went straight to the main desk and asked for Al Benson’s room number.
“Sergeant, we discourage visitors at this hour. Can it wait for a few hours?”
He shook his head. “No ma’am. You see, I’m his grandson’s squad leader and I have some news for him about the kid. I’m being shipped out, so I don’t have any more time. I’m sorry. I just want to see him for a minute to tell him his grandson is OK.”
She smiled, checked her computer, and told him, “He’s in room 340. Just be quiet and try not to wake anyone. The elevators are right over there.”
“Thank You Ma’am.”
His military politeness came back to him, as though he was still on active duty. When a man is in the service as long as he was, he just didn’t shed the routines of half a life time that easily.
When he entered the room, he noted that Al shared the room with three other old men. He mentally kicked himself. If he had thought about it, he could have checked on the other three soldiers, in the room, and perhaps recruited all of them.
Al was asleep and snoring. He looked like hell. His face was badly wrinkled and he had a patch over one eye. His arms had the tell tail signs of having been hit with many a needle. Mike’s guilt flared up; but it didn’t prevent him from sticking with the plan.
He wasted no time, stunning Al with the shoulder weapon. Al didn’t move a muscle and Mike feared it had killed the man. He looked closer and saw that Al was still breathing. Next, he pulled out a large sheet of camo fabric and wrapped Al in it. He had no trouble carrying the old Corporal. The man was so emaciated Mike wouldn’t have had a problem even he hadn’t been upgraded.
With no activity in the hall, he made his way to the stairs and carried Al to the top floor. He opened the entrance to the roof, and found the shuttle waiting there, as he walked out. Bambi and Jo had been monitoring his progress and had headed to the hospital as soon as Mike began carrying Al.
Once he had Al inside, he announced, “This won’t work. It takes too long and there’s to great a chance of alerting the authorities that something’s gone amiss. We must find a better way to get a larger group all at once. I’ll have to give it some serious thought.”
Jo helped him strip off Al’s hospital gown, and then placed him carefully in the med unit. Bambi went to work immediately to rebuild the old soldier.
After a review of Al’s condition, she told Mike, This man isn’t in very good shape. I can fix him though. I’m just saying that he isn’t as well off as you were, when Jo kidnapped you. It’s going to take a little longer.
“Yeah, I know. Give him back his left foot and his youth. When I knew him, he was a fine soldier. If he doesn’t want to go with us, at least he’ll have that going for him. And if there is any way possible, could you fix it so he won’t be a drug addict anymore?”
Captain, I’d have to probe his brain a little. I’ll have to alter his thoughts.
He froze, as he pondered what she meant, and then told her, “Do it.”
He felt exhausted, and yet he had only been back on planet Earth for nineteen minutes. Seeing Al in that condition and realizing how badly he had planed this brief operation had shaken his self confidence. He thought, damn it, I’m not a strategy guy. I’m able to think with lightening speed, but I lack the natural talent of planning.
So, he mentally reviewed his list of old soldiers and quickly came up with the one man he knew who could do the job. Problem was, Mike couldn’t stand the guy. Major General Maximilian Kolbe was a brilliant strategist and a class A prick, in Mike’s book. But the man had designed some of the most effective and detailed operations in the Iraq and Afghanistan theaters.
Mike had been at one of the presentations the General had given in Iraq, in preparation for the up coming battle, to relieve Kuwait. It was obvious to Mike that the man was cold blooded in his thinking. Gen. Patton would have loved the guy. He thought nothing of putting some of his troops in bad situations to tie up enemy forces, as other troops attacked somewhere else. But the undermanned companies, which had to draw the enemy fire, would take a lot of casualties.
At that pre-operation presentation, Mike was in the back of the room. Only officers were near the front. After the General finished his talk, he opened it up for questions. Before anyone else could speak, Mike shouted out, “What kind of support are the troops in the diversion going to get?” He had asked in an angry tone, without thought of military courtesy.
The General was immediately angry and called Mike to the front of the room, where he proceeded to rip him up one side and down the other. He never responded to Mike’s question, he just vented his displeasure at a Sergeant challenging his rule.
The man was a son of a bitch; but Mike had to admit his tactics proved very effective. So, with great reluctance, he would pursue the General he hated. They needed the man’s brains and beggars can’t be choosers.
General Maximilian Kolbe was the distant relative of a Polish Franciscan of some renown. The old monk had survived tuberculosis and gone on to distinguish himself as a builder of monasteries around the world. He perished in Auschwitz, at the hands of the Nazis, near the end of WW11. In 1982, he was declared a saint by the Pope.
Gen. Kolbe was nothing like his namesake. He was arrogant and aggressive. He was damn lucky to have earned his second star, after having pissed off the head of the Joint Chiefs. But, the President had saved his ass and seen to it that he was given a spot in plans for operation Desert Storm in Iraq. As much as Mike couldn’t stand the guy, he had to admit he had been a good fit there.
The old guy was a widower like Mike and had just turned eighty. He lived alone, on a fifty acre ranch in Texas. As far as Mike could tell, Gen. Kolbe would be home and by himself. Well, he thought, there’s no time like the present.
With the alien shuttle at his disposal, going to Texas was a short trip, from Atlanta. They made it in twenty minutes and set down in the General’s front yard. Mike would have picked the back yard, but it had a nice flower garden and Mike didn’t want to piss off the man, by crushing his favorite rosebush. He needed this man.
By the time they arrived, Mike had an idea as to how to approach the guy. If worse came to worse, he could always stun him. He admitted to himself that he would enjoy that, if it became necessary.
Captain, there are
several lasers on this site and I believe they are connected to an alarm system. Should I defeat it for you?
“Can you do it, without setting anything else off.”
I think so, sir.
He liked the fact she seemed to be all business when it counted. She was definitely growing up quickly.
He went to the front door and used his new muscular strength to shoulder it open. There was a loud crunch, as it gave way, and then he was in, without any alarm going off. He had to guess where the man was sleeping and was incorrect at the first three bedrooms, before he found the old guy, in a forth.
There was a dim nightlight, which provided Mike a view of the old man, without resorting to his greatly improved night vision. At eighty years of age, he looked pretty damn good. Maybe he wouldn’t be interested in regaining his youth after all. That’s when Mike realized that he was staring down the barrel of forty-four magnum. An Israeli made one, if he wasn’t mistaken.
The General was sleepy; yet alert enough to put some steel in his voice, as he demanded, “What the fuck do you want, boy. It better be damn good or you’re a dead man.”
Mike put his hands up. “Hold on General. I’m here with an offer you can’t refuse.”
“Son, the only thing keeping you alive right now is that uniform. I don’t need life insurance and I don’t want to sell my ranch. So, you’d better impress the hell out of me with this offer of yours.”
The General held the heavy pistol on Mike, as he reached over and turned on his bed lamp. Then he ordered Mike to sit on the floor, with his hands beneath his ass.
Mike obeyed and thought, well, the old guy hasn’t lost his ability to command respect.
In a commanding voice, the General said, “Talk, God damn it.”
“Sir, I’ve been sent by a classified department of our military to offer you a way for you to regain your youth. It’s true sir. I’ve had this procedure done myself. Look at me. I’m actually seventy-one years old.”
“Bullshit. That kind of talk is just a pipe dream. You’re getting real close to meeting your maker, young man.”
The General looked closer and Mike saw his eyes open wide. “I know you from somewhere. Holy shit, you’re that crazy Sergeant from Iraq who didn’t like my ideas. You had some balls then. Now you’re just fuckin’ nuts. I’m going to let you live boy, but only if you get the hell out of my house.”
“Please General, if you’ll let me explain.” He pleaded, “Maybe it would make you feel better if I told you that we need your help. We need your amazing brain for strategic planning.”
“Who in the hell is WE?”
Mike hadn’t been as prepared as he had hoped. When all else fails, tell the truth. If that didn’t work, he would have to stun the old guy.
“OK here goes. We have aliens from outer space that are a threat to our planet. There are other aliens who might be willing to help us, but we need someone who has a naturally strategic mind to provide us some direction. That’s where you come in.”
General Kolbe began to grin and he mumbled, “Oh this is rich, aliens from outer space. Who the fuck put you up to this?” He waved the gun and added, “Ok big boy, keep talking, I ain’t buying it, but it’s too good of a story to ignore.”
Captain, Jo says that at this point, he might as well make an appearance. Maybe when the General sees a real alien, he’ll believe you. Isn’t that better than getting shot?
Mike commed back, I thought I was bullet proof.
I can’t guarantee that you wouldn’t be harmed. I looked up the pistol he’s holding. For humans, it is a very powerful weapon. Oh shit, Jo’s on his way in. You better make some sort of introduction.
“Sir, I have an alien friend who is on his way in to meet you. Please don’t shot him.”
The old man shook his head and asked, “What’s this clowns name?”
“His name is Jonelle. But, I call him Jo.”
“Sergeant, you’re not very original. Jesus Christ, an ET named Jo. Really? That’s the best you got.”
At the sound of movement, the General realigned his aim to cover the door. Jo peeked his head around the entrance and, using the mechanical sounding interpreter, said, “General, Kolbe, it is a pleasure to meet you sir.”
The man froze, as he gazed in astonishment at the seven-foot tall grayish alien. Jo added, “Sir, everything my friend has told you is true. If you would like to see our spacecraft, we have it parked in your front yard.”
It took nearly twenty seconds, before the old man responded. “You poor guy. What have they done to you? Good grief man, you really do look like an alien. As for a spacecraft in my front yard, I’ve had helicopters land there a few times and they always made a mess of my grass. You’d better not fuck up my lawn, or you sons-a-bitches will pay.”
Jo commed, He thinks I am not a real alien. He must believe that the government has given me alterations. That’s why he expressed sympathy for me.
Mike nodded in agreement.
Bambi commed, Captain, I hate to be rude, but just stun the guy and let’s get out of here.
Mike realized she was right. This was taking too long.
Without moving a muscle, he sighted through his shoulder mounted reticule and fired a stun round at the old General. Before landing in the man’s front yard, the thought of shooting him had been pleasant; yet actually doing it had failed to provide the satisfaction he had anticipated.
Jo held the front door aside, as Mike carried the General to the shuttle. Once inside, he saw that Bambi had a med unit all ready open. He gently set the old man inside and closed it up.
“Bambi, take us back up to the other shuttle.”
Upon further thought, he redirected their coarse. “Change of plans. Look up the address of a grocery store and take us there. I’m going to buy a few items for the food replicator.”
They set down at the far end of a grocery store parking lot and Mike hopped out, after taking a quick look around. Forty minutes later, he was wheeling out two overloaded carts to the shuttle. He had to fumble around once, in order to allow another late night shopper to pull out, before he could risk disappearing into the invisible shuttle.
As he packed away the grocery bags, Bambi said, Damn, Captain, you must really be hungry. Did you bring anything back for Jo or me? You know, we might be hungry, too.
He didn’t respond to the obvious jest.
Back aboard the large shuttle, Mike took out a tin of coffee, opened it and dumped a teaspoon of it into the replicator. Ten minutes later, he tasted his first cup of reproduced coffee from an alien machine. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it tasted wonderful.
His next item was a New York strip steak. What came out of the replicator looked nothing like what he put into it. He had the food processor cook it and the thing looked like a strange lump of dark red animal flesh. However, it tasted pretty good to him. He had been eating odd food on the Mother Ship for nearly two months, so this was a welcome change for him.
He couldn’t afford to waste any more time on food preparation. He could play with the replicator on the way back to the Mother Ship.
While Jo enjoyed a snack of some odd looking food bar, Mike began to look up the whereabouts of his son. He had deliberately avoided doing so earlier, because he wanted to remain focused on the need to recruit warriors. Mike and his son had grown somewhat distant, since the passing of Sherry. He felt guilty about not keeping tabs on Wayne and had a sudden desire to see how his boy was doing
When Jo had kidnapped Mike, his son had been at Pensacola Naval Air Station training new pilots to fly F-18s. Wayne’s experience flying combat support sorties for the Marines in Afghanistan made him an expert on the coordination between ground based close air support personnel and the pilots bringing death close to the Marines in need.
Years earlier Wayne fell in love and married a beautiful young girl, Mary. Sherry was ecstatic and went over board in helping the young lady�
�s mother plan the wedding. Mike took to the girl like a father and truly enjoyed dancing with Mary at their wedding. She was very bright, sweet as could be and he knew his son loved her dearly. Mike and Sherry had wanted grandchildren, but there were none. He didn’t know why and hadn’t pressed his son about it, as it seemed to be an awkward topic to discuss with him.
Mike was frustrated. He had expected his son to be listed, on post, at the Naval Air Station; but it showed no one by that name. Further research of Pentagon files showed that Wayne had just been transferred to a squadron out of Naval Air Station Oceana, in Virginia Beach.
However, as he did his research, an internet news report listed their names as being the survivors of a terrible car accident, two days ago. Wayne had been driving to his new duty assignment, when the crash happened. Now his son and Mary were in a hospital in Richmond, Va.
Apparently, it was a fiery crash, because Mary was listed in grave condition, with burns over ninety percent of her body. Wayne also had burns, but his major injury was to his neck. With his spinal cord severed, his son was now a quadriplegic, paralyzed from the neck down.
His heart filled with grief, nearly as bad as it had been when Sherry passed away. He quietly wept for his son. Mike felt the kind of horrible depression coming on that had overwhelmed him at the death of his wife.
That’s when a realization struck him…the potential of the marvelous med unit.
Bambi, Take us to Richmond, Va. I’ll comm you the location of the hospital we’re aiming for.
In a cheerful tone, she replied, Aye, aye, Captain. I assume we’re going to grab another old vet?
Yeah. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.
Chapter 12
