“What kind of trouble?” one of the Scouts asked, but we others kept our mouths shut. We had seen lots of trouble over the years, and would know it when we’d find it.
Then trouble came to find us.
Keith came down the empty street, the asphalt cracked and worn, laughing, holding up something in his hand. He was dressed just like us, except his kerchief was a different color, meaning he was in the Boy Scouts.
“Guys, look what I found! Just like one I used to play with!”
We stood still as he approached and Bobby said, “Keith, what the hell do you got there?”
Keith held up his prizes in his hands. “A Nintendo 3DS XL game system, with a spare battery pack! Can you believe that? A spare battery pack!”
Bobby said, “Put that stuff down, Keith.”
Keith would have none of it. “C’mon, Bobby, let’s take a break. Let’s have some fun…”
Bobby said, “You boys, get moving. Get moving…now.”
We started moving, just like we were told, and Bobby held up his shotgun. “You stop right there, Keith. I mean it. You stop right there and you put that crap down on the street.”
The five of us were moving as we were told, but we kept on looking back at Bobby and Keith, who was still walking towards him. Bobby said, “I’m ordering you, Keith. You put that stuff down, now!”
Keith stopped and put the battery pack down, but kept the game system in his hands. Tears were now in his eyes but his face was full of excitement. “Are you kidding? Are you crazy? Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve played a real game…not one with cards or on a board? I mean…a real game! This is just like the one I used to have!”
Bobby yelled, “Put it on the ground!”
“No! This is mine! You can’t have it…and I’m not giving it up!”
Bobby started walking backward, shotgun in his hands, wavering, and now his voice was shaking. “Keith, you put that down.”
Keith started examining it.
“Boy, don’t you dare start that thing. Don’t you dare!”
Keith pushed a switch and Bobby swore, and started running toward us. “Go! Go! Don’t look back!”
Keith sat down on the road, the Nintendo in his lap, his face so alive and happy. Then he laughed and held up the console.
“Look! It still works! Look! Everything’s okay! Everything’s okay!”
I wasn’t looking so I wasn’t temporarily blinded when Keith was struck, but two of my Cub Scout buds screamed when they couldn’t see for a while, and while I’m sure their eyes hurt, at least they were spared the view of seeing the black and smoking chunks of Keith strewn across the road.
On the long walk back to the church hall where the Cub Scout pack and Boy Scout troop were quartered, Bobby kept on shaking his head and said, “I warned the boy. I warned the boy. Jesus, I warned the boy.”
Chapter Fourteen
I swallow hard and squeeze Serena’s hand tight, and Wallace says, “I’ll be quick.”
She taps a few keys and now I know why Wallace told her first sergeant to move the troops, and I remember having seen this square object before, sitting on the hood of the Humvee, back at the farm with the two Domes. Serena’s squeezing my hand so tight it feels like the blood is being cut off, and I look to Buddy, who seems fascinated by the flickering images on the screen, and Dad looks on too, looking…mournful? Sad? Worried?
Me? Seeing a live laptop computer screen brings back a flood of memories I didn’t even know I had, most with Mom. So many games. Cartoons. Doing something called—Skip?—when I could see Mom or Dad when they were on a trip, and I could talk to them, and they could talk to me, and I gulp a sob, knowing that so much of what was the Internet was recorded, and maybe, buried in some vault or salt mine would be moving pictures of Mom talking and laughing with me, and maybe someday when the war was really over, I could find out where those ten-year-old recordings are kept…
I turn my head, not wanting anyone to see the tears in my eyes, and I wipe at them and look back, and Wallace is tapping at the keys and says, “Specialist Coulson?”
“Yeah?”
“Your brother…he knows some of the Creeper language, right?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“Could he translate something right now, or does he need…oh, I don’t know. Warning? To be prepared? A cup of coffee?”
Dad says, “I…I think I know how, Kara.”
Wallace says, “Then hurry the hell up, will you? Or we’re going to get a rod from God in our laps if I don’t quickly shut this down.”
“Buddy,” Dad says. “Buddy…look over here, son.”
Buddy slowly turns and I don’t see his face, but I see the concern on Dad’s face when he says, “Buddy. Authorization Papa Tango Papa. Understand? Papa Tango Papa.”
Dad stares and Buddy turns his head, and he just…nods. That’s all. He just nods.
“Go,” Dad says. “Whatever you’ve got planned, do it, Captain Wallace.”
Wallace presses a key, and from the laptop’s speakers, the whirling, clicking, sputtering noise, and I suddenly realize what I’m listening to: it’s a copy of the recording that was broadcasted back at the horse farm. The same tones, the same level of sound, the same damn voice.
Which wasn’t Buddy’s voice.
Yet Wallace had the presence of mind back then to record it.
Then the sound stops, and Wallace moves quickly, shutting down the laptop—Mom’s laugh, her sweet voice, seeing her on that screen, a memory now back and sweet and making me nearly cry—the laptop lid slamming down. She then closes down the lid of the small metal suitcase and pushes it away, like it’s suddenly radioactive or a bomb that’s ready to explode.
Wallace takes a deep breath. “Well.”
First Sergeant Hesketh comes back under the tent and says, “Captain?”
She slides the suitcase over to him. “Put this under cover, lock and key, as before.”
Hesketh gingerly picks it up. “Yes, ma’am.”
He leaves and I look up at the wet canvas, imagining I’m up in low Earth orbit, among all the shattered and broken satellites, and there’s a Creeper killer stealth satellite in its orbit—whether automatic or operated by a Creeper inside, still not known—and maybe it detects a computer being turned on, in an area of North America, and…Now it’s off. Does the satellite do anything? Does it fire off a laser? Drop a metal rod? Or does it just slide on, not bothering?
Or maybe there’s no satellite overhead at all.
I look back at this little group of humans, feel a quick sensation of pride, here we are, battered, dirty, hungry and wet, and yet we fight on.
“Colonel Knox?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She lifts a hand in Buddy’s direction. “Let’s hear it.”
“Buddy,” Dad says. “Please. Authorization Papa Tango Papa. Understand? Papa Tango Papa.”
Buddy quickly nods. Serena stares at him. Wallace leans over the wet and dirty wooden table. Dad shifts his position on the log.
Here it comes.
Buddy stands up. All of us stare at him, like he’s a prophet, and I recall the briefing I got from Dad days ago, that Buddy is one of the first to learn most of the Creeper language, that they’ve talked to him in an attempt to convert him to their religion, belief system, whatever, and that he’s precious to the Creepers, for his knowledge, for how he can speak their language.
Buddy licks his lips.
Here it comes.
His voice is so much stronger than the average twelve-year-old, and it’s easy to make out every crisp word.
“Eat shit and die,” Buddy says.
* * *
Dad looks shocked, Serena looks stunned, and Wallace…I can’t really explain what I see on her face.
I say, “That’s it? Eat shit and die? Serena…Dad. What the hell is going on here? Is this some sort of joke?”
Buddy smiles. “Eat shit and die.”
I say, “What the
hell?”
“Eat shit and die.”
Dad gets up, gingerly touches Buddy’s shoulders, says, “That’s all right, Buddy. That’s enough. Good job.”
He smiles and looks to his sister, and then sits back down on the log. The rain lightens up some. Soldiers start trickling back to their positions.
“Dad,” I say. “Is this a joke?”
“No joke,” he says. “That’s what Buddy heard. That’s what he translated.”
I shake my head. “Eat shit and die. Really? That’s what got them off like that? Hell, most of us got told that when we were eight or ten years old. What’s the big deal?”
With a gentle voice, Dad says, “You don’t understand, Randy.”
For some reason, I get ticked off at Dad. Most of the time we get along okay but it’s when he puts his Intelligence Officer hat on, along with his I-know-more-than-you-do voice, it really pisses me off.
Which is why I say, “Maybe I don’t, Colonel, but please explain if you can, sir.”
Dad doesn’t seem to hear me, and says, “What little we know of the Creepers and their home planet…and how they evolved, the Creepers’ ancestors…they developed underground, in burrows. Keeping the burrows clean and healthy was an important, almost holy responsibility for their race. We believe that when Creepers reached a certain age, they were tasked to do their part to keep their burrows, their environments, their cities clean. To tell someone to ‘eat shit and die,’ it’s a terrible, almost religious insult. It says you refuse to be part of the tribe, clan or family. You refuse to help your race, your people. You tell others that they should eat the refuse, rather than have you take part in doing your duty. It’s a terrible, terrible insult.”
Wallace’s face is like stone. I say, “So instead of having that PsyOps unit go out and ask the Creepers to surrender, they insulted them in the worse way possible.”
“That’s right,” Dad says.
“That message came from Hoyt Cranston,” I say. “He set us up. He sent us out there with that message, knowing we would get torched and slaughtered.”
It becomes quiet and I say, “Damn him. Damn him.”
Dad says, “Captain?”
His voice seems to jerk her awake. “Yes, Colonel?”
Dad doesn’t say anything, and Wallace looks to Hesketh and says, “First Sergeant.”
“Ma’am.”
“Are we ready to move?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” he says.
“How’s Private Hernandez?”
“I checked with Doc Pulaski about thirty minutes ago, ma’am,” he says. “He made it all right through the night but he needs to get to a medical facility or MASH unit sometime today.”
“We’ll make it happen,” she says. “All right, we break camp soonest and head out, back to Battalion. There, we’ll refuel, load up with food and supplies, and regroup.”
Dad says, “Then what?”
Wallace smiles with a look that seems to freeze my blood. “Then we’re going to find Hoyt Cranston and I’m going to put his head on a pike.”
* * *
We get up and I take Serena’s hand, and say, “It’s good to see you.”
“Same here.”
“What happened, with that recording?” she asks. “I don’t understand.”
Trucks are starting up and the tarpaulin next to Captain Wallace’s Humvee is being dismantled. I say, “Two days ago, we approached two Creeper Domes about ten klicks away. We had a PsyOps Humvee with loudspeakers attached, and it supposedly carried a recording of Buddy’s voice, with Buddy telling the Creepers to surrender, like he had done at the first Dome.”
Serena says, “But the recording that Captain Wallace played, that’s the one that was broadcasted?”
“Yes.”
“But it wasn’t the surrender message, was it.”
“No,” I say. “You heard Buddy’s translation. ‘Eat shit and die.’ The wrong message was given to us.”
“God,” Serena says. “What happened?”
“The Creepers boiled out of the two Domes and set up a skirmish line, and attacked. The Company lost a half-dozen men and women, plus the PsyOps Humvee. Then the Company hauled ass and got the hell out.”
“God,” she says.
“Yeah, and there was a three-Creeper ambush on the state road the next day. It’s been pretty goddamn busy.”
Engines are starting up. Wallace is going into her Humvee and looks to me, makes a gesture. Serena says, “Now what?”
“You heard Captain Wallace. The Company’s going back to Battalion for a refuel and re-equip, and then she means to get Hoyt Cranston’s head on a stick. The wrong recording was given to us by mistake, or on purpose, but either way, Wallace is one unhappy company commander.”
A horn honks. I take Serena’s hand. “Let’s go. The Captain wants you and Buddy to ride with her, and she’s not one that likes to be kept waiting.”
I walk with Serena’s hand in mine, and she’s holding Buddy’s hand, and good ol’ Thor sticks close to his new best friend. When we get to the Humvee Wallace says, “You two, get in. About time we get the rest of the company saddled up.”
The overhead camouflage netting and tarpaulins have been dismantled, and there’s the fresh stink of diesel, and I spot the truck that’s carrying my platoon—my platoon!—and I know that’s where I belong, but I still have a few seconds left with Serena and I intend to use them.
I briefly stroke her cheek. “You still look pretty good there, Specialist.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I’m a sergeant,” I say. “Don’t contradict your higher up.”
Buddy climbs into the Humvee, and Thor jumps up with his two front paws, tail wagging, and Buddy rubs his head. “I guess it’s time.”
Serena pulls away, gets into the crowded rear of the Humvee, and Wallace is striding back, and I suddenly think of something and lean down. “Serena?”
“Yes?”
“Your dad? Do you know where he is? Did you get to see him before you and Buddy slipped out?”
She stares straight ahead, Buddy’s hand in hers, both hands in her lap. “Yes. We saw him just before we left, because he helped us escape. He was right there as we got out of the compound, slipped into the woods.”
Serena turns to me, her face red, scrunched up, and she says through tears, “He said he would be right along with us. But he stayed behind. He was shot. They killed him, Randy. They killed my daddy.”
Chapter Fifteen
I feel numb and out-of-sorts as I lead Thor to the truck carrying my platoon. I had known Major Thomas Coulson for only a couple of hours, and I had been charmed with his intelligence and his obvious love for his daughter and son. A very, very smart man who had worked with Dad to figure out some of the Creeper language, to contact the Creepers, and find out a) what the hell they were doing here and b) how we could end this war.
As far as I knew from Dad and Serena’s dad—and through Buddy’s knowledge and experience with the Creeper language—we knew part of a)—the Creepers were here as part of some sort of religious or belief mission, to convert the humans to their way of thinking, and some of the Creepers had seen Buddy as a human prophet, or at least their first true convert. That change in Buddy had allowed us to get the Creepers to originally surrender.
Now things were really fouled up, because Buddy’s knowledge wasn’t used during the confrontation with the two Creeper Domes, and Company K, “Kara’s Killers,” had been chewed up and nearly wiped out.
Oh, and by the by, we still didn’t have any clue of b), how to end this war, this decade-long war that had blasted humanity back into the nineteenth century.
A voice: “Hey, Sergeant Knox.”
I snap to. I’m at the rear of the truck. Specialist De Los Santos, the kid with the eyepatch, is looking down at me. He says, “You looking to trot behind us with your K-9, Sergeant?”
A couple of grins from the soldiers back there, but not Bronson. He’s sit
ting still, face blank, like he still cannot believe I’ve taken over his platoon. “No,” I say. “Besides, he’s a better trotter than me. Help me with him, will you?”
I grab Thor by his midsection and I must have done a clumsy job, because he gives off a little yelp that cuts right through me, almost as bad as any wound I’ve ever received in combat, but he stands up okay and Balatnic says, “I saved a piece of bacon for him. Can I give it to him?”
“Sure,” I say, and then I get my gear, my M-10 and my butt up into the rear of the truck, and to my surprise everyone—including Bronson this time—reaches into their pockets or pouches, and come out with little bits of bacon for my boy. His tail wags as he works his way up between the sitting troops, and De Los Santos says to me, “Your boy did good yesterday, Sergeant. Saved our asses from being scorched.”
Thor comes back and flops down, as the diesel engine starts up and we start leaving our bivouac area. I give him a good scratch behind his ears. “That’s what he does.”
“Yeah,” a soldier up forward says. “But he did it damn fine.”
* * *
In the late morning we get back on the state highway, start heading northwest, back to Battalion headquarters. Wallace promised us rest, relaxation and refit, and I’m looking forward to three things: a filling hot meal, a nice hot shower, and dumping this used Firebiter vest so I can get a new one that doesn’t stink of someone else’s sweat and blood.
Then we’re supposed to go back out in the field and find Hoyt Cranston and put his head on a stick. I’m fine with that, except I remember when I first met the man from Langley, he had a squad of Special Forces soldiers with him, along with General Brad Scopes from Intelligence. That might make Wallace’s goal a bit difficult to achieve, but knowing what I’ve seen so far from the captain, I’m sure she has a plan bouncing around in her head.
Speaking of bouncing, this part of the highway is cracked and very bumpy, and there’s a long stretch of abandoned cars and trucks, having been pushed to the side after the upper atmosphere NUDETs struck during the first days of the war. There are a few farmhouses as well, and families out working the fields, and most of them ignore us as we roar by, save for one young boy with a tall scythe in his hands, who waves at us. A couple of my guys wave back.
Red Vengeance Page 15
