Into the Fire

by Mark Tufo

  “Reaper, do you want to go and put him on a bed?” I asked. Reaper was still standing over the body of his fallen commander. I couldn’t imagine a scenario where we had a chance to bury Kap, but putting him on a soft final resting place was the least we could do as a sendoff. Reaper finally looked over to me. He nodded solemnly.

  Keecan and his Genos watched as we brought Kap downstairs. I had not been expecting Keecan to follow us. He watched as we lay the man down and said some words and prayers.

  “You were a brave warrior,” he said after we were done, our heads bowed in final remembrance. He headed back upstairs.

  Tracy, BT and I went over to the other side of the store while Reaper took up an eternal guard on his friend.

  “I’m starving,” I said.

  BT nodded. Tracy was looking over at a recliner.

  “Get some sleep, there’s nothing going on,” I told her.

  “This is what you consider nothing?” BT was giving me shit.

  “Relatively nothing. You know what I meant.”

  “What I wouldn’t do for a bucket of fried chicken.”

  “Shut up, man. I was just hoping for a stupid granola bar and you bring up fried chicken and those fat french fries, maybe some mashed potatoes with gravy, corn and, oh yeah, cornbread.”

  “Who’s the asshole now?” BT asked.

  “Still you. We have way more chance finding an old, nasty, stale granola bar than we do a chicken joint.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He sat down heavily.

  We’d been down there an hour, maybe more, when Reaper finally joined us. “He was the last of us,” he started. “There were ten of us when the aliens came. We had gotten together over at Kap’s house to play cards, seven guys, Kap and Trunk’s wives, and Kap’s daughter. She was seven. Most times, the card playing deteriorated into “what if” scenarios. We all knew some crazy shit had gone down at that concert. Kap had enough inside sources that he would get little snippets of information.”

  We just let him continue with his story, as it seemed like something he needed to do.

  “It had started out just like any other card night, drinking beer, Trunks losing his shirt. Then we started talking about that damned concert and it was like we had brought the harbinger of doom just by bringing it up. We were fifty miles away from the Marine Corps base, 29 Palms, we felt the concussion from whatever had leveled that place. We ran outside to see this huge mushroom cloud of dirt and debris. We all knew people there who had just, just that fucking moment ceased to exist.”

  He paused to collect his emotions; he was on the verge of tears. Tracy went over to comfort him. I’ve already been over this ground about how guys really don’t know how to do this. Normally, we’d hand someone a sandwich and a beer to try and make them feel better.

  “Those first few days, we mostly holed up. Except for a few that had to try and get back to their families. They promised they’d be back, never heard from any of them again. Kap lost his kid the third day we had to leave his house; his wife wasn’t the same afterwards. I swear she walked into that bullet when we got ambushed a week later. A week after that, we were down to just me, Trunks, and Kap. We’d hooked up with military units during that time and other groups as well. We’d been talking about getting to the Hill lately because that seemed about the only place that still had its shit together. Now I’m it. Hardly seems right.” Now the tears did fall. He stood up and walked away, another guy trait. Doesn’t matter what we’ve been through, for the most part we want to cry alone.

  All thoughts of fried chicken and mashed potatoes were pushed back, not far, mind you, but pushed back all the same. Hunger has an insidious way of worming its way into the front of anything going on. War, sex, sleep—didn’t matter. Those base needs are primal urges. I felt for Reaper, and my sincerest hope was that I wouldn’t have to go through what he was experiencing.

  We all looked up when we heard heavy footfalls coming down the stairs; I think it was Rakinall. He grunted something, sounded like a cross between English and broken rocks. His arm gesture to follow was unmistakable though.

  When we hit the rooftop, we noted that Keecan and his troops were firing, which could only mean one thing. The Devastators were closing in. The tank barrage was possibly slightly closer, hard to tell. It could just be that the sound was no longer muffled by being downstairs. We all took up position and added our rifles to the mix. I was not prepared for how close the Devastators were. It seemed that they’d somehow deduced that this building was the center of command and were making a major push to break through our defenses and rip off the head. So to speak.

  Genogerian troops were being pushed back and around our building. The Devastators had tactfully severed off the battle groups to the left and the right. Now Devastator troops were getting in position to completely surround our personal guard and us. We were in the thick of it. My finger started to hurt from the sheer number of pulls on the trigger. Sweat poured off my body as my mind went into hyper mode, which was my body’s way of speeding up the processing of stimuli so that I could better deal with the threats. This had the perceived effect of slowing down the events around me. My own version of slow motion, yet the horrific imagery was not something I wanted to see frame-by-frame. Reaper, once again for whatever reason, drew the most amount of fire from our little group. Yet this time he would not yield his spot, not at least until he was forced to do so.

  Time was running out for us. Our only hope, in the form of tanks, was at least a mile off. The Mutes were not much more than fifty yards away. Add to that, I was convinced I smelled fire. The store below us was burning. Kap was going to get a Viking funeral sendoff soon enough. The thought of frying—much like BT’s chicken—pissed me off to no end. I unleashed a volley of rounds, taking no small measure of satisfaction as I destroyed Mutes.

  Tracy looked over to me. She knew. I could almost feel her hand reach out to grab mine. One last moment of contact before the end.

  “The barrage has stopped.” BT was gripping the wall. “Have they lost?” He whipped his head to look at me.

  Why does everyone think I have the script? I shrugged.

  “Rakinall, Lumbal!” Keecan shouted. They got busy setting up their anti-aircraft tubes.

  I was looking up, scanning the sky for what they apparently already knew.

  “Keecan, what’s going on?”

  “We have received reports of Progerian fighters and gunships approaching.”

  “How many, and will those tubes work?”

  “Maybe as many as twenty, and our weapons will not be very effective. If we had more of them…perhaps. ”

  “Shit, our guys must have caught wind of the incoming fighters and are taking off,” BT said dejectedly.

  “Probably right, man. I would too.” I told him. “Our tanks are useless against them, just a waste of materials at that point.”

  “Mike, one more time,” BT begged.

  “I don’t think I’m going to get three favors from God.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Tracy asked.

  “He thinks I have God’s ear. I think it’s more like impeccable timing.”

  “Honey, I’ve known you for over three years now, the one thing you most certainly do not possess is impeccable timing. Do it.” Tracy was still firing; she had no problem doing two things at once. “If there’s any chance at all, just do it.”

  “What could it hurt? Umm, God, I know I’m normally supposed to start off screaming and cussing, but this time I’m going to use the low key approach. We sure could use a little help.”

  “A little?” BT asked.

  We could hear the fighters as they came closer, not so much the engines, which were nearly silent, but the sonic crack from their speed and the rush of air that they pushed past. The tubes lit up, yellow lines raced into the sky and then split off, seeking a target to let loose their death upon. I wished them well. Although, in retrospect, it was anti-aircraft sites that were eliminated first. Always
just a wee bit behind in my reasoning.

  “Don’t think that worked,” I said apologetically to BT.

  “You tried, man.”

  “Mike, now might be a good time to get going.” Tracy nodded to the beams. She’d already figured it out.

  “Keecan, leave the tubes going, let’s at least get off this roof,” I said to him.

  “Is it not a glorious day to die?”

  “No, no it’s really not. It’s a fabulous day to live.”

  As the barrage from above began, the building shook mightily. I was afraid the tubes might spill over and make us burst. Something akin to a human being shot with a mortar, I figured the damage would be that great. Keecan steadied the devices and for some reason agreed with me as he motioned for his group to follow us down. We’d grabbed our gear and were heading down into the smoky embrace of a store almost engulfed in flames. Explosions again rocked the building as the fighters bombarded the area. Another even heavier detonation threatened to throw us off our feet as a fighter was struck by Keecan’s weapons. I would have raised my fist in the air and shouted if they weren’t full. Satisfaction turned to outright horror as another fighter flew directly overhead.

  I dropped everything I had and was sprinting for the tubes.

  “Oh, my God!” Tracy cried.

  Chapter 25

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – PAUL

  In the end, it was the extraction team that won the case of scotch. Although, if the buckle team hadn’t needed to strip parts from the Brakenor, they would have been able to pull off the improbable victory. Paul had decided they had all won and made sure both crews were rewarded handsomely.

  “I can’t thank you enough for your help, Major. We would not have been able to do it without you.” Paul had to get past all of his previous biases and realize that a Genogerian had indeed saved him and, more importantly, his ship.

  “I did what was necessary to ensure our survival,” Drababan answered dryly. “Anyone sitting in this chair would have done the same.”

  “Well, it was you, so that is who I am thanking.” Drababan’s face took up nearly the entire screen as they talked. Paul thought to maybe ask him to sit further away from the camera but decided against insulting someone who had stuck his neck out for him.

  Drababan slightly nodded his head.

  “So, no news from Mike?” Paul asked.

  “He is as absent as is the other Progerian vessel, yet I know that they are both out there, waiting to make their triumphant returns.”

  “I hope you’re right, about Mike anyway. The repairs are almost complete, I have a few of your men I would like to retain due to their expertise and my need.” Paul thought this might get a little sticky. Most commanders aren’t all that willing to share.

  “The men ultimately fall under your command, General, and you may requisition their transfers as you see fit. If you would send me a list I will have their personal belongings sent up. Is there anything else, General? I have a renegade captain I have to hunt down before he can do more harm.”

  Paul knew Captain Jordania. He’d never liked the man, but he’d promoted him on Beth’s request. That should been enough of a reason to raise suspicion. At the time it had seemed harmless enough—captain of the supply department. How much trouble could he cause? It would have been hard to predict that somehow that twit of a man would make it to commander of the Hill. With relative peace on the planet Paul had let the affairs of the Hill slide from the forefront of his thoughts. He was focused on winning the war, not on scurrying back underground in the hopes of survival. Paul was about to wish Drababan good luck and end their call when someone came into Drababan’s office.

  “I am sorry for the interruption, General. We have received news of a major conflict through our radio network in Tennessee. It appears that Genogerians and Devastator troops are locked in combat.”

  “Against each other?”

  “Yes.” Drababan knew that Paul was not an advocate of the Genogerian plight. He wondered if he would help in any way and if so, did he have the resources to so.

  “Do you have the coordinates?” Drababan asked the person off-screen, and within moments, he relayed them to Paul.

  “I will send the feed when our systems pick it up.” Paul had his comms officer focus the vast array of spy and surveillance equipment to Earth. The electronics were so sensitive that they could focus in on a dog-sized object if they so desired, but that was not necessary, as Paul had to pan the image out. No words were needed as both looked at the epic battle being waged real-time. If Paul didn’t know better, he would have thought the combatants were at Red Rocks due to the unnatural coloring of the ground.

  Drababan noted with alarm that the Genogerians were pulling back into a defensive posture with the Devastators pressing the attack.

  “Drababan, our systems are all back online and we will stay as long as we can. However, that other Progerian ship is out there, and I will not be able to stay should she show up. I cannot risk having any of my gunships out on their own. We do have a tank unit stationed nearby, and I will dispatch them immediately. It won’t be nearly enough but it could help.”

  “Thank you, sir. One more thing, could I continue to have this transmission?”

  “I will make sure the channel stays open for as long as we are here. Good luck, Drababan. I will contact you if anything changes.”

  Half of the split screen went momentarily black before the battle replaced it. Drababan had a rising feeling of dread. His brethren were fighting valiantly but they were outnumbered and would have a hard time sustaining their casualties. He was about to turn his attention to matters more pressing in his corner of the world when he saw something strange.

  “What is happening?” He moved to the screen and hit the magnification button. “They are withdrawing. I have never heard of this before.”

  “Sir?” Dewey had come in to tell Drababan they had located Captain Jordania. “Is something wrong?” The sergeant could not see the screen from his angle.

  “Come here, Sergeant, and tell me what you see.”

  “What?” he first asked, confused at what he was looking at. “A battle of some sorts, Genogerians and Devastators it appears. When did this happen, sir?”

  “It’s happening now, this is a live feed from the Guardian at a place in Tennessee. What else do you see?”

  “Well…” Dewey studied the screen. “The Genogerians are in trouble and seem to be tactically retreating.”

  “Exactly!” Drababan slammed his fist down on his desk making Dewey involuntarily jump.

  “Sir?”

  “Genogerians do not tactically withdraw from anything. Someone taught them to do that.”

  “I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

  “There is only one human I know with the clout, or what he would so eloquently call balls, to tell Genogerians what to do.”

  “I’m still not following, sir.”

  “Michael.”

  “The colonel you mean? Colonel Talbot?”

  “Please get the Guardian back on the screen. And while I am talking to the general, I need you to scour this battle.”

  “For what, sir?”

  “You will know when you find it.”

  “That seems like you’re reaching, Drababan,” Paul said, after listening to Drababan’s reasoning.

  “Something is not right here, General. This behavior is completely foreign to my people.”

  “Could it not be something they’ve picked up since their time on the planet?”

  “Perhaps, But still, General…”

  “Drababan, I appreciate your concern, and if I could spare the manpower I would do so, but this is no more than a wild goose chase in the midst of a full-scale battle. Even if he was there, which I highly doubt, we’d never be able to find him.”

  “Got it, sir!” Dewey said excitedly.

  Drababan did not even confirm it before he asked the general to bring up the same feed he had in his office. Drababan smiled
at the sight of four humans on top of a roof. Three were indistinguishable, but the fiery red hair of Tracy was unmistakable even as it was being observed from space.

  “Holy shit, it is him!” Paul almost reached out to touch the giant screen. He turned to his officers. “I want fighters and gunships scrambled now! To this location. Target the Devastators.” Much more quietly, though Drababan heard him, “Help is coming, Mike. I just hope it isn’t too late.”

  “I as well,” Drababan beseeched.

  Also by Mark Tufo

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