You know what the most excellent thing about being me was? I know, narrowing it down is neigh on impossible, but go ahead, guess. Okay, I'll say it. I lived by the Girl Scout motto. Be prepared. And I was. I thought he might play that card.
“Wul, what I'm about to tell you is beyond classified. This information is secured in the deepest parts of the Existine Vaults.”
“The what? Never heard of them.”
“Then we're doing our jobs well. To proceed, this information is so closely guarded that there is an inflammatory curse instilled into the very wording.”
“A what? There's no …”
“Uh-uh, citizen.” I stopped him with a raised palm. “Again, thank you for confirming job well done on our part. An inflammatory curse is a spell that if released, causes the user to burst into flames.”
“I don't see you bursting into flames. I wish I were, but I'm not,” he said dubiously.
“I'm authorized, you inbred. As I was about to suggest, forget what I'm about to say. I will know you betrayed our confidence if I read of your immolation. An alternate way to disrupt a vortex would be to shunt plasma from the paired nacelle collectors into the Heisenberg compensators placed on opposite sides of the vortex in order to generate sufficient tachyon emissions to disperse neutrino buildup around the vortex core, thereby establishing a reverse of the polarity and anti-accretion of its molecular substance.” I glared hard at him. “Never repeat that. Never.” I pointed to the floor.
“I … I have … I got nothing.”
“That is unacceptable. I showed you mine, now show me yours.”
“We're still talking about ways to cripple a vortex, right?”
“Naturally.”
My but he had a distant look in his eyes.
“Fine, but then we're through, you and me. Promised One or not, I never want to see, be seen by, or seen in association with you ever again.”
“I can live with that,” I said with a shrug.
“It has long been speculated the vortex is made of non-matter.”
“What is non-matter? Are you trying to renege on telling me?”
“No, of course not. I wish to be rid of you and rid of you soon. Non-matter is just that. It is neither matter nor antimatter. It is neutral matter, if you will.”
“I will take your word on that for now. If it were this neutral matter, how would that make the structure vulnerable?”
“Matter and antimatter self-annihilate.”
“Yes.”
“Matter and neutral matter do not.”
“O-kay.”
“Antimatter and non-matter do not.”
“Sure, why not?”
“But matter mixed with antimatter tri-annihilate with neutral matter.”
“Convenient, but matter and antimatter don't mix to be mixed with neutral matter.”
“But if they could be, one would destroy the vortex.” His hands came together then opened quickly. “Bada boom.”
“Can you suggest to me how these desperadoes might pull that off?”
“Yes. Go ask Xassteril. She's sitting right over there.” He left without another word.
I had half a mind to do just that. But then, acting under the power of only half a mind was a dumb idea. I finished my drink and retrieved my wife.
SIX
“Sir, I mark six meteor impact in the vicinity of the Badlands National Park, South Dakota.”
“Can you confirm six?” replied Major Carter Braxton. He was the watch commander that day for the North American Aerospace Defense Command, or NORAD.
“Yes, sir,” responded Command Sergeant Major Robertson. He'd been on the scope for years and was legendary. “The pattern's a bit odd.”
“Sergeant, I don't want odd in times of potential crisis. Be specific or be silent.”
“Sorry, sir. I meant to say the pattern is unusually tight. Normally if a rock's going to splinter in the atmosphere, the resultant sections will land farther apart.”
“Why's that?” he asked quickly.
“Simple physics, sir. If the meteor's going to fail it'll do so pretty high up. This tight a pattern suggests either the main body held together until it was almost to the ground, or that there were six independent meteors in a tight formation to begin with.”
“Seems unlikely then in either case. Could they be hard landings of spacecraft?”
“Uh, I'd doubt it. The dust plumes are pretty big. Whatever hit did so with tremendous momentum. Hard to imagine any living being would plan such a rough landing.” He cleared his throat. “Plus, we haven't confirmed any LGM as of yet, sir.”
“LGM?”
“Sorry. Little green men. You know, aliens.”
“There's a first for everything, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir, there is.” It took all Craig could do not to snicker. Major Braxton was famously a nerd. Rumor had it he even wore Star Wars skivvies.
“Lieutenant Koehn, alert CFB Cold Lake to scramble some CF-18s to inspect the site.”
“Sir.”
“And have Ellsworth ready a full platoon for area recon. I want an officer on the ground this time out. Also instruct them to place as many AH-64 Apache helicopters as'll be required on alert.”
“Yes, sir.”
Five minutes later Braxton was contacted by Captain S.E. Parker, who piloted the lead F-18. “Major, we're over the site. I count six impact craters maybe three meters in diameter. They are located in a symmetric pattern a few hundred meters up the side of a gentle slope. Smoke is rising from all six. No signs of structure in the craters, but they are fairly deep.”
“What kind of symmetric pattern?”
“Like the corners of a stop sign, Major.”
“Damn strange,” Braxton mumbled to himself. “Any movement in the area?”
“Negative.”
“Any apparent danger to a recon patrol?”
“Negative. I'd advise they carry Geiger counters and wear Nomex suits. Looks pretty hot close to the craters.”
“Copy that. NORAD out.”
Twenty minutes later, Second Lieutenant Philip McCain radioed in. “Major, we're holding at the base of the hill. I can confirm the hexagonal craters are one hundred fifty meters from our position. Radiation levels do not, I repeat, do not exceed background. Thin columns of … Sergeant Carter, what the hell is that?”
“Report Lieutenant,” demanded Braxton. “What's going on?”
“Sir, some damn thing just crawled out of one of the … check that, two of the craters.”
“Lieutenant, I am ordering you to keep calm and provide me with accurate clear reports. Is that clear?”
“Sorry, Major. Cappy, can you get the video cameras on the hill? Major, I'll have a visual in a minute. At this point three, no all six craters have creatures at or near their rims.”
“Creatures? What kind of creatures, Lieutenant?”
“Different ones. Christ Almighty, sir, they're the most hideous things I've ever seen. One is a serpent the size of a Mack truck. Another is, I don't know, maybe a dinosaur, but smaller, with wings and teeth that emit light, purple light, sir.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. What, Cappy? Okay, Major, we're ready to broadcast live. See for your damn self, Braxton.”
Major Braxton began to shout a reprimand at the junior officer when the first live images flashed to life on the screen in front of him. He then forgot the lieutenant even existed. Braxton saw a serpent as large as a Mack truck. He focused on a dinosaur with purple teeth. He recoiled at the sight of a woman with eight arms who stood ten feet tall. Her torso was jacketed with golden armor and her arms and legs were covered in spikes. In place of hair, flames wafted from her head. She appeared to be laughing.
“Lieutenant McCain, fall back. Repeat, abort mission. Return to base immediately. Captain Williams.”
“Sir.”
“Scramble every fighter we have under our command fully armed. I want that hill to be a very deep hole ten minutes ago.�
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“Sir.”
“And have Ellsworth load their B-52s with all the MK82 500-pounders they can carry. They are to carpet-bomb that damn crater till we hear the Chinese begging us to stop. I want kitchen sinks impacting that site. Is that clear, Williams?”
“Yes, sir.”
“McCain, report status.”
The speakers hissed with white noise.
Braxton snapped a glance at the monitor. Nothing but snow. “Where's the damn broadcast from the patrol?” he shouted to no one in particular. “Where's the damn patrol?”
“We've lost both the radio and video links, sir.”
“What do mean lost?”
“I mean there are no signals coming from the recon patrol.”
“Crap. Captain, what's the status of those fighters?”
“Six are airborne. Twelve more are nearly ready for takeoff.”
“Tell them to hurry it up. They're moving too slow.”
“Sir.”
“I want the lead fighter on the line now.”
“Hang on. There, Captain Claymore, Major Braxton is ready for your report.”
“Where are you, Claymore?”
“Five miles from objective.”
“You on afterburners?”
“Ne … negative, sir.”
“Light 'em up, son. This is life and death.”
“Yes, Major.”
A dramatic increase in the volume of jet engines flared.
“ETA?”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Do not, repeat, do not await visuals. I want all your AGMs flying before you arrive, and drop your GBUs on the laser spots at the earliest possible moment. Are you clear on that?”
“Yes, Major. Missiles away. Ten seconds to release point. Three—two—one. Bombs away.”
“Return for resupply. Can you confirm detonations?”
“Sir?”
“Can you confirm detonations. It's a simple question. Look backward and tell me you see Hell rising toward Heaven.”
“Major, I can confirm no evid …”
The microphone burst forth static.
“Captain Claymore, are you there. Do you copy, Claymore?”
“Major, all six alert planes are gone.”
“Can you confirm debris?”
“Negative, sir. Radar shows no falling wreckage, but they're pretty far away. Might not see it if it were there.”
An officer to Braxton's right shouted, “Carter, the planes can't just vanish.”
“Yes, they can and just did. Koehn, tell those B-52s to take off instantly. I need that location removed from existence.”
“Message conveyed, sir. They are finishing preflights as we …”
“Have them take the fuck off now, and that's an order. No preflight bullshit. We are on the cusp of total annihilation.”
Koehn looked to his partner. They exchanged looks of concern for the major's sanity.
“Major, Ellsworth air control confirms one flight is in the air. After regrouping they'll be over the target in ten minutes.”
“Put the CO on speaker.”
“This is Lieutenant Colonel Ed Mitchell.”
“Ed, this is the scariest thing I've ever seen, and I did three tours in A-4s in ’Nam. You need to get to the objective as fast as you can.”
“We are, Major. I have a visual of the strike zone. Lots of smoke. ETA nine minutes.”
“Put the pedal to the metal and keep me posted.”
“Copy that, Major.”
“Do you see any signs of the CF-18s, sir?”
“Negative.”
“Or the Apaches?”
“Negative on that also. Lest you inquire, no crash sites or debris noted either.”
“Major Braxton, Ellsworth reports three additional squadrons and two flights are airborne.”
“Fully loaded?”
“They report it's standing room only on the weapons bays.”
“Let's just pray that's enough.”
A few minutes later Colonel Mitchell was back on the air. “Thirty seconds to drop. Laser guides confirmed. I have direct visual now.”
“Any sign of monsters?”
“Say what?” barked Mitchell.
“You heard me. Boots on the ground sent back video of alien monsters.”
“Well, my psychiatrist and I are both happy to report no monsters, Major.”
“I want a live broadcast of the strike zone after bombs away.”
“You got it. Sure don't want any monsters to swallow our ordnance before it has a chance to go boom.”
“Knock it off, Mitchell. I am deadly serious.”
“Roger that. Okay, the last plane in my squadron has released its payload. Returning to base.”
“You saw the bombs drop, but are you seeing explosions? Can you confirm detonation?”
“Er … no, Major Braxton. Your suspicions seem …”
Harsh static.
Radar reported no planes, debris, or parachutes on screen.
Braxton picked up the hotline phone to the Situation Room in the White House.
“Get me the president. Let him know we are currently at war with a vastly superior enemy.”
Within minutes, President Bill Clinton, Secretary of Defense William “Bill” Perry, and the joint chiefs were assembled in the Situation Room.
Chairman General John Shalikashvili spoke first. “Mr. President, details are only now filing in, but I think we're looking at a full-scale hostile alien invasion.”
“General Shalikashvili, you know I'm a man given to hyperbole, but even I have some trouble buying into that type of warning.”
“Be that as it may, sir, the facts are more than alarming. A little more than two hours ago six objects crashed to earth in South Dakota. We confirmed that alien beings of immense power emerged from those craters and neutralized everything NORAD could throw at them. All personnel on the ground and in the air were lost without a trace.”
“And you told me you have video proof of these aliens’ existence?” asked Bill Perry.
“Yes, sir. We do. Colonel Break, will you cue that tape please.”
On the wall a large monitor spat to life. The images taken by Lieutenant McCain were viewed by all. Not a sound could be heard in the room.
“Well assuming those images are real, I'd agree we're in a world of hurt here, ladies and gentlemen,” said Clinton. “What's the status of the … the venue?”
“Unclear, sir,” replied Shalikashvili. “Satellite images are not available due to local weather. Ellsworth has flown a constant stream of aircraft over the site. They all report seeing little and are then lost without a trace. Photos send back to Ellsworth before they disappear haven't been very helpful.”
“Bill,” asked the president, “what's the status of our response as of this moment?”
“We have every helicopter, plane, train, and truck packed with lethal force and headed toward the Badlands. We're all in.”
“When's anybody going to get there?”
“Our forces will arrive in a staggered manner beginning very shortly.”
“General Shalikashvili,” asked Clinton very soberly, “have you targeted the site with strategic nuclear missiles?”
“What?” snapped Bill Perry. “You cannot be serious, Mr. President. Using megaton devices on our own soil is unthinkable.”
“While it may be unthinkable, it may also be our only real option, Bill. I understand your reservations but …”
“I don't have reservations, Bill, I have a family. We all have families and we all have consciences. You cannot even consider …”
“Yes, Mr. President. Per your orders several missile silos have targeted ground zero,” Shalikashvili interrupted solemnly.
“Fine. Let's pray to God we don't …”
Shalikashvili's cell phone rang. “Yes. Are you absolutely certain? Yes, he's with me. Yes, godspeed.”
“What's up, John. How bad is the news?”
“It could not
be worse, Mr. President. All flights inbound for the Badlands have disappeared off radar.”
“That is bad,” replied the leader of the free world.
“That's not even the worst part. Reports are coming in from Rapid City that massive columns of smoke are rising from where Ellsworth was located. A traffic copter returned live images of a large hole where the base used to be. The pilot called the crater lunar in proportions.”
“I've made my decision. Launch one hundred-kiloton device immediately.”
“Just the one, Mr. President?” asked Shalikashvili.
“Just the one. That should be quiet sufficient to damn all of our souls in the eyes of God.”
The general made a quiet call and looked to Clinton. “It'll hit in less than two minutes, sir.”
“Very well. General, have our allies been warned of this dire situation?”
“Some.”
“Fill up the Press Room and let 'em know I'll be live in one minute. We need to tell the world.”
“Yes, sir.”
The first two lines spoken by President William Jefferson Clinton, the forty-second and last President of the United Staes, to the assembled media were, “My sisters and brothers, today we witness the rise of an unimaginable evil. Let us all pray we survive to see 1996.”
But no one did. For the six ancient gods that landed near the Badlands National Park that afternoon in July of 1995 were vengeful, and they were bloodthirsty, and they were ruthless. Nimrod, god of unquenchable fire, Salsifri, god of unending pain, Horice, god of genuine hatred, Lopocif, god of cruelty itself, Goeias, god of mindlessness, and Quixot, god of capriciousness, were not to be stopped. They were never even slowed in their assault. The nuclear missile and all subsequent ones launched didn't detonate.
The ancient gods were not satisfied with the destruction just of the universe as it existed at the time they entered it. No, they traveled backward and forward in time to destroy all they could. An old Cleinoid saying was the more you destroy, the more you enjoy. So, these six scourges caused the oceans and rivers to boil, the atmosphere to be blown off into space, and the continents to be pounded into dust. On January 1, 1996, that New Year’s Day, not a single mammal walked the earth. Not one penguin waddled across the ice of the Antarctic. Not even one bacterium survived in the rocks below the deepest mine in South Africa, the Mponeng gold mine four kilometers below the ravaged surface.
Rage of the Ancient Gods Page 5
