by Mark Tufo
“Well, when we’re in range so are they. Make sure we give them something to think about before they try and crawl in. Tracy…Major, the Earth’s atmosphere; my understanding is it’s got a fairly tough exterior layer. Is it something we can skitter along like a skipping stone?”
“We could, theoretically, but for what purpose?”
“Speed. I’m hoping it will increase it.”
“I’ve got to figure this out perfectly. Speed and angle are going to be crucial.”
“Gonna throw this out there just to ratchet up the degree of difficulty.”
She looked over with a nervous expression that was most definitely warranted.
“At the very last moment, I need you to turn this ship around.”
“Colonel, you want me to turn, cut the engines, and go tripping and skipping along the horizon backward at speeds in excess of seventy-five thousand miles an hour?”
“Is it possible?”
“I mean, maybe, but it won’t be the Stryvers we’re worried about at that point.”
“I didn’t know people could get crazier.” BT was talking to himself. “I mean, I know that there are people that are just fucked up in the head…it happens…but to watch them get worse right in front of your eyes? That’s something new, man.”
“Captain, let the crew know that no matter where they are or what they’re doing they need to find a way to strap themselves in now. That understood?” I asked.
I think he had been mumbling to himself, much like BT. “Yes, sir.” He’d no sooner finished telling the crew to brace themselves when the Lieutenant next to him, Jasper, announced an imminent displacement. Whoever was coming to the party was going to be a little late, but maybe they’d make it in time for mop-up duty or to pick up survivors.
“Vicieus?” I asked.
“Don’t think so; the signature isn’t lining up, sir.”
“When the hell did Earth become the hub of the universe?” I asked.
“Everyone wants to see the crazy king,” BT muttered.
“I can hear you,” I told him.
He tried to shrug but his restraints were so tight that if he tried to fart he’d blow out his eyeballs from the back pressure. And yes, with four warships barreling down on me, an unknown uninvited guest coming, and about to do a maneuver that Evel Knievel would have rethought, I did indeed think about BT not being able to move his ass high enough to let go a break of wind.
“Colonel, I’m less than a minute from attempting this maneuver. Are you sure?” Tracy asked.
“Yeah. Let’s give it a go.”
Dee could not help but stop what he was doing to look at me. “You are not instilling much confidence in your crew, nor in me Michael, with your devil-may-care attitude.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t give a shit either. I’m confident, Dee, that this will work because it is the only option presented to us. We will live because no other scenario fits into my plans and anything less is completely unacceptable. How’s that? Feel better now?”
He thought on it for a second. “I can accept the desire to will yourself to survive.”
“You were any more full of shit, you’d need to hire a septic truck to pump you out,” BT breathed out.
“Your running commentary of my inner most thoughts isn’t necessary.” I gritted my teeth as the belts dug into my side and Tracy went into her galaxian power slide. My vision began to tunnel as the excessive g-forces pulled me to the left. The straps cut channels into my body; I was not sure how much more of this I could take. Then the real excitement began as the ship’s hull contacted the uppermost layers of Earth’s atmosphere and the teeth chattering, bone shaking, blood churning fun began. I was now fully aware of what paint felt like the moment it was locked into the shaker.
I could barely do anything except try to keep my brain from thwacking around inside its bucket of a housing. It was careening around in there like an air hockey puck on a live board. I was in absolute amazement that the rest of the crew were still performing their pre-assigned duties while Tracy was doing her best to cut me into little pieces via my straps. BT was looking over at me like he wanted to remove my internal organs through my mouth; Dee was now firing our big gun on the advancing Stryvers. The ship sounded like a Chevy station wagon full of nuts and bolts barreling down a washboarded dirt road in excess of seventy miles per hour on bad shocks. Whatever means had been used to build this machine were being severely tested.
“Incoming fire!” Captain Anders announced. I took a small, sadistic pleasure seeing the death grip he had on the sides of his console. I did feel bad for anyone that was stuck on the toilet at this most inopportune of times. The forces being exerted on their body were most likely pushing the blockage farther in, if you catch my drift. Once saw an episode of South Park where Cartman was shitting out of his mouth; never thought much about it until now. I could actually envision that happening.
I didn’t think anything could trump the vibrations threatening to knock my spine loose from its moorings, until we were struck by the Stryver weaponry. There was a heavy thud, then we were shoved hard off to the side. Blackness encroached deep around the peripheries of my vision, I was damn near pin-sighted; as close to blacking out as I had ever been without actually blacking out. The gears were already in motion. What would it have mattered if I took a little siesta right there and then? BT, like a heat seeking missile, was still locked on me like I was the root of all evil and he was an industrial sized drum of Weed-B-Gone.
“One ship destroyed; another has suffered major damage,” Dee announced, no more out of sorts than if he was on a Sunday morning stroll with his Yorkshire terrier.
When he’d said “one ship destroyed,” I’d for a second thought he was talking about us.
“Major, get us out of this damn death slide.” I was doing my best to sit up in my chair and look commanderly; I was not faring so well.
“Trying…” she gritted out. “Atmosphere is acting like quicksand—pulling us deeper in the more I try to get out.”
“Another Stryver ship is moving in,” the captain said.
“The flares of heat we are sending up by impacting the atmosphere are making us a difficult target,” Dee said. Always the optimist, that one.
“Keep firing on them until they’re gone or have had enough,” I said. I could barely move my head to look up to the siren wail above me. We were starting to get reports of damage throughout the ship as it was subjected to forces nothing was built to withstand. “Major?” I prodded.
“Trying…” was all she was able to get out.
“Fuck it. Major, punch down and through, then come back up,” I ordered.
“Bout time you said something smart,” BT muttered.
Somehow, incredibly, the shaking intensified. I figured this was our death rattle. Then it was like the sun breaking through the storm clouds of a category five tornado that had moments before dissipated. Blissful peace and tranquility…except for the trilling of alarms.
“Propulsion off-line!” Tracy let us know in no uncertain terms.
“What’s that mean?” BT asked.
“Free falling, man,” I told him as my stomach, which had been compressed down into the size of a smashed up baggy was now sliding rapidly up my esophagus attempting to escape through my mouth.
“Fifty miles to impact!” Captain Anders informed everyone.
“Impact what?” BT asked. I think he was still in a state of shock, would have thought the last time we were hurtling toward Earth in a ship would still be fresh in his mind. I was fairly certain there were no parachutes aboard this behemoth, and when we struck we were going to be our own mini-extinction event.
To top off the gloriousness that was this day, the Stryvers were still popping rounds off at us. They did not care just how beleaguered we were, or how assured our defeat. They were firmly entrenched in the stance of kick ’em when they’re down. And honestly, if the roles were reversed, I’d be hammering in the final nails
to their coffin lid as well. Sure, I’d say it was to put them out of their misery, but in reality, it would be because I wanted to make extra sure they were dead—put them out of my misery.
“Ten miles to impact.” I wanted to thank the captain for his update by punching him in the throat. In retrospect, I guess that wouldn’t have been overly professional.
“Odds of survival?” I asked. Not the easiest words to get out, considering my stomach was firmly entrenched in my throat.
He looked at me like I was a particularly slow lad who had just wandered into the Advanced Physics lab at Harvard.
“So fifty-fifty?” I asked, waffling my right hand.
“You’re an idiot,” BT informed me.
“Major…” I left that one hanging out there.
If she’d had time to flip me the finger, she would have.
“Twenty-two seconds to impact,” the captain stated. “Twenty…nineteen…”
Dee was still firing on the Stryvers, kind of like that one last act of defiance thing, flipping them the middle finger with our shattered arms.
“Propulsion online!” I’m not even sure who shouted that out. The stress on my wife’s face had not changed; there was no relief at that statement. I undid my clasps and stood.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting a drink, want one?” I told BT. In honesty, I wanted to be holding my wife when the end came.
“Make it a double of whatever the hell you get,” was his reply.
“Too late,” was Tracy’s mantra as she pushed buttons, pulled levers, spun dials, and said small prayers to unhearing deities.
I placed my hands on her shoulders. “You can do it,” I whispered.
“Mike, I can’t stop the downward plunge…too fast, too much inertia…not enough…time. We’re going to hit at a deadly velocity and all I can do is attempt to mitigate with forward thrust. We’re going to strike the Earth much like we did the atmosphere. You have seven seconds to get your ass back in your chair or you’re going to be Cream of Commander.”
“Never been much of a fan of anything creamed. I love you,” I told her as I hastily left.
“Where’s my drink?” BT asked.
“Drank it.” I was fumbling with my straps.
“Figures.”
“Three seconds,” Captain Kray said picking up where Anders had left off.
I’m not going to lie and say I’m mister cool under pressure, but I generally handle myself with a decent amount of respectability. Right now I felt like I had on Mickey Mouse gloves as I mishandled those buckles. The buckle snapped in just as the first jarring impact was going to send half of the crew to the dentist if we survived. Rocks, dirt, cars, trucks, and buildings were smashed into oblivion as we struck the ground. If the damage reports had been pouring in from our earlier excursion, it was a deluge now. The ship was giving a non-stop assessment of all her ills, like a hundred and seventeen-year-old man might. The grinding, scraping noise as we left a giant, scouring swath in our wake was mind-numbingly loud.
“Andes.” Captain Kray was steering as Tracy was trying to get us back up.
Being of simple mind, I was attempting to figure out who Andy was and how he played a role in this, and should I kick his ass? When Tracy responded with, “I see them—would be hard to miss an entire mountain range.”
“Oh, the Andes,” I said, figuring it out.
“You just got that?” BT asked shaking his head.
“One minute to impact,” the helpful captain informed us.
“Okay people, listen up. I’m getting really sick and tired of impacting things, especially mountain ranges. Major, get us out of here. That’s an order!” I ordered. This might be the last time I actually got to order her and she would comply; figured I’d get it in before it was all over. The score was Mike one, Tracy, the rest.
We now had a very large and jiggling view of the Andes looming directly in front of us. I did hold some measure of hope that we would be able to tunnel underneath them with our current course, but I was wise enough not to share that plan with the crew.
“Stryvers have pulled back,” Dee announced. “They are pulling back from Earth.”
That sounded really good on the surface. Like your mom telling you that’s there’s chocolate cake for dessert as soon as you finish your dinner. I had a feeling that dinner consisted of liver and kumquats. I wasn’t wrong.
“What aren’t you saying?” I prodded through our forced contact with the planet.
“They don’t want to be anywhere near the potential fall-out.”
I was wondering just how bad this could get when Dee laid another brick on my already constricted chest. We had literally scared the shit out of our enemies with our tactical maneuver. “If the Buckle Drive implodes on a celestial body it can create a black hole.” I stared at Dee, waiting for the punch line; I guess it was us.
“How is something like that even possible?” I looked at BT. “I mean you just can’t make this shit up. You think things are bad, they get a little worse, then the next thing you know, you’re responsible for sucking everything you love, including your very planet, into an atom engulfing void.”
“Thirty seconds.”
I think I could see individual mountain goats eating wild grass on the slopes.
Tracy took a moment to look up at the screen herself; she went back to her board and was working at an even more frenetic pace, if that were even possible. “Don’t say anything Michael.” We’d stopped bouncing off the ground like an errant super ball, but at an altitude of twenty-seven feet, we weren’t going to clear the mountains.
“When we start eating people, I’m starting with you,” I told BT.
“What the fuck are you….wait… are you talking about the Rugby team crash? You’re a sick bastard, Talbot. What about him?” He was pointing to Dee. “I bet he tastes like chicken.”
Dee was assessing the situation. He could not help Tracy, and the Stryvers were out of range for the time being. “I do believe out of the three of us, I would taste the best. My vegetarian diet will make my meat less gamey. But when the hard times come, I will have to forgo my usual fare and eat the meat of my friends. It will be a sad day, but a necessary one. I will say solemn prayers as I devour your flesh. For of us all, the odds greatly favor that I will survive.”
“Is it going to be tough for you to tell your godson you ate his father?” I asked.
Dee shrugged. “I’ve had to tell others more difficult things.”
“You’re all my bitches,” Tracy said, and we all turned to look at her. “Gonna be close, but we’re going to make it.” It was too early for a cheer, but fuck if I didn’t want to bust one out.
“What’s the range on the Stryvers?” I asked.
“They’re holding at just outside of weapons range,” Dee said.
“Traditional?” I asked.
“No!” BT and Tracy said in unison.
“When we’re clear, Major, turn this beast around. Dee, you start lighting them up again.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” BT asked. “You sick of life or something? What about the rest of us?”
“That’s who I’m thinking of,” I told him.
There was the stomach crushing pull as we climbed to get over the mountain range, then the slightest of knocks as we clipped the top, then I really don’t know how to describe the next series of sensations. We were free falling while simultaneously corkscrewing, my guts felt like they were being churned like butter or wrung out like a dirty mop, take your pick.
“Firing,” Dee said incredulously, it was all I could do to make sure I didn’t coat myself in freshly squeezed stomach juice.
“Stryvers are moving into position to fire on us,” Captain Turrell said.
“Gonna need some math, people,” I said, they knew what I was referring to.
“Closer, approximately ten thousand miles,” Lieutenant Jasper replied.
“Come on you spindly leg motherfucking b
ug monsters, get your ugly asses closer.” I urged.
We were once again traveling backward and at some ungodly speed not more than a mile or two off the ground. I can’t even imagine what anyone down below was thinking as we thundered overhead; well, next-to-head.
“Subs in position?” I asked. I knew they would be—they’d been ready for action since the very start. I just needed to say something to break up the heavy quiet on that bridge.
“Indian Ocean in twenty-four seconds!” The LT was getting excited, and who wouldn’t? I was about to launch nukes all over the world, and a lot of them. We were getting pelted by incoming fire. Within Earth’s atmosphere, our maneuverability was significantly limited and the Stryvers were having a grand old time using us as a punching bag.
“They won’t get closer,” the captain said.
“It’s the fucking rail gun; they’re scared it’ll tear them a new one. Major, spin us NOW! Dee—stop firing. Want it to look like we’re running.” It worked, we were drawing a being known for its snares right into our own trap.
“Indian Ocean—seven seconds…six…five…four…three.
In range.
“Fire, goddammit! Fire everything!” The message was relayed, submarine missile doors opened and released their intercontinental ballistic missiles with MIRV multiple reentry warheads. They streaked past our bow, and at fifteen thousand miles per hour, flashed to their targets. The Stryvers had been so intent on chasing and kicking us around like a bad puppy, they’d reacted way too slowly to the incoming threat; we turned around and bit them in the ass.
“Four seconds to missile impact!” And we were very much in the blast zone.
“Get us the fuck out of here!” I didn’t need to see the viewer to know that at least one nuclear missile had found its target; the flare up and concussion was beyond anything I’d ever experienced. Made whatever we’d previously loosed in the Julipion look like an overpowered firecracker. Our systems were once again scrambled as we tumbled around the world.
