"Go ahead Frank," his Mamma shouted between sobs. "Go ahead, hit me again. It'll really make you feel like a big man."
Why does Mamma say that? Warren knew what Daddy would do. Mamma must know too, so why does she talk back? Sometimes Warren didn't like his Mamma either.
SLAP....SLAP!!
He knew it was coming but the loud sudden noise frightened him even more and he jumped, his body damp with nervous perspiration. Then, Warren heard a loud noise in his room and it took a moment before he realized that it was his own wail. He tried to bite it off, but he just couldn't.
"That fuckin brat of yours better be asleep or he's going to get it too!"
Warren heard his Daddy's heavy footsteps coming toward his room, his Mamma running toward him as well. He tightened his grip on the covers over his head and squeezed himself into a tight ball. He tried to stay as small and as quiet as he could, but he couldn't stop shivering.
His door burst open, spilling a bright light that he could see around the edge of his covers. His Mamma was right behind his Daddy and she must have thrown herself around Daddy to get between them. Warren heard a brief struggle and his Mamma was slammed into his dresser. His Daddy grabbed the covers and tried to pull them back but Warren had a tight grip. Daddy's next attempt was real hard and they were torn from his grasp.
Warren's Mamma was crying in the corner and his Daddy stood over him, drunkenly glaring at him. Daddy started to fumble with his belt.
Warren began to whimper in fear and his Daddy began to laugh.
"He's a coward. Look at him. He's crying already and I haven't touched him. I guess I’ll just have to beat some courage into him."
His Daddy's belt was leather and real wide. Daddy had a hard time getting it out of his belt loops. When it was free, he slapped it against his hand, the noise making him jump.
Smack.
Warren awoke with a start, rubbing a small bump of scar tissue on the back of his thigh. He was soaking wet with sweat and his chest was pounding. He was short of breath as he sat up, quietly attempting to gain control of his trembling. Gradually, he took back control from his dream, finally containing his frantic breathing and shivering.
Had he cried out? He looked around himself in the dimly lit room.
Warren was working sixteen hour days and rather than take the thirty minute drive home, he had accepted the offer of a cot in the utility room. There were four cots squeezed into the room, two of them occupied by silent, sleeping people.
He quietly got dressed and left the cramped quarters for the coffee room. He was bleary-eyed and felt awful when he poured his first cup of coffee. He stared at the foul brew, lost in deep self-contemplation. Slowly time passed until he was on duty again. By this time, he had drank four cups.
Inside the 2nd Satellite Tracking Center, Warren was actually supervising Sergeant Jacobs. Thoughts of violence and his parents were, finally, far from his mind as he watched several new objects separate themselves from the 'Big One'.
Harlin's attention had not wavered from the terminal since his arrival and the Officer he relived had hung around for quite a while before leaving. His was the hottest post on the base. It was about to get even hotter.
"Sir," Harlin called out to Captain Nunley, "We have new craft separating from the mother shiip. No, wait sir. We have two….no three groups. Each group on a slightly different course. Sorry sir, now it looks like two groups."
Captain Nunley was already reaching for the telephone as Harlin called to him.
Nunley spoke briefly into the instrument, then made the short journey to join Lt. Harlin standing over Jacobs' console. Looking at the data as it arrived, Nunley and Harlin reached the same conclusion at the same time. Earth was getting two more groups of visitors.
Carrier Battle Group
USS Ranger
Mid-Atlantic near equator
Radarman Second Class Rodney Erlich enjoyed being shot off the catapult. It was always a scary sensation to experience the violent acceleration of a launch at sea. The turbo prop driven E2C Hawkeye that he was a passenger in was anything but a high performance aircraft, yet the air frame had been designed to accept the punishing stresses associated with the Cat shot.
Since turning over their station to the Enterprise off the coast of Spain, they had been running with a Hawkeye aloft and either Tomcats or Hornets on alert five, ready to launch in five minutes. The cycle of operations was not as hectic as it sounded. During the Gulf War they had cycled aircraft at an unbelievable rate, each man working nearly eighteen hours per day. In contrast, this was almost like a vacation.
Erlich's flight was a simply a change in aircraft, the one being replaced having been paralleling the Ranger's course while flying in slow, lazy circles. Five minutes after launch all that changed and the Hawkeye being replaced was ordered to remain aloft, taking station sixty miles north of the Ship. Erlich's Hawkeye was ordered ninety miles southwest.
Next, the alert aircraft came off the deck. The current group consisted of two Tomcats. This was followed by four more within fifteen minutes.
Three Tomcats were detailed to escort the Hawkeyes when they were told to look very high in a westerly direction. The fact is that the radar in a Hawkeye was designed to scan up to an altitude of one hundred thousand feet, but when told specifically, they can 'cant' the aircraft and look much higher. They were told to do so.
In order to hold this position, the pilot banked the aircraft, as if entering a turn, then kicked the rudder left and held the angle. They were thus positioned when the multitude of UFO’S came into range.
The radar technicians noted two wedge formations, one approaching at over six thousand miles per hour, shedding excessive kinetic energy into the atmosphere in the form of gigantic sonic booms and followed by trails of ionized gasses. The other coming down behind them, somewhere over Africa. They were helpless to do anything but watch as the incoming flight continued. With their altitude well in excess of one hundred eighty thousand feet, it took some time for the compressed sound waves to wash over the Ranger and her escorts. When they did, it was deafening.
Fifteen kilometers northwest of Objective Jester
Near Bouafra, Morocco
Major Mumsford ordered his men to take a rest. They had been moving on the relatively flat high desert terrain. The strain was terrible as they were under no cover, just the open sky above. Knowing of the air patrols above left each man feeling terribly exposed, each lost in their own thoughts of silent and sudden death after the air attack they had survived.
Cecil called his communications corporal over and together they assembled the satellite transceiver. The corporal handed the handset to his officer once he had established the link.
“White collar, white collar, this is Jester four, over,” he said into the unit.
“Jester four, this is white collar. Confirm your condition and location, over.”
“All present and able, we are 24 klicks north by northwest of our objective, over.”
“I confirm your last Jester four, prepare for new arrivals as you have seven aircraft approaching from the northwest, should pass nearly overhead,” the radio replied.
“Affirmative,” was his only reply before handing the radio back to the corporal. “Officers call,” he said as he beckoned his leadership team to join him.
Once his officers had joined him, he knelt down and gestured for his men to do the same. Once together, he said “We just received a report of approaching aircraft, coming directly overhead. Keep the men still for the time being.”
No sooner did his officers returned to their own Troop, his Colour Sergeant point to the sky as several fast moving dark specs steak across the overhead sky heading mostly south. Several tens of seconds later they experienced the sonic boom as the pressure waves of hypersonic aircraft washed over them. While the extremely loud noise was somewhat expected, the sonic booms were bone rattling strong.
“Let’s get this caravan moving,” he shouted as he rose to his
feet. His command was echoed among those traveling as his men joined him on the journey south. One exposed step after another, each step adding uncertainty of future to everyone’s thoughts. But these brave and courageous men take each step anyway, understanding their role in their nation’s defense. The world’s defense really, but they didn’t know that yet.
32°43’44.10”N 1°51’55.98”W
Near Bouafra, Morocco
The UFO’s landed next to, but not on top of a small rock strewn plateau that rose 275 feet above the desert floor. Arranged in a hexagon formation with a single larger vessel in the middle, the UFO’s settled onto their new home.
The plateau sat atop a gentle rise in the desert floor extending about a klick and a quarter from a dry steam bed to the north, or wadi. A steep but navigable 100 foot rise awaited the Black Group of SBS Marines.
Inside the center craft, automated machinery began the task of awakening the reason for their journey.
Special Forces Team Bravo
Captain Winfred and his men had settled into a slow, cautious pace. They were carefully closing with their objective when the air split with a series of thunderous sonic explosions that startled rather than injured them. Nevertheless, the extreme noise left their ears ringing for a few moments. After the quiet of the barren sandscape, the sudden sequence of audio cracks caused each man to jump.
Without a word being spoken, the team crouched down and froze in position as straining eyes searched the rolling sand dunes for movement. A glowing streak in the sky above their direction of travel caused eyes to search that area. Training succeeded in keeping their eyes from looking in one direction for too long a time.
Vic Winfred wondered for the hundredth time what he had gotten himself into. It wasn't like he had much choice in the matter, but this might prove much more difficult than aiming a coded laser splash at suspected scud missile storage depots in northwestern Iraq. Watching the two-thousand pound laser guided bombs home in on the pencil thin beam of light that he aimed had been satisfying. Or rather watching the building explode had been satisfying. The bombs were travelling far too fast to see when they hit their target. Although there, he knew he would be killed if caught. Here, he just didn't know. He wasn't sure which was worse, dying or not knowing.
After brief thought, all the while scanning the horizon for movement as the sky was lit continuously with streaks, he concluded that dying was much worse than whatever might be in second place.
The sky show was low on the horizon and Vic felt that the risk of detection was slight, so they continued with their journey. Vic rose slowly into a slight hunch and began moving toward the majestic air show.
The glowing streaks gradually faded into the horizon over the next two minutes. They were about three kilometers from the UFO Park when an object separated itself from the distant rim of the Earth. It slowly moved toward them as Captain Winfred stopped and moved quickly to lay in the sand. The other six team members did likewise as the UFO continued to float toward, and then over them. It couldn't have been more than three hundred feet above them, although none of the team members had risked the movement to look.
Staff Sergeant Mark Jerome was close to him in the sand and said softly "What was that, skipper?"
"Beats me Mark. Let's move west before going south again. I don't want to be under their take-off and landing pattern," Vic quietly replied.
He arose and moved off to his right for about a kilometer before turning south again.
As they neared the UFO Park, their pace slowed and their eyes combed the horizon for activity even more rigorously then before. Captain Winfred ordered his men to spread out into observation positions as they moved the final three hundred yards.
Vic approached the rise of sand, behind which was their objective, with professional caution. The final feet were traversed on his stomach, crawling forward slowly. Carefully peering over the crumbling lip, he saw several UFO’S that looked like they came from NASA's lifting body research and many more looked like the standard 'flying saucer'. Circular disks with domes elevated from the main body. Right out of "The day the Earth stood still".
He was less than sixty yards from the nearest one. All of the objects were parked within a tight perimeter with an open area in the center. There was some kind of indistinct construction taking place in the middle of the vehicles. Vic's infrared field glasses brought the activity up close as he observed the greenish glow of the obviously prefabricated structure being assembled by R2D2-ish robots. From his pack, he took a special camera and aimed it at the spectacle before him. He took several pictures in the dim light. His camera's low light capability was not as good as his field glasses but he decided that a record of this stage of the construction would be important. These images were stored in memory rather than photographic film and when Vic was satisfied with the comprehensive electronic record, he removed another device from his pack. This was a miniature, high speed data relay unit that was supposed to transmit the images to a waiting satellite above. The only problem was that there were no satellites waiting above. An RC-135 was orbiting to the East, awaiting their signal for relay. He attached the 'camera' to the transmitter and assembled the antenna.
He pointed the collapsible dish antenna almost straight East, angling up slightly. He felt a slight vibration in the antenna's handle which was the units’ signal that it was communicating with the aircraft. The images were sent in a high speed data burst and relayed to intelligence officials in various branches of the US Military working out of the Pentagon.
Vic stowed the equipment, praying silently that the UFO satellite in orbit above didn't intercept his signal. He settled into the sand for a long visit, comfortable now in the cool starlight. The full heat of a spring day near the equator was an experience he was not looking forward to.
CHAPTER 22
Chancay, Peru
Ramon awoke with a start. He had slept well past noon in his exhaustion. His body was stiff and his wrist was aching with throbs timed by his heartbeat. He reached into his pocket and found the bottle of aspirin. Taking three, he swallowed them dry, his mouth experiencing the lingering acidic taste.
He had slept the sound sleep of weariness. His fear of the surrounding dead had been smothered by his body’s desperate need for rest. Every joint screamed as he stood up on the brick sidewalk. Sleeping like a 'homeless' bum fit his self-image right now.
Feeling nature’s demands, he gathered his courage and stepped back into the hotel. The interior was unchanged from last night, only the natural lighting of the sun was different. Going into the owner’s apartment, he found a less offensive door, this one leading to the bathroom. He relieved himself and leaned over to drink from the sink. He washed the aspirin flavor from his mouth with the brackish, warm local tap water.
He left the living room, purposely avoiding the other open door and its hideous occupant. He opened the cupboards in the kitchen, searching for food. He found only canned goods edible, the remaining bread and crackers were a powder that had a grisly memory attached to their appearance. Searching the drawers, he found a can opener. With great difficulty because of his cast, he managed to open a can of peaches. The sugary syrup was a thick treat as he savored the flavor. He found a spoon in another drawer and quickly ate the quartered fruit. His hunger only now aroused, he opened another can and devoured the contents just as quickly.
Searching the cupboards, he pulled down all the canned goods he found. Under the sink, he found a cloth sack and stuffed it with the cans. The sack was probably the occupants' grocery bag, but Ramon reasoned that she would need it no longer. Almost forgetting, he added the can opener to his food supply and went back to his motorcycle.
He sat on the bike and tied the sack in a knot around his belt and kicked the engine to life. Turning onto the main highway, he began looking for a gas station. Down the street was the familiar shape of a pump and he turned into the driveway.
The pumps were locked, but he found a hammer and a crow bar afte
r breaking into the building. The lock on the pump was easily broken, although his wrist thumped with each blow of the hammer. The power was still on. The main source of power interruptions, terrorist activity via The Shining Path, was just as dead as the rest of the people. He filled the gas tank and then filled a pilfered gas can.
Ramon left Chancay, headed south on National Highway One, better known as the Pan American Highway. His fear of the holocaust that had struck his country now countered by his survival of the night. He reasoned that death had arrived suddenly in the darkness and had dealt a quick, devastating blow. His living presence proved that the cause of death was short lived.
High above, in the southern sky, a small, sleek object began tracking the slow moving vehicle. It relayed this information to the awakening Kajan.
Embassy of the United States of America
Miraflores, Peru
Lieutenant Murphy considered the wisdom of daylight movement to be questionable at best. Their progress could be easily monitored if the UFO’S cared to look. But orders were orders and they set out on foot for the short trip to link up with the SAS team at the British Embassy.
The trip north was another exercise in patience and control over primitive instinct as the presence of so many dead cast a shadow upon them. The morning fog had burned off and the day promised to be hot. The lack of stench was explained by the condition of the corpses found at the Embassy. Only powdery remains were discovered, the moisture in each body having evaporated, leaving not the dried mummies expected under the circumstances. Some sort of chemical decomposition had taken place, the result of which was the heavy powdery residue.
Entering Lima proper, Sergeant Adams was struck by the dull color of the buildings. Even those painted a bright color had a sheen of hard concrete like residue covering them, reducing the luster. Some structures had a thick coating of the stuff, adding further to the dingy appearance.
These Few Brave Souls Page 10
