by L. E. Howel
The meeting, as arranged, took place after breakfast. News had come through from the east with their new instructions. It was an anxious time. These soldiers held the balance of their lives in their hands. Edwards nervously glanced from one uniformed officer to another, watching for any sign or indication of what form these orders would take. He could make nothing of any of them. Each sat, their faces cast from the same impenetrable, military, concrete mold.
The stolid base commander with the gray moustache and dark-rimmed eyes now sat at the head of the table, preparing to speak. Inwardly Edwards was groaning, he hadn’t exactly been glad to see Konik lost in the battle, that would be stating it far too sharply, but he had been glad to be out from under military control. That was about to change, and it filled him with dread.
“Men,” the commander spoke gruffly, “new orders have come from the east and it is my responsibility to brief you on the next steps you must make.” Lauren and Jane looked at each other, it seemed that he was looking right through them and addressing only the troops. “There is considerable disappointment at your progress so far. It seems as though the entire mission is already in jeopardy, if not fatally compromised, and so drastic measures have to be taken.” Edwards played with his glass on the table before him. He did not look up. This was all directed at him and he feared to see the final blow brought against him.
“Special Operative Edwards,” the Commander’s voice thundered, “you have been serving as Chief Officer on the mission since the loss of Commander Konik.” Edwards nodded dumbly. “You are hereby relieved by my sub-Commander,” he gestured to a gray, thin man next to him. “Commander Linkhorn has done a great deal of work in the east. He will guide you to where you need to go without further incident.” There was reproof in those words, but Edwards knew that was only a taste of what would come later, when he had to answer to the DA. It wasn’t fair, after all Konik had been the one in charge of military issues. It was his failure, but it would still be seen as a reflection on him. Things would be pretty hot for him a while, then it would all blow over eventually. He just had to hope his whole life wouldn’t be blown away with it.
“We will also be sending ten of our best men with you,” the Commander continued, “that’s a third of our complement and is as much as we can afford to give you.”
“Now to the changes to your mission,” the Commander leaned forward and as he did so the lights dimmed. A map of the country was projected onto the wall behind him. “As you know, circumstances have changed since you set out from the west. The Ares have started an uprising like we’ve never seen before. You experienced a part of that in the mountains. Just that alone was remarkable enough, but we have seen a level of cooperation between the Ares groups across the country that is unprecedented. These are not just small tribes banding together, this is the whole rotten lot of them coming together in one great push to steal our territory, our homes, and our lives. As you might imagine we have resisted.” The map zoomed in toward the area around Missouri and Kansas. Blotches of red and blue denoted the different forces. From this level they seemed almost evenly matched. Edwards knew, though, that their weaponry and training would be decisive, despite the apparent parity in numbers.
“Of course, this call to war has not gone unanswered. Perhaps this fight is even for the best. If they crawl out from their holes to attack us we will destroy them.”
Edwards looked thoughtful. He raised his hand and the Commander acknowledged him. “What caused this?” He asked tentatively, his hand still in the air. “There must have been some sort of trigger or some indication that this was building up.”
“Who knows,” the Commander responded dismissively. “You can’t figure these people out. They just act. Perhaps they saw some opportunity, or wanted to prove something among themselves. Maybe they just did it in a fit of passion. I don’t know. We don’t have any information on that. It doesn’t really matter right now, does it? The more important thing is figuring out the way we’re going to stop it!”
Edwards’ eyes went back to his glass. He said nothing more. Their answer was stupid, typical military hierarchy! Looking at the extent of the uprising on the map it was clear that this was no sudden ‘act of passion’. There was simply too much to it. He wondered again at how military intelligence could have missed this coming. With something this big there must have been some signs, like the seismic shifts that warned of coming eruptions. Things couldn’t have blown up like this without some rumblings beforehand, and yet he had heard nothing of it. And so their mission, a vital code one mission, had been sent out into this havoc ill-equipped, and ill-prepared for what they would face. He couldn’t understand it.
Glancing up at the map again he was struck by the pattern visible there. The whole central part of the country had gone up into mass confusion and it all began in the very area where they were attacked. It then spread out from there like a wave across the plains, and now stretched as far as the Mississippi. This left their route ahead a difficult and dangerous one. Washington was going to be very hard to reach from here. Something about all of this troubled Edwards, not the obvious concern for their immediate safety, but instead a sneaking inkling that this might be all about them. Someone knew what they were doing, and that someone was trying to stop them.
“As you can see from the map,” the Commander droned on, “there is a lot going on between here and the safer regions to the east. For that reason we will have to delay your departure for at least a week while the situation is resolved. As a precaution we’ve also re-plotted your route, taking you further south, where the action has been a little less hot. The delays are difficult, but you should still get into Washington in a few weeks time. We’ll restock and expand your weaponry, and you should be in good shape to make it there safely.
“Your new route will avoid the main body of Ares and any you meet should be in full retreat by then. Already we are pushing back hard from the east and early reports indicate things are going well. When you leave things should be clear out there. Everything should be straightforward from now on; Commander Linkhorn will make sure it stays that way.”
“What if the Ares come after us?” Jane asked. She was determined to be recognized and, despite the base commander’s disdainful look, she continued. “It looks like they have a pretty big force out there. How can you be sure you’ll get them all? If those that are left come after us again like they did in the mountains we couldn’t handle it, even with your ten extra men.”
“That is paranoia,” the Commander’s tone was both reassuring and condescending- an irritating mix Edwards thought. “There’s nothing to indicate that they were particularly after you in that attack, it was just part of this wider uprising that is being dealt with right now. The Ares are under heavy attack this very instant so you have nothing to worry about. In a week most of them will be dead. Worst case scenario is that you are caught up in their retreat, and even then it’s unlikely that you would be captured or attacked as they will be running to get back to safety. We’re sending you by the more southern route to avoid even this slight danger. Don’t worry, there is no need worry about things that won’t happen.”
‘Another stupid answer,’ Edwards thought to himself. Something about the pattern of that map made him uneasy, and Jane had been right to point it out. It wouldn’t make any difference though. These guys never listened.
The Commander turned again to the screen and tried to move on, but Jane wasn’t satisfied. The military bluster didn’t impress her and she wanted some real answers.
“I take it then,” Jane continued doggedly, “that what that means is that there’s no plan for what to do if we’re attacked again. We just have to hope we miss them.”
The Commander’s weary, black-rimmed eyes looked blankly at Jane for a moment, as if trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. Finally he gave up the struggle.
“That’s what the extra troops and equipment are for, Miss Gray. They will make sure that all of you get there safely.
It’s important that you do. The best men I have will be going with you. You will make it.”
The Commander’s head snapped back to the screen again, and he on plowed with the mission briefing. Jane and Lauren sat silently through it all. Edwards thought he detected more than a hint of doubt from the looks on their faces. They were wise. The mountain battle had shaken their faith in the military and now they listened with unbelieving ears to the confident projections of the mission’s schedule. He couldn’t blame them. They didn’t know that what they had seen in the forest was unusual, not normal at all. They hadn’t heard of the whole catalogue of victories against the Ares over the years, or of the progress that had been made by their society in combating and outwitting them. Edwards did know all of these things, and he was still scared. Something about all of this just wasn’t right.
The commander’s briefing was drawing to its terminal conclusion. As he had closed he showed pictures from the battlefront to demonstrate their progress there. The scene was grisly, like the one that they had fled days ago in the mountains. Ares’ bodies lay stacked like firewood, ready for the burning. Jane and Lauren looked away. A moment later Edwards did the same; he’d seen enough of that already. Some of the soldiers about them were cheering and clapping, but his hands stayed still and his voice remained silent.
This was quite a culling the Ares had brought upon themselves by their rash actions, and Edwards still wondered at what could have caused it. It was all beyond what he could understand. It went against everything he knew about them. Perhaps it meant that they really were the unpredictable beasts that so many believed them to be. That was something he was unwilling to accept, but he had to admit that he was baffled about their actions and their motives. He knew nothing of them, and that was what troubled him most. In a few days they would be out there amongst them again, and he had no idea what they would do next.
THIRTY
The emblem on the screen slowly faded to gray and the startup menu took its place. Finally Birch began looking for the last reports filed in the city. The records demonstrated the stark change. The transmission list showed a steady and continuous stream of stories being filed right up to the last day. Then it all stopped. Their number never significantly increased or decreased, they just stopped, dead.
It was a surprising list in many ways, and the fact that it had ended so abruptly seemed to point to a very swift and climactic end. The subject of all these reports seemed to confirm this. Nothing among the story titles indicated any sense of urgency or danger. Life had just gone on as usual until it ended. Burglaries, city tax issues, park maintenance, and school testing, all the mundane everyday issues, that was all they talked about. There was nothing about what was to come. There was nothing to indicate that they had any idea what was happening, even at the very end. The evidence from the city itself had proven that there had at least been time for people to panic, to run. Their destruction was not that instantaneous, there had been time to see it coming and be afraid. Why hadn’t anyone picked up on it before that last moment?
Birch moved through the menu to play the last recorded broadcast. The computer slowly chugged and sputtered through to the media player and started playing the final entry of the doomed city.
The screen was grainy, and the image jumped, but apart from these visible signs of age the broadcast might have been yesterday. It seemed typical of so many others he had seen in his lifetime. The grand and purposeful music and the impressive graphics told you that you were going to watch something important. This was the news. The opening faded to a formulaic desk with two cloned presenters sitting stiffly behind it. A blonde woman, pretty in a blow-dried sort of way, and a suit-wearing man with short black hair, looked blankly back into the screen. Both wore that empty news smile that somehow pervaded all second level news broadcasts. The woman was already telling viewers of all the interesting things they would be talking about later in the show. Somehow the final destruction of their city didn’t make the list. They were planning on telling about tomorrow’s weather later in the show, unaware that no tomorrow was coming.
A series of monotonous reports passed, interrupted occasionally by advertisements for redundant products, until at last harsh reality broke into a typical traffic report from the ‘Flying Eye’ Channel 36 helicopter. At one moment their concerns had been all about the congestion on the westbound section of Interstate 70, the next it was all about survival in the last mad moments of this metropolis.
“…traffic should let up beyond exit 137 in the next half hour,” the reporter was announcing, shouting over the thumping of the helicopter blades. “Police have cleared two lanes but you should expect some delays at least for the next hour.” A sudden boom shook the craft and a flash of green light streaked across the sky.
“What’s that?” someone was shouting from behind the camera. The reporter looked over his shoulder and stared dumbly ahead, all thought of the transmission gone. He gaped down at something below. The camera swerved wildly; out of focus, showing only a blur beneath them and the same green light growing stronger and more persistent. The sound of crashing metal and explosions thundered about the craft, and from within someone screamed as they were shaken again by another blast.
For the briefest of moments the camera caught its focus on a building below. That great beam of harsh, green light, like a giant blade, cut through metal, glass, and concrete. Explosions blasted to the sky and smoke filled the air with an acrid blackness. The camera lost focus again and the scene was lost. Only the sound remained. Outside destruction boomed and within the helicopter there were small voices, tiny, like a pantomime mouse. The words made them big. Their final struggle, hope and despair all played out live on TV. This was what news was all about. Yet in that instant Birch knew that these were people, not a story. For once the news seemed real to him, like he knew them, and the death of these people so many years ago was something more than the recorded images flickering across a screen. He looked away.
Finally both image and sound went dead, the craft was destroyed and a panicked technical director instinctively switched back to the studio. The blonde anchorwoman sat in shocked silence, unable to speak for a moment before that old training took over and that hollow smile lit across her face. Everything would be alright her assured expression seemed to say. You didn’t really see what you just saw. The world may fall apart, but while we still have our news to condense and sanitize it everything would be just fine.
Stupidly she moved on to the next report. It was their job to report the news, and if ever there was news this was it, but it was off script and they didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t do anything else. Perhaps with more time they would have responded better, but for now all they could rely on was faulty instinct and the old adage that the show must go on. It had taken years of training, but now, while the city collapsed about them, her instinct was to tell the them about their new dog code ordinances and its effect on public parks. If Nero could fiddle while Rome burned then Channel 36 News could talk about dogs while their city was destroyed. Little had changed.
She droned on, tears were in her eyes and her hands were shaking, yet still she continued. Finally, halfway through this report the studio lights suddenly dimmed and the transmission cut out. That was it. There was no final call to fight whatever this was, no stirring words of encouragement, no final advice, not even any understanding, just the last word on dogs. It was pathetic. The city hadn’t even gone down with a whimper, but with a bark.
“What have you found Major?” Karla’s voice sounded distantly from the phone receiver on the desk. “What happened here?” Birch didn’t answer. What was there to say? He was both sad and angry. He had wanted to know the story of the city, but in that last transmission he had seen the story of people, people who had died. Through his whole life he had avoided that terrible reality, the effect of death. He had even blasted himself into space, into this uncertain future to escape its vice grip, but here it was still. Some things can nev
er be left behind.
He sat staring at the blank screen, struggling to rebuild his defenses. He tried desperately not to understand what it must have felt like to have been there, to have been here, when it all happened. Above all he wanted to forget, and so he walled up his heart against the reality of the events he had just witnessed. He turned his mind to the wider, less personal, less painful perspective of the city. It was a place, an inanimate object that had been destroyed.
Through the confusion and destruction in the images and sound of the video a single word had cut through into his brain like the finest laser. It had been faint, almost indistinct in the background noise aboard the helicopter as it had been gripped in the cataclysmic skies, but he had been sure of it. It was a single word, spoken as a curse and an accusation, the word was ‘Ares.’ This confirmed what he had almost wanted to believe. It was a nice answer, but it created more questions than it resolved. How could those savages be capable of such power, and if they were, why didn’t they use it to destroy their enemies now? If they could destroy whole cities in minutes then why had they run from them in the mountains? They should be the hunters in this world, not the hunted. It troubled Birch more than ever, but the word and its meaning had been clear. The ‘Ares’, they were the destroyers! What all of this really meant was less clear. He had gotten the answers he had been seeking. He knew how a city like Denver could be destroyed, but not how the Ares could do it. He knew more, but he understood less.
“Major!” Karla’s voice screamed through the phone, “Is everything okay?” Birch’s head snapped back, he had forgotten Karla.
“We’ve got what we need,” Birch answered evenly, “let’s get out of here. I’ll meet you in the foyer.” He put the phone down and smiled silently as he caught himself reaching to turn off the computer. A single computer in a dead office, in a dead building, in a dead city, and still he was going to turn it off. It was funny how effectively habits enslaved you, or perhaps they just freed you from thought. Despite himself he seemed to understand in that moment why that pale newscaster was reading about dogs as the city burned; it was all she could do. It was a snapshot of humanity and how we cling to the very last form of reality in the time of evil. That was why the bow of the Titanic was full as the last railing dipped into the icy waters, that was how people kept sanity in the concentration camps, that was why she had talked about dogs, and that was why he now had the desire to turn off a computer that didn’t matter. It seemed to represent everything he had wanted to get away from, his world of the past. Still, he wanted to do it.
