“My husband, actually.”
“Husband! What are you, sixteen? Seventeen? Is there a Jerry Lee Lewis type thing going on here? Should I alert the proper authorities?”
“Twenty-two actually,” Karen said, a smile breaking through her façade.
“Twenty-two!” Shawn replied, feigning disgust. “What kind of a monster would try to pick up someone that young?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she replied, tilting her head towards him.
As if on cue their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Shawn’s boss. Barry Fuller was fifty-five years old and significantly overweight. There was a small amount of hair remaining on the back of his head which he tried to primp up in order to make his hair look fuller. A recent hip surgery had forced him to start using a cane although he still had pretty good mobility. He sat down next to Karen and put his hand over hers.
Shawn stared at him with a look mixed between shock and confusion. He was so stunned that he did not put two and two together until Barry came right out and said it.
“Shawn, I see you’ve already met my wife Karen.”
“Wife… yes! Your wife Karen. We were just getting acquainted.”
“We met when I was guest lecturing at UCLA last year. She’s smart as a fox.”
Shawn gazed longingly over her body. “Yes, I can certainly understand what you see in her.”
Karen turned her head and shot her hand up to her mouth to mask her smile. Barry was too distracted by another colleague to process what Shawn had meant.
“They’re motioning me to get backstage. Wish me luck,” he said. He leaned forward and gave Karen a kiss on the cheek. He ignored the fact that she was still beet red.
Shawn cleared his throat as Barry walked out of range. “Karen Fuller, huh?”
“That’s right. Do you have a comment on that?”
“Me? No, of course not. It’s not my place to comment on something like that,” he said. He stopped to allow time for a dramatic pause. “I know lots of beautiful, young women who are attracted to crippled, old, bald men with erectile dysfunction. Different strokes for different folks, that’s what I always say.”
“He has his strong points,” she replied.
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Shawn replied slyly. He raised his hand into the air and rubbed his thumb against his first two fingers. “But you’re a very attractive girl. Surely you find that you’re missing out on some of the better things in life?”
“I’m quite content, and I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, trying to speak with her best fake British accent. She pulled a pen from her purse and scribbled something down on her napkin. “Now if you’ll excuse me I believe I’ve had quite enough conversation with you,” she finished. She stood and walked slowly out of the hall.
Given the way she was walking, Shawn was sure she knew that he was still watching her. He groaned in despair over the beautiful body that was being wasted on a man like Barry Fuller. After she exited the hall he slid over the napkin and read the note: “Parking lot, five minutes.” He smiled broadly before crumpling up the napkin and stuffing it into a half empty Champagne glass.
After a little over two minutes of staring at the clock on the wall, Shawn gave up and exited the hall. The parking lot seemed devoid of people and his heart sank at the thought that she had just been playing a joke on him. He walked about twenty feet through the lot before he was startled by the blaring of a car’s horn. He turned towards the source of the noise, and he found Karen sitting behind the wheel of a red sports car. She had a mischievous grin on her face.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he said as he climbed into the passenger seat.
“As long as you don’t have a heart attack you’ll be a step up from my husband,” she replied. She put her hand on his knee and ran it up to his thigh.
“No,” he said while pulling at his bowtie. “And I don’t have to wait for the Viagra to kick in either.”
She moved her hand a few inches to the right and gave a gentle squeeze. “Guess you’re right,” she said wickedly. She undid the clasp on his pants and quickly pulled down the zipper.
Shawn looked around the cramped interior of the sports car. “I don’t want to be a downer or anything, but how exactly—”
“Pull the lever on the right side of your chair,” she said as her breathing began to quicken.
Shawn obeyed and found himself laying flat on his back as the seat collapsed into the back of the car. Turning to his left he watched Karen wiggle a black thong out from under her dress. She sighed as she finally got the underwear off and tossed it onto the dashboard. She flashed a smile at Shawn before she slid over and squeezed him between her knees. He put his hand behind her head and pulled her down to his face. She flipped her head to the side as he nudged his mouth onto her neck. He slipped off one of her shoulder straps as she positioned herself on top of him and slid down.
Marcus Schwarz could hear the other crewman on the lifeboat talking. He did not try to pay attention to what they were saying. If it involved him they would try to catch his attention. Anything else he was content to let them figure out by themselves. He was no longer their commanding officer. He never really had been in the first place.
The Russell’s lifeboats had formed into a small convoy and headed west towards the coast of India. The men had taken turns rowing for several hours but had eventually given up. They knew they were not going to row all the way to India. Now all of the crewmen were just sitting around and mostly annoying one another.
“Oh, there’s another one. He’s a big one!” one of the crewmen announced.
“Dammit Miller will you stop pointing out all the sharks. It’s depressing!”
“What?” the crewman responded. “It’s not like we’re in the water with them getting eaten. If we’re going to die we’re going to die from heat stroke, not shark bites.”
When he received no response the crewman continued his commentary as if he was a marine biologist. “That one’s even bigger! It’s got to be, like, twelve feet long! I wonder why there’s so many out here. I don’t see many little fish for them to eat. You think—”
The crewman was interrupted by a much larger predator from the deep. It was over 375 feet long, and it had a much more deadly arsenal than a few rows of teeth. The U.S.S. Hawaii breached the surface of the calm waters about four hundred yards from Marcus’s boat. Water splashed over her bow as her nose crashed onto the ocean.
The crewmen in the convoy of lifeboats cheered as the attack submarine sprang into view. They grabbed their paddles and began rowing frantically towards the friendly ship. It was no time at all before the first of the lifeboats was alongside the Hawaii.
“Who is the ranking officer?” shouted the captain of the submarine from the conning tower.
The ensign who had organized the lifeboats shot a look over to where Marcus was sitting. Marcus made no indication that he was the highest ranking officer. “I guess I am, sir,” the ensign responded.
“Get your men aboard through the bow hatch. We’ve got ropes to help with any of your wounded.”
“Aye, sir.”
The evacuation of the men from the lifeboats was fairly tricky. The sleek frame of the submarine was not designed for such an operation. After about ten minutes though, the remnants of the U.S.S. Russell’s crew were safely inside the boat.
“Thank you, sir,” the ensign said while saluting as the captain of the submarine came to greet the survivors.
The captain returned the salute and motioned towards the wounded helmsman. “I’ll have two of my men help him down to the sickbay. Is he your only wounded man?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well, then the rest of you can follow me to the mess hall for the time being. We’re going to be diving shortly. It’s risky to stay on the surface for too long.”
The remaining crewmen obediently followed the captain. Marcus stayed in the rear of the group, and the capta
in did not notice him. The other crewmen acted as though he was not even there. They had all heard stories about their executive officer aboard the Russell. None of them had any difficulty assuming he had cracked.
Most of the crewmen eagerly helped themselves to food and water once they reached the mess hall. The ensign remained standing next to the captain of the Hawaii.
“You from the Truman?” the captain asked.
“No, sir. The Russell.”
The captain shook his head sadly. “We haven’t picked up any survivors from the flagship yet.”
“I’d like to extend my appreciation on behalf of the entire crew, Captain. This far out, if you hadn’t found us…”
“You’re welcome. Trolling for survivors is pretty much all we can do,” the captain responded in annoyance.
“Sir?”
“We’ve got nothing to shoot at. The aliens don’t have a navy. They’re so intermixed on land that there’s no targets for cruise missiles either. Don’t get me wrong, we’re more than happy to rescue you guys, but I just wish we could be attacking something instead.”
“I understand, sir. Can I ask what happens now?” the ensign inquired.
“We’ve already picked up about a fifty survivors from your battle group. We’re going to head to India to drop you off. I’m afraid we don’t have room to keep you all on board. Your wounded man can stay here of course.”
“Thank you, sir. If anything I think most of the men would prefer to get on land and do some more fighting.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Now don’t let me keep you any longer, I’m sure you’re hungry,” the captain said. He shook the junior officer’s hand and exited the mess hall.
When the Hawaii reached the Indian coast the crew of the Russell received another unwelcome surprise. The captain of the submarine informed them that he could not put into port for fear of an enemy attack. He explained that the Indian military had its hands full fighting off the alien spaceships. The captain informed them that his submarine would take them as close to the shore as possible without risking running aground. They would have to swim the rest of the way.
The crew landed on the beach with a flurry of muttered obscenities. Soaked with salt water, their good moods quickly turned south. They were an angry group, and their anger found an obvious target.
“Let’s go find some aliens to fuck up!” one of the men shouted. Several other men seconded the idea.
The ensign shook his head. “Dry clothes first, then aliens,” he suggested.
The other crewmen all agreed that was a more sensible course of action. They turned north and headed up the coast. After a few feet the ensign turned back, conscious that Marcus was not following them.
“Sir?” the ensign asked. He felt odd addressing the man as a superior officer. Marcus did not seem like his leader anymore.
“I’m not coming with you. It’s not my place anymore,” Marcus said simply. “They’re yours to command now. You’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, sir,” the ensign said, saluting.
Marcus did not return the salute but rather extended his right hand. The ensign shook it and nodded. He jogged off down the beach to catch up with the rest of the crew who had been far too eager to notice that the two officers were not keeping up.
Marcus turned in the opposite direction and started off down the beach. He had no idea where he was going, but he was confident in his decision. He had been foolish to think he could command men again. He reached up to his collar and tore off the rank insignia from his uniform. Without a second thought he tossed it into the Bay of Bengal.
“Sir, do you think it’s wise to run a drill in this weather?” Marcus’s executive officer asked.
“The crew has to be prepared to fight the Chinese in bad weather. We can’t expect the seas to always be calm,” Marcus replied condescendingly.
Tim Franklin still did not agree with Marcus. He bit his tongue as he knew that it was just something else with which he would have to get acquainted. Franklin had been very unhappy to learn that he would be serving under Marcus. It had nothing to do with bad blood, but rather the fact that Marcus was three years younger than he was. He found it difficult to take orders from someone less experienced than he was.
“The Chinese, sir?” Franklin asked, trying his best not to show his disdain.
“The crew needs someone to worry about. For your father it was the Soviets, for his father it was the Japanese. For us it’ll be the Chinese.”
“Even if the Chinese don’t exactly have a navy yet?” Franklin asked skeptically.
“They just started construction on a fleet carrier that’s set to be commissioned in four years. It’s a very ambitious undertaking. Another decade or two and they’ll be giving us a run for our money,” Marcus said.
“Yes, sir,” Franklin responded, unconvinced.
“All sections report ready, Captain,” a crewman informed Marcus.
“Very well. Helm, bring us about to course one-six-zero. All ahead flank speed.”
“One six zero. All ahead flank, aye,” the helmsman responded.
“Are these really the conditions you want to test top speed in, sir?” Commander Franklin asked in a tone that was mildly insubordinate.
Marcus lowered his voice before continuing. “You can feel free to exit the bridge if you’re that uncomfortable with this exercise,” he said coldly.
“No thank you, sir,” Franklin replied. “Perhaps I would be less nervous had you informed me of this exercise and its objectives in advance.”
“Everyone needs to be surprised once in a while, even the executive officer,” Marcus said slyly. “We’ll stay at flank speed for a few minutes and let the ship get good and bumpy in this chop. Then when I feel the crew is sufficiently rattled we’ll run a fire in the engine room simulation.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Helm, new course bearing one—”
“Captain, there’s a small ship dead ahead. Less than three hundred yards!” the crewman manning the radar station yelled.
“Helm, hard to starboard! All stop!” Marcus yelled immediately. He knew his orders would be of no use.
Traveling at a speed of thirty-five knots, the destroyer slammed through the small luxury yacht like it was not even there. Most of the crew onboard the destroyer did not even realize that they had hit something. In contrast, the family of five aboard the yacht never knew what hit them.
The crew still thought a drill was underway as the warship turned around and traveled back to the wreckage. The water rescue team only found out the truth when they were ordered into the ocean. The choppy seas had swallowed most of the remains of the luxury yacht. There was no debris that was more than a few feet in diameter. The team found no bodies, but they knew that did not mean there were no casualties.
“Bring the rescue team back aboard, cancel the search for survivors,” Marcus said glumly after twenty minutes.
“Sir, it hasn’t been that long. We could try—” the executive officer started.
“In this chop? We know they’re all dead. There’s no point in risking the team by making them chase corpses,” he replied angrily.
“Aye, sir.”
“Final damage report just came in, sir,” another crewman said. “They say some of the paint is scrapped off the bow, but other than that there’s no damage whatsoever.”
“Very well. Commander, you have the bridge,” Marcus said as he turned to leave.
“Sir?” Franklin questioned.
“Take us back to Pearl Harbor. Radio in that we’ve abandoned our search for survivors,” Marcus said.
“Aye, sir,” Franklin responded.
Marcus did not hear the confirmation of his orders. He had already exited the bridge.
Julie Kemmer had listened to the bombardment of Sydney, Australia for several hours. She had sat huddled next to her desk while the explosions resonated from all around her. Eventually even the noise and her fear were not enough to keep her going. She dr
ifted off to sleep as the adrenaline that pumped through her body dissipated.
One of her students was quite puzzled to find her asleep on the floor of her office. He had no idea how anyone could sleep through the bombardment. “Professor…” the student began as he struggled to remember her name. “Uh… Miss… Freak?” he finally said to himself. He walked over and shook her shoulder gently.
She screamed in terror and began to swing widely at the student. She landed a blow against his cheek before he managed to back out of range.
“Hey, hey!” he said, backing up farther in order to avoid her panicked swings. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not one of them!”
Julie looked around her office frantically. After a moment she realized where she was and what had happened. She turned and looked up at the student as she began to calm down. “One of who?” she asked.
The student looked at her as if she was crazy. “The aliens,” he said simply. The look on her face indicated that she really had no idea what was happening. “The little green bugs that are rampaging through the city. How long have you been asleep? Didn’t you hear all the noise?”
“Yeah,” she said, running a hand over her face to remove some sweat. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. Aliens?”
The student quickly brought her up to speed on everything he knew about the invasion. Surprisingly, she accepted everything he said without question.
“… and then me and a half dozen of my mates from the dormitory ran over here. We found a door with a broken window unlocked so we came in for shelter.”
“Where’s the rest of your mates now?” Julie asked.
“Down in the big lecture hall. I went looking around for a vending machine and that’s when I noticed you.”
Julie felt immensely better knowing that she was no longer alone. She led the student to the nearest vending machine and stood back while he broke it open. They then proceeded to the lecture hall to reunite with the others.
The Unlikely Defenders Page 17
