by Evan Currie
The fire was indeed burning quite merrily in the distance, belching out smoke aplenty. They could all smell it in the air as they walked up the bank and paused to look around.
“You hear that?” Sandra said softly.
“I don’t hear shit,” Private Driscoll muttered.
“Exactly. This is the Glades.” She said in a flat tone, “It’s never this quiet.”
“She’s right, get frosty,” Kirth ordered, drawing his 1911. “Might just be that the impact scared everything into keeping low but might not be either.”
The group all nodded in agreement and made their way over to where the lodge was visible through the trees.
*****
Five minutes later saw Sandra clutching at her stomach as she wretched up the last of her breakfast onto the law while the Marines spread out around her and took stock of the situation.
They’d found the body of what she thought was a Florida Black Bear, though she couldn’t be sure because of how mangled it was. It looked like it had been shot a bunch, but it was hard to tell for sure because the skin and fur was… split like the muscles somehow managed to ballon out and make the beast… pop.
The smell was putrid, like nothing she’d ever dealt with, and her body did not want her dealing with it then either.
“Oh Christ, Sarge, over here!”
She looked up to see Kirth head off closer to the Lodge and forced herself to her feet to follow.
Anything is better than staying close to that.
That was a thought she found herself quickly regretting when she spotted the first body that had the ragged remains of clothing flapping in the wind.
“Oh God…” She moaned, turning away, only to spot another before falling to her knees and heaving again.
“What the hell hit this place, Sarge?” Corporal Griss breathed, pale as death himself. “Never seen anything like this, and I did a tour in the sandbox.”
Kirth couldn’t blame him, he hadn’t been expecting the carnage they’d found himself. He nudged at the body with his boot, trying to work out what caused the wounds. Like the bear, it looked like something had gotten under the skin and just… caused it to split.
“What the hell…” He breathed, shaking slightly.
A flicker caught his eye and he knelt down, finding a still running phone in the bloodied hand. Kirth pulled it free and flipped it over.
“He was recording whatever it was,” He said loud enough to be heard. “Hey Driscoll, you know this shit. Come see if you can pull something off this. Tell me what the fuck hit this place, would you?”
“Wilco, Sarge,” The Private said as he made his way over and gingerly took the phone, grimacing at the blood that still stained the screen.
“Corporal, grab the shotgun over there,” Kirth ordered as he got up and continued to survey the area.
“You got it Sarge.”
Kirth let the Corporal deal with the fallen weapon, instead making his way over to the ‘Captain’.
“Alright, now is the time you need to tell me what the hell is going on,” He said in an undertone as he gestured around them. “Because this? This is not good.”
Ben didn’t say anything immediately, still carefully surveying the area. Finally, he sighed and nodded.
“That may be the understatement of the millennia, Sergeant.”
Kirth waited a few seconds, but quickly got impatient, “I’m waiting Corporal.”
Benjamin frowned, “We call them the scourge, or a host of other far less polite names. They don’t really have a name. Technically, they’re not even a species or anything like that.”
“Ok, all I just heard was crazy mixed with psycho,” Kirth growled, “Care to break it down for the non-lunatics in the area?”
Ben shot him a glare that would have frozen blood, if his blood hadn’t already been ice cold from what he had seen. Kirth just glared right back.
“There’s no easy answer to that,” The big man answered, “They aren’t any one thing, alright? This one here? I’ve seen this sort before. It’s a parasite. It’ll keep jumping hosts, using them up, until it’s stopped.”
“Well we’re going to be stopping whatever it is, I promise you that.”
“Won’t be that easy, we’ll have to deal with its offspring first.”
“Offspring!?” Kirth snapped.
“Hey Sarge…”
“Not now!” Kirth snapped at Driscoll, who was walking their way with the phone in his hand. He turned back to Ben, “This thing is breeding!?”
“Sarge!”
“What!?”
“The guy wasn’t recording,” Driscoll said, holding up the phone. “This thing is live streaming.”
Kirth blinked, staring at the phone, then back at Driscoll, then at the phone again.
“Wait… is livestreaming!?” Kirth suddenly blurted out, waving his hand as though to ward off an attack. “Don’t broadcast this you idiot!”
“Um… too late?”
*****
Chapter 11
White House Situation Room
Strand groaned, face buried in his hands, as he looked at the frozen image of the Marine Sergeant gesticulating wildly at the man behind the camera.
“This is a goddamn nightmare.”
The Marine being livestreamed talking about parasites and breeding was bad enough, but far, far worse was the imagery that had been streamed before that happened. They’d watched it all, from beginning to end, and more than one person in the room had emptied their breakfast into the waste bins, which were quickly removed from the room.
He himself had managed to keep his food down, but it had been a closer call than he wanted to admit, and they’d been trying to figure out what the hell had happened, and how to contain it, ever since.
No one had bothered to shut the feed down. It seemed superfluous since by the time it occurred to anyone all the worst was over and the camera was just pointing at the curling smoke passing overhead in the sky.
Then the Marines showed up.
The video was, of course, all over the web already. It had gone viral before they even thought of shutting it down, and even just while it was streaming smoke in the sky there had been hundreds of thousands of concurrent viewers watching.
Now, the damn thing went viral again, and it was looking like he was going to have to put out an official statement.
That would be just dandy, if I had any idea what the fuck was going on.
“Someone put together a story,” He ordered softly, though no one in the room missed his words. “I don’t care what, any story. Just tell people something.”
“Yes sir,” His chief of staff, Arnold Kristcolm nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
“Don’t lie,” Strand ordered, more firmly. “Right now, just find something we can tell people that makes it look like we know what we’re doing.”
Lord knew, he wished that were the case.
“Yes sir, Mr. President.”
Strand looked over at the Marine Brigadier sitting two seats away from him.
“When your boys check in, please give them my regards and request that they be a little more careful in the future, would you please, General?”
His tone was light, but the Brigadier nodded firmly as the undertones made it clear just how unhappy the President was.
“I’ll see to it, Sir.”
Strand nodded, taking a deep breath, “And, in that vein, I believe I would like to propose that we make it mandatory that all personnel, regardless of service branch, learn proper handling of modern communications equipment and intelligence. Yes?”
Everyone nodded.
“Good.”
He sighed deeply, again.
As frustrated as he was, he didn’t really blame the Marines that much. Certainly, it was dumb to not immediately shut off the camera once he realized it was streaming, but it wasn’t really something they trained for and the situation had to be alarming as hell on the ground.
“General,” He s
aid after a moment, holding up his hand to get the Marine’s attention. “Ignore that. A sharp word or two is fine, but they’re the only asset on the ground at the moment, and I’d rather we didn’t jump down their throat over something they really didn’t have much control over.”
The Brigadier looked torn, but finally nodded.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Strand shook his head and refocused, “Ok, new business. Does anyone recognize those fatigues?”
He pointed to the man standing beside the Marine Sergeant, wearing some sort of professional camo but a type that Strand was certainly not familiar with.
“No Sir,” The Brigadier said instantly. “Not standard issue for any nation that I’m aware of.”
A glance around the room showed that everyone held the same opinion.
“Well great. Ok, someone find out who makes that stuff and who they sell it to,” He ordered. “It looks high end, and the rest of his gear is also non-standard, so find it.”
With that order sending the lower ranking aides running to start their search, Strand turned to the others sitting around the table.
“Ok, I don’t know what that thing was, but we need to get ahead of this…”
“Mr. President!”
Strand closed his eyes, looking up at the ceiling.
“What now?” He didn’t quite moan.
“We just lost a fighter over the Pacific. Something shot them down.”
“Goddamn it.”
*****
Argo Lead, Pacific
Elise breathed through bared teeth as she corkscrewed her fighter around, pushing the positive gees as hard as she dared, eyes wide as she looked for any sign of whoever the hell had taken out her wingman.
She and Sandy had been flying together for three years.
No one was going to get to mark a hash down for Sandy, not if she had anything to say about it.
First, I have to find the bastard though.
“Nothing on instrumentation, Boss,” Bishop said, any hint of amusement gone from his tone. “There’s nothing out here.”
“Something here, find it. Eyeball mark one, everyone,” She ordered, “Whoever it is must have advanced stealth tech.”
“Maybe, boss, but maybe it’s a sub?”
That caught her up by surprise, but there was merit to it.
“Good thinking, Bishop,” Elise responded quickly. “Watching the water surface, look for any sign of missile launch.”
If someone was running an attack sub with surface to air capacity in the region, they’d just declared war on the United States Navy. That was an act that Elise was firmly intent on making certain they did not live to regret.
*****
CVN 81, USS Doris Miller
Morrow glared at the display, as though trying to intimidate it into showing him more than was currently available.
The Argo pilot had a point.
A submerged asset could deploy surface to air, and potentially shoot down a fighter.
The problem with that theory was twofold. First, they had gone full active on sonar some time earlier as the Task Group entered the area. There were fast attack subs on definitive search and destroy below the waves, and they’d reported nothing.
Second, and just as concerning, was that none of the assets the carrier group had brought to bear had detected any such missile launch.
Something very bad was going on, right in his face, and he had no clue what it could be. Morrow was seething inside, something he kept from being blatant only through decades of service experience.
Below that control, however, there was a very angry sailor who just wanted something to destroy.
“Admiral,” his Aide spoke up.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Washington is on the line for you, Sir.”
Morrow winced, but nodded. “I’ll take it in my office.”
“Yes Sir.”
*****
Argo Lead
Elise snapped her fighter level, swinging back over the operational area, punching a switch in frustration to kill the lock on alarms so she could think. The damn things weren’t doing any good since they were just screaming constantly, whether anything was actually happening or not.
“Anyone have anything?” She demanded.
“Negative, Lead. All Clear except for the screaming,” Bishop said, summing up the report from the rest.
“Argos, hold back, I’m going to see if I can’t draw out our mystery pal,” Elise growled.
“Lead, that’s not a good…”
“Stuff it, Bishop,” She growled, “This bastard smoked Sandy, one way or another, they pay. I’m going to drop in low, bomb the deck fast. Watch for any sign, when they show themselves, nuke the fuckers.”
There was a long pause before any of the team responded.
Finally, Bishop reluctantly acknowledged the orders.
Elise dropped the stick, pitching the nose down as she pushed the throttle full open and kicked in the afterburner. The Pratt and Whitney F-135 engine screamed as she leveled out below a thousand feet, breaking Mach and leaving a vapor cone behind her as she closed on the sector of ocean they’d been over when she spotted the unknown object in the water.
After the initial shaking passed, the flight smoothed out and even grew quieter as most of the sound of the engine was being left behind faster than it could even try to catch up. Only the vibrations transmitted through the fuselage itself reverberated around her, a comforting sound to the military pilot.
“Come on, you bastard… I’m right here. Take your shot. Take it!”
*****
Lt Commander Paul ‘Bishop’ Durin twitched as he watched the water behind Argo Lead’s fighter rooster tail up behind her, sucked into the air by the passage of the high speed craft and blown away by the sonic boom that followed her.
“You heard the boss people,” He said as he pushed his throttle forward to keep pace with Argo Lead, “Weapons hot and free. Anything pokes its nose out to take a shot at Cans, we blow it off. Got me?”
The rest of the squadron acknowledged the order as they spread out and followed Argo Lead from behind and about ten thousand feet higher altitude.
Bishop absently flexed his thumb over the buttons on his stick, eyes unblinking as he kept the nose tipped down enough to keep Argo Lead in his sights.
Goddamn it, Cans, this is crazy shit…
He almost didn’t notice the slight change in the ocean below, not consciously, until his fingers tightened around the stick and his fighter shook as the GAU-22/A spun up and started firing 25mm rounds into the water below.
His brain caught up to his instinct a split second later as he identified the object he spotted and began walking the rounds in on the target.
“Target engaged! Argo Lead, go evasive! Move your ass, Cans!”
*****
CVN 81, USS Doris Miller
Captain Stacy Kinney wanted to tear his hair out, but luckily or not he didn’t have a lot left to get a grip on.
What the hell is she thinking?
Ok, he knew damn well what Argonaut Lead was thinking. He probably would have thought the same himself thirty or so years ago, but he hoped to hell he wouldn’t have been crazy enough to follow through on it.
“The Tophatters are in the air, Sir,” his XO said from across the deck. “They’re forming up and will be en-route to the Argonauts shortly.”
“Tell them to burn sky,” Stacy ordered, “I don’t know what’s going on out there, but I don’t want any of our people left hanging out in the wind.”
“You got it, Skipper.”
Stacy shifted his attention to the task force communications systems, grabbing a hand mix and flipping switches to set the rig to VLF frequencies.
“Colorado, Dory, Dory Actual Speaking.”
It took a moment before the Virginia Class sub responded, but he was expecting that. VLF transmissions were spotty, and only worked at depths of less than twenty meters.
&nbs
p; “Go for Colorado.”
“We have a likely submerged target in Sector Epsilon. Enemy Asset. Hostile. Has engaged air units.” He said curtly, “Find them, send them down. All the way.”
“Roger Dory. Colorado complying.”
“Dory Out.”
Stacy set the hand mic back in its cradle, there was something refreshing about speaking to a sub, as annoying as the bubbleheads could be by times.
Now, for the hardest part of his job.
The waiting.
*****
SSN-788 Colorado
Captain David Woods dropped the hand phone back in its cradle and nodded to his XO.
“Rig for dive,” He ordered. “I want to get us to One Zero Zero meters, and bring us to a heading for sector Epsilon. All ahead full, do not cavitate. Sound General Quarters.”
“Aye skipper! General Quarters! COB, rig for dive! Make heading Zero Niner Five, two degrees down bubble! All ahead full! Do not cavitate.”
“Aye, Aye. Rigging for dive!”
Woods left the crew to their duty as the boat readied itself for a fight. He was more concerned with trying to figure out what the hell they were dealing with.
The Colorado and her sister escorts had already cleared that sector.
That meant that either something slipped past their net afterwards, which was bad news, or it remained undetected despite them actively pinging the entire region as they secured the area against any threat to the Dory. That was worse news.
Either way, if there was a submerged threat out there, they would have to deal with it.
*****
Argo Lead
Elise knew that procedures said get high and get fast, but that hadn’t worked so well for Sandy so she actually dropped altitude and pushed her throttle even harder, though there wasn’t any more left for it to give, as she heard Bishop’s warning.
Dropping below 500 feet, Elise rolled to port on pure instinct, putting the F-35 on its side just as something brilliant orange flashed against her retina.
What the hell was that?
At the altitude she was at, there was no way in hell she was going to risk looking over her shoulder to find out, though, and it seemed that staying low wasn’t as effective as she’d hoped. So, Elise snapped the aircraft level again, then stood it on its tail.
