Adam had managed to get through on his cell phone to a 911 hysterical dispatcher. All she could say was “Stay away from the ocean!” Then the line went dead.
Adam returned with a bottle of higher end wine from the store cooler.
“Here. The relatively good stuff. Cork and all.” He took a wine bottle opener from a store rack, used it to pop the cork, and then passed it to Willie. The Chief raised the bottle.
“A toast. To friends and family. Both here and lost.”
“Willie…”
“They’re gone. I can feel it. I had a good seven years with them, my wife and kids. They were happy. Things could have been worse.” He handed the bottle to Adam.
“Kempai, as we used to say in Okinawa,” Adam toasted.
“Yeah, Boss. Okinawa. Seems like a million years ago.” The older man looked at Adam.
“What now, Boss?”
“A night’s rest, start early in the morning. I want to travel when I can see what’s going on around me.”
“Yes, Adam. The people I was working with were setting up a secret task force to start monitoring the smuggling activity again in Florida. This time, Middle Eastern types through Cuban waters instead of dope. How about us heading there?” He took the wine bottle from Adam, had another drink.
“Some people were already in place at the Key West Naval Air Station. Hopefully, some survived… this.” He looked at Adam.
“Adam, what do you think is the long term outlook?”
“Christ, Chief, I have no crystal ball.” Then he realized his old friend looked at him as the Commander, not as a friend. He was still in shock from losing his family, though he would never admit it. He needed someone to help shoulder the load, to tell him there was hope. Adam stood up, and squared his shoulders.
“Chief, we save as many of the living as we can. Where there is life, there is hope. That will be our Mission. Sound good?”
Chief Master Sergeant William Hamilton stood up, saluted his former—now current—Boss.
“Sir. Come hell or high water. That’s what we’ll do.”
“Now, Chief, sack time.”
“Sure, Boss. Sack time.”
They woke just before dawn. As they quietly collected their gear and supplies, they heard a whirring, electrical sound. Both men crouched, carefully looked out the Stop and Rob entrance door.
What looked like an oversized six-wheeled ATV was headed straight for the body of the dead looter they had propped up on the gas pumps. Sticking up from the center of the ATV was a large metal ball, with what looked like a large electronic iris in front.
As the machine approached the body, it hit it with a quick flash of blinding light emanating from the iris. Some of the side flash made the two friends see dark spots.
A very flexible cable like structure extended from the ATV’s body, latched onto the corpse, and warped around the body. In the blink of an eye, it was pulled to the ATV as the machine turned and headed back the way it came.
“A goddamned robot,” the Chief finally said.
“Yeah. A type that seems to be hunting us.” Adam looked at Willie.
“Based on what we just saw, your contact at the Pentagon, and the comment that dispatcher made, I think we are no longer the apex predator.”
The Chief shivered a bit. “Let’s get moving. I don’t want to be here if that thing comes back.”
“Roger that, Chief.” Then Adam paused. “I think saving as many humans as we can just took on even more ramifications.”
The Chief looked hard at Adam.
“We save who we can. We fuck up anybody, or anything that tries to stop us.”
“Old friend, you just hit it on the head. Now, shall we? It’s going to be a long trip.”
“Copy that, Boss. Copy that.”
PAYBACK
Under the cover of darkness, the two black Special Ops aircraft out of Edwards Air Force Base came in low and fast over the Southern California desert. Both were variations of the C-130 four engine tactical aircraft that had been a workhorse of the U.S. Air Force for over fifty years.
As they neared their destination, the AC-130U Spooky II Gunship prepared to pull back and orbit some ten miles away from the drop off. The MC-130H Combat Talon would continue on to a designated makeshift landing strip within a mile of the All American Irrigation Canal. A straight and flat section of dirt road that the Bureau of Land Management and the U.S. Border Patrol maintained together would serve as the landing strip. Supposedly some U.S. Border Patrol Agents would be there to light a couple of road flares to help the Special Ops pilots line up on the temporary landing zone.
Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant Torbin Bender had just finished a last minute check of the personnel and equipment jammed into the MC-130H. Three Humvees, two motorcycles, a four wheel ATV, and thirty armed personnel did not leave a lot of room for comfort. But hell, he’d seen and experienced worse. Eight years active duty in the Corps, with five of that as a SEAL and Delta Force member, and more years in the Marine Corps Reserve, meant that he had pretty much seen it all.
All, that is, until tonight.
He was heading in for an assault on a reported alien craft. Not the type of alien as in illegal alien sneaking across for Mexico. Rather, alien as in space alien, little green men. But recent intelligence reports said the aliens were anything but green or little.
As he made his way to a crowded fold down side fuselage seat, he heard his name called. He looked up and saw Lieutenant Jacob Roth weave his way to him around the vehicles and equipment. Roth was Army, just out of Ranger School, having graduated the week before the Tschaaa began throwing rocks. At least that’s what the surviving NSA and Military Intelligence assets said the attackers called themselves.
Lieutenant Roth was a small, wiry jet black haired, brown eyed young man, with a somewhat boyish face that made Torbin feel old, even though he had not hit thirty years old yet. The Marine seemed to tower over the Lieutenant, although Torbin was a shade under six feet tall. The fact that the Gunnery Sergeant was a certified physical trainer in civilian life gave him a cut to his physique that made him look larger.
“Lieutenant.”
“Gunnery Sergeant Bender.”
Torbin smiled a bit. “Sir, may I suggest you just call me Gunny? It’s easy shorthand, especially since I’m the only Marine Corps NCO around.”
Lt. Roth was a cherry when it came to combat. He had just pinned on his First Louie Bars, but was literally the only company grade officer around when this hodgepodge unit had been thrown together. An assault unit, platoon-sized, needed an officer. Or so the upper Chain of Command had decreed.
The young Lieutenant took in a deep breath, then let it out. “Gunny, I won’t insult a combat vet like you by asking if everything and everybody is ready. But I would like to say…”
“Sir, I’ve got your back.”
Lieutenant Roth stuttered a bit, the interruption throwing him off his short prepared speech. “Excuse me, uh, what?”
“Sir, I’ve got your back. You’re the OIC—Officer in Charge. You say jump, a Marine Gunny says how high, Sir. I will keep you from getting yourself killed, tell you when you are about to get me killed. Other than that, no worries, Sir.” He smiled at the young officer, knowing that the man had so many things going through his mind right now. One of those thoughts, Torbin knew was—will he screw up, and get people killed.
Lieutenant Roth looked at him, then chuckled.
“Here I had this little speech that would have fit right into some Hollywood action flick, and you beat me to the punch.”
“Like I said, Sir. No worries. We have our orders, know what to do. The easy part is when we land. Your training will take over, as will my experience. Those Tschaaa, or whatever they call themselves, won’t stand a chance.”
The young officer extended his right hand. Torbin took it, felt a firm grip.
“It’s an honor to serve with you and these men and women.”
Torbin grinned, his blue ey
es twinkling a bit. “Hell, Sir, we’re about to make history. We are about to kick some outer space alien ass.”
Just then, the Aircraft Commander came over the intercom. “Nearing the ten mile mark,” the female voice said. “About to crash the party.”
With that, the assault troops all went to their assigned places. Torbin felt a sense of confidence, as well as excitement. The fact that thirty men and women, Air Force, Army, Navy and Marine, had come together in just over twenty-four hours to form a cohesive team was saying something about the U.S. Military. Air Force ParaRescue, Army Rangers, an active duty Navy SEAL, and an all-female aircrew had clicked as if they had all known each other for years. That almost never happened. Throw in Torbin as the token Marine, and he knew the big man upstairs must have their backs.
But of course a pessimist would ask why the big man (or woman) had allowed the Tschaaa to get to Earth in the first place. That train of thought was above Torbin’s pay grade.
Within moments, the MC-130 went into a bank, as the pilot began to line up for an approach. The border patrol must have shown up as agreed to mark the landing area, as there was no hesitant flying and searching by the aircrew. A couple of quick banks, and the pilot went straight in.
She’s good, Torbin thought as the pilot almost greased the four engine transport on the makeshift strip, despite it being only somewhat hardened dirt and sand. Even as she was braking the aircraft, Torbin and the Lieutenant were up, as were all the others. The Air Force loadmasters hit quick release straps on the Humvees and other vehicles, as the Assault Force got ready to disembark. Twenty of the thirty armed personnel would haul ass to the target, sixteen in the Humvees, the other four on the motorbikes and ATV, the four wheeler supporting two riders in tandem.
Within sixty seconds after the load ramp was down, all the vehicles were off, personnel quick to mount their assigned ride. The remaining ten personnel set up a three hundred degree security zone around the MC-130. It had been decided to keep the transport craft on the ground, with the pilot and crew having it lined up and ready to go when the twenty assault team members returned. Of course all twenty would return, the newer people thought. Torbin knew better.
The Lieutenant took the lead vehicle, Torbin, as Second in Command, took the third and rear Humvee. The motorbikes and ATV would skirmish out ahead. Before they mounted their Humvees, a border patrol agent in an SUV with a shot out windshield approached Torbin and Lt. Roth.
“Watch yourselves. There’s some pieces of shit humans helping the aliens. And their wheeled robots are nasty.”
“That ark craft still by the freeway overpass next to Yuma and Winterhaven?”
“Yes Gunny, big as day.”
Torbin paused for a moment, looking at the border patrol agent. “Former Corps, right?”
“Semper Fi, Mac. We fought them along with the Air Station personnel. But a large rock took out the airfield, and then the Deltas hit.” The law enforcement agent ground his teeth. “We Mean Green are tough, but we were never set up to fight a pitched battle, like when I was in the Corps.”
“Well, Sir,” Lt. Roth replied. “As the Gunny here will attest to, payback’s a bitch.”
“Give it to them, Lieutenant,” the Agent spat out. “Fuck’em up. They killed my buddies. I’m one of the last.”
“You have my word.” Lt. Roth shook the Agent’s hand, turned towards Torbin. “Shall we?”
Torbin flashed a broad grin. “Let’s rock, Lieutenant.”
As they mounted their respective vehicles, Torbin heard the border patrol agent call out, “Vayan con Dios!” Go with God. Torbin hoped once again that God had their backs.
Sixty seconds later, and they were moving out. Lights out. There was enough ambient light in the clear desert night that the vehicle drivers did not really need the night vision goggles.
Torbin heard the secure radio channel crackle. “Your curfew is set for three hours from now. Late, and your coach turns into a pumpkin.” It was the MC-130 female command pilot, Captain White.
“Roger that, Captain. Cinderella will be back with both her glass slippers,” replied Lt. Roth.
“Get back here. I owe you a drink at the officer’s club.” Torbin smiled. Was the Captain flirting with Roth? War seemed to make people horny, in his experience.
Then he was focused on the task at hand. The assault group rode in silence the rest of the way, some twenty miles to where the alien craft had landed. The three Humvees had a 50 Cal and two 40 Mike-Mike auto grenade launchers attached on their respective roof mounts. The twenty men were weapons heavy, with additional grenade launchers on their assault rifles and a 30 Caliber general machine gun backing up three Squad automatic weapons. The also had a Barrett .50 Caliber long range sniper rifle with penetrator rounds, plus two AT-4 shoulder fired anti-tank missiles, and an old M-72 LAW someone had found stashed. These weapons gave them some heavy metal penetrating capability. No one had any idea on about the thickness the skin of the ark spacecraft’s skin.
That was what this hurry-up mission was all about. Get up close to the ark, assault it, see what makes it tick, then blow the hell out of it. If they found any humans to rescue, great. But destruction of the ark and its inhabitants or crew was the primary task.
Torbin had a pound of C-4 plastic explosives plus detonators in his combat pack. Four other team members were also carrying various amounts of C-4 also. Two lucky troops had thermite grenades, in addition to their regular grenade and ammunition issue. If the assault personnel could get inside of the craft, they were to set the charges and destroy it. This was a chance to strike back with terminal destruction.
According to fragmentary intelligence reports from what was left of the U.S. command structure, the Russians and the Japanese did not paint a pretty picture. Areas were blasted from above, then the large arks began landing. Reports were that six wheeled ATV Robots were dragging humans into the arks with metallic tentacles, never to be seen again. Seven foot tall armored humanoids—or maybe cyborgs—appeared, impervious to most small arms fire.
Torbin’s jaw tightened. Everyone had been caught flat footed. For twelve hours they had thought it was a disaster from space. Then the alien attack craft showed up, followed by the arks. All during this time, there was sabotage and Fifth Column attacks from apparent quislings and human traitors. How these terrorist cells from outer space had existed with only late night radio talk shows sounding the alarm over the years was a complete mystery.
Now, some eighty-four hours after the first rock hit, D.C. lay in ruins. For the space projectiles had been identified as masses of rock with heat shields of some very efficient design to help hold them together. A space ark was sitting on the White House lawn, and the female Vice President who had been running the show was presumed dead. Also believed dead were most of the Pentagon staff, Cheyenne Mountain, and Congress, with the President’s status completely unknown. Contact with him was lost within the first twenty-four hours, as he was trying to make it back the White House via train. U.S. Armed Forces reverted to local Tactical Command.
It was a local tactical commander out of Edwards Air Force Base who had identified the target ark. It seemed the majority of the hundreds which had landed so far had come down within twenty miles of an ocean, sea, or a major body of water like the Great Lakes in patterns that provided mutual support. In the United States, however, about a half of dozen of the large arks had come down further into the interior. One had come down next to the Winterhaven Drive Overpass that crossed over Interstate 8 near the California and Arizona border, in between the tiny town of Winterhaven, California and Yuma, Arizona.
That was the target only minutes away from their assault unit.
The vehicles maneuvered around various wrecks, as they drove down a county and state road that paralleled Interstate 8 on the north side of the freeway. Even with the wrecks, the unit still made good time. There had been some concern that the target might be concealed somehow. As the assault personnel neared Winterhaven, the
y saw there was no reason for concern. The ark was lit up like a Christmas tree.
Lt. Roth signaled for the vehicle to stop, requested Torbin up front.
“Well Gunny, it’s not like they are trying to hide or anything.”
“No, Sir. I get the impression they’re not used to being on the receiving end of creative violence.”
Lt. Roth flashed a quick smile, then his face turned serious.
“I’m a cherry for this type of assault. I’m going to demur to your expertise.”
“Hard and fast, Sir. We don’t have the numbers for a drawn out assault, so good old shock and awe, like Desert Storm. Then beat feet. Yes, Lieutenant, I’ll take in the assault in. You cover my ass.”
“Roger that, Gunny.” The young officer paused for a moment, and removed his helmet. He quickly placed a yarmulke on his head, then re-secured his helmet.
“I wore that at my Bar Mitzvah. Figured my first combat might be like that.”
Torbin stuck his hand out. “Sir, say a prayer for me also. I need all the divine help for my soul I can get.”
As Lt. Roth shook Torbin’s hand. “I thought Marines patrolled the streets of heaven?”
“In my case, I’ll be lucky to get past the main gate.”
Lt. Roth chuckled. “Well, guess it’s time to get this show on the road. Pick your men for the assault squad, I’ll take the rest for the cover fire.”
“Roger that, Sir.”
With practiced ease from numerous operations and combats, Torbin had his assault squad formed, briefed and on the move. The ark was sitting on the main road, Winterhaven Drive, with its “nose” pointed directly at Yuma, Arizona. A large very human looking loading ramp was deployed from the front. As Torbin and his personnel approached the jump off point, a low crackle from secure radio was in his ear.
“In position, Gunny.”
“Roger that.” Torbin knew the Lieutenant’s squad was hunkered down behind cover, locked and loaded. With all the light emanating from the craft, night vision goggles would be useless. As Torbin readied the signal flare to signal the beginning of the initial assault, he saw what looked like a couple of vehicles approaching the ark’s loading ramp from across the freeway overpass. He paused, looking at them through his binoculars.
Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation Page 4
