by Aaron Hubble
The tech smiled. “You’re assuming we’re the first humans to come to this planet. The CPF has been studying the planet for a couple of years now and they took samples, if you know what I mean, to study. That’s how they found out.”
The man took up a position at the rear of the last gurney and began pushing it down the ramp. “Keep them coming, Commander. It’s going to take a lot to save humanity.” He was briefly illuminated by what sunlight had broken through the clouds before disappearing around the side of the ship to deliver his charge to the laboratory.
Dillon pondered the man’s words. It made sense. Of course someone else had been there before them; otherwise, how would they know as much as they did about this planet and its people?
Shouldering his rifle, he walked down the ramp and into the open air. Looking around, he saw mechanics working on craft and squads of soldiers drilling for their next engagement. He stepped back as a heavy supply vehicle rumbled past, splashing mud where he had stood. In his mind he began to go over a checklist of necessary tasks before the next flight.
He patted the flat black metal of the Valkyrie, a kind of thanks for getting them back safely. He did it after every mission. Superstitions were silly, but being thankful for the complicated system of wires, relays, computers and sheet metal was perfectly reasonable.
Dillon smiled when he saw the red script letters painted on the side of the Valkyrie. The men of Hildr team had affectionately dubbed the aircraft Mrs. Norris and had covertly painted the name on the tail after a few too many drinks. Definitely not regulation, but Dillon didn’t mind. Apparently the name came from a children’s book one of the men had read. Mrs. Norris was a bad-tempered cat who was an irritant for the characters of the story. The men thought the name was appropriate and it had proved true on numerous missions as the craft seemed to have nine lives, surviving some pretty hairy confrontations on Earth.
His second, Morris, stepped up beside him. “Standard orders?”
“You got it. Have a couple of the men inventory our supplies and restock. I think we’re a bit low on a few things.”
Morris nodded. “Where are you off to?”
“Briefing on the progress and the next phase of the operation.”
“Sounds fun. Say hi to the brass for me.”
“Will do.” Raising a hand in parting, Dillon started off toward the command building. His eyes rested upon the form of the techs pushing the gurneys into a transport vehicle. The doors shut and the vehicle wheeled around and headed in the direction of the city center.
He very much wanted to know what happened to the women. How did they get what they needed from them? Then again, there were some things better left as mysteries.
****
Dillon stepped through the low doorway of the metal prefabricated building serving as a command center. It had been brought into the park after the initial wave had ended and the city was secured. He walked into the large open room set up as a briefing area. The room was full as Dillon entered.
His commanding officer, Colonel Shepherd, stood at the front of the room scanning reports on a data pad. The colonel looked up as Dillon made his way through the crowded room to the last available seat. Dillon could feel the hard eyes of the man boring into him as he sat.
“Nice of you to join us, Dillon. Are you comfortable? Can I get you some coffee, or maybe pick up your dry cleaning since you appear to be too busy to make it to a briefing on time?”
Dillon grimaced. “No, sir. Just made it back from the field. I came straight here.”
“Your Valkyrie landed fifteen minutes ago. Had you come straight here, we wouldn’t have been sitting around twiddling our thumbs.”
“My apologies, sir.” Dillon attempted to keep the dislike he felt for Shepherd out of his voice. The exercise was becoming more and more difficult as time went on. He understood being demanding, and he understood expecting a lot out of one’s subordinates, but Shepherd added arrogance and thinly veiled condescension to the mix, making for a delightfully volatile working environment.
Someday a fist is going to plug up his self-important mouth, he thought. I just hope it’s mine. It would almost be worth the court martial.
Shepherd stared at him for several more seconds before dimming the lights and activating the three-dimensional representation of the continent. Twelve pulsing red dots were scattered around the map.
“As you know, the red indicators are the twelve major cities of these weak-willed people. All twelve are under our control. The only resistance we’ve encountered is in this northern city.” Shepherd touched the far northern dot, and the map zoomed in to show an aerial view of a city surrounded by an impressive five-sided wall.
The colonel clasped his hands behind his back and continued. “Our forces met with more resistance than expected. A group of indigenous was able to band together and set rudimentary traps we were not expecting. After crippling several ground transports, the natives overwhelmed our men and took their weapons and supplies. Very few of our men were able to escape.”
An image replaced the map showing burning hulks of metal, formerly CPF ground transports. The next image revealed several CPF uniformed bodies lying on the ground, their skin burned and riddled with bullet holes. Dillon felt his ire rising at the images. He’d seen plenty of his comrades fall in the CPF’s fight against the R3, and he felt the same rage now.
Shepherd returned the projection to the map and zoomed in on the northwest corner of the walled city. “This is where the native resistance is holed up. They have claimed several buildings and set up several snipers in the topmost floors. The easiest thing to do would be to let the Helix fighters turn those buildings into ash, but that corner of the city just happens to house the power plant and water treatment facilities. We need control of those facilities in order to make our extraction program a success.”
Shepherd turned back toward the group. “This is our top priority. Commanders Dillon, Alden and Chen will lead their Valkyrie teams into the city to act as a strike force and take control of those targets. The mission is simple: secure the facilities and eliminate the resistance. Do not leave anyone alive. We want these people to think twice about standing up for themselves.”
The colonel zoomed the map out once again and moved slightly south of the walled city. “This northern region is rich in mineral and metal deposits we were unaware of, but have now claimed as CPF holdings. Currently we are attempting to round up indigenous males to form work details to man the mines.”
He turned away from the map. “The rest of the Valkyrie teams are to get your men and your Valkyries ready for extended missions. I will be assigning mission detail within the next several days. Some will continue rounding up indigenous, others will be exploring the continent with specific parameters and the rest will be ferrying supplies between cities. If needed, more men may be assigned to the retaking of the northwest corner of the walled city, but I don’t anticipate a need. We must secure the city. It has the ideal infrastructure to house our extraction program. All indigenous females who are currently in this city and other cities will be transported to the walled city after it’s secure. Any questions?”
The room remained silent. Dillon looked around and then raised his hand. Shepherd glared at him, but he kept his hand in the air. The Colonel finally acknowledged him.
“Yes, Commander Dillon? Do you have words of wisdom to impart to us?”
Dillon slowly dropped his hand. “No wisdom, just a question. How does the extraction program work? How are we getting what we need from them and what happens to them after we do?”
Colonel Shepherd stared at him. The silence became heavy in the room. “That information, soldier, is above your pay grade. Just be grateful the CPF cares enough about your sorry tail to create a cure to keep you alive.” Shepherd turned to the rest of the men and women. “Any more stupid questions?”
No one talked.
“Dismissed.”
The room cleared quickly, Dillon followi
ng the crowd out the door. He didn’t look back, but he was sure he could feel the eyes of Shepherd boring into the back of his head, hoping he wouldn’t return from his next mission.
Keep wishing buddy. I’m in this for the long haul to make your life miserable. Or until you give me some answers.
CHAPTER FIVE
The people of the village of Ontonon stayed in Ibris and Rohab’s cellar through the night and into the morning hours outlining the steps to be taken before they fled the village. They would meet in the evening to begin scavenging for anything useful. After the plan was set, Berit heard people softly talking about family and life before the attack. As morning turned to afternoon, the people began drifting away, moving back to their hiding spots. Some stayed, especially those who had been existing in less than ideal havens, curling up in a corner and falling asleep.
Berit lay awake most of the day. She slept some, but it was fitful and haunted by dreams of fire and smoke and death. Every time she closed her eyes she heard the explosions, smelled the smoke, and saw Winnet’s face covered in ash, his lifeless eyes staring into the sky. She wanted out of the cellar, wanted to run across the grassland to her parents’ home and fall weeping into her mother’s arms. Her ma’ma would know what to do, would know the words to say to make everything better.
That wasn’t true.
Even if there were enough words existed to fill the ocean, she doubted there were any that could fix a soul that was torn in two.
She was never so glad as when Ibris moved up the cellar steps and cracked the door open slightly. It was dark and they would be leaving the cellar soon. Berit needed out of the confined space, needed the air on her face.
Soft footsteps approached and she sat up to see Rohab stepping lightly toward her carrying a bowl of water, a rag and a few first-aid supplies.
“How are you doing this fine morning…or evening, or whenever it is?” Rohab asked, kneeling down by Berit.
Berit weakly smiled. “I’m alright.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Some.”
The red-haired woman appraised her with a mother’s concern. She embraced Berit. The two women held each other for several long moments.
“Let’s take a look at that scratch of yours, shall we?” Rohab began to peel away the coverings she had put in place the day before. Berit recognized the concern in her wrinkled brow and pressed-together lips.
She caught Rohab’s eyes. “Is it bad?”
“No.” Rohab hesitated. “Well, yes and no. The cut itself is pretty bad and there is some redness around the edges, but if we’re able to keep it clean, infection shouldn’t be a problem.”
Berit’s fingertips traced the jagged outline of the wound Calier had crudely tried to repair with the supplies from the hospital.
“Can I see? Do you have a mirror?”
It looked as if Rohab wanted to object, but understood there was no use denying Berit and moved to the other side of the cellar. When she returned, she held a small compact mirror. Berit took a deep breath and held the mirror in front of her face. At first as she looked at herself squarely, nothing appeared different. Turning her head slightly, she was able to get a full view of the left side of her face.
She sucked in a breath. She wasn’t quite ready for what she saw. Rohab’s hand rested on her knee, a show of support Berit was grateful for. The top half of her ear was gone, sheared off by whatever had created the red, jagged line running from Berit’s ear, across the left cheek and under her chin. The scar would be ugly, the mangled ear even worse to look at. Her hand went to her mouth and a tear slid down her face. She didn’t know how much more she could take.
Then she became angry with herself. How dare she weep over something as trivial and vain as a scar. Millions had lost their lives, and she had been fortunate enough to walk away from the tragedy with a cut. She silently berated herself for her superficial feelings.
Rohab gently took the mirror from her and began to wash the cut and ear. “It’s okay to cry. You’ve lost another bit of yourself and it’s only fitting to mourn.”
Berit shook her head. “No. No, it’s not okay. I’m crying because my so-called beauty has been taken from me.” Berit swiped at the tears. “People died, Rohab. They died horribly and in terrible pain. I shouldn’t feel this way.”
A soft towel dried the water from her face. “Berit, I know you. Known you since you was nothing more than a skinny little girl running around your mother’s house with a paintbrush, decorating her walls.”
A choked laugh escaped Berit’s lips, an involuntary reaction to the memory of her home and the exasperated mother who tried desperately to channel her creativity into something less defacing.
“I know you,” continued Rohab. “You’re mourning the loss of who you used to be. Not just the way you look on the outside, but who you were on the inside. We’ve all changed, had to or this would eat us up. But you’re strong, little raven, stronger than most would believe.”
Berit smiled. “I haven’t been called little raven in a lot of years.”
“Course you haven’t. I gave you the name. You were always running across the grasslands, black hair flying out behind you, going to create art.”
Rohab spread an antiseptic salve on the wound and applied fresh coverings to the laceration. “The ear is pretty much healed. There is no sense in covering it. I imagine the bandage makes it hard to hear.”
“Yes, it does. Thank you Rohab.”
The woman looked her over. “Stay right where you are, I have something for you.”
She returned a few minutes later carrying a colorful scarf in her hands. Gesturing, she said, “May I?”
Berit nodded. Rohab tied the scarf around her head, hiding the top of the mangled ear. She stepped back and appraised Berit and smiled.
“There, that completes the outfit just fine.”
The two women embraced once more. “Well,” said Rohab. “Ibris will want to get to work as soon as possible. I need to rouse my boys.” She patted Berit’s arm and moved to the other side of the cellar.
Berit picked up the small mirror lying on the ground. She inspected herself and adjusted the scarf. It didn’t look bad.
A wave of gratitude washed over her. Gratitude for her life and the people who surrounded her.
****
That night they sifted through the remains of shattered lives. Dishes that had once served to bring a family together around the dining table now lay scattered and broken on the ground. Berit gathered up the charred photographs of a smiling couple’s wedding and put them in an empty metal box she had found. She couldn’t bear to let the photos rot and blow away in the wind. Perhaps someone would be back to collect them someday. A doll who managed to escape damage caused her to wonder about its owner. Was she missing the doll right now? Crying because she was having trouble going to sleep without the comfort of her favorite toy?
Or was the owner one of the bodies lying broken in the rubble?
Berit had stumbled upon the first body by herself. Pushing aside a broken door, she had entered what was left of a home. Her light had failed to show her what lay two steps in front of her. She’d tripped over the woman’s corpse and fallen into the broken remains of a kitchen. Berit had been unable to stifle a scream after she had collected herself and discovered what her foot had caught upon. The bottom half of the woman was buried in debris, while the top half lay twisted at a grotesque and unnatural angle. Several others who had been working close by came running. Now she let those with a stronger constitution go in before her and make sure an area was clear of bodies before entering herself to help look for anything useful. Thankfully, there weren’t a lot of bodies they could see. She figured the majority of the people had been gone, at work in Gadol City, when the invasion came, or they were buried under tons of rubble. Relegated to an unmarked grave.
So the invaders have even taken a dignified burial away from us as well, she thought.
Toward the end of the night Berit h
ad tired considerably. She hated to admit it, but her wound was really slowing her down. Her body was still recovering from the shock and blood loss. She was weak, tired, and dirty, but refused to stop. So much needed to be done, and Berit wanted to make a contribution just like everyone else.
Moving by the light of the moon and her small hand lamp, Berit found several overturned wooden shelves amongst a jumbled pile of lumber. Scanning the immediate area around the shelves, she found a sign. She turned it over and read: Hana’s Produce. Excitement ran through her body as she realized she had found the small shop where surrounding farmers had brought their fresh vegetables, fruits, meats and other locally produced items. Berit attempted to move one of the wooden shelves. The shelf wasn’t heavy, but Berit was only able to lift it a couple inches off the ground. She struggled, but the weight of the shelf and her own fatigue worked against her best efforts, and it began to fall to the ground again.
A woman stepped up beside her and began hefting the shelf back to an upright position. Together the two women were able to stand the shelf up, revealing a pile of food underneath. Berit took a step backwards and began to stagger as a wave of dizziness caused her head to swim and blackness to creep around the edges of her vision. Her hold on consciousness was slipping away. The woman caught her and slowly lowered her to the ground.
“You should lie down. That will get the blood back to your head and clear the dizziness.”
Berit covered her eyes with her hand. Cold sweat slicked her forehead as she breathed deeply, trying to regain her composure. After several moments she felt good enough to open her eyes and see the concerned face of a woman staring down at her.
“There she is,” said the woman. “I was afraid you had decided to take a nap on me.”
Berit’s vision began to clear, and she was able to see the woman for the first time. She was younger than Berit, maybe early twenties, with curly blond hair and dark brown streaks. Her pretty face smiled down at Berit.
“Feeling good enough to try sitting?”
