Rise of the Liberators (Terrafide Book 1)

by Ryan Hyatt

  The drill the captain wanted to practice was called a return. In this maneuver, at least one Liberator advanced boldly through the enemy line and created a second front behind its adversaries, which forced some targets to turn in the opposite direction and fire at this lone Liberator. Meanwhile, other Liberators pushed forward from the first’s original starting point. Together the Mama’s Boys sandwiched and destroyed the enemy until they safely returned to each other.

  Ray supervised the exercise from the open hangar. He stood in the shade of the vast building as fans blasted him with air. He wore a head set and binoculars and watched the three Liberators position themselves on the field, like a coach about to direct his football team’s kickoff from the sidelines. In addition to Ray’s vantage point, several drones hovered over the mock battlefield and buzzed around the Liberators like gnats, recording important information. The props of the proving grounds were automated and moved according to a complex program controlled by the Pentagon which imitated the motions and responses of live targets. Every weekend, as the squad recuperated from training, a specially-assigned construction crew repaired and restaged the facility, so that when the squad returned for more sessions during the work week, they faced new scenarios and simulations.

  The exercise Huxley, Kim and Mustafa were about to conduct had been specially-requested by Ray to assess his weakest squad members.

  “Okay, Huxley, you lead the return,” Ray said.

  Huxley’s Liberator towered in sentinel mode over prop buildings and desert shrubs two miles to Ray’s right, or southeast. Upon the captain’s command, it transformed into a tank that proceeded left, or northeast, at a brisk clip. The grounded Mama’s Boy rammed its way through buildings and streets for nearly a mile, scattering debris and dust into the simmering summer air. During the drive, Huxley authorized numerous targets for destruction, and Ray saw glimmering reflections of hallowed sidewinder missiles and tracers fan out from the fast-treading Liberator and connect with fake vehicles and other targets strewed across its path. The Liberator fired blanks, so there were no explosions. Hit targets lit red and then reset a minute later to be reused in future exercises.

  Within a minute, Huxley’s Mama’s Boy moved from the right to the left side of vision and successfully broke through the enemy line. The Lib transformed back into sentinel mode, then turned and walked back to the right towards what remained of the battlefront. Meanwhile, Kim and Mustafa’s Libs, also in sentinel mode, obliterated their targets from the southeast beyond the enemy perimeter. They slowly marched left northeast toward Huxley, crushing any surviving adversaries. All three Mama’s Boys met in the middle of the mock battlefield once the drill was complete, the center of Ray’s field of vision.

  Ray lowered his binoculars. The entire sequence lasted only three minutes according to his stopwatch, but it would speak volumes about the functionality of his group, which Ray looked forward to analyzing in the locker room.

  “Let’s pack it up and bring it in,” Ray said.

  “Yes, sir, Ray Gun, coach sir,” Huxley said. “Is it safe to pour Gatorade on your head to celebrate our victory?”

  “I wouldn’t be so hasty, H-Bomb,” Ray said. “Let’s review the tape first.”

  They returned their Liberators to the hangar and met in the locker room a few minutes later. They examined the video footage taken from the drones and additional statistical information provided by ACE, which appeared on a Telenet screen as they dressed for lunch.

  “Looks good so far,” Ray said. “Any civilian discrepancies?”

  “Yes,” ACE said over the locker room speakers.

  Displayed on the screen was a classroom occupied by a group of prop students, which Huxley’s Liberator destroyed with a missile, indicated with a red flash that appeared briefly.

  “I thought that was a terror cell,” Huxley said. “I switched to an infrared overlay and noticed that some prop peeps gathered on one side of the room, around a window, holding a long object,” Huxley said. “I assumed it was a rocket launcher they were going to shoot at us.”

  Ray paused the footage with a voice command.

  “That ‘rocket launcher’ was a body they were dragging from the window,” Kim said, pointing at the screen.

  “We told you to leave the classroom alone, but you didn’t listen to us,” Mustafa said. “Pig-headed, as usual.”

  “Maybe those school children should have taken cover like every other civilian when their town was getting blasted back into the Stone Age,” Huxley said. “It’s just common sense.”

  “Common sense, indeed,” Kim said, turning toward the captain. “I guess this means we won’t be pouring Gatorade on your head today after all, hey?”

  “Nope,” Ray said with a sigh, and he addressed Huxley. “You pull nonsense like that in a real battle, and you’ll be court-martialed. Even if that classroom had been a terror cell, what’s a rocket launcher going to do against a Liberator? Time is on your side. You could have afforded to wait and investigate before firing on those children.”

  Next, Ray addressed Kim and Mustafa.

  “As far as you two are concerned,” he said, “you need to be more persuasive. This is a team effort, and maybe not today or tomorrow, but trust me, sooner than later a foul-up on the field from one of you will turn into a fuck up for all of you. Your asses are on the line too, gentlemen.”

  Finally, Ray addressed all of them.

  “The people who run this program care about the facts, including those that lead to the military’s embarrassment,” he said. “The fact is, gentlemen, you blew up a classroom full of school kids. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” the three pilots shouted in unison.

  Ray dismissed them for lunch. They failed the exercise and cast further doubt on their ability to work together, but Ray didn’t seem to be the only one concerned. Mustafa languished by his locker and slowly changed into his clothes. He was quiet, not unusual for him, but the blank expression on his face reminded Ray of himself when something heavy was on his mind.

  Ray waited until Huxley and Kim cleared the room before he spoke.

  “Something wrong, Lieutenant?” Ray said.

  “Not sure, sir,” Mustafa said.

  “I’ve been reviewing the squad’s files, including yours, and I have a question for you...”

  “Shoot, sir,” Mustafa said, shaken from his daze.

  “Is killing fellow Muslims something you really think you can do?”

  For an instant, Mustafa’s lips curled and his eyes flickered with panic, but it seemed like Mustafa must have been prepared to answer this question, Ray thought, because he took a breath, stared into his commander’s eyes, and provided a measured response.

  “You’d kill Nazis if you were ordered to do so, wouldn’t you, Captain, although you’re both Christian in name?” he said.

  “Of course I would,” Ray said.

  “Why?”

  “Because Nazis are Christian in name only,” Ray said. “I would like to believe there’s a difference between them and me.”

  “Exactly,” Mustafa said. “Then what’s wrong with me killing Muslims I believe falsely represent my religion?”

  Ray couldn’t refute the logic.

  “I just wanted to make sure you understood that fact, and clearly you do,” Ray said. “Well, if any questions arise about what we are doing out there, it’s important you ask.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Mustafa said. “I appreciate your concern.”

  “And I yours, Lieutenant. See you at base.”

  As Ray walked to his truck, he began to wonder about the veracity of Mustafa’s comments. After all, it was one thing to kill extremists of any religion, who in some ways were the enemies of humanity itself, but what about Muslim civilians who might be caught in the crossfire of the upcoming conflict, such as those students Huxley mistook for the enemy? Did they deserve to die too? Of course not. Yet such mistakes seemed inevitable, even with a Liberator on your side. Wou
ld Mustafa, a young man who didn’t drink or swear and seemed fairly devout, be able to shrug off such collateral damage without turning against himself or his squad?

  Ray didn’t have time to think about it. His pickup truck exited the main gate of the proving grounds and reached a four-way stop with barren highways in each cardinal direction. Ray noticed what appeared to be a teenager stranded on the side of the road. He wore a black motorcycle helmet and sunglasses that made his facial features indistinguishable, except for a pointy nose and lips. He seemed to be fixing his motor bike. Poor guy. Hopefully he had water.

  The light turned green and Ray inched forward in his pickup truck. He was running late but willing to stop and offer the young man a hand if he needed it, so he honked.

  The young man didn’t seem to notice, or care.

  Ray punched the accelerator, and his truck lurched forward. As he drove away, he glanced in his rearview mirror. The stranded motorist appeared to be taking pictures of the surrounding landscape.

  Ray figured he was okay.

  By the time Ray realized the teenager probably took a photograph of his license plate, Ray again glanced in his rearview mirror.

  The spook was gone.

  CHAPTER 7

  That evening when Ray returned home, he had a troubling glimpse at his nation’s past and future. The first had to do with Iraq, the second Iran. He changed out of his uniform into his University of Arizona college tee and sweats, and he found Dee and Sara at the dinner table. The three partook in a brief but satisfying Happy Food Dance, and then they enjoyed a scrumptious meal of fish tacos together.

  It was October, technically fall, but the desert heat wouldn’t relent, and the soft hum of the air conditioner could be heard over family conversation.

  “Sara’s surgery will be in January, two weeks before her birthday,” Dee said, passing Ray the tortillas. “She’ll be seeing in color in time for her party!”

  “That’s terrific,” Ray said, piling fried fish, red onions and a creamy Chipotle sauce on his plate.

  “I’m thinking we should invite my parents,” Dee said.

  “I’m thinking we should not,” Ray said, and he glanced at his daughter to make sure she wasn’t paying attention to him. “They’ll never come, so it’s a waste of time.”

  “Sara asked a cute question today,” Dee said, changing the subject. “She wanted to know where she’ll be able to see colors.”

  “Everywhere,” Ray said to Sara.

  “And what else did you ask, sweetie?” Dee said, patting Sara on the head. “What about eyes?”

  Sara glanced at her mother and father, trying to recall her own question. Suddenly she smiled.

  “Do eyes have color?” she said.

  “Good question, sweetie,” Ray said. “The answer is yes, they do. Everyone’s eyes are also a different color.”

  He glanced across the table at his wife. “Your mother’s eyes are green. They sparkle like emeralds.”

  Dee blushed, not only because she appreciated the compliment, but also perhaps because she couldn’t return it. Ray’s and his daughter’s eyes were oddly opaque, neither beautiful nor dull, but stark.

  “And your father’s eyes are like the sky, kind of … blue,” Dee said.

  “What about my eyes?” Sara said.

  “Your eyes are like your father’s eyes, sweetie,” Dee said. “They are also kind of … blue.”

  “Will it hurt?” Sara said.

  “You mean the surgery, when they fix your eyes?” Ray said, and he exchanged a startled glance with Dee.

  “No, sweetie,” Ray said. “It won’t hurt at all.”

  “You promise?”

  “I do.”

  The surgery sounded simple enough – bio-infusing stem cells injected into key parts of the brain – but Ray didn’t mention that for days following the operation, Sara would be in an induced coma to keep the light out of her eyes and to keep her mind from becoming traumatized until the temporary blindness passed. Even when Sara did see again, she would be tired for weeks until her eyes adjusted to their improved circumstances. Unfortunately, the longer the wait for the surgery, the more prolonged the recovery, so doctors suggested that they operate while Sara was young and her brain was especially adaptable.

  As a result, Sara’s birthday party was not likely to be much of a party at all, and Ray and his wife knew it, but they tried to remain optimistic, for her sake.

  The family finished eating in silence.

  After dinner, Ray washed the dishes in the kitchen while Dee bathed Sara in the bathroom. Then Ray popped open a beer, sat on the couch and turned the Telenet to the news. There was a story about a bombing in a Sunni mosque in Baghdad in which one hundred people were killed. A clip of the wreckage showed bodies being dragged from a crumpled façade. Shiite militants from the south, backed by Iran, claimed responsibility for the attack. It was the fourth bombing in a week as talks mediated by the United States failed to unite a country in a way which its two rival groups of Muslims were willing to accept.

  The news program cut to a related story about a speech made by Senator Oscar Torres from Arizona before his colleagues at the Capitol that afternoon. Torres was one of several policymakers who believed that as American global dominance waned, it was important that the United States maintain a hard line against its adversaries and push for democracy until other free nations mustered the strength to do their part to carry the torch for the world. To this end, Senator Torres wanted the United States to punish Iran for its continued meddling in Iraq.

  While the United States bombed Iranian nuclear facilities both in 2018 and 2020, the air strikes didn’t prevent the rising Middle East power from developing its atomic weapons programs in secret and continuing its efforts to destabilize the region. Senator Torres, like many of his political allies, thought the sanctions placed against Iran were useless since that nation did the bulk of its trading with China and Russia, which stopped abiding by the international community’s economic restrictions long ago. Senator Torres believed that Iran’s oil proceeds from China and Russia allowed the ‘rogue’ nation to continue funneling money and arms to insurgents in Iraq. Therefore, Iran was largely responsible for Iraq’s growing sectarian violence. Of course, Ray thought, the fact that the United States invaded Iraq in the first place and toppled its government didn’t seem to factor into any official reasons for systemic failures there.

  Nonetheless, as with Iraq, Senator Torres publicly advocated the overthrow of the Iranian government, and during his address to the Senate, he laid out reasons why doing so would bolster America’s position at home and abroad.

  Ray suspected the senator’s speech might relate to his upcoming mission, so he listened attentively.

  “The annexation of Iran would bring stability to the Middle East, which is something that part of the world hasn’t been seen for decades,” Torres said. “By overthrowing Iran’s tyrannical and corrupt regime, we will affirm our relationship with key allies, such as Israel and Turkey, and cripple our enemies that benefit from Iran’s treachery, such as China and Russia. The time to act has come, my friends. Energy policy in this country has reached a crisis point in which there is little recourse but to press into hostile lands to advance our own national security interests. Without obtaining more cheap and reliable fuel soon, we face the real prospect of withering away in a deflated economy, while our enemies gain a permanent foothold against our nation, our way of life, and our hope for a world that is free, prosperous and civilized.

  “By invading Iran, the vast resources of an underutilized nation will become available for the betterment of the United States, ensuring our own economic strength for at least another decade. At the same time, such a bold move would cut off a critical lifeline to our adversaries in the Middle East and elsewhere. Please, friends, I beseech you, join me in this great and noble cause!”

  There was a loud round of applause within the Senate Chamber as Ray’s mind drifted elsewhere. It was strange to t
he Marine captain how, in the course of his short lifetime, the notion of American national security had become synonymous with foreign entanglements that tended to cause only further international insecurity.

  Sitting on his couch in his tee and sweats, a family man alone with his thoughts, Ray’s mind wandered to a time when he was a teenager. Ray lived in a stucco home growing up that was not unlike the one which he owned as an adult, and on that morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001, the noise blaring from the living room forced him from his slumber and sent him investigating to determine the reason for such commotion. As Ray’s parents frantically prepared for work, Ray saw on the family’s large TV set the Twin Towers in New York City ablaze.

  The news anchor said the massive building was hit by an airplane. No one knew why. Ray’s father was in his bedroom ironing his shirt, and his mother was in the kitchen packing lunches. Both of them acted as if the news being broadcasted that morning was nothing out of the ordinary, but Ray’s instincts told him otherwise. Ray’s parents’ frenetic activity was a lousy attempt to conceal the fact they were scared. Really scared. Something bad was happening before their very eyes, and they were so scared they didn’t know how to respond, and so they just did what they usually did every Tuesday morning, except with more gusto than usual.

  Ray shook his head in disbelief. He wasn’t sure where his parents thought they were going, but he was confident he wasn’t going to school that day. He pulled out a box of cereal from the cupboard, poured some Frosted Flakes and milk into a bowl, and sat on the couch, munched on his breakfast, and watched the developments unfold. Even as a teenager, Ray knew enough about aviation to realize that a plane colliding into a skyscraper probably was not an accident.

  It was Twilight Zone stuff. The United States was under attack.