by Evan Currie
“Ouch,” Pitr said laconically. “I’m guessing that hurt, even him.”
Tessa shrugged, “No doubt. What is that thing, though, and what does it want here?”
Pitr lifted his hands, tossing them out to either side, “I have no idea, Fraulein. Though I will say that it would seem unlikely that it is here for any… shall we say benevolent reasons.”
Tessa snorted, “How could you possibly tell… ohhh, the Marine is back. Didn’t kill him, I guess.”
“Did you believe it would?”
“Not really, but maybe cripple him a little?” She asked, a little disappointed. “I’m not very happy with him right now.”
“So I see,” Pitr smiled thinly.
They watched the fight, occasionally Pitr would reposition the tear so they could get a better view, though that was a trial and error process at best, and were quite engrossed in it right up until a blast aimed at the Marine missed and struck down in the city.
Pitr dropped the tear reflexively, turning to the section of the city that was now burning.
“That was… impressive,” He said softly.
“That was my CITY!” Tessa screamed.
“Ooh boy.”
This is not going to end well, Pitr moaned softly. He knew these signs, and he was pretty certain he didn’t want to know what he was about get dragged into the middle of.
“Tessa, calm down, they’ll rebuild…”
The look she shot him was pure evil, and Pitr shut up instantly.
“You listen to me, right now, mister…” She said slowly, deliberately. “I don’t care where that jellyfish looking thing came from, or what its doing here. Nothing, and nobody, does that to my city without consequence.”
“Besides you, you mean.”
“Yes, besides me!”
“Just making sure,” Pitr sighed.
Sometimes he really didn’t understand her psychosis.
“Come on! And call Malcolm!”
*****
Hale looped around the thing, gaining altitude so he could approach from above. If the bastard thing was going to start blasting at him with something like those beams, he’d rather they were aimed up from that point on.
The tactic seemed to work, as he was forced to quickly dodge two more powerful blasts that thankfully vanished away into the upper atmosphere rather than down into the city below. He tapped the earpiece, opening a channel.
“Pierson.”
“The damn thing is engaging with some kind of lasers,” He said, “Let the pilots know they may have to, you know, dodge, alright?”
“We noticed. First responders are rolling on that section of Berlin as we speak. Can you hold its attention?”
Hale ducked coming in low over the top of the jellyfish thing as another blast lanced past him to vanish over the horizon.
“That shouldn’t be an issue,” He said, dropping into a landing on the top of the target.
“Huh.”
“What is it?” Pierson asked.
“Kinda squishy,” He said, probing with his feet, “only… not somehow? I don’t know how to describe it. The surface has give to it, but it feels solid at the same time. Like walking on a flexible steel or something.”
“Can you damage it?”
Hale shrugged, “I can try.”
He launched himself into the air, accelerated away in a burst of speed, then reversed course just as quickly to slam down onto the surface with enough force to blow through any building he might have tried that on. The surface groaned in a creepy way, but didn’t seem to give.
“Really not sure if I’m doing anything but…” Hale launched himself up and to the side as another tentacle swept past, “but it doesn’t like me, so I’m going to guess I’m doing something right!”
*****
SR-71, Over the North Sea
“Base, Striker One.”
“Striker One, go for base.”
Brolin checked the numbers with a slight tilt of his head before he looked out over the darkness of the water below. In the distance the lights of the coast of Germany were visible, closing fast.
“Striker One is about to go feet dry over Germany. ETA to target… Ninety Seconds.”
“Roger that, Striker One. Be aware, target has deployed air defense assets against The Marine. He advises that you be ready to dodge.”
Brolin snorted, “Roger, Base.”
Like they’d have a chance in hell of dodging anything in a Sled. Speed was their only real defense, the Bird wasn’t build for maneuverability, but the proprieties had to be kept up he supposed.
“You have anything on the scopes?” He asked over his shoulder.
“Negative contacts beyond the authorized and expected,” Beakman responded. “Lot of commercial traffic, most of it is bolting like hell to get out of the engagement zone, thank God. Nothing at all over Berlin right now.”
“Isn’t that just peachy?” Brolin asked rhetorically. “Alright, Base, this is Striker One. We’re inbound on the target, requesting permission to clear the payload.”
“Permission granted for conditional payload clearance,” the operator at base responded instantly.
Brolin grimaced as he tapped in the clear codes, but wasn’t surprised that it was conditional. “Roger base. Weapons are… Hot. Say again, weapons are hot.”
“Base confirms, weapons are hot, striker one.”
The channel closed, leaving the two men sitting in quiet for a moment.
“So…” Beakman broke the silence. “We’re now sitting on three live nuclear warheads… and they haven’t decided if we’re allowed to fire them yet?”
“Pretty much,” Brolin said laconically.
“You know,” Beakman said, “I’ve had literal nightmares that went something like this.”
“You’ve had nightmares about engaging a giant space jellyfish over Berlin? One sec,” Brolin asked, masking his amusement as he toggled the radio back on. “Base, Striker One. We are Feet Dry over Germany.”
“Confirm Feet Dry, Striker One.”
The switch toggled off.
“Not that literal, and you know what I mean,” Beakman continued when the channel was clear.
Brolin wobbled his head back and forth, something he knew his RIO would be able to see and interpret.
“Sorry, misunderstood.”
“My ass, you did.”
*****
Berlin
“Can you drive that thing?” Tessa asked, looking skeptical.
“No problem,” Malcolm answered back with a thumbs up. “Just point me to the target, babe!”
“Don’t call me babe, asshole,” Tessa growled, nodding to Pitr. “Give him the target he asked for.”
Pitr nodded, looking up to the sky to get his bearings before he swept his hand across the air and opened another tear. He ignored the howling wind that erupted as he did, steadying himself against the force sucking him into the tear. After a moment, he gestured again, then nodded.
“Ok!” He yelled, “You’re good!”
The big diesel motor roared to life as Malcolm gunned the engine of the tractor trailer and shifted gears. They ground horribly, but with a jerky motion, the truck started forward.
“Hang on,” Malcolm called, “I’ve got it… almost… hang on, I think that’s the right gear…”
Tessa groaned, palming her face as she turned away so she wouldn’t have to watch the mess unfold. After a moment the grinding stopped, mostly, and the truck was rolling forward in first gear. She doubted they’d get more than that, but it was all they needed.
The truck slowly picked up speed, rolling up to the tear at thirty or forty kilometers an hour before it went right one through, Malcolm screaming joyfully the whole way.
“Jippi!”
When the truck was gone, Tessa looked at Pitr as he closed the tear.
“Wasn’t he supposed to jump out of the truck before it went through?” She asked.
Pitr shook his head, “It’s Malcolm
.”
“Ah.”
*****
Hale drove his fists down again, slamming into the surface of the target with all the power he could manage. He felt the hit shake and reverberate through the thing, but couldn’t seem to really get the feel for how much, if any, damage he was causing.
This is one tough sun of a bitch, Hale growled as he made some distance and got ready to hit it again.
Midway through the next charge, though, a whistling sound and something familiar but not quite caused him to pull up and look around. At the last moment, he looked up and Hale’s eyes widened as he spotted a tanker truck plunging right at him.
He bolted to one side as it went by, staring at the driver who was screaming at the top of the lungs while smacking the side of the door with…
Where did he get a cowboy hat, I wonder?
The truck went on past him, slamming into the top of the target and crushing into it. Some sort of liquid sprayed everywhere, while the debris just flopped over and came a rest.
“Hale?”
“Yeah?” He answered the call a little dully.
“Was that a tractor trailer that just fell onto the target?”
“Yeah.”
“The target that is currently at fifteen thousand feet and climbing?”
“Yeah.”
A long pause from the comm pretty much summed up his thoughts at the moment before Pierson came back.
“What the hell?”
“I don’t know,” Hale answered honestly, looking up again to make sure another wasn’t about to fall on him.
*****
Malcolm reappeared in a puff of smoke by the other two, and then joined them in looking up at the sky.
“Huh,” Pitr said.
“Where’s the explosion?” Tessa asked, pouting again. “I was expecting an explosion?”
“I don’t know,” Pitr admitted, “What was in that tanker?”
“Diesel I think,” Malcolm said, putting the cowboy hat on.
Pitr nodded thoughtfully, “Let’s try one with petrol next.”
“Would you get rid of that stupid hat!?” Tessa snapped, grabbing for the offending item of clothing.
“Never!” Malcolm called out, teleporting away from her reach in a puff of smoke.
“That idiot gets on my nerves…” Tessa growled, shaking her head.
“Let him have his fun,” Pitr said flippantly, “doesn’t harm us either way.”
“He’s still annoying.”
*****
“Pardon me?” Brolin said, confused, “Say again, please.”
“Striker One, base advises that you watch out for… falling tanker trucks.”
Brolin shook his head, half turning around.
“Don’t look at me,” Beakman objected, “I heard the same think you did!”
Brolin was trying to think if there was anything in the codebook that covered that.
“Base,” He said, “I’m not familiar with that code phrase…”
“It’s not a code, Striker One,” The man on the other end said, sounding exasperated, “I know what it sounds like, but a frigging tanker truck fell out of the sky and hit the target. Just… watch out, ok?”
“Uh… Roger that.” Brolin said slowly before closing the connection and looking over his shoulder. “Seriously? We’re at Angels EIGHTY. What the hell is wrong with the world that we have to watch out for a tanker truck at Eighty thousand feet!?”
“Colonel,” Beakman said wearily, “we’re in a Sled, doing Mach five point three, eighty thousand feet over Europe, with orders to nuke a target over German airspace. Frankly, falling tanker trucks are the least screwed up part of my day.”
Brolin grimaced, “I really hate it when you make sense. It usually means the world is about to fall in on us somehow.”
He risked a glance up through the cockpit, just to make sure that wasn’t actually about to happen.
*****
The probe did the mental equivalent of a confused blink as it ran back recordings of the last few moments, trying to determine what in the stellar masses had just happened.
Mechanical conveyance, organic hydrocarbon substance… likely used as fuel.
Flight capability… negative.
Object… launched at probe?
Trajectory analysis… negative.
Object… dropped on probe.
The probe locked up briefly, unable to determine by what means of conveyance the object had been lifted to the appropriate height only to be dropped. The situation made little sense to any of its calculations, and was honestly more of an annoyance than the far more damaging strikes being carried out by the currently targeted individual
The probe shunted that question aside for the moment and put its full focus on the more annoying current target.
*****
Berlin
Hale didn’t know what was going on, but he was starting to get used to that feeling and so he decided to go with it.
Forget the tanker truck, not my problem right now.
The space jelly was moving away from Berlin, which was good actually since they didn’t want to nuke the city. His job had just been to delay it while the SR-71 got into position, and from what he was told that had been accomplished.
Now he wanted to see just what he could do…
“Whoa!” Hale yelped, ducking fast under a tentacle sweep that whipped past him with a crack that reminded him he wasn’t the only thing around that treated the sound barrier like a stepping stone to bigger and better things.
He saw the next one coming and flew into it, angling to catch the tentacle closer to its base, where it was moving slower. It still hit hard as he got his arms around it, teeth bared as he powered away from the space jelly at full speed, holding on as tightly as he could.
He wasn’t quite able to hit Mach One before he reached the end of the tentacle’s length and was abruptly yanked up short. Hale strained harder, yelling through the exertion, and kept on pulling. Slowly, the felt the entire jelly fish thing being towed off course in response. He was actually surprised that he had the strength to actually pull the damn thing.
Apparently it wasn’t too happy about being pulled, however, as Hale felt a burst of energy jolt through him like it had hit him with earlier, almost making him let go. At the last moment, Hale tightened his grip and screamed from both the pain and the exertion as he willed himself forward as hard and fast as he could manage.
The jelly lurched in response, being tugged along briefly, and then a tearing sound filled the air just before Hale burst free of both the weight and the pain he was enduring. He pivoted some distance away, looking first at the iridescent tentacle in his grip, and then back at the source.
The Marine smiled, lifting the tentacle over his head, and rushed back in.
*****
USSOCOM Bunker, Virginia
The Air Force General was groaning, head buried in his hands, while Isaacs patted him on the back with an air of amusement.
“He literally just ripped an arm off that thing and is proceeding to beat it to death with it.”
Pierson sighed, but couldn’t deny what the General was saying.
“Why did it have to be a god damned Marine who got those abilities?” The Air Force man asked. “Why not someone sensible like, I don’t know, anyone else?”
“Be fair now, Joe,” Isaacs laughed, “It looks to be decently effective. Besides, what was he supposed to do? We don’t exactly mount rails on our boys so they can carry air to air missiles into battle.”
The general shot him a dirty look, “that’s at least partly because if we did, we’d have to stop your Marines from using the missiles for sword fights.”
Isaacs shrugged, but didn’t deny it.
“Every channel is running this, and most of them have come to the same basic conclusion we did a few months ago,” The NSA analyst stated, nodding to the screen. “The current consensus is that the Marine there is fighting a space alien that has something
to do with the powers that have been popping up all over the place.”
Pierson nodded, “Well we didn’t really think we’d be able to keep that in the bag for much longer anyway. Reactions?”
“So far, not enough data,” The NSA man said simply. “Which is actually a data point.”
“What?”
“Everyone went quiet, Ma’am. Riots around the world have begun to peter out in a big way. People are watching this, a lot of people are watching this.”
Pierson rubbed his face, unsurprised by that statement, they’d already seen that effect just during the earlier fights. This was going to blow everyone’s minds.
“Numbers?” She asked, almost scared of the answer.
“A little hazy after three billion,” The NSA analyst responded. “Frankly, at this point I feel safe betting that more than half the planet is watching this in action. I’m just not sure how much more.”
Pierson felt sick to her stomach.
No way I’m telling Hale that, She decided.
He might just get stage fright knowing that many people were watching… or, worse, he might not.
Damn marine might decide to show off for the crowd, She thought, rolling her eyes.
“Alright, we knew people were going to be watching, so nothing’s changed,” She said firmly. “Hale is still our front man on this, and despite the work put into the Blackbird with air to air nukes, I suspect he’s our best shot at ending whatever the hell this twisted bullshit is.”
“Do you really believe it can be ended?” Isaacs asked, his quiet voice stilling the room as they all considered what he’d said.
Pierson let out a slightly annoyed huff of air as she thought about that, then shook her head, “Likely not, at least in the short term. The changes that were induced in people aren’t going away, even if we take out the source. That means that we’re going to have to deal with a lot of extremely violent, super human, types for the foreseeable future. Even the good ones, the ones on our side, fit that profile you have to understand. People with high aggression factors seem to be the commonality here.”
“We’d noticed,” Isaacs said dryly. “What no one seems to have figured out is why, however.”
“Only a few things it could be, I suppose,” She responded. “Possibly it has to do with the requirements for editing the changes into the genome, some sort of limit to the technology that means it can only be applied to the hyper-aggressive…”
