Tomorrow War

by Maloney, Mack;

  But ever since this mission began, he’d craved alcohol like never before. More than food. Or sleep. Or oxygen. So he had this odd thing factored in: He was walking through this mission partially bombed. Could this be causing the strange been-here/done-this feeling? Or was the reverse true? Was he drinking so much because this ultra déjà vu was just too much to handle sober?

  He slurped his glass of brandy and tried to shake all of these weird thoughts from his mind. The answer will come soon enough, he told himself.

  Or as a song once put it: “Just wait, maybe the answer’s looking for you.”

  He leaned down to refill his brandy glass, and when he looked up again, he saw the door to the bathroom slowly opening.

  Ah, yes. There was a third factor in all this …

  And she was about to come out of the door.

  Emma. She was beautiful. She was sexy. She was young. Her body was almost childlike—both to Y’s shame and delight. She was so sweet, he had a hard time convincing himself that she was part of the world’s oldest profession. She had such an aura about her—the perfect virgin image—that anytime he kissed her, or touched her, or did anything to her, it really seemed like it was the first time she’d ever experienced it.

  Or at least that’s how it seemed to him. But what would he know? He was drunk all the time and possibly losing his mind.

  The door finally opened, and there she stood in the faint light of the bare bulb behind her. Hair in pigtails, just a very short T-shirt covering her, she actually put her finger to her mouth and smiled nervously.

  Y gulped his drink and poured another, and then reached for her hand and guided her to the bunk.

  This would be their fifth night together, yet it always seemed like the first. How strange was that? Here he was, feeling like he was doing all this before, yet when he was with Emma it always seemed like the first time.

  If this is going nuts, then book me first class, he thought as she snuggled up to him.

  She removed the t-shirt, and Y’s heart nearly came up through his throat when he saw her erotically small breasts. More brandy, and then he kissed her. She sipped his drink and then moved her hands south of his belt.

  “Do you ever dream?” he heard a voice ask.

  He startled himself—he had asked the question.

  “What do you mean?” Emma asked back sweetly—freezing her hands in position.

  Y wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know why he asked the question at a time when no questions needed to be asked—never mind one so … philosophical?

  “I guess I mean, what do you dream about … when you dream?”

  Emma propped her head up on her hand and actually snuggled a bit closer to him. She stared off into the distance.

  “Well, I dream a lot about when I was growing up,” she said. “We lived all over Asia. Kong Hong, mostly. It was such fun growing up the way I did.”

  “You talk like it was a million years ago,” Y said. “Not just two or three.”

  “It seems like a million,” she said. “Especially after being captured by those pirates.”

  She was suddenly hugging him tightly.

  “What would have happened if you didn’t rescue me?” she asked, tears choking her words for the moment.

  Y hugged her back. There was an extremely warm feeling welling up inside him.

  God, he thought.

  Was he … falling … in love?

  “But I also have very strange dreams,” she said, breaking his line of concentration.

  “Strange in what way?”

  She thought another moment.

  “Well, I have one that keeps coming back to me every few months,” she said. “What do you call that? Reinventing?”

  “Reoccurring,” he corrected her.

  “Yes, that’s it!” she said excitedly. “It keeps ‘reoccurring.’ Sometimes a couple times a week. It’s very strange.”

  Y was suddenly interested in something more than a drink or getting his oil changed.

  “What is it, this dream?” he asked her. “Tell me about it.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, it’s too silly. Too weird.”

  Y sat up and took her in his arms. “Tell me,” he said.

  She looked up at him with her huge blue eyes and just shrugged.

  “It’s going to sound very strange,” she began. “But I’m always sitting in a very small room. There is a man with a gun hiding behind the door. I’m wearing a negligee but it is very cold outside, and the window to this room is wide open. I can see out the window, and there are mountains that go up so high, it looks like the stars are below their peaks.

  “And I’m very frightened, because the man with the gun is telling me that he’ll kill me if I make a sound. But on the other hand, I’m not so frightened because someone is on the other side of the door and I’m sure he is going to save me.

  “And sure enough, the door swings open and he walks in. He looks at me and I look at him, and it’s as if we know each other. As if we had sailed on a ship—a ship like this one—sometime before. But he really doesn’t remember. Then he spots the guy with the gun. And the guy grabs me and carries me out the window!

  “Well, this hero guy chases after the bad guy—so the bad guy leaps from the window to the roof of the next building. I don’t know how he didn’t drop me. We just sail through the air like we were made to fly. And this is really weird—I think this has a sexual connection … is that the right word?”

  “Connotation …,” Y told her.

  “Yes, that’s it,” she said. “I see this huge bird flying over us as we are going from one building to the other. It’s like a dinosaur bird. Real long beak, long weird sharp wings.”

  Y poured out another glass of brandy for them to share, but wound up draining it himself.

  “A pterodactyl?” he said, his speech slurring badly.

  “Yes, maybe,” she said. “Anyway, the hero guy starts shooting everything and everybody, and he’s able to get me away from the bad guys. But then these airplane bombers come and they start dropping bombs right on top of us. And the building we are on starts to collapse. But the hero guy holds onto me—and we somehow land on the street without getting hurt. And here are these huge things blowing up all around us, and there are firemen and they are pouring milk onto the fires! Isn’t that strange?

  “Well, after that, we just go to where ever the heck I’m living in this weird town, and we are going to … you know … well, do it … and then some guys the hero knows come and get him. I think they are Russians. And they take him to go fly someplace. And, well, and that’s it …”

  She paused for a second.

  “But you know the weirdest thing about all this?” she asked. “This hero guy. I find out what his name is. In the dream. I knew him. And his name was Hawk … which is really odd now because that’s the name of this friend of yours that you’re trying to find out here. Right?”

  But Y never heard her.

  The brandy had gotten to him.

  He’d passed out long ago.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE NEXT DAY DAWNED bright and clear.

  The Gulf of Tonkin was shimmering in the rising sun, the calm water reflecting the first rays like millions of diamonds stretched across the horizon.

  The deck of the carrier was very busy. The HellJet bomber that had been converted to a cargo carrier was packed to the rivets with provisions, weapons, communications equipment, and ammo.

  The crew had been shorn down from thirteen to four. All the onboard weapons-delivery systems had been replaced with extra fuel tanks. The ratio for the four double-reaction engines had been ratcheted down to make for better air cruising as it was not expected that this particular aircraft would be doing any high-speed, high-altitude dive-bombing anytime soon.

  There was a small gathering of principals near the nose of the huge bomber. The Jones boys were there, as were Crabb, Zoltan, Bro Baulis, and the commander of the Irish tugboats.

 
These men had met through the night, planning the mission that lay ahead. While the preset airplane flight was going to lead to places unknown, all agreed that it was paramount that they stay in touch with the carrier. So it was determined that the carrier/tugboat/seaplane melange would pull up anchor and head south into the Gulf of Thailand. From there, unless otherwise informed, the triad would head west, around Singapore, through the Straits of Malacca, and into the Indian Ocean, if need be.

  The odd task force would find protection in the remaining AirCats on board. At various times it was agreed that the Bro-Bird would unhitch from its towing duties and take to the air as a kind of long-range recon platform. With its sophisticated radio and TV gear, it was hoped that the aerial diversion by the huge seaplane would provide those on the Z-16 with a receiver from which they could send and get secure messages.

  This way the progress of the Z-16 could be monitored, no matter where it might lead. Or at least that was the plan ….

  It was now 0630 hours. Those taking the ride back to Long Bat were ready to go—all except one person.

  No one had seen Y since earlier the previous evening. Now several crew members had gone below looking for him. Five minutes passed while those on the deck cooled their heels and waited impatiently for the wayward OSS officer. He finally appeared on deck at 0645. The mission was already fifteen minutes late in taking off.

  Y had to be helped onto the deck by one crewman holding him under one arm, and Emma, looking sporty in a pair of very small, very tight combat fatigues, holding him under the other. Y was drunk, but trying his best to look sober. The Jones boys had no reaction; Zoltan and Crabb cringed at the sight of their friend. With little ceremony he was helped aboard the HellJet, his briefcase communication Boomer box stowed away with him. That’s when Emma began climbing aboard—and that’s when the Jones boys spoke up.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Seth Jones said as politely as possible. “But under the circumstances, I don’t think that—”

  “She’s coming,” Y interrupted him.

  Everyone turned back to Y slouched in his seat, already strapped in, eyes barely open.

  “Do you really think that is wise?” Dave Jones asked him.

  Y’s eyes suddenly came to life.

  “I don’t give a fuck whether it’s wise or not,” he roared. “I’m top dog here and I say she’s coming.”

  The Jones boys froze in place. What was going to happen here? The mission could go on without them, but it would become infinitely more dangerous without their support.

  Dave Jones stepped up. “For what reason should she come?” he plainly asked Y.

  Y leaned back and looked at the ceiling of the airplane. “Let’s just say she’ll function as a good-luck charm,” he said slowly.

  The Jones boys contemplated this, then Seth said: “Oh, really? Do you mind if we get an expert opinion on that?”

  This comment caused Y to open his eyes a bit farther.

  “Expert opinion?” he asked, slurring his words. “From who?”

  They all turned to Zoltan, whose face sank a mile.

  “Well, swami?” Dave Jones asked. “Is she going to be an asset or a liability if she comes along? What’s your crystal ball say about that one?”

  Zoltan looked a good long time at Y, then at Emma, and then at the Jones boys. It seemed like everything just stopped. The wind. The sound of the sea. Even the HellJet’s whisper engines seemed to go down a notch in volume.

  Zoltan closed his eyes, tranced for a few seconds, then opened them again.

  He had a surprise announcement.

  “Not only should Emma accompany us,” he declared, “but I suggest we take along four of her companions, as well!”

  There were still a few mercs left at Long Bat when the converted HellJet cargo plane landed.

  These stragglers were part of the sick-bay crew left behind to heal one more day and pull double duty by guarding what was left of their former position and the cavern nearby. Sunning themselves now beside the newly tranquil runway, the handful of mercs—French Nationals all—watched as the huge dive-bomber bounced in, roared by them, and came to a halt at the end of the runway, where the large cavern now lay open, the Z-16 having been pushed back inside.

  The HellJet dislodged an odd assortment of passengers—to the mercs’ eyes anyway. First they saw two men in pilot’s garb leap off, both were carrying full packs and several infantry weapons. Next came two men in jungle fatigues, both seemed a bit too old and too out of shape to be in any kind of military organization. They were followed by five prostituées—beautiful painted ladies—which had the mercs salivating like a squad of Pavlov’s hounds.

  The last to embark was a man in an air officer’s uniform. He was so obviously drunk, two of the women were seen helping him just to stay vertical.

  The strange group retreated into the darkness of the cavern as the HellJet cargo plane turned 180 degrees and took off with a blast of raw power. No sooner was it airborne when it was met by four of the fierce-looking AirCat fighters. Together the five airplanes began orbiting the now peaceful moonlike valley.

  Five minutes passed. Then a huge roar was heard from the cavern. There was an explosion of smoke and a flash of flame, and suddenly the Z-16 airplane shot out of the cave opening like a bullet out of a gun.

  It went by the mercs so quickly, the wind in its wake left a half-dozen tiny tornadoes to wreak havoc on the recovering soldiers, scattering their meager belongings, and in some cases, taking the cigarettes right from their mouths.

  The Z-16 then left the ground with another roar of its double-reaction engines. There was a second burst of smoke and flame, and suddenly the airplane was hurtled upward, its long wings beginning to flap like some kind of mechanical gooney bird as it soared away.

  The plane never did level off—it just kept climbing at a forty-five-degree angle, finally disappearing from the mercs’ view not a minute after it had left the ground. The orbiting airplanes, seemingly startled and taken by surprise by the Z-16’s sudden acceleration, all kicked in their own double-reaction engines and were soon in hot pursuit of the strange climbing aircraft.

  And then, just as quickly, Long Bat was quiet again. The wind began blowing a bit, and the sun returned to its murderous intensity. The wounded mercs went back to their lounging and their cigarettes.

  Only a couple kept their eyes on the sky, trying to see the last of the strange group of airplanes, which had come and gone so quickly.

  “Those Americans,” one soldier said at last, as all visual trace of the six aircraft finally disappeared. “Always in a hurry to go nowhere.”

  CHAPTER 22

  BY NOON ON THE second day of his journey, Viktor’s small open boat had traveled nearly five hundred miles.

  He was no stranger to the currents in this part of the world—he’d sailed the very south Atlantic many times while on board the huge ship with many rowers. But even he was astonished at the speed that his boat was moving.

  He had a pair of oars aboard, but he had not yet had to use them. As soon as he cleared the shallows around West Falkland Island, he’d picked up a convenient southwesterly breeze, which soon had him traveling at a rather amazing forty knots.

  Somewhere around the Burrwood Banks, he picked up an even stronger wind, which added another fifteen knots to his already very rapid pace. He was going so fast at some points, he had to put his head between his legs just to get a good breath of air. Never had he imagined he would have made this much headway in so short a time.

  The boat was holding together just fine. Its sturdy construction, superior wood, and double fasteners made it so solid, Viktor could hardly hear a squeak. His mast was also doing well—it was made of zylon and would resist tearing under the most violent situations. Or so he hoped.

  And lastly the ocean itself was cooperating. For even though the wind was blowing at a howl, the surface of the sea itself was unusually calm, with hardly a wave or swell. And all this, while going against one of the
strongest currents on the planet—it was enough to make Viktor question whether everything he was experiencing here was natural.

  It was almost as if … and it sounded silly to even think it … but it seemed like a massive hand was pushing him along, massive lips blowing on his sail, giving him a speed that would be the envy of any vessel captain, big or small, wind-powered or not.

  All of this conspired to keep Viktor’s mind on sailing rather than where he was going. The truth was, he didn’t have the faintest idea. Something deep inside him—way, way down deep in his soul—had told him, no … commanded him to get in a boat and head west, and that’s what he was doing.

  He was a stranger in this world. He had little knowledge of the weird events that passed as commonplace in this universe. He’d seen some odd things during his time aboard the ship with many rowers—but he knew little of what would be considered otherworldly here. Or better said, what activity would seem to his eyes paranormal, but to anyone else simply “normal.”

  He was about to get a huge lesson on this topic.

  The trouble started when the sun went down.

  It took awhile for him to actually enter the darkness. He was moving so fast that he was almost keeping pace with the sun’s descent. But finally he watched he huge red ball dip below the western horizon. After that, night fell very quickly.

  The stars came out almost all at once, and suddenly he was moving just as swiftly under a tapestry of spinning constellations and absolutely blazing galaxies.

  He sailed along like this—wind in his hair, tickling his goateed face—when he detected a slight turbulence in the water in front of him. It was a wave—a big one—and he was heading right for it.

  It actually came upon him so quickly, there was little he could do but ride up and over it, which he did, with much heart pounding. The swell was at least twenty feet high, frightening enough for Viktor’s eyes to start searching in every direction for any similar monstrous curls.