by Tyler Leslie
Davis hurriedly looked around the room. Jukk was right; only one pod remained docked.
The mining station he had called his home for two years was located deep in the bottom of the Marianna Trench and was one of several MikkaDyne deep sea mining facilities in the Pacific Ocean. The escape pods were supposed to hold only one person each, and were designed to keep the occupant safe from the crushing deep-sea pressure.
Knowing that Jukk was only seconds away from panicking and leaving him behind, Davis dove through the hatch leading to the pod, motioning for Jukk to follow. The ride to the surface would be incredibly cramped, but was certainly better than the alternative. Surprisingly, Jukk offered no resistance whatsoever, and began to slip his feet into the tiny craft.
The specific details of what happened next would always elude Davis, and would haunt his dreams for months. As Jukk was positioning himself for insertion into the pod, a long, thin, shiny black tendril snaked its way through the air, spearing Jukk through the chest and dragging him back into the mining facility. He didn’t even have time to scream.
Blood spattered everywhere, sketching macabre art-deco paintings on the inside of the pod. Davis screamed in surprise and despair. What on earth had just happened? He had never liked Jukk, but the man hadn’t deserved to die like that.
Without thinking, his hands flitting over the controls like some other force was guiding them, Davis slammed the door to the hatch and launched the pod into the deep blackness of the Marianna Trench, leaving the misery of MikkaDyne Deep Sea Mining Station 9 forever behind him.
The President of the United States stood rigidly before the cameras as he had done countless times before. Unfortunately, the news he was now entitled to give the nation was anything but pleasant. He raised his hands, silencing the throngs of reporters that inevitably swamped him on occasions such as this.
“People of America, and indeed the entire world, I come to you with some very unsettling news.” He glanced at the tele-prompt for the slightest of seconds, making sure his facts were correct. “As of 5:35 a.m. Pacific Time yesterday, the world has come under attack from an unknown race of sentient beings. They first struck at a deep-sea mining facility in the depths of the Pacific Ocean, and since then have gone on to wreak havoc upon several Pacific oil rigs and mining facilities. As of this time there have been no reports of attacks on land, but we believe it to be only a matter of time before they strike against the men and women of our beautiful and sacred country…”
CHAPTER 2
Firebase 00 Beta 8, AKA Firebase Davenport
June 22, 2047
Five months after the first attack
It seemed as if the end of days was approaching. No matter where Davis looked, in all directions, squads of privates were endlessly arriving and departing the main training field located in the middle of Firebase 00 Beta 8, officially known as Firebase Davenport.
Davis had to force himself not to spit in disgust. The pompous fool CEO of MikkaDyne, Prince Davenport, had named the base after himself. To what lows could the man sink—did he know no bounds?
His story was legendary—the English prince who forsook his crown in favor of American capitalism. Most hailed him as the greatest genius to grace mankind, the kind of man myths were born from. Davis however, knew the truth. The man was nothing more than the world’s greatest narcissist, placing more value on himself than the collected citizens of the entire country. MikkaDyne controlled nearly every single aspect of American business. There were few other companies; almost all the others had fallen to the prince’s shrewd business acumen. He had simply bought the opposition out. Now, it seemed, MikkaDyne had decided to take over the military too. It was common knowledge that the Prince had more power than even the President, making the man in the White House nothing more than a comforting nostalgic figure. His real purpose was nonexistent, unless one counted the position he still likely held in the minds of the rest of the world.
MikkaDyne was international, but the President was still ruler of the free world as far as most non-Americans were concerned. Davis knew that wouldn’t last much longer. In fact, if the Prince were to wake tomorrow and decide to crown himself Emperor of the World, Davis would be little surprised. He shook his head, clearing the notion, turning his attention away from the Prince and back to the situation at hand.
The base was located in the heart of Washington; its placement seemed to have been picked to ensnare the trainees in the most unforgiving of climates. Due to the base’s location in the middle of a deep valley, the cold was hard, biting. It almost seemed sentient, and had the incredibly annoying ability to burrow deep into even the thickest of garments, finding the cracks and chilling the skin beneath to the bone.
Davis was one of 20 new cadets in his group. The group, the self-titled Warhawks, was a close—knit bunch of young men and women. They had spent nearly half a year together in the pre-training phase, and the ride from the east coast to the firebase had been terribly long. Long, but oddly wonderful. It gave the cadets a perfect opportunity to forge new friendships and strengthen existing ones. It had given them closeness in a time of adversity.
Their transport, an ancient yet somehow still serviceable APC, had long since disappeared over the crags of the mountain range. Davis felt, for the briefest of moments, a pang of regret. The APC had been their home for more than just the ride over here, it had lorried them to and from their engagements in pre-training, and every single one of the cadets had formed a sort of attachment to it. It was likely they would never see it again. What a pity.
He looked over at his friend Ricky Belmont. The man was tall, taller even than Davis’ 6 feet 4 inches. He sported, as usual, a ridiculous mustache. It was overgrown to the point of being more of a bush than a gentleman’s mustache, yet the man loved it so much no amount of ridicule could force him to remove it. His blue eyes held the sort of warmth Davis had rarely had the pleasure to witness, and his voice carried with it the tones of authority. He was as much a leader as anyone Davis had ever met.
“What do you think they’ve got planned for us?” Davis asked, slightly concerned. The three training officers standing in front of the group looked agitated, and spoke amongst themselves in hushed whispers, eyeing the cadets and no doubt cracking jokes about them. Despite the unforgiving cold, all three were dressed in less than proper attire: all sported shorts with holes in them, and sleeveless T-shirts that seemed far too tight to be comfortable.
Ricky grunted and offered a thin smile in return. He seemed every bit as agitated as Davis felt. This was very disconcerting. As far back as Davis could remember, there had never been a single situation in which Ricky had become flustered. His cool was legendary amongst the group. For him to be this unsettled spoke volumes of what was likely about to befall the cadets.
The officers consisted of two men and a woman. Oddly enough, it was the woman who seemed the most threatening. It was something in the way she carried herself, like a panther ready to pounce at any moment. Davis knew instantly he wanted nothing more than to stay out of her path.
The two men seemed more relaxed, more ready to take control of a situation instead of bludgeoning it into submission. The one standing to the woman’s left had sandy blonde hair cut so short it seemed as if he had smeared his head with sand before leaving the barracks. He was very heavily built, and seemed to be at least as tall as Davis was. Even from this distance the intelligence sparking from his eyes was impressive. He seemed, of the group, the most worldly and capable.
The third man was something of a conundrum to Davis. He was very short, even shorter than the woman, and had long black hair that brushed his shoulders. As far as Davis knew, military protocol banned excessive amounts of hair, favoring cuts like the one the blonde man sported. It was incredibly odd to see someone, an officer no less, fly in the face of the rules with such bravado. The man shifted his weight to and from his left leg as i
f he were full of adrenaline and aching for combat. His eyes revealed nothing; they were simply cold and lifeless. Davis suddenly wasn’t sure who he was more wary of, him or the woman. It didn’t really matter, as only time would tell, and the officers seemed about to begin their first lesson.
The man on the right—the short, dark haired one, took a few steps forward, and began assessing the cadets with his eyes. After a few moments a scowl formed on his face, and he spoke.
“Has there been some kind of mistake? How could it be possible that this unkempt group of ruffians has been cleared for duty in our wonderful military?” He began pacing up and down in front of the group. “You seem like nothing more than children, barely old enough to have stopped breast-feeding. The look in most of your eyes is one of wild-eyed fear and curiosity.” He spat on the ground in the direction of the group. “Every year I think the cadets couldn’t possibly get more worthless, more pathetic. It seems I was once again, wrong.” He turned and walked back into position beside the woman, the look of scorn still plastered across his face.
This time, the woman stepped forward. “I agree with Lieutenant Marks; this seems to be the most ill-conceived, cruel joke the prince has played on us yet. Give me strength. I don’t think I can do it again. Not with this group of whimpering fools. I am Lieutenant Regina Tavish, but you are to refer to me in no way other than the Goddess Who Defines Your Lives for the next few months.”
She began pacing in front of the group exactly as Lt. Marks had done. “I think it’s time we laid some ground rules.” She held one of her gloved hands in the air, index finger pointing skyward like an ICBM ready to launch. “First, and most importantly, not one of you is to address any of your superiors directly. If a question is asked, you are to veil the response in indirection.”
She slowly eyed the cadets one by one. “I can see you don’t understand; let me make an example.” She walked to one of the cadets in the front row, a stocky man named William Yakes. Everyone called him Billy, and he was one of the most beloved members of the group. No one could tell stories like Billy, and as such he was always the preferred storyteller when the time for a fireside meeting was upon them. He was barely taller than Regina, but held himself as if he towered over her. Despite this, he seemed about three feet shorter than she was, such was her overpowering presence. “You are quite heavily muscled, yes? Spend much time in the gym during pre-training?”
Billy swallowed before answering. “Yes Ma’am!” He yelled as though his life depended on it.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes MA’AM!” Billy yelled so loudly Davis was sure he felt the ground shake.
Instead of a response, Regina, without any telltale sign, threw a devastating punch to Billy’s midsection. He groaned, eyes bulging, and doubled over from the pain.
“You fool! You addressed me directly. Didn’t you hear what I just said?!” She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back to a standing position. “Let’s try this again. You are a heavily muscled one, yes? Spend much time in the gym during pre-training?”
Billy looked as if he were about to pass out. Regardless, he managed to yell as loudly as before, this time as if to the air. “Yes, this soldier has spent much time in the gym! He is proud of his physique, and can wrestle like none other in the group!”
Regina looked disgusted, but threw no punch this time. “A little more information than requested, but good.” She nodded, an action that somehow seemed to harbor less approval than her punch. She turned her attention once more to the group.
“You all disgust me. How pathetic are you? I have never in my life seen a more unworthy cadre of cadets. Tell you what. Let’s play a game. I don’t think we have been properly introduced yet.” She motioned to Lt. Marks, who jogged over to her, the look of scorn still dominating his expression.
“These cadets are soft, don’t you agree Marks? I think we should harden them up a little before we start the drills.”
A cruel smile that brought back memories of Davis’ mining days filled in Mark’s face. “My sentiments exactly, Lt. Tavish. What do you have in mind?”
“A little physical exercise. Twenty to one odds are a little steep even for a worthy, seasoned warrior such as myself. I was thinking we each take half of them. Ten to one is a ratio I can handle with ease.”
“Ten to one, are you growing soft yourself, Regina? Has old age slowed your mind as well as your body? I don’t think you could take even ten, but even so, I would love to watch you dispatch fifteen.”
Regina’s face nearly overflowed with anger; if her eyes were capable of firing bursts of plasma, Davis was sure Marks would be nothing more than a smoldering heap of ashes littering the field.
“Fifteen will be less arduous than flying a kite on a warm sunny afternoon. You have a deal, Marks. The remaining five are yours to play with.” Surprisingly, she actually smiled. It was a cold smile, however—the kind that serves as nothing more than a facade for ones’ true feelings.
“Done. Try not to strain yourself too much. We have a long day ahead of us still.”
Regina didn’t bother to respond; instead she addressed the cadets. “Alright, maggots, listen up! You no doubt heard the exchange between myself and Lt. Marks, but in case you were too stupid or inattentive to catch it, we are about to embark on the first steps of your journey to becoming United States soldiers. You are allowed to fight back. If you hold back out of some misguided respect for us, your pain will increase tenfold, understand?”
Without even giving the cadets a moment to respond, she launched her fist at Billy again, this time catching him square on the nose. He toppled over backward, knocking over the young woman behind him and eliciting a grunt of disapproval from Marks, who had yet to start his attack. Regina flew through the ranks of cadets like a banshee, chopping, kicking, and shouldering her way through them like a hot knife through butter. The cadets were startled to the point of inaction. They had never before witnessed such random brutality, and were overpowered by fear. Most ran from the wild officer, only to be knocked to the ground with a viciousness that Davis was certain surpassed the alien warriors they were training to fight.
Despite the response of his fellow cadets, Davis decided to make his mark the first day. This officer, Regina, was far too high and mighty for his taste, and he wanted nothing more than to take her down a few pegs, asserting his dominance over the group.
As he ran toward the mass of flailing limbs that designated Regina’s position, he stole a glance over his shoulder at Lt. Marks, who already stood above a writhing heap of five bodies, grimacing as if he had just personally witnessed the flight of the Enola Gay. When Davis turned his attention back to what was happening in front of him, he came face to face with a gloved fist. Regina’s left hook caught him entirely by surprise. How could she have gotten to him so fast? He had looked back for just a second, and she had been a good twenty feet from him.
He pondered this even as he fell to the ground, his head spinning. Her punch had caught him right on the left temple, and the world spun as if the Earth had been fitted with a supercharger. Regina stood over him, hands on hips, a cruel, yet playful smile etched across her face. She seemed about to say something, but was nearly caught off guard by a wild roundhouse kick from Ricky, who had taken the opportunity to sneak up on her. Despite the man’s subterfuge, she intercepted the kick with the grace of a world-class ballet dancer, sending him to the grass with a palm-hand to the nose. Blood trickled from the man’s face, and Davis knew he was out for the count.
Davis rose in anger. This was a ridiculous introduction to training; how dare these officers attack them like this? Were they intentionally trying to make the cadets fear and hate them? Davis knew it was so. Still, he intended to show Regina and the other officers that he feared no man, and was ready to take whatever the base threw at him. He got to his feet, attempting to mimic the grace that Regi
na had just demonstrated. Instead, he woozily lurched to the left, just barely gaining his balance in time to dodge a kick aimed for his shoulder. He dove to the ground, rolled, and came back up in a fighting stance. He had studied martial arts extensively before his enrollment in the military, and was certain he could take this woman in single combat.
Seemingly in response to his mental confidence, Regina flew into a series of punches, kicks, and chops that were all expertly fended off by Davis. His confidence grew with every block. This woman was far too arrogant for her own good. She might have dispatched every single member of his group, but she would not see Davis writhing on the ground in defeat. He began his own series of attacks, mentally reciting a Japanese proverb as he did so.
A single arrow is easily broken, but not ten in a bundle. Just as the proverb dictated, Davis launched into a series of patterned attacks that should have seen the sturdiest warrior on the floor, writhing in agony. Instead, Regina countered them all, finishing with a move that would perplex and confound Davis until the day he died. She flipped over his shoulder, and in a single motion grabbed his neck with her forearms, interlocking them and forcing Davis to the ground like a stone giant. He hit with such force it seemed as if his entire body had broken into a million pieces. Regina, on the other hand, rolled to safety, flipping back to a fighting stance, ready to counter with another impossible move. When she saw there was no chance of Davis retaliating, she walked slowly over to where he lay, standing over him with an indifferent expression, daring him to stand up and fight again.
Davis dared. It took considerable effort, but he managed to get to his feet again, swinging a clumsy right that was easily swatted away by Regina. She wasted no time in sending him back to the ground, using a high kick aimed at his solar plexus that not only knocked the wind out of him, but likely cracked a rib or two. Despite this, Davis refused to give up. He fought against the overwhelming dizziness and hauled himself once more to his feet, crouching in a fighting stance he knew would take all of his strength and composure to maintain. There was no winning this fight; that much was obvious. All Davis could hope for was to make an impression. He wanted to make this arrogant officer remember him for the rest of her time on this earth. He would later learn to regret this decision, for that is exactly what he was about to accomplish.
