by Jay Morris
“There! There they are! It’s working!”
She started jumping around laughing and calling out to whatever she thought she saw, yelling things like “Bye yall” and “Drive safely”, it was bizarre. All I could see were black clouds of flies swarming over the fetid remains.
After a bit Doc Mary came and took the woman by the arm and started to lead her back towards the convoy. Amy and I followed along behind. I heard the woman say,
“Hey! You’re an injun! I hear injuns are drunks, whores, and thieves!”
“Oh really?” Mary said in a calm voice.
“Yep, but that may not be so, you mighten only be a whore.” She said earnestly and nodding vigorously.
“Not in quite a while I’m afraid.” The Doc said.
“Oh, that’s too bad” the woman said in a truly sympathetic voice.
Several underling were waiting for us on the catwalk of each vehicle and from the bow of the lead one they had hung the huge American flag.
Day 49, Mount Weather, Area B-Vehicle Bay
Major Avett was a tall, bald, U.S. Air Force officer and a structural engineer. Not thin really, more wire rope than anything else. He had been assigned to the 96th Test Wing of the Air Force Test Center, Eglin Air Force Base, Florida. He had been working on a number of experimental depleted Uranium munitions platforms and held a Top Secret Security Clearance. He was given Sensitive Compartmented Information (SCI) or Special Access Program (SAP), otherwise known as “need-to-know” clearance, on a routine basis. The kind of things that most people really don’t want to know about.
That was then, now he was in charge of backed up toilets, vehicle tune-ups, and what has dominated his time for the last three weeks: How to get the DAMN Blast Doors open. He finally had figured it out, at least he thought he had. He had cannibalized the hydraulics from two portable heavy lift cranes to replace the failed/damaged pumps originally connected to the 20 ton vehicular access blast doors. The other option had been the 25 ton main entrance doors (the same ones as Cheyenne Mountain) so this way he got off 10,000 pounds cheaper. Now all he needed was that idiot Burwell to give him the go ahead and they could get the Hell out of there.
Day 50, The Hurtgenwald, 3:25 A.M.
The Da-Nah forces were moving cautiously through the trees, the hallowed ground, already soaked in the blood of 61,000 German and American soldiers, had once more turned into an arena where the future would be decided. That morning had seen more than two hundred Da-Nah technicians accompanied by eight Defenders begin the assault through the forest heading towards Bergstein where they thought a large number of Aggressives were hiding. It had been a trap.
The Aggressives were soldiers and civilians, male and female, young and old. They werefrom Germany, France, the Netherlands, Italy and Switzerland. They had been in contact with underling representatives and once the notes from the underling had been read by an English speaker things moved along rather quickly. The Da-Nah had been led into a disaster of their own design. They had learned at great cost the effectiveness of land mines, concertina wire, and heavy machine guns set in fixed locations. Now after almost 19 hours of unceasing combat, only 95 technicians and five Defenders had made it to their assigned destination, the sleepy village of Bergstein. Instead of a large group of defenseless families to eradicate, it was empty. But once inside the maze of narrow streets the trap was sprung, two large buses closed off the two main streets, the side streets already having been barricaded and manned. Three Belgian Herstal M2 .50 caliber heavy machine guns (actually manufactured in Columbia, South Carolina and were nothing more than Browning machine guns with Fabrique National Herstal nameplates) were positioned with overlapping fields of fire. These were augmented by an array of other small arms including assault and hunting rifles, shotguns, pistols, revolvers and one .58 caliber black powder flint lock musket.
For all that, the outcome was far from pre-determined. The lasers and binder guns of the Da-Nah had been improved upon and the Aggressives had suffered just as many casualties as the Da-Nah. The only armored vehicle the Aggressives had been able to field (a GIAT AMX-P10) had been destroyed by Defenders but not until it’s 20mm auto-cannon had shredded two of the giant biological weapons.
The Da-Nah were unaware of the defection of over 140 underling and the abduction of 62 of their youngest Da-Nah. The underling had successfully copied the model set forth by their brothers and sisters in North America and absconded with all of the Da-Nah siblings. The Da-Nah now trapped in Bergstein were unaware that their offspring were safe and unharmed, so when communications were allowed to be re-established all they knew was about the abduction. Using a communication pad and an underling to enter the message the Da-Nah were presented with a terrible choice. Immediate and total surrender or each and every Da-Nah offspring would be executed. The Da-Nah had never dealt with blackmail before. There were no protocols for it. Panic and confusion reigned but after 5 minutes the Da-Nah Directors from the eight pods (all from landing ships 23 and 24) , surrendered. For the Da-Nah to contemplate the death of their offspring was anathema to everything they held dear. The fact that the underling would never have allowed it, was not even considered by the Directors. It was the first time entire pods with all their equipment had been captured. In fact it was the first time intact Da-Nah vehicles had been captured outside of the United States.
When the Da-Nah followed their Defenders from the trap they had no idea what would happen, the leader present was Director 1 from landing ship 24. Weapons were stripped away from the aliens whose white bodies were flashing the colors of fear and giving the scent of apprehension and grief. The Defenders stood still, awaiting orders, three underlings walked up to them, and holding a communication pad next the left hip of each of the giant biological machines they got them to enter a truck repair bay and were put in what was the Defender equivalent of “pause”.
There were three leaders of the Aggressives, the senior of the three was Capt. Jean Delacroix, formerly of the French Navy’s Landing Assault Ship Tonnerre. There was to be a meeting with the Director 1, the Aggressives had considered actually executing the entire alien force but other alien pods were aware of what was happening, watching. The Aggressives decided that the aliens would be interred at in the Aachen (Soers) Penal Facility. It had been used by the German resistance for over a month and was very secure.
Director 1 of the 24th colonization ship waited for the Aggressives. He was remaining as calm as possible for his surviving technicians, he saw the Aggressives approaching with the despicable underling who had betrayed the Da-Nah in so foul a manner. The underling waited for the Aggressive to speak.
Bonjour, je suis le Capitaine Jean Delacroix, Marine française. Puis-je avoir votre nom et votre position.
The tallest Aggressive said in a firm voice and then a much shorter Aggressive, one of the large mammary gland types, translated his words into a thickly German accented English for the underling.
“Hello, my name is Captain Jean Delacroix, of the Navy of France, May I take your name and your place?”
The underling entered the Da-Nah translation of the English as best he was able into the pad and showed it to the impassive white alien. The alien towered over the Aggressives by at least two feet over the six foot Frenchman but only weighed ¾ of his gravity adjusted mass.
“Statement-Factual-Respectful Designation (this)-Personal
Conjunctive (Director 1, Genetic-of-the-Cross)
Permissive-Query-Directed-Da-Nah Designation-Conjunctive (Rank, Personal).”
The Da-Nah was surprised by the Aggressive’s polite tone and he answered the query just as formally.
“Statement-Factual-Designation-Conjunctive (Colonization Ship 24-Director 1, Personal Tha-Lat)”
A moment later the audible buzzes, clicks and hums of the Da-Nah were entered onto the pad and was shown to the small, curvy Aggressive. It read:
“My name is Tha-Lat (gray in the Stars), I am Coronel Director of the twenty groups of 4, original th
at which descended in landing ship number 24. {His colors indicate he feels his death is imminent and his scent is mixed and confused; apprehensive of and with a trace of resignation).”
The underling translation was very thorough.
The curvy Aggressive thought for a moment then said,
"Mon nom est Tha Lat (gris dans les étoiles), je suis directeur Coronel des vingt groupes de quatre, d'origine ce qui est descendu de se poser nombre de vingt-quatre navires. {Ses couleurs indique il sent sa mort est immiminent et son odeur est mélangé et confus; appréhension et avec une trace de démission) ".
The French officer considered things carefully then spoke again,
“S'il vous plaît informer "gris dans les étoiles" que lui et ses subordonnés seront transportés vers une installation sécurisée pas loin d'ici. Ils seront rejoints par les autres qu'ils ont laissés derrière avec leurs véhicules. S'il vous plaît dites-lui que aucun d'eux n'a été blessé et qui restera vrai tant que personne ne tente de s'échapper. Dites-lui qu'il aura droit à un tampon de communication pour nous faire part de tout les besoins spécifiques de ses personnes peuvent avoir besoin. Ensuite, demandez-lui s'il comprend ".
The German woman, whose name was Lynn, took a deep breath and said
"Please inform "gray in the stars" that he and his others will be transported to a safe place near here. They will be joined by the others they left behind. Please tell him that none of them has been injured and will remain true as long as nobody tries to run away. Tell him he is entitled to a communication buffer? To give us any specific needs of its people may need? Then ask him if he understands this and all.”
The woman shrugged, she had gotten most of the Soap-Dodger had said but ‘what can one do?’
The underling entered the Da-Nah translation of the English of the translation of the French into the pad and handed it to the Director 1, he read:
“Permissive-Statement-Factual-Directed (Indigenous-Aggressives, Director 1(Tha-Lat) )
Statement-Factual (Da-Nah, All)
Composite :{ Locative-Modification-Imminent (Da-Nah, Planetary-Segments-Quantity-Precise(.0028) - Magnetic-Reference-Quantity-Precise(.017),
Statement- Factual-Conditional (Da-Nah Termination-Quantity-Precise (0.00), Da-Nah-Independent-Locative-delta-Quantity-Precise (0.00),
Implicative-
(Statement-Factual-Conjunctive (Communication Pad, Da-Nah Requirements-Unknown), Permissive-Statements-Required-Quantity-Precise (1.0))};
Permissive-Query-Conjunctive (Da-Nah-Director 1, Statements-Previous-Amenable).”
The Da-Nah was shocked, he had anticipated being eaten or at the very least being killed and not necessarily in that order. He read it twice, just to assure himself of its contents then said to the underling,
“Statement-Multiple-Factual Amenable.”
This time the underling handed the pad to the Captain. It said,
“Okey-Dokey.”
Day 50, Convoy heading west, 8:30 A.M.
Amy and our new crew member stared at each other suspiciously. After at least fifteen different aliases (including a claim that she was Nelson Mandela) we finally agreed that her name was “Jodi Lynn Carter” and that she was born in Lansing, Michigan or maybe Sioux Falls, South Dakota, she said she hardly remembered being born at all. She was thirty four years old, 5 foot 8, and had nice, wavy hair (we thought it was dark brown but it turned out to be blond once it was washed). Her eyes were the palest blue I think I had ever seen, more like ice than anything else. She probably had been very pretty, maybe even beautiful before the Before, but now she was covered with scars and sores (luckily most looked superficial) and was incredibly, painfully thin.
The story she told us was fluid, it changed with every retelling. Family members, jobs, any detail about her at all seemed to be a reflection of the moment rather than a shadow of some underlying truth. After an hour of this we just gave up. The underling seemed shy around her, more so than usual anyway. But eventually they came around in ones and twos to inspect the new person. In contrast, Jodi was enthralled by the underling. She wanted to check them out more than they did her. She carried on long, one sided conversations with them, and she claimed she had to convince them not to proclaim her Queen of the Underling.
So after nearly five minutes of staring at each other Jodi asked Amy a simple question,
“So, how long have you been a bitch?”
Amy went nuts, I don’t think I ever understood the idea of a “cat fight” before that day, but let me tell you I do now. Eventually they separated, for half time I suppose, and that was when Jodi discovered our comatose friend, John Tucker.
“Oh my! I have been looking for you!” she exclaimed.
She ran to his immobile form and started running her hands over his bare chest and that was when I noticed that he seemed to be missing a fair amount of hair, from his arms, chest and legs. I wondered if the underling had shaved him or something.
“You know, you really should have called me back.” She giggled.
I had to stifle one myself. Amy however did not seem to find the humor in this.
I started to remove the tiny white Da-Nah toddlers from their Tucker-Roost and when I started to remove the last of them, the tiniest of the Da-nah and the regular belly sitter, Jodi took it from me and cuddled it like it was a human baby. She started gently swaying it back and forth, occasionally dipping slightly to give her motion a little up and down component. The baby Da-Nah just stared up at her, but didn’t seem to mind being cuddled by the constantly chatting woman.
Jodi proceeded to tell us about how she and Tucker had just returned from Brazil where they spent most of the days on the beach, naked, drinking lime Caipirinhas.
Amy muttered “bet that was a sight to see.”
Jodi heard her and responded,
“Sorry hun, I don’t bat for your team and I’m sure Jim is NOT interested in you.”
I had to restrain Amy and push her from the sick bay while she yelled
“JOHN! His name is JOHN!” back at Jodi.
As we went down the hall I heard Jodi say
“So, Jim, still driving that El Camino?”
Then she looked down at the tiny alien and whispered
“There you are Jimmy, you little rascal, I have been worried about you, we both have. Haven’t we Jim?” and she tickled it under its chin as it snuggled deeply into her arms. I swear to God, I think it purred.
Day 50, Mount Weather
Major Avett stood in the sun, he was rubbing the skin of his bald head, and he was enjoying the feel of the warmth for the first time in seven weeks. He was muttering in almost in a whisper to himself
“Thank God, thank God, thank God.”
“Did you say something sir?” a young marine who was standing nearby asked him.
Avett looked at him, the marine was in his early twenties, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and biceps that strained against his sleeves. His boots were bloused, hair cut regulation high and tight, and a locked and loaded M-4 at the ready position. The quintessential jarhead. A fresh faced kid who had survived that unimaginable room to room battle in the dark with things that gave jihadi suicide bombers bad dreams. Avett shook his head and said
“No Corporal, just thinking out loud about the sun”
“Roger that Major, roger that.”
Burwell, his majesty himself, called from the communication vehicle
“Major! Crook is on the horn!”
Avett walked hurriedly over to the MiCP (Mobile integrated Command Post) and stood near the rear hatch, Burwell spoke into the handset
“Crook, repeat last message, say again, repeat last message.”
There was a moment of static then Crook’s voice echoed, like he was yelling,
“Raven is gone, say again, Raven is gone.”
“What do you mean gone? It can’t be destroyed! What about survivors? Over!”
“Negative sir, Raven is gone, totally gone, nothing remains. Not a body, not a board o
r a brick. Not a damn thing but dust, do you hear me? Dust.”
“Crook, that’s impossible, get a grip. You must be in the wrong place.”
“With all due respect Mr. President, you don’t know your own ass from a hole in the ground. Now listen to me you moron, Raven is gone, no buildings above ground, no blast doors, and no damn secret subterranean fortress. Its God damned gone, got that five by five Burwell?”
Burwell just stared at the handset so Avett took it from him. The two soldiers talked for a few minutes with Crook finally convincing Avett of the level of destruction.
“Rodger that Crook, will you return to Storm or continue?”
“Negative Major, we will continue on mission, destination Eagle, over.”
“Good man Crook, we will monitor for your next broadcast. Over.”
“Yes sir, Crook, over and out.”
President Burwell stepped out of the vehicle,
“What did he say? Still sticking to his story?”
Avett turned on him,
“Mr. President, Crook is one tough S.O.B. and if something has him this rattled then you better listen. And yes, Raven is gone and he is proceeding to Washington and the Pentagon.”
Major Avett shoved the hand-set back into Burwell’s hand and walked away.
Day 51, the Journey South
We had crossed the Mississippi during the night, it was pretty cool actually. The vehicles seemed to sink in the brown water but actually we displaced a lot of the water in front of us and to either side. It reminded me of that old movie where Moses parted the Red Sea. The driving screens made a very cool display. I found that Jodi was actually sleeping in the big community room with some of the underling and the Da-Nah. The tiny Da-Nah (who she now calls Junior) was sleeping next to her. Its creepy long fingers and toes grasping onto her like it was afraid she was going to run away or something. It was hard to imagine this tiny little thing, smaller than a human baby would grow into one of those giant Da-Nah. I tried to picture it in a few months, six feet tall with a pacifier in its mouth, still being carried around by Jodi. That was when I realized I had no clue how long they lived or how long it took them to mature. Next chance I got I was going to ask Lucy to find out for me
