Raptor Aces

by Brian Bakos

  What a man of excellence Beltran is! On his own, with precious little help from me, he’s managed to fling aside the straightjacket of anger and resentment that constrained him for so long and has stepped out into his full potential. His nobility shines forth like a beacon. He’s a true champion of the Fatherland – loyal, brave, steadfast.

  And what of me?

  Have I ever troubled my mind with a single unselfish thought? Why bother, I’m a “national hero.” Just watch the movie if you don’t believe it.

  I’m a spoiled brat, if the absolute truth were told, pampered and given respect I haven’t earned. While Bel was struggling with rejection and loneliness, I was preening in front of a mirror, wondering which profile the girls would like best. While the NSP’s poison was curdling Bel’s spirit, I was content to ride the crest of the lunacy as a ‘racial apex’ leading man.

  I know that I’m being too hard on myself, another of my many faults. But I’m not exaggerating about Bel. He’s a valuable asset for the Homeland and will be sorely needed for the trials ahead. I’ve been blinded by the pursuit of vengeance. How many more must die because of my obsession? I’m tired of all the sacrifices.

  A large rock obstructs the middle of the path ahead. Bel walks to the left of it. His foot dislodges a cascade of pebbles, and he nearly skids down the embankment.

  “Careful!” Trynka and I cry together.

  Bel glances back at us. “Piece of cake.”

  Unbidden, a moment of absolute clarity explodes in my mind. As if by the light of a thunderbolt, I can see the full extent of the system that has corrupted us all. The NSP system. Stilikan was a victim of it, and Bel, and me, and Trynka – and Omzbak, too. All of us were pounded into corrupted shapes by that system, like those piles of military wreckage.

  I’m sick of being a victim! I want to struggle out of my own straightjacket and emerge a free man. I want my mind to be cleansed of all brutality and error. I don’t want to kill Omzbak any longer; he’s not worth the risk, and we have far more in common that I’d ever imagined.

  I have ... forgiven him.

  I stop walking. Trynka looks up quizzically into my face.

  “You’re right,” I call after Bel.

  He pauses and turns slowly toward me. A smile begins to spread across his face. Trynka instantly grasps the situation.

  “No!” she cries.

  I look toward her. She seems tiny – yet, at the same time, very strong. She is beautiful and frightening.

  “Yes,” I say.

  I want her to leave with us, but I can’t make that choice for her. I look to Bel again.

  “Let’s go back,” I say.

  Bel replies with a Bekar pet phrase. “Capital fellow!”

  He starts walking toward us. Then it isn’t just Bel any more; it’s Bekar and Stilikan, too, and Gyn and Ket and Mama – it’s every worthwhile thing in my life returning to me.

  He comes to the rock again, only this time, he passes on its other side. Too late, I spot the tripwire.

  “Look out!”

  His foot catches the wire. Our eyes lock in a moment of terrible understanding.

  Explosion and blinding flash. The ground gives way and we are tumbling down, down, past cliff face and crumbling rock. After an eternity, we hit the floor of the chasm.

  62. The Final Act

  I lie on my back at the bottom of a scree slope, dazed and disorientated. What is this place – how long have I been here?

  The world is a crazy, rotating kaleidoscope. My head feels too big, and it throbs with a maddening, ringing noise.

  Things start to blur back into focus. I move slowly; my whole body screams with pain, but it still works. I seem to be whole. I grope for my machine pistol, but it’s gone. So is my rifle.

  Trynka is at my side. She brushes a hand over my face. She, too, seems to have escaped major harm.

  “Bel!” I call. “Where are you?”

  I force myself up to my knees, looking frantically for my brother. The chasm sprawls about me like a vast, open grave ... Finally I spot him lying some distance away among the rocks. I scurry over to him.

  “Ohhh!”

  I can see that his injuries are terrible; he’s taken the main force of the blast. He lies staring upwards, his chest rising and falling erratically. I grip his hand in mine and cradle his head with my other arm.

  “It’s me ... Dytran.”

  The vacant eyes flicker with recognition. He squeezes my hand faintly.

  “In it to the end, huh?” he says.

  Tears spring into my eyes.

  “I love you, Bel.”

  He smiles up at me. His face is young and innocent, free of all suffering. Then his features go slack, the hand loosens. I feel his noble spirit depart his body and soar out of this evil place – toward the heavens which are its true home.

  “Bel!”

  I am sobbing freely now. My heart has been ripped out. I am naked and abandoned in the valley of death.

  Some one is tugging at me.

  “Come!” Trynka urges.

  She pulls me to my feet.

  Again, I experience a split in my perceptions. In one view, I observe Bel’s body moving farther away as I stand up. In another view, I seem to be hovering over everything; I see all three of us from a bird’s eye perspective. Trynka and I are walking toward an area of the slope which is somewhat less steep than the one we have tumbled down. She intends for us to climb out, apparently.

  We can’t leave him here! I want to protest, but nothing exits my mouth. I’m an automaton being led by the girl. I cannot form ideas in my numbed brain.

  A burst of gunfire snaps me out of my paralysis.

  Bullets tear along the ground right beside me. I jump out of the way. Another burst drives Trynka against me. A huge, dark figure is glaring down at us from the top of the slope – Omzbak!

  Beyond his hulking presence, towering in unholy rage, is the Death Storm. Its lightning forms a demonic halo for Omzbak’s head.

  “God damn you!” I shout.

  Another blast of gunfire hits the slope right in front of me; stone fragments fly. One of them grazes my face, and I feel blood trickling. The bastard is toying with us!

  Trynka pulls out her tiny pistol and fires repeatedly at Omzbak, but there is no hope of hitting him at this range. He does not even bother to move. He seems to be the very god of death himself standing up there with the cyclone twisting behind him. It is howling with increased strength now, as if in celebration of Bel’s death.

  “Coward!” I yell. “Fight me man to man!”

  No answer, except for a low, evil rumbling. He’s laughing at us.

  “Do you hear me, Papa! Get down here!”

  He brandishes a stick grenade in his right hand, like the death god’s royal scepter. I look desperately around for any sort of cover, but there is none. I try to shield Trynka with my body, but she slips back around. We’ll face the end together.

  Omzbak gazes down at us, like a cat tormenting helpless mice. He waves the grenade tauntingly. I cannot make out his face clearly, but his whole body radiates contempt.

  “Lousy coward ...” I try to shout, but my voice has lost whatever power it had.

  Omzbak yells something back at me. Trynka translates:

  “I know you!”

  Omzbak’s free hand moves toward the grenade. He’ll be unscrewing the bottom cap now, soon the little white skull will drop out. I try to gauge where he will throw the bomb, prepare myself to roll the opposite direction – but I know it’s useless, I’d just be rolling into a blast of gunfire.

  I see him yank the grenade string in a wide, dramatic gesture.

  ***

  During the seconds before the grenade went off, the faces of every one of Omzbak’s victims flashed before his eyes – in particular, the fighter pilot whose courageous brother had pursued him to this place. What a magnificent son the lad would have made!

  He looked off toward the War Tornado and
pressed the grenade against his belly.

  Here’s another one for you

  63. Retreat

  The instant the grenade goes off, the cyclone roars with increased fury. Its lightning bolts crackle and flare; blinding illumination assaults us, then retreats.

  Omzbak’s corpse tumbles over the edge in suspended time, like a slow motion horror movie sequence. It bounces down the slope, leaving a bloody smear, then thuds to the bottom. It lands too far away for me to get a good look, and I have no desire to look.

  Trynka starts to utter a victory cry, but it strangles in her throat.

  I have no sense of triumph – only the weary knowledge that the final act of this tragedy has, at long last, played out. My grief over Bel allows no other emotion to intrude.

  “We go now!” Trynka says urgently.

  She leads me across the chasm until we reach Bel. I lower myself down to my poor slain brother lying among the rocks. His face wears an expression of peace that it never had in life.

  I look up at Trynka. “We can’t leave him here.”

  She understands what I am saying well enough. She points toward the steep path we must ascend and shakes her head. I know she is right. This valley will have to serve as Bel’s final resting place.

  Trynka comes to attention, clicking her heels together military fashion. She snaps a final salute to Bel. I get to my feet and do the same. Then we depart together. I do not look back.

  Trynka leads us up the precipitous scree slope. For every meter we ascend, we slip back half the distance. My legs seem to be working on autopilot with no direction from me. Finally, we make it to the top. Trynka exits the valley of death first, then pulls me up behind her.

  I look toward the cyclone. It appears to be losing power, and the lightning at its crown flashes with less intensity – as if in recognition that it has devoured its last victim. The sight fascinates and horrifies; it’s a manifestation of pure hate. Trynka yanks my arm.

  She takes us back along the route that brought us into this cursed region. The evil influences that once hindered us fade into the shadows, as if in awe of Trynka’s determination. Mama once told me that women are stronger than men in certain ways. I didn’t think much of that comment then, but now I see its wisdom. If left to myself, I don’t know if I’d have the will to continue.

  All the while, the light is getting dimmer. Everything is starting to fade. The whole place is shutting down, dissolving. By the time the trail narrows, we need the illumination of my pen light. Thank heaven it wasn’t destroyed in my tumble down the slope!

  We venture out onto the steep ledge where Sipren fell to his death. I wonder idly if I will tumble off myself. But Trynka keeps a firm hold on my hand. I can almost hear Sipren beckoning to me from the infinite depths.

  We’re practically running now – past the bone pillars and heaps of military equipment. The bouncing flashlight beam that’s leading us turns yellow; it weakens so much that we can scarcely see the way ahead any longer.

  “Hold it!” I say.

  I fumble extra batteries out of my pocket. When I drop out the old ones from the flashlight, the world around us grows very dim. Creaks and groans fill the air, the whispering of ghosts. Everything seems to be imploding. Finally, I get the new batteries installed and a bright beam shows us the way again.

  We move rapidly down the wide ledge as the sepulcher presses in on us from all sides. A horrid thought intrudes:

  We’ll never get out of here.

  Trynka looks up at me. Even in the dim light I can see the worry in her eyes. We continue moving through the limitless space. Already, the new batteries are starting to fade, and I have no others.

  But then the dimming flashlight ray glints off two bright, metallic objects – the spent shell casings from my sniper attack. I know where we are now.

  “This way!”

  I lead us to the spot where I first ascended to the ledge. Despite the rapidly diminishing light, it’s actually easier to navigate now. The strange power that had dominated this place is losing its grip, and the spatial disorientation is lessening.

  Before long, we are at the exit – or what used to be the exit. The circle of light is barely visible now, and its flashes are erratic, like a dying heartbeat. Trynka grips my hand and heads straight for it. We slam into a rock wall.

  “Ugh!”

  We fall to the floor, but are soon back on our feet.

  Where is the circle of light now? Only a blank rock face stares back at us. We glance around desperately. After all we’ve been through, we’re going to be trapped here? The injustice of it strikes me a hammer blow. Trynka begins to cry.

  “This can’t happen,” I say. “Come on – again!”

  I switch off my penlight. The nightmare world is pitch black now. Trynka grips my hand; I can hear our hearts thundering in the darkness. Then, a tiny flashing glow appears on the rock face. I propel myself toward it head first. I’ll either win through or fracture my skull ...

  ***

  We emerge into blinding daylight. I raise a hand to shield my eyes. The first snowflakes of the year land on my skin, pinpoints of soothing wetness.

  “Aaaah!”

  Trynka sighs with pleasure; she raises her face to the glorious sun and its attendants of clouds. She pulls in a great breath of air, then blows it out. I can almost see the evil miasma of the lower regions exit her lungs.

  We scurry off the surface of ZOD and enter the woods. We cross through them to the clearing where my airplane lies. I make my way to her and fall on my knees, unable to continue.

  I cling to the port landing gear of Y-47. Her wing overarches me like a mother’s loving arm. My poor, shattered aircraft is the final link to the world of dreams and hopes – to my lost brothers. My tears run hot.

  Trynka speaks to me urgently and tugs at my clothing. She must want me to leave this place, but where would I go? My homeland is impossibly far away, and my fate is here. After a while, she gives up the effort. She moves a short distance away and sits among the high grass, leaving me alone with my sorrow.

  64. Harsh Welcome

  The day advances. The sun begins to warm the world and melt the thin layer of snow, but I am shielded from its rays by my aircraft. If only I could drift away forever, into the sky where I belong. Bel is waiting there.

  I hear Trynka scramble to her feet. Then a metallic clack as she cocks the automatic pistol. Is she going to shoot me?

  She is yelling at somebody in the nearby woods. I open my eyes to see a squad of enemy soldiers emerge from the trees. They are grim, lethal men in brown uniforms – hardened killers. Trynka is beckoning to them while she keeps me covered with the pistol.

  So this is it ... finally. I unwind from my fetal position and prepare to confront the enemy. I begin to rise.

  “Stay down!” the commander shouts in our language.

  I drop to a seated posture and assume as dignified an expression as I can. The commander approaches Trynka and snatches away her pistol. They exchange rapid fire remarks. I can’t be certain, but he appears to be the man we saw on our trek to the hideout. He possesses the same whip-like toughness and hard face.

  Trynka seems to be offering explanations, but the leader isn’t buying them. He turns a cold, dispassionate look my direction – the same look a carp might receive just before getting stuck with a fisherman’s spear. The commander gestures to one of his men.

  The trooper advances, cocking his rifle. He aims it at me. I fight to remain steadfast – they will not see me cower. I prepare to shout my final words of defiance:

  Long live the Fatherland!

  But Trynka throws herself between me and my executioner. She is speaking furiously. She flings her arms wide to cover me, exposing her own breast to the gun. The trooper backs away, his face reddening.

  “Halt!” the commander shouts.

  He waves his arm. Both Trynka and the soldier retreat. The commander approaches and squats down beside me. He’s so close tha
t I can smell the leather of his gun belt. He brings his face close to mine. It is the face of death.

  “Your girlfriend says that we should not disgrace our glorious victory with an act of cowardice,” he says in a heavy slobe accent. “What do you think of that, Mag?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I say.

  He glances at Trynka, then turns back toward me.

  “I believe she would disagree with you on that, Mag.”

  “My name is Dytran, sir, commander of the Raptor Aces Youth League aviation squadron.”

  “An aviator, huh?” he gestures toward Y-47. “That would explain your affection for that wreckage.”

  He withdraws a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and lights one up. It’s a potent slobe variety with a long cardboard filter. He offers me the pack.

  “Cigarette?”

  “No thank you, sir, I’m trying to quit.”

  The commander gapes at me with astonishment, the cigarette nearly drops from his lips. Then he bursts out laughing.

  He turns toward his men and says in our language, “Little Blondie here’s got some brass!”

  The soldiers laugh along with him – a cruel, mirthless chatter. Then the commander turns back toward me; he’s all business again.

  “She claims that she captured you,” he says. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  I do not reply.

  “So, tell me, what really happened?”

  “If you’re going to kill me,” I say, “why don’t you get it over with?”

  I hold the commander’s eyes steadily with my own. I want him to know that he’s shooting a better man than himself, someone who knows how to die for his country. He gazes back at me with cold appraisal in his otherwise dead eyes. His face is unyielding, pocked with little scars. Why does it have to be the last thing I will see in this world?

  Then something like an amused little smile crosses his lips; a bit of life flickers in his eyes. He pinches my cheek and follows it with light slap.

  “Don’t worry, lad, we’ll save your pretty face for the girls back home.”

  He rises and barks orders to his men. They yank me to my feet and hustle me away. I glance back toward Trynka. She looks very sad.

  65. Stages of Captivity

  I join a long column of my defeated countrymen on a trek to captivity. For several days we march eastward, always more of us joining in, silent and downcast. Alongside our procession, slobe troopers watch over us with their machine pistols. Most of them are stone-faced and impassive, others look as if they’re dying for an excuse to open fire.