by Dan Henk
Scenarios rushed through my mind. What if I failed horribly? What if I burst into a bunker and was taken by surprise and overpowered? A film played out in my head. Uniformed figures, dark and sullen, standing over my prone body. Bright overhead lights blinding me as they shoved cold steel barrels into my face. They probably wouldn’t shoot me right then and there. They were always too curious. Of course, they would recognize me, which would be even worse than anonymity. It would give them an angle, make them think they knew what it was that made me tick. Would they torture me? I wouldn’t be surprised. Bring in some CIA experts, inject me with drugs to make me more malleable? Who was I working with? What was my ultimate goal? I don’t even think it would matter what I told them. They would have an answer they wanted to hear, and eventually, after a lot of pain, I’d find out what it was. The negative thoughts and wild scenarios weren’t helping. I needed to pay attention to the road.
CHAPTER IV
FORT BRAGG, NORTH CAROLINA
At last I arrived, pulling up to the sleepy town of Fayetteville. It all seemed to be a dream, everything veiled in a glowing translucent haze. The streetlights shimmered brighter than I remembered, the edges of buildings waved and flickered in the dim illumination, the shallow night wind seemed to have a guiding hand behind it. The air smelled hot and dusty, the cover of night failing to fully burn away the day’s heat.
Bright lights spilled out of doorways and onto the streets as I slowly drove past the idyllic scenes. Drunken GIs talking up whores, spending dollars from the local pawnshop, freshly traded for essential equipment they would have to borrow money to buy back tomorrow. Despite the fact that this was something I had seen every day for ten years, it all seemed strange tonight, the prologue to one hell of a story.
Crumbling houses and low rent strip malls lined the streets, broken up by brief patches of weeds and pine trees, all of it barely connected by an asphalt sidewalk that had fallen into serious disrepair. GIs and other small-minded meatheads, minus the uniform but with comparable social skills, strutted up and down the street. Glancing at my watch, I realized I’d arrived a bit early. Too many people were still out. I pulled into the unpaved parking lot of a closed pawnshop, the overhanging shadows cloaking my ride in darkness. I spun the Jeep around, the wheels crunching softly in the loose gravel, and settled into the unlit back corner. I switched off the ignition, leaned back, and waited. I was close enough and had a few options to consider. At the entrance to the base I would have to get past the MP on duty, and I definitely didn’t want to use my clearance. It might not raise suspicion, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I’d probably only get one. Time crept by, and I sank deeper into my seat and ran through scenarios. I kept picturing the ending: like a Tarantino movie, all bursts of gunfire and bullet-riddled bodies. The lamp across the street flickered and, with silent resignation, went out, casting the tiny lot into total darkness. All the better. Now not even the traffic would take notice of me.
Finally the hands of my watch neared midnight. Close enough. I fired up the Jeep, the roar of the Flowmaster mufflers making me cringe. A minute to warm up, and I could wait no longer. Punching the shift lever forward, I spun out in a flurry of flying gravel onto the main street. The engine grumbled, threatening to cut out. “Easy...easy...” I whispered. A roar, and the RPMs jumped back up. Two shops, then abruptly I veered off to the right. The route I followed was barely even a road, starting out as loose gravel and quickly deteriorating into twin dirt ruts, a strip of grass navigating the center. The pelting of rocks underneath was replaced by plumes of dust kicking up in my wake, the buildings of the town receding into the shadows. I stomped on the dimmer switch and my high beams swung upwards, illuminating the sidewalls of pine trees with the solitary dirt road stretching out before me. The moonless night sky, a murky dark blue haze, crested over a pine- topped hill in the distance. The wind whipping through the pine branches insinuated an unearthly presence, an impossible but eerie force flowing through the desolate woods, carrying down the sharp scents of pine and moist earth.
The Jeep bounced up and down the uneven road, my shocks transmitting every gully and bump straight to my kidneys.
Over a small hill the tree line receded to the left as a chain link barricade emerged from the pines. I pulled off the road, bounced through a shadowed drainage ditch, and right into the old fence. I stomped on the emergency brake and hit the four-wheel-drive switch, popped the shift lever into neutral, and climbed out. The treetops whistled softly, swaying in the wind. Whatever happened, I had no doubt this night would be etched into my brain, the prologue to a fantastic adventure—or the beginning of the end. I walked over and clipped the metal fence, snapping each link with a wire cutter. I hack-sawed the top pole, gripping it with one hand and tearing away at it, the blade awkwardly cocked above me. My shoulder kept cramping up, and I’d have to stop and rotate it for a second. After what seemed way too long, I could feel the metal giving. Suddenly, it lost all tension, my hand slipping off the pole as I fell backwards into the tall grass. I jumped back up, pulled open my passenger side door, tossed in the saw, and jogged back around to the driver’s side. I pushed the lever into four high and powered forward, the dangling metal edges screeching holy murder as they scraped the sides of my Jeep. It was enough noise to make me flinch, but the area was far enough from earshot. On the other side I stopped the Jeep and vaulted out. I grabbed the edges of the torn fence and pulled them back together, using zip ties to bind the edges. That wouldn’t pass any close inspection, but in the dark it would suffice until daybreak.
I broke the connection to the taillights, pulled the switch halfway, and drove slowly using the parking lights. The underbrush here was routinely burned out to cut down on insects, so the ground was fairly smooth, coated mainly with pine needles. Navigation shouldn’t be a problem. With some luck I would avoid hitting one of the foxholes or trenches left over from World War II training exercises. The terrain was littered with them, randomly placed and disguised by low-lying foliage. When I lived here I would jog in the woods. This whole area was crisscrossed with old, badly weathered roads. The asphalt was pitted and cracked, half-covered by debris, the edges worn by the ravages of time. Breaking out of the woods and onto one of the old roads, I turned right, then right again as the road abruptly twisted. The Jeep bounced over a fallen cluster of branches and into a huge pothole. The skid plate under my tranny grated as it ripped through loose asphalt. It tore at the metal as I lumbered back out. A slide through sandy concrete, and the road suddenly ended, a dirt trail picking up the slack. I slowed down, the wheels slipping in the loose white sand. After a short stretch and another jolt, my front tires grabbed onto asphalt, the road scaling up into pavement once again.
A small bridge was coming up, and I switched on the headlights. The last thing I needed was to end up in a creek. I drove slowly in the sand, the gentle padding accompanied by the rustle of branches in the mindless gale. Everything was folding into itself, the creepy desolation intensified by the unnatural residue permeating the hills. I bypassed a few old foundations, probably the remnants of old WWII buildings, the ghostly bedrock staring down at me through the shackle of trees. The dilapidated bridge, if it even qualified as that, came into view. The headlights highlighted the rotted structure, two round posts straddling both sides, yoked by a walkway of old planks. I slowed down as I crossed, hoping the rope bindings would hold. The wood creaked underneath, the ancient lanyard grunting with the strain, but in the end it held. Past the bridge the road split, the wider passageway continuing forward, with a smaller one forking off to the left and tunneling up into a nest of trees. This was the route I needed. Rolling up the small hill, the pass narrowed into a dark tunnel. Bordered by white banks of sand that preceded the overhanging trunks, their canopy a writhing mass of contorted branches. I’d never been here at night before. It seemed so bright and genial during the early morning hours, years ago. But all that had changed. I’m not the young man I once was. That time is long gone,
the hope and ambition had faded into the desperation of middle age, the uncomfortable inevitability of death lurking just around the corner.
After about twenty minutes the road opened into a semi-circle. Beyond a wall of trees, I could make out a warehouse ahead. I rolled into the thicket, spinning the wheel. I was lumbering through a thin grove now, the overhanging cover giving way to a half-mile-wide depression, its rugged base a labyrinth of a thousand tiny reflections. Just beyond lay the long, dark parking lot, crowned at the far end by a cluster of buildings. I leaned forward and strained to look at the gully in front of me. It was a maze of water-carved ridges, barely visible in the gloom. None of the fissures were deep, but they were complexly detailed, a miniature Grand Canyon. I shifted the transfer case into 4 lo and gently edged the Jeep into the canals. Pitching back and forth, I glanced around nervously, my forehead beaded with sweat. There was a more direct route, I was sure, but it was probably guarded. Policies changed all the time, and it was better not to raise suspicion. Since the 82nd Airborne was based here, the complex hardly got questioned. When it did, all the secrecy was assumed to apply to some new spy plane.
After a short drive through the rainwater trenches I was on concrete. Everything looked fairly deserted, so I assumed the high command was in another lull, retaining only a skeleton crew. I shifted back into two-wheel drive and headed across the empty lot. Rolling up to the warehouse, I spun the wheel to the left and crept along the wall, following the crude barrier of concrete toward the distant iridescence. The tension was oppressive, my breath emanating in shallow gusts. I could feel the sharpness and fidgety high of adrenaline coursing through my veins. So close. A trickle of sweat slowly rolled down my forehead.
The wall ended. The only illumination came from a solitary light pole a few feet away, its soft yellow haze a beacon in the surrounding blackness. I swerved into the muted glow and parked, sloppily and mere inches from the wall. In front of me the coarse barricade of manmade stone abutted a metal rim, the weaker concrete yielding to the steel as it flowed around a doorframe. I turned off the driving lights, climbed out of the Jeep, and hoped my key still worked. I was prepared for almost anything, but I could use a stroke of luck. The portal was an ordinary slab of painted metal, imperceptibly nestled among the endless blocks.
Beyond it were the keys to the kingdom. Miracle of miracles, my key worked! I turned it sideways and pulled. A slight creak, a gust of stale air, and a black hole yawned open beyond. My eyes adjusted slowly, and I could make out a long corridor. Florescent lights glimmered faintly from around a corner off to the left. The meager illumination offered glimpses of bare concrete walls and scuffed white tile flooring. The right side disappeared into blackness, and if I remembered correctly, that was the route I wanted.
I slowly guided the door closed behind me, stumbling off into the dark and raising my hand to feel along the wall. After a few minutes the wall suddenly dissolved into a right turn. I could make out a thin sliver of light emanating from beneath a door down the passageway. That glow meant someone was still here, and it wasn’t security. Maybe a scientist working late? The large room beyond the door was set up as a lab for the study of organic matter. Not really my area. I wasn’t completely sure, but I couldn’t afford a mistake. I unbuttoned the holster on my right and withdrew my .45. Reaching into my rear pocket, I slipped out a silencer, threading it onto the barrel. I moved slowly forward and closed in on the door. Reaching out with my left hand, holding the .45 aloft with my right, I turned the handle and pushed forward. The bright light streamed around the door jamb, overwhelming my vision. The sting of harsh chemicals bit at my nostrils. I blinked rapidly, narrowing my eyes to slits and straining to make out what was beyond.
The black dots of outlying objects slowly came into focus, and I could spy one lone scientist bent over something in the distance. He stood toward one end of the long, sparse room, half-obscured by the gleams coming off of too many reflective surfaces. Small tables arranged in rows and covered with paraphernalia stretched out in parallel lines to the far wall. The technician seemed lost in his own world. That presented a bit of a problem. I needed to get past this room to make it downstairs to the ship. I glanced around and considered somehow restraining him. If I tied him up, there would be a fight, and the noise might alert whomever was on duty. The restraints would also be makeshift, made out of whatever raw materials I could scrounge up, and they might not hold. Even if they did, he might knock something over or otherwise try to alert someone. The guy looked young, maybe in his late twenties. He had light brown hair that was too long to be military, black-rimmed glasses, and a tailored white lab coat. I had to think.
Do I really want to do this? This would be going way beyond the point of no return. Breaking and entering. I had no prior criminal record. Maybe this could all be minor? A slap on the wrist? I didn’t see any other option. I had to give this everything I had. Make it work or fail gloriously. If I made a halfhearted attempt, my life would be a waste. I would never get this chance again. It didn’t help that he was so young. I went to school with people like him. I worked with them every day. I couldn’t keep wasting time. Every minute was crucial. Any moment now I risked being discovered, my Jeep being stumbled upon, my break in the fence, anything? I had no choice. I pointed the gun at his distant face and moved forwards. Every step seemed to reverberate with the pounding in my head. Small beads of sweat built up under the brim of my hat. My throat was painfully dry, my tongue strange and thick in my mouth.
Seconds stretched out into an eternity as I slowly approached him. When I was only a few feet away, he looked up. I had no idea who he was, but his eyes seemed to glimmer with faint recognition. On instinct, I squeezed the trigger. A slight pop, a small hole to the right of his temple, and he froze, slowly collapsing, his face permanently fixed in a look of confusion. The blood trickled down his forehead and pooled beneath, staining the top of his white smock and expanding in a syrupy pool on the tile floor. I could smell the fresh blood. It hung thick in the air, accusing me with its stench.
The pounding in my head grew more intense. What had I done? There was no other way, I kept telling myself, my mantra… I have to think in black and white terms. I have to keep going. I am truly fucked now if I don’t succeed. This is it. I obtain the suit or I go to the electric chair. A wave of cold washed over me. What if I was wrong? What if the suit didn’t work the way I thought it would? I had just killed a man! And it would all be for nothing.
A few feet directly in front of me was a door. As if in a walking hallucination, I stepped around the crumpled form and approached the door, skirting the slowly expanding pool with revulsion. The brightness of the room was overwhelming. My temples convulsed like some poorly running old motor, ready to seize at any moment. I have to put this out of my mind. It’s a cliché: you never know what killing a man is like until you do it. But it’s true. You plan for the extremes, you work it all out in your head, but none of that is real life. It’s just you and a corpse that a minute ago was a living, breathing human. I reached forward, grabbed the lever, and opened the door.
A long metal corridor stretched out before me. This was the point at which the warehouse dramatically changed. It was like in one of those old adventure stories, where some kid finds the entrance to another world in his closet. Segmented metal gratings coalesced into a walkway. The walls sloped as the passage morphed into a surreal tunnel. The rungs were large protruding pipes, riveted together at the seams. Elongated fluorescent tubes snaked overhead. The path extended only a few feet before hitting another door, the hatch resembling something out of a submarine, with its large metal wheel topping a corrugated bulkhead. This again required keys, a keyhole in the center freezing the wheel in position. Will my key still work? I approached the portal, the metal grating reverberating noisily under my feet, the hollow metal echoing in a slowly dying wail down the corridor. I was sure soldiers would appear any minute now. If I am gunned down, at least that will be the end. But if I am captured
?
The metal door was closed. I had explosives, but my nerves were shot. I didn’t need anything causing further commotion or increasing my paranoia.
I pulled out the key, my hand trembling as I extended it toward the latch. It caught the edge of the keyhole and slid in. I spun the wheel, wrenched open the door, and entered. Luck—or something—is on my side.
A few stairs, abutted by a long metal grating extending off to either side, greeted me. Directly in front was a guardrail, offering a view of the huge storeroom below. Stepping up to the guardrail, I peered down. I had seen it many times, but it was still a sight to behold. Interred below, lit up like a Christmas tree, was the alien craft. Even the surface, composed of some dark compound never found on Earth, shimmered in the light. It was a giant wing, fat in the center and tapering off as it dropped down to the sides. I wondered if the vessel was merely a hallucination. A blink of the eyes and it would be gone. I had worked on this for years, yet the strange ship had never become mundane.
Even this late at night, there were men working on it. The hangar was cluttered with small buildings and ramps. I didn’t dare stay too long. Eavesdropping wasn’t my goal, and being spotted threatened to totally undo my mission. I spotted another submarine-style bulkhead door, so I cranked the wheel, spinning it until it ground to a stop, then gently pulled it open. A gasp of air, and a thick, musty odor greeted me.
