“I take it he’s not, in actuality, Private First Class Elton,” I asked as the General and I stepped back into the workshop.
“No, Elton was MIA at Midway. How this...thing...got his dog tags, and how he ended up on Tori-shima, we have no idea.”
“Did you ask it?” I queried. “Does it...speak?”
“Oh yes. English. Spanish. French. Japanese. Any language you choose, when it’s lucid. But all he says is that his real name is Cain. When he’s conscious, however, he’s dangerous. Very dangerous. We’ve already lost six men. Only the lights keep him in check. Sunlight burns him. These are ultraviolet. Too little, and he’ll tear your head off. Too much and it fries him to a crisp. But at just the right levels...”
“Why don’t you just destroy it?” I asked, looking at the smoldering corpse in disgust. “If it’s so dangerous?”
The General gave me a look that I couldn’t quiet read, then stepped into the circle of light. From his holster, he removed his .45 and proceeded to put three bullets into the bound figure.
I recoiled in shock, horrified that the General would act on my suggestion so literally. But as Groves returned his weapon to its holster, I noticed the slumped figure had hardly wavered from the impact of the shots. The bullet holes in his flesh appeared to rapidly heal over, until twenty seconds after being shot, there was no sign that the man had even been injured.
“Dear God!” I exclaimed as the General stepped out of the light.
“Except for direct sunlight, PFC Elton there is almost totally invulnerable to physical attack. His strength is easily that of twenty men. Whatever else that the PFC is, he is most certainly a formidable weapon. The brass have taken note. The White House has set up a new committee. Designation MJ-12. They’re calling the shots on this one. They’re looking for anything that might give us a leg up on the Pinkos. They sent him here for us to study before he’s destroyed. They want to know if we might be able to reproduce the technology that created him.”
“Technology?” I looked into the circle of burning light. “But he’s not a machine. He’s a monster.”
“Mmm,” the General agreed. “But monsters have their uses.”
That Nietzsche Thing Page 19
