Star Angel: Rising (Star Angel Book 4)
Page 15
Pete looked sorry for his attitude.
Heath put a hand on his shoulder.
“Besides,” he said. “We get the fun stuff. We get to go to the front of the line and take a peek at what these guys are using. Real, bona fide alien technology, first hand.” Heath smiled for his friend. “Who knows? Maybe you get your hands on a real, alien laser rifle. Like a needler from the Covenant or something.” Their team’s mission was to gather what they could on the aliens once they were on the ground, scoop up anything they could get their hands on, technology, broken pieces of equipment, the aliens themselves, take photos—anything and everything that could be snared—and bring it back or relay it for evaluation.
Pete perked up a little.
“That does sound cool.”
Beside him Steve looked ahead to their waiting plane. They were getting the signal to board.
“Yeah,” Steve started walking; Heath released Pete’s shoulder and together they followed. Steve shook his head. “Cool.”
CHAPTER 15: THE STAGE IS SET
“Are you not hearing?” General Peterson was already tired of talking to this particular diplomat. He had one from France on the phone, trying to get them to commit forces to a group on the other side of the Pyrenees—and do it fast—and the man wanted a debate. “There will be no discussions with the Kel. No bargaining. No negotiation of terms. You know that. Surrender or fight. Those are the only options.” Amazingly comm channels had not—so far—been cut, allowing such coordination to continue. No one expected that to last. Time was of the essence.
“We see no evidence of action by the aliens,” the man on the other end said in accented English. “Why this continued insistence? They may have something else entirely in mind.” Peterson wished he could reach through the line and throttle him. He was about ready to cut this comm channel himself.
He took a deep breath. “They expect unconditional surrender. Nothing less than that will do. They’re coming down here to take this world by force.”
“We see posturing by the Americans against a force that cannot be beaten,” came the response. “Why do we follow along with this?”
“What are you not getting? This is a global threat. There is no more America and France. There’s only Us and Them. And They’re coming for Us.”
“Yes but—”
“You have all the information you need,” Peterson said. “Take action or don’t. The choice is yours.” And he hung up.
He looked to a few of his aides.
“What is wrong with people?”
He and the President and several other top officials had been fielding phone calls, trying to set up their loose contingency, which really amounted to little more than getting into position and waiting. They’d sent the Project alien specialist, Drake, back into the field to reconnect with his team and prepare for the evaluation of anything alien they eventually got their hands on. Other such “specialists”—aka brilliant minds—were being fielded from other sources. All that at once, everywhere. The world’s armies were getting into position even as they prepared to gather what intel they could with which to fight back.
Eerie thing was, the Kel were letting it happen. It was as if they agreed with the humans’ plan, perhaps even encouraged it, and were simply holding back until all was in place, at which point they would unleash.
It really didn’t matter, thought Peterson. If both sides were in agreement as to how the battle should be fought, so much the better.
May the best race win.
**
“Aaannnd ...” Steve held the word as the C-130 floated and dipped the last few feet and ... punk! hit the ground. “Touchdown!” he raised his arms and looked over at Pete. “No phaser blasts. We made it.”
Outside the props reversed, hard, roaring loudly with the braking surge. When their volume eased and the plane was taxiing Pete shook his head.
“I still don’t know what they’re waiting for,” he said. “Why are they letting us move around? Why let us get in position?”
Steve shrugged. “Maybe it helps them. Let us all get in one place then take us all out at once.” This, of course, did little to ease Pete’s suffering. Heath stepped in.
“Let’s see what we see,” he said. “When the time comes we’ll kick ass as always.”
They sat in silence in the long, crowded yet cavernous cargo hold, the Hercules whirring easily now, bouncing slightly as it rolled along the tarmac. The center of the hold was filled with gear, strapped to pallets and secured, covered in cargo netting. Along each side in jump seats sat a cadre of Marines and Heath’s team, along with another Spec Ops unit. Soon the plane parked and the rear doors split and dropped slowly, revealing a dark night on a brightly lit ramp, other planes all along the concrete field as far as could be seen. Soon they were off and heading across the wide expanse with their gear, cutting a path through the rapidly organizing groups that were really just assembling in a controlled chaos. The ramp area was alive with shouts, plane engines and a hundred other sounds, and in no time they were meeting up with the Major and heading to one of the buildings at the terminal and off to a briefing room. As they passed through the terminal Heath noted the faces of the crews running the logistics of the operation, non-combatants most of them, local civilians, barely concealed terror in their eyes. Their expressions were mostly composed, doing their job, too busy for much introspection, but their eyes ...
Their eyes told it all.
“In here, gentlemen,” the Major led them through. Heath and the others followed him into a smaller room, leaving the flight crews behind and joining a group of Operators gathered for the briefing. Inside were two dozen or so in field gear, seated in chairs facing front. A large whiteboard mounted to the wall acted as a projection screen for a laptop and a projector that sat at the middle of the room. The image being projected at the moment was a simple SOCOM logo. Heath noticed one of the groups in the semi-darkened room were Spanish GOE, and realized at once this video presentation was as hastily prepared as everything else at that point. SOCOM was the controlling interest at the moment, and likely calling the shots, but this was a global effort.
He nodded to a few as he entered and found a seat. Body positions throughout the room were the usual mix of slouches, crossed legs and the generally relaxed air present at such pre-mission briefs, the teams in attendance knowing this was not the time for tension. After all, the missions themselves were usually deadly ball-busters, why be on edge at the briefing? Subtly, though, this group was different. The mechanics of what they were doing at the moment were routine, and so old habits held, but what they prepared for …
There was nothing routine about it.
The Major closed the door and he and the rest of Heath’s team found seats. They must’ve been the last. The officer at the laptop began.
Over the next half hour or so he went through what little they knew on the Kel and how they intended to play it. No forces anywhere in the world had been positioned far from home, not knowing how freely they would be to move and not knowing how much time they had before the aliens struck. So far, as they’d seen, they were being mostly left alone, and there was some speculation that the Kel might not take the bait, but increasingly smart people were making increasingly informed observations based on increasing amounts of intelligence and evaluation, and those in command were pretty sure by now that the attacks would come, and the Kel would go first against the forces assembling for that very fight.
There was no hope of winning outright. There wasn’t enough info on the capabilities of the Kel to know that for sure, but no one thought for a minute the forces of Earth would outgun them. However, as there was no choice but to defend, they were going to try. It was perhaps this indomitable spirit of not backing down in the face of impossible odds, a very American trait, that was so far holding the loose coalitions together. Not everyone was rushing to help, and in fact some key players were refusing to move at all, but major portions of the world’s combined might
were being assembled at key locations all over the planet. Heath and his team would be part of the groups assembling near here, around Madrid, or at least those central areas of Spain, the idea being to not concentrate forces so close that high-impact attacks—weapons of mass destruction or whatever the Kel had—could easily be used to wipe out large swaths of resistance. They wanted the aliens on the ground. And so forces would be together and yet spread far and wide, forcing—it was hoped—skirmishes that could be responded to as they arose. Powerful as the Kel no doubt were, they’d come from far away and had a limited fleet. No one yet knew what they brought in terms of ground forces, but in terms of sheer volume, looking at nothing more than what could be seen up there in orbit, there was not enough room even if each ship were only a transport, to match anywhere near the numbers facing them on Earth.
Of course, thought Heath, his small team of operators could probably take on an entire army of spear-chucking tribesmen and win. This would likely be just as much of a mismatch. There would be nowhere near as many aliens as humans, sure, but the Kel would still win.
As for the men sitting in that room, they and others like them would have perhaps the most important task of all: Gathering info on the aliens. Much like they often did in more Earthly conflicts, the Spec Ops teams would work to find weaknesses, to spot targets and otherwise find ways for the larger forces to win. As Heath and everyone there listened in rapt attention, postures growing straighter as the officer at the projector unfolded their daring strategy, Heath felt some of the fear he’d been holding at bay slip away behind cold chills. What they were proposing was direct engagement with compromised Kel units, assuming any were compromised, along with outright efforts to bring down—capture if possible—units on their own. Instructions were to take photos, gather any and all information possible and seize and bring back anything they could on the aliens and their technology. Command needed information.
Desperately.
Sitting there in that room, listening to the frank discussion of what, just weeks ago, would’ve been utter make-believe, Heath found a surge of will and resolved to make a difference. He and his team would pull this off. They would achieve their mission, as they always did. Only this would be one for the record books. This mission …
On this mission they would be difference-makers like never before. On this mission Heath and his team could very well be part of something that saved the world.
**
Galfar put his staff on the next step up, the last in a number that, of late, seemed to grow by one each time he climbed them. He steadied himself, lifted his good foot, leaned onto the staff and raised his other, reaching the top. There he stood a moment.
Getting old was no fun.
Hobbling a little he turned to look back down and over the edge of the cliff, at the village below; further, toward the bustling market beyond. He’d gone earlier for fresh vegetables, for he and Haz, along with a bit of the herbal poultice he was using to help save the girl dying slowly in his hut.
Such a beautiful day, he thought. Hard to accept that anything tragic could happen on a day such as today. She must live, he continued his silent determination.
Willing it to be so.
After a while he turned from the vibrant scene, all the way around to face the doorway to his home. Haz was there, sitting in the shade just outside, keeping an eye in his absence.
He should’ve just sent the boy to the market.
But Haz was young and full of energy, running up and down the stairs a dozen times a day. Galfar needed to move his own body, at least a little, and so chose today to make the trip himself. Besides, he wanted to talk with the herb lady about other things. For Galfar, knowledgeable as he was of the essence of true being, of how to move the world with the will, had only an average knowledge of the body. Much to his consternation the body often had a mind of its own. And it was precisely this conflict that plagued the girl. She was sick, very sick, and while Galfar by then had determined this seemingly young individual was quite powerful—quite powerful indeed—she was lost and in pain and her current body was, in the face of her anguish, failing her.
The liberation she sought tugged at her, pulling her harder from it each day.
Galfar started moving. Made his way across the flat space in front of the hut, looking briefly at Haz as he passed and went inside. There he placed the sack of vegetables on the table, along with the smaller ball of leaves wrapping the healing paste. He took a moment to rest in the cool darkness of the room. Little sunlight made it past the curtains. It was primarily through the open door that the bright sun shone. Hopefully the calm, cool interior would aid her recovery.
Again he worried that she would make it.
Slowly he gathered his strength, took the little ball of leaves and went over to the cot. She was mumbling again, as she had been throughout this ordeal, and though Galfar could not read minds she occasionally thought things strongly enough that could be heard; outbursts about betrayal, about a war that was lost and those who failed. Specifically those that failed her. Those that betrayed her. All very emotionally charged. Tremendously charged. There was an incredible amount of pent-up emotion being released, much of it, he suspected, not connected to things experienced directly by the girl in her current form. Physically she was far too young for such history, convincing him all the more that she was beyond what she seemed. Everyone was beyond what they seemed, of course, but where everyone else was quite mundane, quite dull; where most had no more significance in their past than in their present and ran along, therefore, never achieving awareness, this girl was different. Her past sat close to the surface. And it was of such a significance that Galfar could nearly perceive its magnitude.
Terrible things had befallen her.
And as she lay there, channeling other events, other lifetimes, other tragedies, perhaps, things he could only guess at, failures that were likely quite ancient, Galfar had the idea, increasingly, that she must surely be the one on which he waited.
If only she would live.
She tossed her head side to side and smacked her lips.
Would she drink?
It had been difficult getting any water into her. In addition to overheating she was drying up.
He set the poultice wrap on a table by the cot, took a rag, soaked it in the bucket of water and lifted it dripping to her face. Steadily he pressed it around her lips, pushing it gently between them, against her clenched teeth, water running down her chin and cheeks.
She was so hot, no longer sweating.
It was getting worse.
Carefully he squeezed the wet rag, slow enough not to overflow, not to gag her, letting the water trickle past her teeth and into her mouth.
Reflexively she swallowed.
Yes!
In response she continued swallowing.
Harder he squeezed, wringing the rag until it was dry.
She swallowed it all.
Excited, terribly excited at this turn in her responsiveness, he reached and soaked the rag again, pressed it back between her parched lips and squeezed.
He continued, thrilled.
CHAPTER 16: AWAKEN
Thunder rumbled, steady and long. A few sharper cracks punctuated the ground-pulsing bass as the rain fell. Not too heavy; like the aftermath of a greater storm, one that had passed, distant rumbles the mark of its assault on a fresh, far-away patch of land. The air smelled of the storm. Wet, clean and fresh. Through the open doorway light drops splattered the sloppy ground. Jess watched their tiny impacts, listening as others drummed the roof. Soothing. A small fire crackled in the room’s fire pit.
S
uddenly she recognized the fact that her eyes were open; that she lay on a cot beneath cool sheets, drenched in sweat. As if some sort of fever had just broken.
She came a little more alert.
How long have I been staring?
The sheet clung to her. With some strain, skull aching as she moved, she lifted her head from the cot and looked down her length. She was naked. She could feel the absence of clothes beneath the sheet. Could see herself clearly in many places through the thin white fabric, where it stuck to her wet skin. Slowly she lowered her throbbing head. The sheet now dominated her senses. It was cold, it was uncomfortable, and she wanted desperately to peel it off. To be away from its ick. She rolled her head to the side; craned up and around, searching all corners of the sparsely furnished room. There was no one there. It was raining outside.
She threw aside the wet cover.
The cot beneath her was just as soaked.
And she was thirsty.
So thirsty.
Again she craned, this time to study herself more closely. Everything seemed okay. She propped herself to her elbows and waited as the throbbing eased, then went all the way to a sitting position, held that a moment, hunched over, hands on her skull, then turned herself to the side and dropped her feet onto the floor. She sat at the edge of the cot, gripped the sides tightly for stability and gazed into the mesmerizing flicker of the fire pit, holding steady as the room slowly stopped spinning. Next to her on the dirt floor she noticed a bucket of water. She reached for it, one hand, careful to hold tight to edge of the bed with the other. Weakly she pulled the bucket closer then reached with both hands and lifted it to her lap. She sniffed it. The water smelled clean.
She was too thirsty to care more than that. Eagerly she lifted it to her lips and took a small swig, making herself at least taste it before swallowing. When it tasted fine—the taste was like ecstasy, in fact—she tilted back and, with a thirst she thought she could never slake, turned it higher and gulped until her belly hurt. Water trickled from the corners of her mouth and fell to her bare shoulders as she held back her head, chugging, wetting the already soaked cot beneath her. She knew there must be a smarter way to restore herself but couldn’t take the thirst. And so only when her insides finally told her she’d gone too far did she put the bucket in her lap.