Horror, Humor, and Heroes

by Jim Bernheimer

  Even with the danger we’re facing, my Jewish buddy manages to groan. “Will you please get some better material? That was funny a month ago, now it’s just sad.”

  “Fine! Lead me to the Promised Land then, bitch!”

  Under normal circumstances, we just come out, incinerate the bodies and any vermin trying to feed on the monster, and head back to base – standard disposal operations. Of course, when does anything go according to plan around here?

  With a squeeze of the trigger, a jet of flame shoots towards the nearest mass of hovering death. I wonder what Momma would think of her little boy now? She always said that playing with fire was dangerous.

  The Lieutenant breaks in. “Rodriguez, begin slow advance on the hive.”

  “Negative! Negative! Shut your ‘Armchair’ ass up and let us handle it!”

  “Corporal Gibson, you don’t get paid to think. I do. Worried about the hundreds of bees in the air? Good for you. There are still thousands in the hive. Torch it before they get out. Do I need to use smaller words for your tiny brain to process? Move it!”

  Sadly, the bastard has a point. Still, it doesn’t stop me from adding, “One of these days, Armchair, I’ll find you and shove my foot so far up your ass that you’ll be able to taste leather.”

  An overgrown insect lands on my arm. I brush it off with a free hand and swerve the nozzle, melting it at point blank range. The compressors on the gas can kick on and the air conditioning inside my cool suit starts fighting the heat surrounding us.

  Step by step, Moses and I get closer to the structure as more bees take to the air. “Cover me! I’m going to get the hive.”

  I direct the flamethrower at the structure and curse the scientists who gave us Metagrowth Hormone 318. Solve world hunger with giant chickens and cows the size of dump trucks, why not? As usual, they didn’t think the shit through! In this case, it was literally the shit. Giant cows made giant cow paddies. Bugs laid eggs in the giant cow paddies and what do you think happened next? That’s right, giant bugs. To make matters worse, the hormone made its way into the plants as well. By the time the circle of life was complete, we ended up with the Midwest Quarantine Zone that used to be Oklahoma, Arkansas, Kansas, Missouri, and parts of Nebraska and Iowa.

  Intermittently, Steinmeyer’s flame joins mine. The Bradley’s chain gun rips burning chunks out of the colony.

  Another bee lands on my free arm. I try to shake it off, but it drives the stinger into my padded mesh armor. Time stops as I wait for the pain that never happens. The armor holds and I breathe a sigh of relief. It thrashes and rips free leaving the stinger embedded in the surface of the suit.

  Within a minute, the hive building is ablaze and I switch back to spraying flames defensively. Moses screams! I spin and see him fall to the ground with a bee on his calf. I kick the dying bee off of him and use my gloved hand to pull the stinger.

  The damn bean counters skimped on the backside leg armor! “Shit! Steinmeyer’s down! We need to fall back. Moses! Talk to me.”

  “Hurts...”

  Armchair’s useless. “Gibson, provide cover while Steinmeyer evacs to uh, uh. I’m contacting medical evac.” Armchair goes offline and onto the command frequency.

  “Screw that! Rachel, get the Bradley over here and the hatch open. I’ll cover while you get Moses inside. Once he’s in use a fire axe to cut his cool suit lines!”

  Sergeant Simmons waffles on me. “Orders say not to open the hatch without authorization.”

  “Armchair is dicking with the helojocks. They won’t be here for twenty minutes. Moses won’t last that long. Open the damn hatch, Rachel!”

  I unhook my partner’s flamethrower and scoop it up. I am become Shiva, the destroyer of worlds, wielding twin fiery nozzles of death while Moses crawls to the armored vehicle clouded in a fresh discharge of smoke. Hydraulics lower the back hatch as I do my fire god riff. Eager arms drag him in and the hatch starts back up.

  Armchair comes back online. “Medevac is ... What the hell are you doing? I did not authorize evac into the Bradley! Simmons, Gibson, report!”

  I amble back to the fuel platform trailing the hoses behind me. “Shove off, Armchair, and let real soldiers handle your fuck up! Chico, I’m going to crouch on the gas can and use the tank to protect my back and legs. You roll it up closer to the hive and turn me broadside. I’ll finish it off.”

  “Roger that, Vato!”

  “Negative! Negative! Mission is an abort. Gibson, you are to fall back to the transport. Simmons, provide cover. Comply with my orders!”

  I take my position. Chico gets me moving forward while Armchair continues to shout at us. We just ignore the button pusher. It looks like I’ll lose that pay grade before I get back to base. It won’t be the first time and, right now, I hope it won’t be the last. Much harder to ignore are the shouts for an Epipen, indicating Moses just went into shock.

  Like some old pirate ship, Chico brings the platform parallel to the mini-mart. I use the flamethrowers while Simmons gets the Bradley up close. Armchair rails on about safety margins and endangering the vehicles. Apparently, they aren’t expendable.

  I guess that means we are. Something snaps and for the next few minutes I let Armchair know what I think of him. The unbroken string of obscenities and anatomical suggestions leaves me breathless. My only hope is that someone captured the audio for posterity.

  Simmons stops me after 10 minutes. “Chris, the hive is toast. How much fuel is left?”

  “Gauge says a little over two seventy-five, Rachel.” Surprisingly, Armchair isn’t complaining about me using too much gas.

  “That’s more than enough to roast Bambi over there. Stay back-to-butt with the tank and watch out for stray bees. Let’s complete our primary objective.”

  “How’s Moses?”

  “He’s out of shock and unconscious. His breathing’s a bit shallow,” she answers. “A chopper is on the way, so let’s get to it.”

  Twenty minutes later, “Bambi” is a funeral pyre fit for a Viking chieftain. The helicopter carrying Moses is on its way back to base and Chico just finished rolling the gas can onto the flatbed. Locking the wheel hubs and disconnecting my cool suit lines, I notice two more stingers sticking out of my suit. When did that happen? The shakes and a cold sweat ensue.

  Armchair’s warbling voice intrudes on my life flashing before my eyes. “Bravo Squad, return to base, mission accomplished.”

  I can’t resist. “And what a fine job you did as well, Lieutenant! Another resounding success with only minimal casualties, that’ll look great on your fitness report.”

  There’s only a garbled reply followed by silence. Armchair must be done trying to get us killed today.

  #

  I look out the window of the cheaply constructed steel building while Moses stares at his meal in disgust. The ward is mostly empty. We were the only ones to get into a situation today, or at least the only ones who got out relatively intact.

  The older man pushes his meal aside. “They say this is kosher, but I’m not sure what it is!”

  “Hurray for mystery meat.” I chuckle. “How’s the leg?”

  He shrugs. “Swollen like a watermelon, but it’s still attached, and I’m still alive. They’re going to keep me here for the next three days. I have enough steroids in me to make a professional baseball player jealous. Thank you, my friend. I owe you my life.”

  “Couldn’t let you get away that easily, I’m not out of jokes yet. Did you get a chance to call your family?”

  “Chico is bringing my cell phone. I’ll call them then.”

  “Oh good, I can do my ‘A Catholic, a Jew, and an Atheist are in a hospital’ joke when he gets here.”

  Moses shakes his head while wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You should find something to believe in – more than the here and now.”

  I smile back at him. “Sorry, no thanks, but if I was looking to sign up, I’d say Judaism is the way.”

  “Why is that?”

&nb
sp; Pointing outside, I reply, “This looks pretty Old Testament to me. Sure a bunch of scientists gave us MGH-318, but if I were a believer, this’d look like the wrath of God to me!”

  My friend gives me a wistful smile and says, “The end of the world doesn’t have to be an apocalypse, Chris. I prefer to see this as a challenge instead.”

  Thoughtful silence lasts for a moment before he continues, “I see you still have your rank. Aren’t they going to arrest you for insubordination ... again?”

  “Doesn’t seem like it. No MPs were waiting for me when we rolled back in. Who knows, maybe Armchair has a conscience and didn’t put me on report? Sure as hell doesn’t have a clue.”

  Steinmeyer doesn’t argue this point. There’s a bitter hatred among us draftees for the regular Army folks. The worst of them are the Combat Action Officers. Hidden safely in a bunker, their digitized voices mask the person ordering us to our deaths. If it wasn’t for idiots like our current Armchair, I’d swear they were just computers barking out orders. Of course, even computers aren’t that inept! We should have never engaged that beehive and the higher ups know it.

  “Well my friend, since you aren’t going to spend the night enjoying the brig, what are your plans?”

  “I guess I’ll get cleaned up and slap on some civvies. Then I’ll go drown my sorrows with a beer and hopefully a loose woman or two down in NLN Territory.”

  “Chris, you fight like a man with absolutely nothing to lose. One day I hope you find something to fill that void. Shalom.”

  “Get healthy and tell the family I said ‘Hi.’ You’re driving the gas can after our three-day. Blackwood is with me on the flamethrowers. He just doesn’t appreciate me like you do.”

  #

  “No Last Name” territory – every firebase has something like it. It’s a free-for-all area where draftees and regular Army types can mingle in civilian attire. We can all pretend that the world hasn’t completely gone to shit. The beer is cheap, rank is irrelevant, the music is loud, and morals are completely optional.

  In short, it’s my kind of place.

  NLN Territory has a great view of “Zapper Alley,” rows of giant electrical poles that incinerate bugs and birds both big and small. Powered from a nearby nuclear plant, they’re like giant nightlights. Whenever something big enough hits and the lights dim, everyone drunkenly cheers, the bartender rings a bell, and the next round is on the house.

  Yeah there’s a small movie theater, a pool hall, and a few other diversions, but we’re pretty starved for entertainment out here.

  The MPs lurk, but generally let things go unless it gets really out of hand.

  “You look nice tonight Chris, bit preppy though.” Rachel Simmons greets me from the bar. Dan Blackwood’s mouth is attached to her neck like some kind of lamprey. I heard they hooked up last time, her way of welcoming the new guy. It’s a damn shame though, not only is she a looker, but Rachel and I had some fun times in the past. Unfortunately, it made working together tough. We called it off because one of us is in charge of the Bradley and the other is on the gas can. Considering the mortality rate, it wasn’t a healthy way to build a relationship.

  I buy two six packs and smile at them. “Have fun kiddies, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Rachel’s response is laced with throaty laughter. “That doesn’t rule out all that much, Chris”

  Like I said, we had our fun.

  Outside the bar, I survey the picnic benches and look for any familiar faces of the female variety. Night one off the front lines feels like the frat parties back at Kansas State University. Of course, that was when Kansas was still a state and the university wasn’t a bunch of holed-out buildings.

  To my left is a hanger known as the hospitality suites. It’s basically a bunch of cots separated by loose curtain partitions where couples or sometimes even trios can go and work off some of their tensions. It’s my destination, but I’m short a traveling companion.

  Well, there’s a new face; haven’t seen her before. She’s about five six or seven, brown or red hair, tough to tell in this light, nice looking even with the angry scowl on her face that says, “Approach me and die.”

  Since I’d already come pretty close to dying today, I take it as an invitation.

  I sit down across from her and slide one of the six packs in her direction. She barely looks at me. “Fuck off.”

  For a pickup line, hers isn’t very good. I shrug and pull a beer out, twist off the cap, and start drinking. She finally takes one.

  Five minutes go by before she says anything else. “Aren’t you going to try some lame-assed line?”

  “Hadn’t planned on it.”

  “So you’re gonna wait me out to see if I crack?”

  “No.”

  Now she’s regarding me with an icy glare. “So what’s your deal?”

  I give her a straight answer. “You’ve got that ‘Don’t bother me, I’ve had a shitty day’ thing going on. It’s doubtful anyone’s getting anywhere with you tonight. Tomorrow, you might not be in such a bad mood and remember a guy who was nice to you.”

  “Oh, attracting flies with honey then?”

  “Only if you want to be a fly, I’d aim for something a little higher on the food chain.” Besides, call me crazy, but after today, I want nothing to do with insects.

  “Touché. Your rapier wit has disarmed me.”

  I can’t place her accent and wonder if she’s a regular Army gal or a draftee like me. Either way, she’s officially annoying. “You’re the one oozing sarcasm. You asked, I answered. You must be new in town, so here’s the deal. Most of us don’t play games around here – too much stupid shit out there” – I point to the north – “for that. If it makes you feel better, I’m a Virgo, originally from Kansas, now displaced, and my name is Chris.”

  “Kelly, Baltimore, Maryland, Aries – happy now? You can leave and try again tomorrow. I promise I’ll remember how nice you were.” She’s as bad a liar as she is a conversationalist.

  The lights dim while I’m composing my reply. Over her shoulder, I see a large shape fall in the distance and hear the cheers as the bell rings. My own half-hearted hurrah joins in and I down the rest of my beer.

  “So did you almost die today or something?” If she’s a newbie and had a near death experience, it’s doubtful anyone is getting close to her.

  “No,” she replies tersely.

  “Well, I almost did. Quit your bitching.”

  “Big deal. You’re the fourth guy today. Do I look impressed? Just leave me alone.” Uh oh, she’s starting to tear up. Hell, I’ve got a crier. I should definitely go. Too late, the waterworks start. My options are run like hell, sit here and attract attention, or do something else.

  I go with something else. Yanking her to her feet, I command, “Walk!”

  “Let me go! What the hell!” I’m six five and in the best shape of my life. If I wanted to, I could throw her over my shoulder and run a lap around the base. Instead, I stare her down.

  “Look princess, nothing is more pathetic than sitting here crying your eyes out like a little bitch for everyone to see. People come here to party, screw, and forget about all of it. They don’t need to see some newbie, homesick, angry, or whatever the hell your problem is! So, I’m walking you out of here before you start ruining everyone else’s night. You can go to the com center and call your folks, cry on your cot, or whine to the chaplain for all I care. Come on Baltimore Kelly, let’s get you someplace where you can be appreciated, cuz it ain’t here.”

  Our spat draws the attention of a few MPs. I’m still very sober and neither of them looks interested in starting something with me. Smart move, fellas, but I know they’re watching me. Big, angry guys like me always stand out. If I could bottle and sell it, maybe I could buy my way out of this forsaken pit.

  Kelly gapes like I gave her a bucket of cold water in the face. She’s just a little Hershey’s Kiss in a sea of M&M’s – no hard candy shell to stop it from getting to
her. “I’m ... I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll go.”

  “C’mon. Walk down to the fence and get some fresh air. Give your body something to do.” I scoop up the remaining alcohol and wonder why I’m bothering with this woman. I should’ve bailed five minutes ago.

  We walk along the fence line for a few minutes in silence. I hand her a beer and wait for her to calm down. My psych minor comes back to haunt me.

  “So, what’s it like in Baltimore?” It’s an old trick, just get her talking. The rest will come shortly.

  “Huh, it’s nice. I miss going out on the bay. I haven’t been there in a few years.”

  “I miss going snowboarding in Colorado. How are you handling the Texas heat?”