by Weston Ochse
“What is it you want from me, Mason?” he asked.
“I want for you to—I want for you to—” Fuck! I couldn’t put it into words. I didn’t know what I wanted him to do, but I just wanted not to keep finding things out after the fact. Then it hit me like an arrow through the temple. I stared for a moment without blinking. Why had I been trying to fight all of this time? After all, was I not a grunt? If there was one thing I knew it was that grunts were treated like mushrooms—kept in the dark and fed shit. I’d lived with it before, so why was I fighting it now?
Mr. Pink cleared his throat. “What is it you want, Mason?”
Because I’d had a false sense of control, that’s why.
The moment of catharsis was utterly amazing. I felt a smile bloom on my face.
Part of the reason I’d fallen into the trap was because I’d associated some sort of hierarchical importance on being chosen by OMBRA and Mr. Pink. Sure, it had been the PTSD diagnosis in my med file that had originally drawn them, but there had to have been thousands out there like me. So the fact they chose me made me awesome. Except that it didn’t. I could have been chosen because I was convenient. I could have been chosen by some algorithm. I could have been chosen because I was an asshole. To assign any importance to the fact I was chosen was a fool’s errand, and evidently without knowing it I’d been hosting a fool’s convention.
The other part was because of the way I’d been treated afterward. I’d been selected to be part of a recon squad. Then I’d been assigned, along with Olivares, to conduct the special mission beneath the Kilimanjaro Hive and destroy it. Then I’d been a trainer of young OMBRA minds. And then I’d been asked to lead another Hive destruction mission. It was like I was a special operator without being a special operator. But in truth, I was only a trumped-up lieutenant in a unit full of grunts leading a unit full of grunts, which meant I was…
A grunt.
“Dude, you’re smiling like a madman,” Olivares whispered as he leaned over. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, aware my grin was freaking people out.
Ohirra was looking at me like I had two heads.
Mr. Pink had such an expression of worry, I thought he might come over and comfort me or run the other way.
“Do you know what I want?” I asked, filling the silence, my smile unwavering. “I want you to treat me like the mission manager you want me to be.”
Pink cocked his head.
“If you want to put me in charge of something, then let me be in charge. That means I need the most information I can have so I can make appropriate decisions. You’re withholding information from me stops, or else bump me back down to sergeant and give me a foxhole.”
Mr. Pink sighed and shook his head. “Some things are on a need to know.”
My smile didn’t waver, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with that. “And I drop the bullshit flag on that. That’s a personal foul. Fifteen yard penalty and start your play again. Just ask Olivares. When you’re in charge of a mission, you require all the information so that you can not only execute the mission, but so you can keep your people alive. This has been true since Christ was a corporal and it will remain true long after we’ve turned into cosmic dust. Your problem, Mr. Pink, is that you’ve been working under false assumptions.
“You believe that had you told me about the hordes of Cray heading to Savoonga, I would have stayed and not gone on mission. Mission is always first. I learned that during my first body excavation detail in Kosovo. I’ve known and lived by that credo my entire career. What you don’t take into account is that the first three Cray to attack might have made me presuppose there were more coming and these were the vanguard. What you didn’t take into account was the idea I might have decided that the mission came first. But you’ll never know.
“But let me tell you exactly how I would have reacted had you provided me the information I needed as your on-site mission manager. Mission doesn’t always need to come first as long as the mission is accomplished. You see, I would have dispersed the tribe. I would have sent some of them into the ocean in kayaks. I would have sent some into their ice caves. And then I would have sent others south of the airport and into the land. I would have done this because I couldn’t possibly stay. Mission dictated we move with all haste. But had I had that information, more than four hundred people would still be alive, and let me tell you, this planet can ill afford to lose any more humans, much less over four hundred, as a result of your micromanaging, specious need to control everything, including the information and intelligence you provide.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” asked Dr. Wright.
“Tell that to the four hundred who died.”
She rolled her eyes, making me want to punch her, but I smiled instead.
Mr. Pink said, “That’s some very comfortable hindsight you have.”
“I would have done the same thing,” Olivares said, sliding in for my defense. “What Mason said is SOP. If civilians are present and we have mission and hostilities are about to occur, we disperse and find shelter for the civilians as best we can, then go on mission.” He shrugged. “Done it a hundred times.”
If anything, his comments made me smile wider. I looked expectantly at Mr. Pink. If he wanted to treat me like a grunt, that was one thing. But if he wanted me to lead, that was another.
And to his credit, he seemed to understand. Mr. Pink looked from Malrimple to Ohirra to me. Then he nodded, made eye contact with me. Then he swallowed, and continued as if nothing had ever happened. Classic Mr. Pink.
“As you might have now surmised, Mason, we knew that there was an alien machine interface device (AMID) beneath the L.A. Hives. We just didn’t know which one had it. Likewise, the hives in Vegas, Phoenix, Dallas, Cincinnati, and a host of other cities. We had a timed attack to disrupt communications and for the most part, we succeeded. ’Crealiac coms were significantly disrupted, as was their ability to monitor our activities. We used that time to reposition air assets and ground-based rockets.”
“They’re not monitoring us from space?” I asked. I didn’t know alien invasion protocol, but if I was the head alien in charge, I’d have things in orbit to monitor.
“Evidently, it’s not that kind of war,” Mr. Pink said, his face pensive, his gaze darting to Malrimple, who was carefully examining his fingernails. Mr. Pink cleared his throat.
“Right,” said Malrimple, looking up and taking stock of where he was supposed to be in the conversation. “So one of our previous hypotheses was that we were some sort of logistical depot for an intergalactic war. Based on intercepts we’ve managed in the last six months from the Hypocrealiacs, as well as the hostile-to-them-actions taken by a new group of aliens, this hypothesis now has more credibility. Previously positioned station-keeping satellites that had provided the Hypocrealiacs with global communications capability have since been removed by the new aliens via unidentified means. We postulate that if the Hypocrealiacs had forces capable of stopping the destruction of the satellites, they’d have used them. That makes us believe that they don’t have any of their actual military forces here…” He paused to catch his breath. “Jus—just the task-based organisms they sent to kill, dismantle, and terraform.”
I glanced at Ohirra, who was staring at Malrimple with a pained look. Something was definitely wrong with him. By the way Dr. Wright was also staring at him, empathetic like a daughter might be to a dying father, I couldn’t help jump to the conclusion of cancer. Thin. Sallow skin. Loss of hair. Trouble breathing. Damn. It was only a matter of time. I felt my heart soften for the man.
“What does that have to do with what Reese said?” I asked to fill the silence.
This time it was Ohirra who spoke. “Imagine, if you will, two warring intergalactic species. Let’s say they’ve been fighting a battle across the galaxy for a million years. Clearly it’s a war of attrition—whoever has the most territory and weapons wins. But the battle is spread so far across time and sp
ace that events are unfolding now which might make no difference on events that have unfolded before or in the future.” Seeing my expression, she added, “Without some way to cross the vast distances between stars, time is more of an enemy than anything else. Generations could live and die aboard a ship before any contact is made.”
“Unless there’s FTL,” Reese interjected.
Faster than light. Like Star Trek’s warp drive. Or wormholes. I’d read plenty about them in our Phase I training.
Ohirra nodded, flicking a gaze towards Reese. “We have to consider the possibility, but without data it’s hard to include that in our postulate. Regardless, we’re talking a war of logistics. On one hand you have an alien organism who is positioning planets to use by ridding each of its population, preparing it for exploitation, and saving it for a future resource. On the other, if what Reese has said is true, you have another alien organism who is leveraging the only thing it seems to have in quantity: people. Not that I’m a hundred percent believer in what Reese says, but if it’s true, we were intended to be used at a later date but the Hypocrealiacs made it to our planet first.”
My head was still spinning at the idea that there was no evolution and no God and no Jesus or any of the other things we were brought up to believe. The idea that we were forward deployed logistical material made by an unknown alien species but one who shared our DNA kind of pissed me off. No, not kind of… it did piss me off.
“This is very much like a Napoleonic War on an intergalactic scale,” Ohirra summarized. “The winner and loser might very well be decided by who has the best access to resources, and we might just be those resources.”
God grant me the courage not to give up what I think is right even though I think it is hopeless.
Chester W. Nimitz
CHAPTER TWENTY
I COULDN’T GET out of there fast enough. Most of the conclusions they’d come to were so disconcerting that my head was beginning to hurt. That said, I’d appreciated the air conditioning of the OMBRA HQ building. The temperature controlled rooms were more akin to Savoonga than the hundred degree day that slammed into me the moment I left the building. The sky was a white hot eye glaring down on me. Sand and dust blew everywhere. I’d thought Savoonga was desolate, but Fort Irwin, situated in Death Valley, was the very definition of desolate. I’d forgotten how dead center in the middle of nowhere it was. At least Savoonga had the ugly. The memory of the bull walruses bellowing gave me a moment of longing that was eventually destroyed by the whining after-burn of a jet taking off.
The briefers had gone on to explain the current state of OMBRA around the world. They’d detailed the odds OMBRA faced against the Chinese and the Russians, who’d established a loose alliance. I learned that the New United States of North America was growing rapidly, with people eager to run to a group of colors they’d revered prior to the invasion. Interestingly enough, much like when Dewhurst had broached the subject of patriotism to me right before he’d turned traitor to our cause, I didn’t feel the swirling emotion I’d once felt, nor was I eager to reestablish the pride I’d so eagerly sought as a younger man racing to salute a flag. In fact, I didn’t feel any affiliation to a country at all. I was a citizen of Earth, regardless of my nationality. I identified myself as a grunt, regardless of rank. And if push came to shove, I identified as a species, even if it was merely as grunt fodder for someone else’s war. Scratch that. Now that Earth had been invaded, my war.
Coming to terms with the idea that the remains we’d brought back might be cousins and that we might not have originated on Earth was becoming easier to accept than I’d thought it would. A lot of it came from the reading and critical thinking we’d done during Phase I training. I tried to dredge some of it up, because once I shared what I’d just learned with my squad, they were going to have a ton of questions.
I found them in the EXO hanger that had been assigned to us, outfitting their battle suits with the latest and greatest. I’d been in this EXO hanger before and recognized the history decorating the walls. The hangar had once been used by a very special unit that prided itself on assaulting and taking the Tactical Operations Centers of all the various units visiting the National Training Center. Insignias and dates told the tale of who’d been the opposing forces from the 1970s on. This group had been called the Tarantulas for their ability to hide in the desert, then pop up and kill senior leaders when they least expected it. The crest was a black tarantula with knives at the end of every leg. I’d deployed out of this very hangar to destroy the Hollywood Hive and my team had worn that crest out of respect to the past.
I thought a moment about Sula and how we’d had to retrofit the EXO for her, as short as she was, so she could fully activate the arms and legs.
I remembered the eagerness of Malcom Macabre and the selflessness of the young man who’d been awarded two Soldier’s Medals in a six month period, then had given his life so that Sula might live.
Ohirra had been part of the team on that mission and had kept me grounded and focused, even when I’d thought all was lost.
Then there was Rennie Stranz. We’d been at odds from the beginning because of his braggadocio, but he’d turned out to be the finest of soldiers, right up until the point where I’d sliced off his arm because the AMID master had control of my brain.
I hung my head for a moment as I breathed in the mixed aromas of grease and sweat and fuel. I never did find out what happened to Stranz. I marked it as one of my priorities. I’d done something terrible to him. Even if I hadn’t been in control, he’d been my responsibility. I was reminded that Sula had survived my assault as well. I’d shot her in her faceplate. Thank God the rounds hadn’t gone through.
I sighed. Was it any wonder I’d needed time away?
I nodded to the squad as I entered but made no move to stop them from what they were doing. One of the techs came up and briefed me. They’d improved the seals around the suit openings and installed a set of oxygen tanks for when the re-breather system was unable to function. They did this in order to provide the capability of operating under water. I wasn’t sure who we’d be fighting underwater, but as long as the additions didn’t hurt battery life or the ability to move and shoot, I was all for improvements.
Several techs were swarming around the spidertank like teenagers around a suped-up Corvette. Merlin sat in the cockpit, nodding as a tech began to run him through the diagnostics. Turns out that there was a Russian e-manual which had been downloaded and translated. As far as ordinance, the spidertank had a recessed modernized DSHK 1939 heavy machine gun. Called the Dishka, the machine gun fired 12.7 x 108mm rounds, which was slightly longer than the NATO .50 cal round. The Dishka was capable of destroying unarmored vehicles, penetrating lightly armored vehicles, and possibly destroying an EXO. There were four internal magazines of five hundred rounds each. The rate of fire was relatively low at six hundred rounds a minute, but fired in short controlled bursts, the Dishka could be devastating. Still, Merlin would need to conserve that ammunition because we didn’t have any replacement ammo of that caliber.
The spidertank also had seven 9M133 Kornet missiles which could be deployed from a rear missile ramp. The Kornet was an anti-tank guided missile capable of destroying pretty much anything. Of interest, the techs had determined that each missile had a thermobaric payload, meaning its devastation was closer to a fuel air explosive than a standard ATGM round.
Then there was the acoustic disc. The techs were still scratching their heads over its capabilities, but it did appear to be a micronized version of the SRAD that the crew chief of the C-130 had initially postulated. Without testing, there was really no way to know its limits.
Right now several techs were working to create a new blister to protect the driver. They were using a molybdenum steel alloy to create a metal replica of the original blister, then aligning a 360 degree camera mount to allow the driver to navigate and target. Although it looked like an ugly wart on the otherwise sleek spidertank, it would prote
ct the operator far better than anything else we were capable of constructing.
Through it all, Merlin nodded and consulted with the techs. It was clear that he was in love with the machine. If I had my druthers, I’d let him deploy with us on our next mission. I’d have to see if I could sell that to higher, as long as we were going to be able to get a chance to practice.
I was about to pull Hero Squad aside and let them know about their new and snazzy patronage when Ohirra and Olivares came bouncing into the hanger.
“There you are,” Ohirra said, a sly grin on her face. “You went running off right after the briefing and I wasn’t sure where you’d gotten off to.”
“Wanted to check on the squad and make sure they had everything they needed.”
“It’s good to see you in person,” she said. Then her face turned serious. “Sorry about Nance.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” I remembered his story of avenging his mother and what he’d had to go through. “He was a good kid.”
All three of us walked in silence, heading out of the hangar and back into the heat for privacy. We found ourselves pacing the fence line along the runway. Ohirra was to my left, Olivares to my right. I felt a sturdy bond between these two. We’d literally survived everything the universe had thrown at us since the beginning of the invasion. They were the closest thing to friends I had.
Finally I asked, “What happened to Sula and Stranz?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask that,” Ohirra said. We walked a few more paces. “It took awhile to figure out that you weren’t in control when you attacked us.”
I spoke slowly, each word a land mine. “I was a miserable witness to the actions. I screamed on the inside for all I was worth. But in the end, I did kill the thing.”
“And we realized that… eventually… but it was hard, especially for—”
“Stranz,” I said, finishing.
