The Hidden Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “You all ready to do this?” I asked into an open channel. One purposely set up for our small aerial attack group.

  Karen said, “We’re more than ready . . . been waiting on you. Hey . . . how about we call our little squadron the NightHawks?”

  “As good a name as any,” I said. I nudged the control sphere between my knees forward, and instantly felt g-forces pressing me back hard into my seat. “You okay back there, Pierce?”

  His gravely voice sounded a bit sickly: “I am . . . fine.”

  “Just don’t throw-up in my Shredder,” I said. “Try thinking of something else.”

  Mere seconds passed before we reached the northern tip of Castle Rock and the alien compound below. The sun, just now cresting over the distant horizon, cast a golden glow on the Colorado landscape beneath us. All five Shredders, our NightHawks, gained higher altitude and moved into a circular holding pattern. Banking, I watched as our four attack teams suddenly pressed in from all sides. The battle had commenced. Bright-blue energy bolts began shooting across the compound, along with sporadic flashes of light from regular gunfire. Two hundred people, mostly Humans, against an estimated eight hundred, highly trained Gap soldiers. But at least we had the element of surprise. I could see that Mike was busy controlling the robot—which was inflicting a good amount of damage. I saw the Dome had been completely destroyed, practically stomped flat. Currently, the robot stood atop an enemy’s Mini Crusher, driving its heavy metallic foot down over and over again—denting-in the hull plates on the craft’s aft section.

  I selected an open channel to reach each of our teams. “Good work, everybody! Time now for ground forces to fall back. Oh, wait, Crazy Horse . . . I see a handful of Gaps rushing toward those parked Shredders.”

  “On it, boss . . . do your thing,” Donny said.

  I was about to give the command for my team to attack when Mike asked, “Any chance you can avoid hitting my robot?”

  “Seriously? Boys and their toys,” Karen said.

  Right then, catching my eye, I caught the glimmer of morning sunlight bouncing off numerous distant craft descending lower from high altitudes. Some were heading south, toward Colorado Springs, and others to the north, toward Denver, and farther northwest, toward Boulder. Phase III. The Gaps’ plan—eradication of humanity—was now in full swing. Atomizer domes, most likely far larger than the one erected in Castle Rock, would already be under construction. My mind flashed back to Sopravvissuto—the frail old man who walked with a cane and lived somewhere in northern Italy—a half a world away. How worried he’d been about his daughter who lived in an adjoining small town—and how I had stopped him from speaking her name aloud. She was, of course, long dead now. As were thousands of others, rounded up and forced into one atomizer dome or another. A deep sadness came over me—moisture filled my eyes.

  I said, “This is for you, Sopravvissuto. For you and your daughter! Shredders . . . attack now!”

  chapter 41

  Captain Guart sat quietly within the stolen XL5’s control center, biding his time until the moment was right. He felt sick. All thanks to that crazy maniac, Dalm Mor Stroph, who had literally ripped his ear off. He used an extended claw to poke and probe at the bloodied mess at the side of his head.

  Guart watched as the traitorous Mannarian, hobbling around on his crutches, along with the scrawny Human male, who went by the name Mike, completed their dirty business—destroying the atomizer dome. He watched the video display above as five human-piloted Shredders began their aerial attack.

  They really should have secured my hands behind my back—instead of in front, he thought. From his visual perspective sitting on the floor, he could see what they could not. The one plasma pistol their repeated searches had missed. Secured to the underside of the communications console, not five feet distance from where he sat, he could see the weapon plain as day.

  The Human, Mike, sure was a clever one. First thing he did was to command that robot to smash its mechanical fists down onto each one of the three Mini Crusher’s communications arrays. Captain Guart doubted any distress calls could have been transmitted in time. No, that would have to wait until he was able to regain control himself. He just needed them to turn their backs to him at the same time. He only needed four, maybe five, seconds to scurry across those few feet to retrieve that hidden weapon.

  Guart watched as Mike maneuvered the assembly robot with more finesse than he thought possible, especially for someone of such a barbaric and inferior race.

  Mike laughed out loud as he instructed the robot to stomp and kick at another section of the mini lander. Soon it would soon be little more than a heap of scrap metal. But then it happened. Jhally hobbled over to Mike’s side to watch the display, set high up on the bulkhead. He watched as the robot continued to destructively flail its metal limbs as if possessed by daemons.

  First his left foot and then his right, Captain Guart slowly brought both feet under him—positioning himself into a low crouch. A spring set to be sprung, he raised his bound hands before him—and leapt.

  Both Jhally and Mike, clearly startled by the commotion behind them, spun around. But it was too late. Guart already had pulled the weapon free from the hidden holster. Close to them now, he aimed his pistol at the traitor first, shooting Jhally in the chest. As the Mannarian dropped lifeless to the deck, Guart re-aimed, firing at the Human. Mike, attempting to dive for cover, took the plasma bolt into the back of his head. He, too, dropped lifelessly onto the deck.

  chapter 42

  With my Shredder taking point, we were coming in low and fast, one after another—the first of our strafing runs. It was then that I noticed the robot had gone perfectly still—as if it was frozen in time—with one of its bit metal fists poised high up over its head. No time to worry about that now. I triggered both wing-mounted plasma guns and began mowing down Gap ground forces there within the compound.

  What I didn’t expect to see was incoming bright green energy bolts shooting up at us from two of the three Mini Crushers. “Incoming!” someone yelled over our comms. As we all took evasive measures to stay one piece, I said, “NightHawks . . . you know what to do.”

  Streaks of bright green plasma fire was now crisscrossing the morning sky all around us. I engaged my Shredder’s gravity disruption system and felt a vibration as the two canons lowered and locked into place from their respective aft and forward fuselage compartments.

  “Brian! They have a lock on you!” Karen’s voice squawked into my ear puck.

  Already seeing a series of energy bolts tracking my every movement and closing in on me, I immediately banked left and then right and then left again—but I was a millisecond too slow. The tip of my port side wing exploded—flaring bright white followed by a trail of bluish flames—it was a direct hit but hopefully not a catastrophic one. I continued to fly as wild and erratically as possible, keeping my virtual control sphere always on the move. All the while, I watched as the onboard AI was attempting to lock onto any number of potential ground targets—each passing by beneath my craft in a blur of motion. I jerked the controls hard left as multiple energy streaks came within inches of my canopy—illuminating everything within the cockpit in a sickly shade of green. Finally I heard and saw on my HUD I had a target lock. It was one of the Mini Crushers below. I fired both canons then immediately pulled back on my control sphere to get some needed distance and altitude. With a quick glance over my shoulder I saw the aft section of the Mini Crusher was a flat as a pancake. Like angry circling bees, the four other NightHawks were dispatching devastating hell fire onto the compound below. Most startling and grisly were the hundreds of partially visible Gap corpses—hard pounded deep into the ground—as if the very foot of God had stomped down with a hellish fury. I listened to the other pilot’s excited cross talk. I heard Karen’s voice as she yelled, “Got them! Hold your applause folks . . . all in a day’s work.”


  By this time, incoming plasma fire went from sporadic to non-existent. All three of the Mini Crushers had been decimated. What remained of the enemy ground forces had been ripped apart by our NightHawks plasma fire. The enemy had been defeated. I maneuvered in low, passing through black plumes of rising smoke. I saw that the robot was still oddly immobile—still frozen in time. “Jhally . . . Mike, how about a status report?” I waited several more moments and said, “Come back, status, guys? The comms channel stayed quiet. The other pilots were now holding back with their chatter.

  I was surprised to hear Chancellor Sleept Vogthner’s distinctive voice come over the comms channel. Wasn’t he still being held captive himself within the hold? Stroph must have brought him and General Chiv up to the bridge to get them ready for the next part of the plan.

  “I’m sorry . . . both Jhally and Mike are down. I repeat both Jhally and Mike are down. Shot by the prisoner . . . by Captain Guart.”

  Stunned, I was having a hard time piloting my craft. I squeezed my eyes shut. Oh, God, I felt dizzy. Both, in their own way, were family. . . . No, I can’t go there . . . I can’t let this derail what I have to do today. Suck it up, grieve later. “And the murderous fucking captain?” I asked.

  “Dead . . . He’s been decapitated.”

  I didn’t need to ask. Obviously that would be Stroph’s unique handiwork. Good.

  Vogthner continued, “But not before the Captain had gotten off a distress call. We have incoming aerial forces coming in from both the south and the north.”

  I verified as much on my own HUD. Shredders headed this way. Too many to count. Fortunately, my NightHawks were already setting down and letting out their copilots. Two of them were dashing across an open field toward the awaiting dual rows of enemy Shredders. I’d almost forgotten my own copilot that was still seated mere feet behind me. “You still with me back there, Pierce?”

  He cleared his throat, “Yes, yes I am.”

  I brought my Shredder down—probably faster and more dangerously than prudent. I opened the canopy and waited for Pierce to climb out onto the wing. “Best you hurry, Pierce,” I yelled over the loud engine noise. “As you heard, we’re expecting company.”

  I waited for my canopy to close before asking, “How much time do we have, Chancellor?”

  “Not much . . . maybe three minutes.”

  I caught a glimpse of Donny helping a limping Matt there amongst the remaining friendly ground forces. At least these two friends had survived the day. But we’d lost at least half of those we’d arrived with. A heavy price to pay for acquiring five additional Shredders. Men, women, and Gap marshals, were filing up the ramp and into the XL5’s hold.

  I heard Karen’s soft voice, “Brian . . . hey, I’m so sorry . . . I know how close you were to both—”

  “What the fuck!” I said it aloud, not meaning to so rudely cut her off. But it was the robot. Suddenly, it was moving again. And it was walking toward the XL5.

  “Brian?” Karen said sounding a bit miffed.

  “Just hold on a sec, Karen.”

  One by one the NightHawks continued to lift off around me. Our squadron of five was now ten. But my attention was still on the robot.

  “Umm, Chancellor, is that you controlling—”

  Another voice came on the channel, “No, that’s me. I think we should keep the robot. Fuck, the thing was a rockstar out there . . . did you see it?”

  “Wait . . . Mike? Is that you? You’re supposed to be dead!”

  “The way my head hurts, I feel like I should be. I guess the lowest of the three settings on a mistmaker pistol is a kind of stun level. But if you could see the back of my head, it’s scorched and as bald as a baboon’s ass—”

  “And Jhally? Is he okay too?”

  I waited for several long moments.

  “Well, he’s alive . . . still breathing. But he’s unconscious. He’d been a good bit closer to that asshole captain.”

  Apparently, Mike had put the robot into some kind of automatic hibernation mode. Currently each appendage segment was retracting into the main torso becoming a perfect rectangle. A side panel on the XL5 slid open, revealing four extending armatures. Within moments the rectangular block of metal was being hoisted up and pulled into the awaiting compartment. The XL5’s lift thrusters came alive and the big landing vessel began to rise amidst a flurry of swirling small rocks and dirt.

  Ten Shredders and one XL5 Crusher vessel headed southeast—toward the island of Cuba.

  chapter 43

  We were cruising along due south at an altitude of twelve thousand feet within a standard military Vic, or V, formation with my Shredder Five in the lead position. Karen, in Shredder Three, was flying slightly behind and on my port side, while pilot Yeager, in Shredder Four, was off to my starboard. The XL5, being piloted by a marshal familiar with the vessel’s helm, was situated within the middle of our eleven-vessel squadron. Four times we had altered our course to avoid flying directly over new dome military compounds—most still seemed to be under construction, but some looked to be almost complete. Ready for business.

  Tapping into the Gaps’ frenzied communications chatter, it was clear that we’d certainly stirred the proverbial pot. Yes, not only had the Castle Rock military encampment been attacked, but, somehow, inconceivably, had been completely wiped out. Hundreds of ground forces killed. Multiple Crushers destroyed; Shredders were possibly missing. But the most surprising turn of events was the Gap high-command assumption that the uprising had solely been the work of the local, traitorous, EMS marshals, only justifying his Eminence, Overlord Skith’s earlier decision to annihilate all EMS personnel across the globe. Apparently, lowly Humans were not deemed capable of such a brazen and triumphant act. We had picked up on one very crucial bit of information—that his Eminence, Overlord Skith, was currently in high orbit onboard the Situational Command Ship Tasthmal 8. His most prized possession, the Maiden Sow, was assumed to still be in the Cuban subterranean caves of Viñales. All incoming hails were answered with terse audio-only replies that this squadron was on a special mission for his high Eminence. General Chiv cannot be bothered with mindless inquiries at the moment.

  I reflected on my most recent communiqués back and forth with Vogthner. Jhally was still unconscious onboard the XL5—possibly at death’s door. But I’d detected little emotion in the Chancellor’s voice. Were things so different with these Gaps that the potential loss of a close family member, a brother in this case, was of such little consequence? I reflected on the loss of my own brother, Glen. A brother who, like so many others, had been summoned into a local OEC building and was never seen again. I hadn’t considered it much before now, but there was a good probability Sleept Vogthner, the Gaps’ local chancellor of communications, had been directly responsible for Glen’s death. Perhaps he’d even been there during my brother’s final moments of life. It would have been so easy these past two years to be utterly consumed by hatred. Up till now, I’d steered away from going there—seeing how those kinds of spiraling emotions had destroyed the lives of those still living. But now, thinking about Glen, seeing more and more of those vile domes taking shape below us—hatred had come a knocking again. It would be up to me if I answered that door.

  —————

  The plan was to fly right into Cuba’s airspace as if we were under direct orders to do so. And we’d still be counting on General Chiv’s clout to get us as close in as possible. We’d need to be careful with any visual communications though—his bruised and swollen face would be hard to explain if inquiries were made.

  Up ahead was the tip of Florida with the Atlantic Ocean off to the left and the Gulf of Mexico off to the right. Then I saw the first of the shipwrecks. No less than ten U.S. Navy vessels in various stages of destruction sat along the southern shoreline—a once magnificent aircraft carrier, two battle ships, a frigate, and several destroyers—each had the
telltale spans of hull that had been grotesquely flattened, characteristic of the gravity-disruptor cannons. Our squadron went quiet.

  As we progressed farther south, the deep blue waters of the Atlantic were slowly being replaced by the aqua blue waters of the Caribbean. The Florida Keys islands came next—it was here the first of several great oceanic cruise ships lay crushed and sideways upon sunny beachheads. Undoubtedly, decomposing Human remains were still among the wreckage—no atomizer domes had been built two years ago to deal with such things.

  My HUD dinged as a new visual feed from the XL5’s Control Center popped into view. I saw a Gap marshal standing at the helm and Chancellor Vogthner manning another console. Stroph’s hulking presence could be seen lurking in the background and Mike Post was closer in, seated with his scorched bald spot in full view at the back of his head. Donny was just now escorting—more like manhandling—General Chiv into view. Donny plopped the general down hard into an open seat.

  I asked, “How’s his uniform look?”

  Donny looked up and around as if trying to find a camera.

  “I’m ninety degrees to your left,” I said.

  Donny spun the general’s chair around, giving me a full straight-on view of Chiv’s face. I cringed. “Ugh, he looks like someone took a baseball bat to him.”

  “Close enough,” Donny said sending an irritated glare at Stroph.

  “I see you’ve repaired his uniform, cleaned the splotches of blood from his jacket.”

  “We grabbed a new one from his quarters,” Donny said. “Pretty nice digs by the way.”

  I said, “General Chiv . . . do I need to remind you that your life ends the second you call for help, or do anything to warn the Royal Guard there is anything amiss?”

  Chiv didn’t answer right away. Then I saw a clawed hand, one the size of a dinner plate, descend down onto his shoulder—obscuring the fancy epaulet there.