In the Blink of an Eye

by Mark Dutkiewicz

  Emerson wasted no time in taking advantage of the brief respite. Following Butler, he moved with deliberate speed to distance himself from the flaming wreckage. He’d run only a few meters before he realized Banx wasn’t with them. Turning he called back, “Banx move it!”

  “We can’t leave him,” the corporal protested, “Help me drag him.” Banx had a grasp of Dumont’s flak jacket and was struggling to pull him along in their wake.

  “We can’t help him Banxie. We gotta go. Now!”

  “I’m not leaving him behind!”

  Emerson glanced over his shoulder. The ridge line was just in sight. He could make out two marines hauling someone over the lip and what he guessed to be Captain Butler staring back through the smoke. Growling to himself, Emerson raced back grabbing Dumont’s other shoulder and heaved.

  It was slow going until the captain returned. “Grab his feet Banx,” Butler said replacing the corporal at Dumont’s shoulder. With a unified grunt the three hefted the limp form in the air and moved the final twenty some odd meters to the slope. They couldn’t have made it sooner as the air began to sizzle once more from more energy bolts lancing through the mist.

  Suppressing fire echoed from above and Sergeant Pierce could be heard shouting, “Andrews, Daniels. Git them up here!”

  Emerson dropped back to cover the captain and Banx when two arms reached down to help pull Dumont’s lifeless form over the lip. Squeezing off bursts of fire into the fog he glanced over when Butler shouted, “You next Banx.” The captain leaned into the slope cupping his hands to give the corporal a boost. He no more than got a foot in the makeshift stirrup before an energy bolt neatly tore a hole through his chest. Teetering forward Banx body crashed hard onto Captain Butler who grunted from the dead weight.

  Emerson reflexively threw himself to the ground emptying his magazine into the nightmarish shadows that had begun to coalesce in the haze. “Emerson,” Butler grated. He looked back at the man struggling to push Banx off him.

  “Gunny,” Emerson called up, grabbing Banx under the shoulders straddling Butler. Pushing with all his might he lifted Banx in an inhuman feat of strength to the outstretched arms before helping Butler to his feet. The rocks beneath the captain were slick with blood and a nasty looking hole had been punched into the side of his jacket. Getting an arm under him Emerson scrambled up the slope dragging more than supporting Butler. He was halfway there when the helping hands returned hauling him and the wounded officer over the top.

  It was a rough slide down the other side. And steep too. Butler rolled to the bottom ahead of Emerson leaving a trail of blood. Russell was quick to fall on him tearing the jacket from his frame. Banx had been laid beside Dumont and two other poor souls who would never see their families again. Nearby, Private Wisniewski was curled up holding his head in a death grip. The young man was soundless mouthing something, most likely prayers. Emerson didn’t blame him. The way the Drac emerged through the smoke made them seem to be demons summoned from the mouth of Hell. Sergeant Pierce was yelling at, and kicking, the quivering private, ordering him to contact their air support. “Tell ’em we’s gettin creamed down here!” Pierce nearly spat at the man.

  ***

  Streaking through the sky, Jeff deftly maneuvered his razor in an effort to evade the pulsing energy bolts of the Drac toad on his tail. The fact that his HUD was all but useless didn’t help matters as he narrowly evaded another blast of blue death. “Fuck me,” he seethed throwing the craft into a tight rolling turn. His vision briefly narrowed into a dark tunnel from the g-forces he was unaccustomed to. Punching his afterburners, he craned his head in vain attempting to locate his attacker. Alan had been able to frag two of the craft at long range, but the odds were still decidedly tilted. And Jeff was having a hell of a time trying to shake the pair dogging him right now.

  “Hey you airdales!” Sergeant Pierce barked over the channel, “Where’s our cova, we’s gettin our asses handed to us down here.”

  “I’m a little too busy to talk right now Sergeant.” Another flurry of bolts narrowly missed his canopy the air sizzling with static as they passed by. “Teak, when we get back to Victoria. Remind me to have Sparkplug install some rearview mirrors on this thing.”

  “No time ta talk ta me but youse can make jokes to yer squid partner huh?” the sergeant didn’t sound happy in the least.

  Dramatically cutting his engines, Jeff grit his teeth and dropped into a dive rolling the plane back towards the marines landing site. Luckily his pursuers attempted to catch him in some kind of pincer move. One of the trailing toads was driving straight for him. Pressing his gun Jeff unleashed a flurry of slugs wrecking the alien ship and smiling as it began plummeting to the earth below. Briefly follow its descent he caught sight of the fuel dump and a thought occurred to him. “Sergeant, what’s your position?”

  “We’s on the ridge you sent us too Cracker Jack!”

  “Copy that,” Jeff said to find the other toad that was chasing him. “Teak,” he continued, “I want you to blow the fuel dump.”

  “You want me to what?” Alan cried in shock.

  Pierce screamed, “That’s not helpin jackass!”

  Another barrage of fire fell upon Jeff forcing him to twist the craft and double back. The bastard got lucky glancing a bolt off his starboard wing gouging a small channel out. Jeff worked the controls furiously trying to ignore the damage alarm, maintain control of the beat up plane and talk to Alan. “Look,” he said narrowly avoiding yet another volley.

  “Teak, those Jarheads are just over two-hundred meters away with cover.” He juked his razor about fighting the other craft for position. “We blow that thing and just maybe those bastards will be more interested in saving their own asses rather than killing ours.”

  “Knight, you do realize that fuel dump might be our only way off this rock. Shit didn’t look too good upstairs when this all started.”

  Sawing his fighter back and forth Jeff frantically looked about, “I don’t see much of a choice right now,” he grated. That toad was a persistent fucker opening its guns on him again. “Shit!” he muttered. “Teak just blow the damn thing! If you don’t we’re dead anyway.”

  ***

  “Roger Knight,” the radio crackled in Sergeant Pierce’s ear. Dropping the receiver he screamed, “Down, down, everybody down!” His order almost being drowned out by the roar of Alan’s razor streaking overhead to deliver its package of death. The concussion that followed carried a debris filled hot wind over the huddled pack. The smoky sky burned red in a flash. His ears ringing from the blast, Pierce counted to ten after the super-heated gust passed. Shuffling to the top of the ridge, he gingerly peered over the lip of the tenuous cover. Flickering shadows danced in the haze against a fiery background. Whatever the Drac were doing he didn’t care. They had at least stopped shooting at him.

  ***

  Jeff’s razor screamed in a loop around the blazing inferno that was once the fuel dump. He was hot on the tail of the three remaining Drac toads that converged to try and rub Alan out. They certainly didn’t appreciate the potshot he took at their landing craft. A pillar of acrid black smoke was billowing from the inferno below. And thankfully the creatures on the surface reacted as Jeff hoped. The missile strike succeeded in crippling the closer craft and a stampede of the vicious aliens were leaping towards the other. The gamble had paid off, but Jeff now had his hands full trying to keep his wingman alive.

  “Knight,” Alan screamed nervously over the radio, “get these guys off me.”

  “I’m on them buddy. Just give me a few minutes.”

  “Fuck that, I don’t have a few minutes!”

  Jeff raced his plane in the wake of the three Drac ships. The hail of energy bolts they threw at Alan becoming thicker by the minute. If the HUD on his fighter were functioning this would be a simple matter of launching a pair of sidewinders. Even if the toads evaded the strike, the resulting confusion would give Alan the room to maneuver and just maybe even up the od
ds. Seeing an opening Jeff squeezed off a few short bursts from his cannons managing to clip one of the pursuers. The injured toad peeled off, however the remaining two stayed doggedly on Alan’s tail. Pressing his luck, he risked another burst close to Alan’s flight path. It did the trick of clearing him, but the wounded toad was back firing on Jeff now. A flurry of energy bolts streaked across his vision and the Drac fighter buzzed past so close he could hear the alien hum of its engines. A drop of sweat trickled down Jeff’s temple and he silently gave thanks at surviving the near miss.

  “Where’d you go Teak?” Jeff asked whipping his head about frantically trying to locate his wingman.

  “Back where I started with a blood sucker tearing up my tail!”

  “Give me your,” Jeff began before crying in discomfort as a glint of sunlight reflected briefly into his vision. Instinctively he twisted the craft away to avoid another potential collision. Thankfully nothing was close enough to become a hazard, but just the same a brilliant energy lance tore through the sky he’d all too recently occupied. Getting his bearings, he spotted the source of the reflection and death’s parting blow. The large Drac landing ship had climbed into the atmosphere, the shapes of two toads quickly descending on it.

  Jeff laughed at the sight. “Guess you didn’t need me after all. The bastards are running,” he called into the mic.

  “Tell that to the bastard still—” Alan said before the radio cut out.

  “Teak?” Jeff called. Sadly, the radio remained silent. “Teak!” he called again once more frantically scanning the sky and ground below. Then he saw the toad racing past the tumbling form of Alan’s razor, their smoke trails mingling for the briefest of moments. The craft exploded fantastically upon the landscape far below. But the Drac didn’t appear finished. It looped wide ignoring Jeff’s advance and began firing into empty sky. Jeff’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of the parachute. Screaming a guttural roar, he pushed his razor into a dive emptying its cannons into the vile craft. The slugs tore into the toad sending it on its own dizzying tumble from the heavens.

  Jeff let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He’d felled Alan’s attacker, but still may have lost another soul on his watch. The chute was lazily floating to a relatively flat plain roughly a kilometer from the roiling wall of smoke engulfing the Platoon. Damnit, the Platoon. “Captain Butler, Sergeant Pierce, this is Knight come back.” The radio returned static, this was becoming irritatingly common. “I say again, this is Knight, do you copy over?” Jeff slowly circled the apocalyptic scene far below straining to make out anything on the blasted landscape. The fog looked to be thinning a bit, but the billowing cloud from the fuel fire continued to spread in the unpredictable winds.

  Blowing a resigned sigh, he began searching for someplace he could set the razor down. He couldn’t keep circling forever and didn’t know if Alan was hurt or his helmet radio had just gone out. He found a patch that looked about two kilometers from where Alan would touch down. It wasn’t the smoothest but offered enough room for a vertical landing. “Damn craggy terrain,” he muttered to himself guiding the craft down. His engines roared outside the canopy and a cloud of dust swirled about the air as set the fighter down with all the grace possible in the forbidding landscape. The soil was a bit sandier than he’d expected and the ship lurched as the port skid felt like it sank into the earth.

  CHAPTER 19:

  STRANDED

  Fumbling with the seals on his helmet Jeff finally tore it off. Raising the canopy, he tossed the useless weight to the ground before checking his wrist watch. Activating the emergency transponder, he scanned the readout trying to find Alan’s signal with no luck. Trying his suit radio he called, “Teak this is Knight come back.” Not surprisingly he didn’t get a reply. He tried a couple more times, even tried to raise the marines, having the same amount of luck. “Fucking day just keeps getting better,” he groaned.

  Ripping up the seat cushion he pulled out the ships survival pack. Rummaging through the bag revealed the usual bevy of unappetizing field rations, canteen, and assorted gear he’d need to survive a hostile environment if he were Bear Grylls. Jeff was by no means a stranger to roughing it, though the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest was quite different to a desolate moon fifteen light years from Earth.

  Pulling the field glasses from the pack he stood in the cockpit and began scanning the terrain. There wasn’t much to be seen other than rocky outcroppings in most every direction. The fuel dump fire was burning out of control filling the sky with acrid smoke. Three other thin streamers were creeping towards the sky a good distance to the East. And the moon’s surface was being hammered like a flat iron by the sun making the thermal features of the binoculars next to useless. The only thing he could be sure of was the general direction the platoon was. Though the haze from his smoke bombs was thinning, it still created an adequate screen of their position from prying eyes.

  “Shit!” Jeff seethed dropping back into the seat. “Two weeks at the most,” Jeff muttered recalling the mission briefing. “Just have to babysit a landing party for a medical EVAC. What a crock.” Reaching inside of his flight suit, he pulled his pack of cigarettes out. Thumbing the lid open he grunted at the site of only one left. With a sigh he moaned, “Yep, getting better by the minute,” before lighting the ace. Blowing out a cloud of smoke he dropped the survival pack to the ground near his discarded helmet before slipping down himself.

  Taking a moment to stretch he pulled his service pistol checking the magazine out of habit before throwing the pack over his shoulder. As best he could guess Alan should have landed no more than two kilometers to the south. It should put him on a parallel path to what the marines took in their mad dash away from the Drac foot. Of course he wasn’t exactly sure where they were, and his journey would involve a bit more climbing in order to get to Alan. The merciless rays of the sun weren’t going to make the journey any easier.

  ***

  Hitting the ground hard Alan felt something pop in his knee. He grunted a curse at the searing pain and the wind caught his chute dragging him across the craggy terrain which tore at his flight suit. He struggled to release the straps finally succeeding, but not before the ground tenderized him a bit. Breathing hard from the ordeal, he blew the seals on his helmet. Discarding its cracked dome, he clutched at his ruined knee drawing ragged breaths. Biting his lip trying to will the pain away he drew deep breaths through his nose. He needed to calm himself, needed to get his wits about him and find his bearings.

  Fighting through the tears he keyed up his suit radio. “Knight this is Teak,” he seethed through gritted teeth, “come back.” Static was his only reply. “Knight you son of a bitch. If you can hear this, you Goddamn well better answer me.” Could be out of range, could be broken. It was anybody’s guess. Only his mattered at the moment and he didn’t like the options. After catching his breath, he went about checking his gear. First this he noticed was his watch had been smashed during the landing. His pistol and survival had also been torn away somewhere along the ride. Without that he knew very well he wouldn’t last more than a day or two under that blazing sun. He didn’t even want to think about what the night would entail.

  Wrenching himself into a sitting position, he looked about the terrain. He was perched on the slope of some kind of ancient river bed so far as he could guess. The sides appeared to be more gravelly than rocky, though a number of good sized stones dotted the landscape. The dry air blowing through the small valley stirred up the occasional dust devil. Thankfully the fuel dump was still spewing thick black clouds of smoke into the sky and a haze swept across the horizon. At least he knew which direction to go. Trouble was how to get there on one leg. One thing was certain; he wouldn’t get out of this mess by just sitting there.

  The first thing he needed to do was get down to the river bed. Willing himself to his feet he gingerly attempted to shuffle down the embankment. He should have just stayed on his ass and scooted. At his first tepid step the knee g
ave out sending him tumbling down the slope. With a shriek he clutched the near useless joint. His agonized scream echoed across the alien landscape mocking him and he prayed that maybe, just maybe, someone had heard it.

  ***

  “Lieutenant Commander Grant, Lieutenant Jacobs, this is PFC Emerson. Do you copy over?” Emerson said into the receiver. He’d been at it for the better part of an hour trying to raise anyone who’d listen. So far all he’d received was static.

  Tweaking the frequency once again he was about to continue the futile exercise when Sergeant Pierce called, “Give it a rest Emerson.” He was mumbling more than usual, talking around a wad of tobacco in his cheek. “Either they’s can’t hear us or we’s can’t hear them. Can barely hear the sentries and they’s ain’t that far. If those squids is alive, I reckon they’s be headin for the base. Which is where we’re headed soon as Speight gets back with that transport.”

  Throwing down the receiver in disgust, Emerson walked over to Pierce. “Fuck me Gunny,” he groaned easing himself down to sit next to the man. The sergeant continued his vigil looking out upon the one-time battlefield. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Hell is exactly what’s going on Emerson.” The sergeant spit for punctuation. “You saw them wraiths same as I. If they’s not aliens, but Satan’s soldiers. Well, can’t say I’s be surprised.”

  Emerson pulled out a cigarette taking a deep drag as he lit it. “Well, they are like ghosts. If what Andrews said is to be believed. I don’t see why he’d lie.”

  “No tracks, no nothin,” Pierce agreed. “Only thing tells me they was out there is the memories and five dead marines.”

  “Bastards are full of surprises,” Emerson said blowing smoke from his nostrils.