“What happened in the descent?” the president asked. “I remember we lost radio contact and I was pulled away.”
“When Lieutenant Green bailed, her parachute caught on fire from the embers blasted from underneath the structure when the second set of objects descended from orbit. By our estimates she had between a 500 and 2,000 foot final drop at terminal velocity. Ordinarily this would mean death or at least paralysis if lucky, even with training. We’ve speculated that the same superconducting energy-absorbing properties of the alien material that helped their high velocity landings, absorbed Lee’s energy as well.”
Pith pressed the screen in front of his seat flush with the table. The holograph panes showed a surveillance image of the sand-covered, oblong, mile-wide landing site. The next photo zoomed on a lone figure on a dune looking through binoculars.
“But that is not what’s of most interest,” Pith said, moving the zoom around. “Look at that!”
Hushed awe and murmurs of terror filled the room. The image showed hundreds of little animal-like blobs, afternoon shadows on the sandy platform betraying their true shape.
“There they are,” whispered Bolton.
“I’ll be damned!” a fearful senator exclaimed. “Crayola-colored nightmares.”
Pith smirked at the politicians. “Intelligence says these pack more mass than we do, but they’re a good deal shorter. What really matters is this next bit.”
Pith flipped to a later picture and zoomed in.
“Oh God,” Jill gasped, followed by Franks.
The moment, frozen by a U-2 flying 50,000 feet overhead, showed a human body, wrapped in some tight black cladding hoisted on the haunches of a robotic multi-limbed black alien robot hurrying back to the platform.
Lee’s body faced the sky. Her eyes and mouth remained open, but she was layered in the substance the scientists speculated were nanites. Lee’s arms reached up from some final struggle, fingers outstretched before turned to black granite.
“Now you see, Mr. President, why a rescue mission may be out of the question.”
Franks viciously whispered to Pith, “I thought you said I knew everything!”
“About XinJiang. About what I needed you to know, Colonel.”
“Gentlemen?” the president asked rhetorically from the opposite end of the large table. “You know, the benefit of a round room is that it carries sounds all the way . . .” the president reached up and touched his left ear, “. . . around. Your pissing contest can’t spill into this room.”
“I lost three of my best pilots out there before those things even stepped off their ship. If we’re going to have any chance we have to let the big ones do the work, let the troops do mop-up duty. Why are we hesitating?” Franks realized he’d spoken out of turn. “If . . . if I may be honest, sir.”
Pith smiled. His plan to push Franks into a corner and exploit his anger at the aliens was working. That face, gasping for air, was hard for anyone to deny. Lee’s bubbas had gone down in ‘accidents’ when the aliens landed, but this was straight up interstellar murder and old instincts for revenge would kick in on cue for a veteran like Franks. Now he’d be Pith’s nuclear option yes-man, neutering the pacifist scientists, who had no idea what it was like to risk one’s life for their country.
The president studied Pith and Franks, aware of Pith’s manipulation, but also aware he might end up being correct regardless. But there were other things to try first. The president knew better than to blindly forge an attack against an unknown enemy. An enemy that may or may not be the same that destroyed the Moon and the satellites before moving the Earth to this new solar system was definitely not a foe to underestimate. What the president lacked in military experience he had in poker skill. He needed to save his ace for the last round and let other sacrifices, however painful, come first.
“Thank you for your honesty, Colonel. However, you know my position on the big ones. Nuclear is on the table, but it’s a big table and I’d like to exhaust every other opportunity before we doom what survivors there are in California, Arizona, and Nevada to nuclear fallout. We don’t want to cripple the southwest right when we may need every last citizen to stand and fight for it.
“It’s not just the American southwest, though. A nuclear strike would have to be coordinated, or our enemy could adapt after our first blow.”
The president made a twirling motion with his finger and looked at Pith, who moved through a series of photos as the president spoke.
“The objects in orbit are preparing to land or have landed in several other places already. Hudson Bay, Canada. XinJiang, China. Simpson Desert, Australia. Teeming with them, all after one thing. In Australia they’ve gone straight to Kati-Thandi Lake and started harvesting the water. We’re worried they’ll head for Adelaide on the way to the ocean. Here is how they treated the wildlife in their way.”
Photos splashed minced animals on the holograph panes. The politicians and the scientists averted their eyes from the grotesque display of carefree destruction. The soldiers practically salivated.
“Imagine that going through an American—or any—city,” the president said.
More photos came up. The aliens captured water from Kati-Thandi in massive bladders of the expanding black nanites, hanging beneath airships brought back to the landing sites.
“We’re mobilizing ground troops to protect our coastal cities in Southern California, such as they are,” Pith offered.
“Our goal is not to engage with the aliens in the cities, but to get any tsunami survivors to safety first,” the president assuaged the room.
“We are prepared to give them a fight, though, if they confront us,” Pith assured.
“Will they?” Bolton asked. “What are they doing with the water, anyway? Isn’t it easier to get it from comets closer to their own planet?”
“They may have already exhausted the supply,” Allan said. “If their lungs are anything like ours, and we don’t see breathing apparatuses on them in these photos, they’ve done a good job of exhausting all their native—and nearby space—resources. The Wenchang satellite is getting us more information by the minute, but what we haven’t found yet are water-laden moons or comets in orbit anywhere near either our planet or theirs.”
Bolton wasn’t satisfied. “But they moved us to their solar system. Why not bring Enceladus or Titan over here instead of the Earth? They’ve got way more water than we do, and no pesky natives to protest. Not to mention, if they’re so concerned about replacing their own polluted water, why use our polluted water?”
Kam took his chance to say something useful. “You’re right, Senator. It doesn’t make sense for them to move us. That’s another bullet for our list of why it wasn’t them that moved the Earth to this solar system. After all, why not move us to a closer orbit if that was the case? Rather, we suggest that these are opportunists, using the Event—whether they had foreknowledge or not—to support their own agenda, which may differ quite a bit from our ‘moving company’s.’”
Pith pumped his fist. “If their agenda is to steal our water after the biggest natural disaster in history, whether they caused it or not, they’re going to find it harder than they think.”
“We only know water is a necessary part of their operation, which is another clue to their vulnerabilities,” Jill noted.
“Have we sent a bombing run since they started their walkabout?” a senator asked.
“We’ve been debating,” the president said. “If anything, it’ll be a dry run for a ground assault. Or, God forbid, fighting in our cities. I’m holding off on General Pith’s Operation Cold Flash as long as I can, but the other presidents and prime ministers are chomping at the bit for a ground troop assault.”
The president removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Colonel Franks, half of the pilots on alert right now are from Hickam. I want you commanding any raids we do.”
The Air Force general in the room started to say something, but the president stopped him.
Most in the room gasped at the thought.
“I’ll order every last pilot to fly straight into those bastards before I authorize nuclear war. It’s your jobs to give me better options.”
“Trident missiles?” Pith asked.
The general from the Navy nodded. “We stationed an Ohio-class, the Wyoming, off the coast by the Mexican border after we heard about the coup.”
“Would they see it coming if we launched from there?” the president asked.
“A Trident from a hundred miles off shore, shooting at Mach 3 towards America?” the Navy general replied rhetorically. “Probably not, but I recommend moving her farther south after the launch anyway.”
“Do it,” the president said, tapping his fist on the table and beginning to stand up. “Let’s see if they bleed.”
Chapter 3
“Chaplain said it’s the end of the world,” she heard one of them whisper.
“You men scared?” she asked, her lips turning into a pert smile behind the scar. “Speak freely.”
“Fuck that!” the youngest private replied, cradling his rifle like a newborn as he sat on the exposed concrete of an abandoned building’s facade. “Bring ‘em to us, we’ll light ‘em up real good.”
“Brig-gen,” another private cautiously asked, “you ain’t scared?”
She stepped closer to them, almost out of the shadows of the smashed building, stopping short of exposing her face above the nose. All the privates saw was the scar running from her chin to her left nostril and dancing in the middle when she spoke.
“Fear is good, it focuses the senses. I need to rid you of cowardice, so you don’t crawl into a foxhole when I say advance.”
She walked completely out, standing on the broad lip of what was once a courtyard in front of an office complex on Wilshire Boulevard. The sharp noon sun nipped at her pores, drawing beads of sweat that she let run. Nearly eight thousand troops under her command milled in front of the tsunami-felled high-rise.
She snapped her fingers. A private thrust a loudspeaker forward.
“All of you may think you know what’s coming. I’m sure you heard stories on the way here. I know my own battalion, The Professionals—,” a third of the troops at hearing their own battalion called out wooted in reply, “—heard all about the enemy. Which is to say they didn’t hear much of anything truthful.
“You’ve heard we’re up against gods. I’m here to tell you it isn’t true. These things eat and shit and breathe. They bleed like us and can die like us, so you needn’t be afraid. Your generals, your officers, and your president are all behind you, prepared to use everything at our disposal to defeat the enemy.”
Her eyes wandered the sea of green and gray combat fatigues filling what used to be a wide city street in Los Angeles. The tsunami and earthquakes had turned the city upside down, literally in some cases. It occurred to her that her former home may be in worse shape than Bosnia or Kosovo. Even Haiti looked more promising after its earthquake than the shaken-out ruin of Los Angeles’ former world-class metropolis. The city was deserted, save for the tens of thousands of troops shipped in for the alien blockade and survivor searches.
The famous Hollywood sign had vanished, its remaining exposed struts on the mountain overlooked wreckage of homes built on stilts that washed away into the basin. Beach homes that anchored the wealth of California up and down the coast were replaced by water and sand blown miles inland. After cliffsides running along Pacific Coast Highway gave in, a strange new beachfront ran southeast from the palisades at the foot of Westwood and Cheviot Hills.
The new beach, not of sand, but billions of scraps of wood, steel, glass, and far too many human bones, would never host tourists. The bones stood out, gleaming white and baking in the sun. The flesh had been stripped either by the force of the water or by the starving birds and coyotes that came down from the mountains after the storm. The skeletons stayed where they were for now, reminders to the troops to do their duty, lest the entire world become a boneyard like this.
“Remember what you’ve seen, not what you’ve heard. San Francisco burned. Riots tore Las Vegas, Dallas, Mesa, and other southwestern cities as they scrambled to restore infrastructure. Here in the City of Angels you must walk past the bodies of those who’ve perished, millions of Americans who won’t know about the battle to come. Think of the billions who desperately need us to stop these bastards from taking our cities, our countries, our planet!”
The brigadier general thought of a movie she’d seen decades ago with a speech by a president made on an airfield tarmac about fighting invading aliens. That battle was cut and dry, good vs. evil. This was far too gray. The troops didn’t know, but she’d seen the reports: the aliens had yet to stage an offensive. All confirmed KIAs were from soldiers and civilians who’d gotten in the way. It didn’t mean the aliens wouldn’t, or couldn’t commit to an assault on the natives, but first strikes were always risky. So many wars had been fought needlessly over the ease of using a trigger instead of a tongue. But she didn’t get to be a brigadier general by questioning authority.
“The enemy makes runs over Los Angeles every thirty-two hours with a group of ships that fly to the Pacific and steal millions of gallons. They need our water. We’re not going to let them have it. This planet is ours!”
She raised her fist to the sky; the troops raised their rifles and shouted.
“Find your captains, they all have service orders. The next water run is less than two hours away. Survivor rescues are on hold until the enemy engagement ceases. You should all be ready to fight to the death, for if we lose this fight, there may be worse in store for those that remain.”
On that somber reminder, she stepped back into the shadow and walked back to her command room. The soldiers all stalked off into their own companies.
Two young privates that had been closest to the brigadier general walked across the ruined boulevard and up the steps into a former shopping mall, now a staging area for their battalion. The movie theaters were the rally point for organizing the companies. The man and woman hupped the dead theater escalators to the second floor, looking for auditorium six, where their infantry company would receive what may be the final orders of their lives. Some of the last to arrive, the privates took seats at the back, kept dim by the generator-fed lights focused on the stage.
“Familiar face up there, eh Leto?” the female private asked her companion.
“Boy, Petey sure looks angry,” he replied. “Bet he wishes BrigGen let him stay in San Francisco.”
“Gotta suck to be promoted just in time to lead a suicide mission.”
“Amanda, is there anything that hasn’t sucked since the Event? I heard you almost bit it in Boston and New York saving some egghead. They shut down Iraqi Freedom just in time to plop us in the middle of this shit.”
“Just in time, Leto?” Private Silversun choked back a laugh.
Private Leto wasn’t amused. “Clearly you aren’t an AM radio relay listener. The Mad Texan says this is all part of the plan. The New World Order planned this all along. Another false flag. First it was terrorists to keep us scared, then a ‘threat from beyond.’ We’re hearing a lot about aliens, but I ain’t seen one yet, have you?”
“Leto, I talked to that egghead, Kam Douglass. He didn’t need to see the aliens to be convinced. They didn’t blow up the Moon: they moved the entire planet. You think the ‘New World Order’ can orchestrate that shit from the Bohemian Grove? Move an entire planet to a new orbit? Try to point out the Big Dipper tonight for me. Or the Little Dipper, Aquarius, Virgo, anything!”
“The Mad Texan says they’re covering up the sky with contrails, making us all angry. That’s why there’s riots. The tsunamis are f
rom some new super-weapon they tested out in the ocean.”
“Then where’s the fucking Moon, Ledesma? I see plenty of stars at night, but no moon. Not since Christmas Eve. And all this for what? Subterfuge to control us? Fuck, we’re already in the Marines, we gave up any control over our lives when we signed up, you know that. I suppose the Texan wants you to buy more gold?”
“With all the banks closed, gold is the only thing you can buy anything with,” Leto pointed out with sincerity.
Amanda began to mock Leto. “Then, Mr. Conspiracy Theory, why don’t you question why the Texan is trying to sell it to you? Maybe he’s part of all this, hmmmm?”
Leto looked at her, deadpan, hurt his comrade-in-arms dismissed him so easily.
She rolled her eyes. “You won’t believe it until you see an alien with your own eyes, will you?” Her voice dropped an octave. “I hope for your sake you get to live with your delusions, cuz if they caused the Event, you ain’t gonna live through a close encounter.”
Her point made any further conspiracy commentary from Leto moot. The privates straightened their backs and prepared to hear the inevitable as the major tested the stage mic.
Major Pete Thompson tried to conceal his anxiety as he prepared to speak to the room full of young faces. He’d seen the two young privates at the back come in and recognized them instantly. He wished his former peers had been sent for riot duty in the Midwest; he wasn’t eager to send them off to die on his first commanding mission. Though, if it was as bad as he’d heard, he wouldn’t be alive either to feel guilty.
Still, the brass could have at least sent him to command strangers, not that any of them would still be so by the end of the coming battle. War has a way of making fast friends, just in time to say goodbye too soon. The worst part was stifling a feeling of inadequacy. Amanda Silversun already earned a Meritorious Service medal for her work saving lives in Boston and New York, yet remained a private. He knew she’d also served with the other private, Leto Ledesma, in Operation Enduring Freedom. Pete went through basic with both of them, but earned his promotion by skipping Iraq for officer training and then coordinating rescues in San Francisco after the Event. He swallowed his reluctance to command and cleared his throat.
The Filter Trap Page 25
