Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  From behind us, Gordo, now just entering the control center, said, “They’re fucking bugs!”

  I watched, astonished, as everyday people—entire families in their bright-colored shirts and baggy shorts, were being rounded up and secured within the multiple spindly green legs.

  “Look at them! They’re so fast.” Lori said. “Like big grasshoppers or—what are they called? Praying Mantises!”

  She was right. That was close to what these invaders looked like. Just seeing them on the view screen was terrifying. Remembering how Hannig had accessed the onboard computer earlier, I said, reluctantly, “System, can you turn up the volume, please?”

  The TV correspondent’s voice suddenly came alive. “. . . similar vessel landings have been reported. Nice, France; Melbourne, Australia; Santiago, Chile; and Nairobi, Kenya. Now I must warn the viewing audience, the images you’re about to see are highly graphic and disturbing.”

  I recognized the changed landscape immediately. It was Nairobi. As awful as the Chicago invasion was to watch, this was worse. The same ugly maggot-shaped spacecraft had set down close to a small one-story building. Twenty or thirty of the insect invaders were unmercifully capturing little black kids—each dressed similarly in a uniform of white button-down shirts and navy blue shorts. Their bone-chilling screams filled the compartment. The little boys and girls were being collected by the armful.

  “Turn it off! I can’t listen to this!” Georgina yelled. She turned her eyes away from the view screen. “It’s too horrible.”

  Apparently, the System was smart enough to follow Georgina’s directive. We stood there for several moments, relishing the quiet.

  Gordo said, “I’ve never seen anything that fucking frightening in my life.”

  I said, “The others, they need to see this. Know what we’ll be up against. I’ll stay. Show it to them.”

  “I want to stay, too.”

  I looked down to Lori. Her eyes were still glued to the viewscreen, even though it was turned off. Moisture brimmed from her lids, and one solitary tear escaped down her left cheek.

  Later, once everyone had watched what we had watched, including Hannig, we got to work loading up the Stryker. Hannig was helpful in determining what would be most useful. Specifically, he rejected the Kevlar vests I’d rounded up. “The Wikk utilize energy-based guns and big ship canons, all plasma-based. Unfortunately, this kind of light body armor would be ineffective against such a strike . . . your underlying uniforms will provide much more help on their own.” He pointed to an alternate crate. “Those would be sufficient, though.

  I looked inside the crate. Here were the bigger, heavier tactical vests I was used to wearing during my deployment. Individual metal plates protected the wearer’s upper torso. Plus, these vests had pockets for extra mags and other equipment.

  I noticed Elmo coming out from the darkness of the tunnel, his glasses reflecting the hanging light bulbs above.

  “Hey, where’d you get the helmet?” I asked, noticing the OPSCORE headgear atop his head.

  “All kinds of shit like this down deeper in the tunnel.”

  “You go all the way to the end?” I asked.

  “Nah, seems to go on and on forever. Maybe all the way to the Hudson.”

  I followed his path back and found the helmets and other gear. Whoever had been collecting this stuff had done an excellent job. Most likely it was someone who’d had military experience them self. By the time I had each of us properly outfitted, it was past midnight. And there was still much to do, like explaining how to use the TCAPS headsets, similar to the ones I’d used in Afghanistan. But nobody right now would have the mental bandwidth. We were all exhausted. Except maybe Hannig, who seemed to have never-ending energy and enthusiasm. He was doing something absolutely against his nature, after all—I imagined the nonstop fervor might be necessary for him to not start second-guessing himself.

  We’d sleep here in the tunnel tonight, and I’d review the comms and other information first thing in the morning. Hannig showed Georgina and Lori two flip-down beds, more like padded cots, in the aft section of the ship, while he said he’d be perfectly comfortable in the forward compartment in a chair. The lone bathroom would have to accommodate all of us. I had to admit, I somewhat envied the women, getting away from the acrid smell of creosote.

  I observed from the Watcher Craft’s large port-side window as the guys, using tarps and whatever else they could find to fashion themselves makeshift beds. Some were on the ground along the sides of the tunnel, others atop the larger crates. I felt Hannig’s stare. “We’re in way over our heads, aren’t we?”

  I heard him let out a breath. “Yes, Dominic.”

  “Today, after watching the new reports of the attacks, it became all too real to me. We don’t have a prayer’s chance up against those things. Maybe we’d be better off with you talking to the military. Show them your ship.”

  “That would not end well, Dominic. I think we both know that.”

  “So we’ll show up there on the alien’s big ship and just get wiped out. That doesn’t serve anyone. I can’t train these guys to be battle-ready in a few hours’ time.”

  “Perhaps that would be the wrong approach,” he said.

  I looked over to him. He looked calm enough, but there was a sadness in his eyes.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “These men, and the police officer woman—they are all acquainted with violence. Some of them have killed. You must let them do what comes naturally to them. Their survival instincts have gotten them this far. Yes, show them how to shoot your weapons, how to speak with one another with your archaic communications devices, but encourage them—get them to tap into their primal states.”

  “And this is coming from the pacifist,” I said.

  “Perhaps I am reinventing myself.”

  I left Hannig there within the muted darkness of the forward compartment and found both Georgina and Lori lying atop their respective beds. Soft snores were coming from Georgina. I tried to step quietly as I passed by Lori. It was too dark to see if she too was asleep. Then I felt her hand take hold of my arm.

  “Wait. Come down here,” she said in a whisper.

  I knelt down next to her. She raised herself up onto one elbow and a swath of light partially illuminated her face. Close as we were to one another, I could see she had a light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her small, slightly turned-up nose. And I noticed she’d let down her long blonde hair. He lips were full and had a kind of poutiness to them. She was too damn cute, and for some reason, at this moment, I found it difficult to look directly into her eyes.

  “It’s late. Best we all get some sleep,” I whispered.

  “I know. But I was thinking. In the morning, we should take some time and get in some target practice—you know, for the guys. I’m a pretty good shot. Hit the range twice a week. Bet you’re a good shot too. But going into battle with newbies, your friends—hell, they may shoot us by mistake.”

  I saw the whites of her small teeth—her smile warmed me from within. God, what’s happening to me? I nodded. “Tomorrow. I’m beat.” I readied to stand and felt her hand tighten around my wrist. I hadn’t noticed that she’d kept it there this whole time.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why won’t you look at me?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

  She was bathed in the cool azure light, which only added an ethereal, magical aspect to this all-too-fleeting moment in time. “I’m looking at you. See?” I said, opening my eyes wider and making a point of staring into her blue ones.

  She laughed too loud, then glanced toward Georgina. “You’re kind of weird, you know that, right?”

  “Yeah, well these are weird times.”

  She and I didn’t speak for several long moments. I was still looking at her, on the verge of drowning in those blue eyes of hers.

  Click! Clank! Clank! Coming from outside the ship were the sounds of a m
etallic latching mechanism. With a deepening dread, I realized it must be the vault door at the top of the stairs. Someone was entering the tunnel.

  Chapter 27

  The one question I hadn’t asked Tito, specifically, was which of the five families, commonly known as the Commission, this old cow-tunnel armory actually belonged to now. Caputo, along with the rest of the guys here, was a member of the Bonanno family business, the leader being one Michael Mancuso. But there were four other New York families this place could belong to. The Gambino family, led by Domenico Cefalu. The Colombo family, ostensibly led by Carmine ‘Junior’ Persico, although I think Andrew Russo was actually running things these days. The Genovese family, led by Daniel ‘Danny the Lion’ Leo, and finally, the Lucchese family, under the leadership of Steven Crea.

  Tito Caputo was a mere mid-level boss, known as a crew captain, or Capo, within the organization. He was fairly far removed from the next rung up the ladder, the cons, or consigliere, sometimes called the chief advisor or counselor. Above that guy, you had an underboss, then came the boss, and finally, above him, you got the Godfather, sometimes called the Boss of all Bosses or simply The King. The Godfather was the supremely powerful crime boss over their respective empire.

  I was ruminating on all this, at the particular moment, because it could determine the difference between life and death for us. The five families had learned to stay in their own proverbial lanes. I had just assumed Caputo had brought us here to a Bonanno family holding. Knowing him, he’d be able to talk his way out of a potential problem.

  In a hushed voice, I said, “Hannig, can you make us, the ship, invisible?”

  “Already on it,” he whispered back. A few moments later, I saw his odd-looking face lean in from around the passageway corner. He nodded to me.

  I put a finger to my lips, and peered out the still-open back hatchway. I had to lower myself to get a viewable angle of the top of the stairs. In the dim light, I saw the big metal door swing open. Rusty hinges screeched. Shit!

  “What’s going on?” Georgina said in a far-too-loud voice.

  Lori and I shushed her in unison. “Looks like we have a visitor,” Lori whispered.

  “Fuck,” Georgina said under her breath.

  Outside, I saw Tito Caputo approach the bottom of the staircase. Gordo and Carlo were there with him, loyal soldiers. Lori slid off the bed and moved in close beside me. I could smell her shampoo. We looked at each other. She mouthed the words, What the fuck? I shrugged.

  The clomping of shoes from up the stairs told me it was a good number of people descending.

  “Hold it right there!” It was Caputo giving the command.

  “Who is that?” came a deep, authoritative, voice.

  “Tito Caputo. You?”

  “Rickie Mondo.”

  I closed my eyes and slowly shook my head.

  “What? Who’s Rickie Mondo? Lori asked.

  “Colombo family boss. Pretty high up.”

  She raised her brows questioningly.

  “Tito Caputo is part of the Bonanno family. I’m betting this is one of the Colombo family holdings.

  “Yea?”

  “Well, we’re on enemy turf . . .”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Why you here, Caputo?” Mondo asked in a not-so-friendly tone.

  “You know why we’re here. Those not-so-little green men invading Earth.”

  “So you thought you’d, what? Help yourself to Colombo family property?”

  “Nah, it’s not like that. We’re here to protect our home. All our homes. Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

  Lori glanced over to a darkened countertop. I figured she had her gun belt and police uniform stashed there. I was also currently unarmed. Earlier I’d collected a full kit—Colt M4 assault rifle, holstered Sig Sauer P320, vest, helmet, all of it—but it was lying near my improvised bed outside, some fifteen feet away.

  I leaned forward, squinting up into the dim light. On the stairs, I saw multiple sets of legs and the muzzles of rifles. They’d come armed for bear. Caputo, Gordo and Carlo were not holding weapons, but I knew each would have a pistol tucked into the back of their pants. They’d be dead by the time they reached for them, though. Elmo and Matteo were somewhere out of view. My bet was both had a bead on the men on the stairs.

  “Can I borrow your service weapon?”

  Irritated, she said, “No! Stop asking that. I’m police, if anyone—”

  I placed a finger onto her lips. “You’re not the police here. You stopped being the police when you came along with us. How many laws have you broken just entering this tunnel?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She looked angry. Outside, I heard the voices on both sides become louder.

  “Look, this is what I do,” I said.

  She nodded reluctantly, and moved away from me. When she returned, she was holding her cop utility belt. She was biting her lip. She shook her head but handed me her Glock 17.

  “Stay here. This isn’t your fight.” I stood and stepped out from the back of the ship. Gun raised, elbows locked, I used the same loud voice I’d used in places like Jalalabad, Kandahar, and Mazar-i-Sharif. “Anyone fucking moves, they get a bullet in the forehead.” It wasn’t just my bellowing voice. It was my six-foot-six stature, and the face. A face that said, I will kill you and I won’t hesitate. A face that said, I’ve done this before and you mean absolutely nothing to me. Just move an inch and I’ll fucking show you how little I care about taking your life. The old cow tunnel went quiet. A pin could have dropped and you’d hear it hit the floor.

  Only now did I get a full measure of the situation. There were actually eight of them, and all were now looking at me. The lowest one, Mondo, about halfway down the staircase, had been in the process of raising his weapon, a Browning Over & Under shotgun. The man had his finger on the trigger. If he pulled it now, Caputo would have his head blown off.

  “Slowly. Lower your weapons. Do it now!” I said.

  But no one moved.

  “Elmo, Matteo, you back there?”

  “Oh yeah, we’re here.”

  In my peripheral vision I saw a dark form rise up from behind a crate on my left, and then farther back on my right. Each was sighting down the barrel of an assault rifle. Good boys.

  “This is a no-win situation. LOWER YOUR WEAPONS!” I yelled.

  This time, each of the men on the stairs did as I asked. Mondo, holding the Browning shotgun, said, “Caputo, I know you. You really want this? To start something?”

  “Let’s just say these are desperate times. Tell Mr. Mancuso no disrespect, but we’re doing what we have to. He’ll thank us one day.”

  I motioned with Lori’s pistol. “Go! Get out the way you came in. Close the door when you leave. Anyone comes through it again, and they die.”

  A bit clumsily, they backed up the stairs and then filed out through the open doorway. A few moments later, the vault door swung closed and the internal latching mechanism re-engaged with a series of clicks and clangs. We all let out a collective sigh of relief.

  Tito Caputo turned to look at me. “You know, I had that perfectly in hand.”

  “No. You didn’t. Mondo was about to blow your head from your shoulders. I saw it in his eyes.”

  Caputo weighed my words. “Okay, then. Grazie, my friend.” He offered me a lopsided smile. “Pretty sure they won’t be back tonight. But just in case, some of us should take turns keeping watch. Starting with me. Everyone should try to get some sleep.”

  I turned and handed Lori back her service weapon. “Thank you.”

  She took it, giving me a look I couldn’t quite read. Then she said, “There’s a side to you—I don’t know. I suspect none of us know.”

  I headed over to my makeshift bed. Before lying down, I checked my weapons, again. I’d keep them close just in case we were wrong about a Colombo family crew returning later tonight. I settled onto my tarp bed—a bed better than a lot of places I’d slept over the years. At least
here there were no rocks or sharp branches directly beneath me. Within minutes, I drifted off to sleep. I dreamt of terrified children being rounded up by alien insects—although these aliens were the size of giants, towering over the kids, towering even over me.

  Chapter 28

  I awoke early to the smell of hot coffee brewing, somewhere nearby. I sat up, shot a quick glance toward the empty staircase, and got to my feet. The other guys were just now stirring awake around me. Elmo yawned out loud. I followed my nose to the back of the Watcher Craft and found Georgina, Lori and Hannig seated around a small table. I was confused about where it had come from until I remembered that the bunk Lori had been using was multifunctional. A bunk, a medical operating bed, and a breakfast table. Lori and Georgina were cradling their U.S. Army cups to their chests, and Hannig was chewing on something orange.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Georgina said with a smile. Her short red bed-head hair was sticking up in several places.

  “Morning. I don’t suppose I could get a cup of that brew?”

  Lori reached behind, got ahold of something off the counter, and handed it to me. It was a WAC cup—Women’s Army Corps. There was an illustrated retro image of a servicewoman wearing a long dress and saluting the American flag.

  “I had to root around out there for that cup. Saved it just for you,” Lori said.

  “Appreciate that,” I said, taking the cup. “And the coffee? So who do I have to scr—”

  “Now now, let’s keep this PG, young man,” Georgina said, rising from her seat. She brought over an odd-looking metal canister and poured the steaming, dark liquid into my cup.

  I looked over to Hannig. “Real coffee? Here on this ship?” I took a sip. It was good. Excellent, actually.

  “It’s from what you would call a replicator.” He gestured back to the kitchenette area. “Any food item can be broken down to its most elemental parts. Matter converted to data, basically, and then data converted back to matter. Tastes are brought about by various chemical interactions.”

  “So, if I was to ask you to rustle up some eggs and bacon?”