by Vossen, Doug
“Hey sergeant, how’s it going? This the two shop?”
“Yeah, who’s looking?”
“Karl McMullin,” said the one that looked to be in charge.
“Right, whatever.” Martin knew they were military, but hated how they went around purposefully providing as little information as possible, even if they were talking to people who had clearance. Martin had always viewed it as their passive-aggressive way of letting everyone know they were special. He had always complained to Jack, ‘WE GET IT, YOU’RE FUCKING DELTA. LET’S MOVE ON’. Part of it was some Delta operators’ inherent douchiness, but a lot of it was just Martin’s own insecurities. In this case, Jack recognized the voice of the man about to enter the tent. It was unmistakable.
Karl walked into the S2 tent. He scanned to the left and right for the intelligence officer. Jack saw him first and walked over. Awesome! Fucking awesome! Jack was elated.
Karl grinned when he saw Jack. The two men hugged like brothers who hadn’t seen each other in ten years.
“Dude, what the fuck you doing here?” said Jack.
“Same thing you are!”
“They tell you anything cool at magical delta-land before you came up here to take credit for all the work we’re about to do?”
Karl laughed. “Not a goddamn thing. Wouldn’t have it any other way. I can’t wait to figure out what this thing is. Huntin’ down fuckin’ haj in some dusty shithole was getting old.”
“C’mon man, you’re not allowed to say that anymore. They’re ‘Arab Americans,’” Jack said with a sarcastic smile.
“No, no. It’s cool, man. I got an Arab friend. I like their food!”
The men met each other when they were cadets at West Point. During their first year they had boxed against each other in a graded bout for their mandatory plebe boxing class. Jack had given Karl a bloody nose with his long reach, but Karl won on points and technique. They were the best of friends, and had spent their first few years in the army together. When they were captains, Jack became an intelligence officer and Karl a Delta operator.
They sat down to catch up and discuss what was happening. It was as if they had never been apart.
Karl scanned the tent-turned-S2-shop, the hive of junior-enlisted activity all around him. He pointed to a table near Jack. “Jack, are those the new model of GoPro cameras?”
“Yeah man, this may be the one time 10th Mountain has bought something before tier-one guys. They’re pretty fuckin’ awesome. Remember those shitty helmet cams some of the guys had in Iraq? They’re seriously like the greatest thing ever compared to those things.”
“Totally, I can’t wait till we get them. I guess we must’ve spent our money on toys for doing the actual work this fiscal year.”
“Zing,” said Jack.
“For real though, I need one of those things. It would be so badass. Have you seen how these fuckin’ things have revolutionized porn in the last few years?”
“Must’ve missed that one.” Jack chuckled.
“Dude! OK, check it out. Who’s your favorite porn star?”
“Clearly, Rachel Starr,” said Jack.
“Really? I thought you liked them all Nordic, you fucking Nazi.”
“Well yeah, I do, but you cannot deny that technique. Jesus Christ. I would pay good money to send my chick to a school to learn how to do that shit.”
“Your stupid ass doesn’t have a chick!” said Karl.
“I know. I suck. Married to this nonsense.”
“No shit. Well, the other day, before there was a giant turd hovering over Manhattan, I saw a video of her doing that mind-blowing ass bounce thing while coming out of a swimming pool. She just propped herself on the ledge and started doing her thing while a nice young man poured a generous helping of baby oil all over her ass. He was her lawyer. He had a neck tattoo and abs that would make the P90X guy jealous. It was so considerate of her attorney to make sure she was properly lubricated prior to receiving his wrecking ball cock of despair. You could see every detail.”
Jack was laughing. “I hate that shit, man. It’s like, come on. My doctor is NOT twenty-three and hot with fake tits and whore makeup. He’s a seventy-four year-old Iranian dude from Ridgewood who went to Harvard. Stop it. Just stop it, porn.”
“Your doctor is whoever the fuck the Army says it is. Good luck, champ!” Karl teased.
“I know, tell me about it.” Now I miss Steve, thought Jack.
Specialist Harrison burst through tent flap, completely out of breath. “Sir, get out here right now. You need to see this. You need to fucking see this.” He was gasping. Jack and Karl couldn’t tell if it was from extreme physical exertion or fear, or both.
“Harrison, calm down man,” said Jack. “What happened? Are you OK?”
“Major Rugerman! Sir! GET THE FUCK OUTSIDE!” Jack wasn’t bothered by the rough language and lack of military courtesy. He had known Harrison for years; Harrison was a loyal, hardworking, likeable soldier. If Harrison said to get the fuck outside, Jack was going to listen.
Jack pulled aside the front tent flap, flooding the S2 shop with light. He and Karl walked outside. Immediately, they saw a commotion by the trailers augmenting the Brigade TOC. There are far too many people just standing around when we have all have important work to do. Wait a second, what the hell? Jack noticed a single pale, bald head in the distance, almost two heads higher than the tallest soldier in the crowd. He and Karl picked up a jog toward the TOC. This isn’t real. This is NOT real.
Standing before the soldiers was a pale, eight-foot tall being that looked as if it could tear everyone apart. It wore a tight, fitted body suit that appeared to be made of resilient polymer conducive to a high range of motion. It reminded Jack of what he’d imagined space suits would become in the future. I can’t get over just how much this looks like… a better version of a human. It wasn’t killing everyone right away; this relieved Jack. Did this… person come from the thing over the city? I need to find out what the hell is going on. Please god, just let that thing over the city be its ship. Let them be friendly. Somehow Jack knew the situation would not resolve that neatly; he knew this being was only the beginning of a longer and much more complex scenario.
Soldiers milled around, gawking at the visitor.
“Fuck, this is a mess,” said Jack. “Colonel McColgan!” Jack saw the colonel and battalion commanders, also standing by and gawking uselessly. Whatever this statuesque being was, it was so important that even the most experienced military officers and NCOs, men with over twenty years of experience, were dumbfounded.
“Major Rugerman! Get over here!” yelled the colonel.
Jack pushed through the throng of soldiers with Karl closely in tow. It was just like Karl to insert himself into every interesting situation. With his credentials and position as a Delta operator, he could get away with it the majority of the time. Other soldiers wouldn’t ask questions for fear of looking stupid, being out of the loop, or simply not being as ‘badass.’
Jack continued pushing through the disorganized cluster, grabbing any noncommissioned officer in his path and instructing them to move their soldiers to their assigned sections. “We’ll disseminate all of the information that comes from this as soon as possible. Maintain discipline!”
Sergeant Major Earle had taken notice of the crowd and began doing what noncommissioned officers do best. “Gentleman, do NOT make me put a size eleven in that ass! Get back to your sections and let the adults talk! Get your shit set up! We’re about to have a fuck ton of work to do!” The younger soldiers quickly scurried away. The slightly older sergeants trudged away more reluctantly.
Jack approached the colonel. They had been in Iraq together once before; they shared a mutual level of trust and respect. “Sir, what the hell happened? What the fuck is this thing?”
“I am Legate Ronak of Æther,” responded the eight-foot tall being.
The colonel laughed. “Yeah Jack, he’s Legate Ronak of Æther.” The absurdity of the s
ituation was clearly getting to the colonel: first, a completely foreign phenomenon hovering over one of the most important cities in the country, and now the revelation of extra-terrestrial life on Earth. And it was all happening less than a year before he was set to retire.
Legate Ronak of Æther. Of course it is, thought Jack. “Ronak, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Major Jack Rugerman of Bay Ridge.” Jack extended his hand. I sincerely hope this thing doesn’t want to kill me. Ronak studied Jack up and down with an expressionless face, as if analyzing him. Then Ronak extended his hand. Jack’s hand disappeared in Ronak’s.
“How in the hell does this Prometheus lookin’ motherfucker know English?” said Karl. “He speaks it better than you do, Jack!”
Leave it to Karl to say what everyone is thinking as soon as it pops into his head. I swear, this retard has no filter.
Ronak stared at Karl with a puzzled look. He turned back to the colonel and the S2. “It is prudent to go someplace to discuss options - away from those who lack influence in this organization. Panic must be controlled. Knowledge of my existence will cause panic. This knowledge is unavoidable given the circumstances. Time is very much of the essence; I’m sure you have many inquiries.” Ronak’s voice was eerily flat, devoid of any trace of emotion.
“Right this way,” said the colonel, gesturing to one of the trailers. “Jack, you’re with me.”
They walked up the detachable metal stairs that led to the entrance of the aluminum-covered building. Ronak, walking behind Jack, had to awkwardly duck to get his broad, eight-foot frame under the doorway. Once inside the temporary structure, Ronak’s bald head brushed the ceiling; he barely fit. The inside of the building consisted of long folding tables arranged in rows, with long makeshift benches constructed of layered plywood and 2x4 planks. It was not aesthetically pleasing, but it was the best way to set up work stations on short notice. Jack and the colonel picked up two metal folding chairs and sat beside one of the tables. Jack did not realize Karl had followed him in.
The colonel looked at Karl. “Who might you be?”
“I’m Karl McMullin.”
Jack knew it was only a matter of time before Karl put his foot in his mouth, funny as it often was. “Sir, this piece of work is Karl McMullin. He’s technically a major like me, but works with CAG now. He’s too cool for school for that rank shit. Isn’t that right, Karl?”
“Whoa, I’m not any-”
“OK, why the hell is he here?” asked the colonel.
“Sir, even though he’s a little douchey, he’s a good guy. It couldn’t hurt for him to just listen,” Jack said.
The colonel looked skeptical.
“Sir, he’s OK. We almost failed chemistry together back at the academy during plebe year. Chances are, when all the cool guy missions happen he’ll have a role, anyway. He’s a pain in the ass, but he knows what he’s doing.”
“Fine. Major McMullin, enjoy your seat at the big boy table. Don’t piss me off,” said the colonel.
“The big boy table is a folding table in a trailer park in Jersey City,” joked Karl. “I always knew I was looking in the wrong place!”
“Jesus Christ Karl, shut the fuck up for two seconds! Do you want to be here or not?” said Jack.
“Sorry, sorry.”
The colonel glared at them and then turned to their visitor. He gestured to the bench across the table for Ronak to sit down. “Ronak, forgive our rudeness. Please begin at your convenience.”
JESSICA
Where am I? What is that sound? STOP IT! The low-pitched hum resonating inside her head changed from irritating to excruciating.
Jessica’s neck snapped backward, going limp in Callie’s arms. Her eyes rolled into the back of her small head. She felt the burning sensation of bile engulfing her abdomen, wrapping tightly around her esophagus like a rusty strand of barbed wire. The sensation flipped to her back and tore up her tiny spine.
Mommy, why? I promise, I was a good girl! She felt abandoned. The fear swarmed her cerebellum, spidered around her two brain hemispheres before diving into the great infinity of her young, still-developing pineal gland.
Mommy, I like pink, not red. I like pink. Not red. I LIKE PINK! NOT RED! MOMMY!
“Hold it together Jess, we’re almost there! They’ll have doctors and everything!” Voices from the outside world faded.
A unique new sensation arose within Jessica and forced communication in her pained state. Young one, why do you fret? Your intentions are just as ours. Ours are yours.
Mommy, why? I was a good girl!
Irrelevant, young one. You belong with us now. Come along, then. Strangely, Jessica was able to understand what this dark presence wanted without hearing any words. Ideas and intentions not her own coursed through her head.
Mommy, where are you? I’m having a bad dream! The red feeling is back! MOMMY, NO!
Jessica awoke in a dark room. She felt around with her hands and feet, but couldn’t feel anything, including the floor. She heard the sound of her pulse in a slow, rhythmic motion that slowed with each beat.
It’s so dark in here. Where am I?
Coexist with us. We are united in the great infinity, little one. Feel our eternal embrace, for it is your grip just the same. Oh, the progress we can make when you accept inevitability, my child.
You’re scaring me!
We will see such wonderful things together.
Jessica tried walking forward, but couldn’t feel the floor underneath her feet. She squinted, focused as hard as she could, but no matter how hard she tried, it was impossible to discern any shapes or silhouettes. Jessica was filled with an immense sense of impending doom.
“Hello? Mom? Trent!” she screamed. “Anyone? Callie?”
She understood nothing of what was happening to her. She only felt abandoned and dirty, as if no amount of showering would ever erase the unclean feeling. A putrid, disgusting essence hung like a stagnant cloud all around her. Already exhausted from her encounter with the red feeling, she now felt an overwhelming sense of emotional revulsion. Mommy, I’m too tired to take a shower right now. Can I just do it tomorrow? I just need to close my eyes for a second. I need a quick nap. So tired…
HUGHES
Hughes grabbed Jessica out of Callie’s arms. The lactic acid in his legs pumped as he propelled himself forward, making him nauseous. Jess was drifting in and out of consciousness. They approached the entry checkpoint to the Jersey City firebase on the artillery battery side, close to where Jack Rugerman’s S2 shop had set up several hours prior. It was dusk; the sun had almost completed its arc toward the hills of western Jersey. Trent ran as fast as he could. His carbine was slung at a downward angle on the right side of his body. The jagged edge of the forward assist mechanism smacked his hip bone repeatedly in the same spot. Every step was painful. Trent didn’t care. The last fifty meters felt like a mile. Callie saw the pain and determination in Trent’s eyes as he cradled the little girl.
“Dude, we’re almost there. You’re doing great,” said Callie between labored breaths. She wasn’t sure if she was talking to Trent or herself, but her endurance was quickly fading. She was stunned by Trent’s stamina.
Goddamn it, I cannot let these dumb bitches die! Arggghhhh! My fucking legs are about to fall off! Trent closed in on the strands of barbed concertina wire stretched between two M998 humvees. All foot and vehicle traffic was funneled into this spot to control access to and from the battery entrance. Two M240B 7.62mm caliber machine guns were manned by young soldiers. The soldiers tensed up at the sight of the trio rushing the gate.
“Help us! Come on, help! We’re friendlies!” Trent yelled. His back, biceps, shoulders, and legs burned mercilessly. He was operating on fumes. Any adrenaline he’d started with was all but gone.
The soldiers manning the wire raised their rifles. The two machine gunners rotated their gaze, placing the buttstocks of their weapons into the meaty parts of their right shoulders.
Oh my god, you idiots. What the
fuck!
“Halt. Who’s there? Stop to be identified!”
“I have a sick girl!” said Trent in a pathetically weak voice as he lumbered toward the barricade. He stumbled. Callie was catching up. Trent had nothing left.
“I have…” whispered Trent. He fell to a knee, almost dropping Jessica. The weight of his pack made it impossible for him to stand back up. I just need to breathe for ten seconds, then I’ll make it to that ECP. I can’t stop. I’m better than this. C’mon Hughes! Stop being a fucking faggot! The yelling of the low ranking, inexperienced checkpoint guards faded from his mind. He no longer had the strength to comprehend instructions.
There wasa warning shot. CRACK!
Trent felt the micro changes in air density above his head, a sixth sense combat had blessed him with years prior. He recoiled, put his back to the barricade and wrapped himself around Jessica. He once again heard the ominous sound he had heard many times before. It was the sound of a lion tamer’s whip cracking about six feet above his head. It finally registered. These fucking idiots are shooting at me! Shit that’s right, WE’RE armed. These kids at the gate are terrified!
“Hughes! Why are they shooting at us?” cried Callie.
“CALLIE, STOP WHERE YOU ARE!!!” yelled Trent.
“What the fuck?”
“CALLIE, NOW!”
Callie dove to the ground.
Trent gently placed Jessica on the pavement and hit the quick release on his assault pack. He stood with his back to the soldiers. They were about fifty meters from him, yelling indistinguishably. I still have my rifle. It’s slung at the ready. Slow movements or these fucking eighteen year-old shitheads will kill me. All of this will have been for nothing. Trent put his hands in the air to indicate his non-hostile intentions. He slowly turned to face the soldiers in the twilight. He composed himself as well as he could. “Gentlemen, I am going to place my weapon on the ground. We mean you no harm.”
