by Vossen, Doug
Callie and Trent ran over to Jack, Karl and the group of soldiers trickling in, looking for leadership. Jack and Trent had been classmates at West Point. They had met as plebes in a mandatory math class called ‘Discrete Dynamical Systems,’ which they had both been failing. This joint frustration led to a friendship they had maintained through the years. After graduation in 2004 they both went to Fort Benning, Georgia, where they attended the same Infantry Officer’s Basic Course (IOBC) and Ranger School classes. Shortly after Ranger School, they were sent to different units, and eventually Jack left the Infantry entirely to become a Military Intelligence officer. In between all the major life events they shared together were gallons and gallons of Jameson Irish whiskey, and many nights of the blind-leading-the-blind in cities all over the world. They were two overgrown children faking that they had their shit together. Neither could have asked for a better companion through the process.
“Jack!”
“Trent!”
They ran up and hugged, still not believing their good fortune of having a close friend around to endure something so shitty.
Callie moved behind Trent. “Dude, hold up!” What the fuck, all of a sudden I don’t exist? Why do they look like they’re in an airport scene of a romantic comedy movie? “Baby, I couldn’t take the job in Minneapolis. I just love you too damn much.” Ugh.
Trent wasted no time. “Jack, what the fuck man? Tell me you know something.”
“Hold on, look who else is here.” Jack gestured toward Karl.
“Fuckin’ Karl too? Awesome!”
This is so goddamn weird. Did he forget Jessica’s body is burning to a crisp right now?
Trent refocused. “Guys, what the fuck is going on?”
“Hughes, I’m pretty sure if I told you everything you’d look at me like there was cock and balls growing out of my forehead,” said Jack.
“Wouldn’t that be awesome?” said Karl. “I would totally want a head-dick!”
“Dude, shut up. You’re like the biggest dickhead I know already,” said Trent.
“It would totally step up my cunnilingis game.”
Holy shit, these are the people with whom Americans entrust their safety?
“OK, OK. Now what the fuck is going on?” said Trent.
“Well, as you can see, this entire situation deteriorated into a complete shit-show,” said Jack. “Common sense is telling me that there’s a correlation between that thing over the city and the people that have been going ape-shit around here.”
“Wow, it’s good to see our intel arm has been pulling its weight around here,” said Trent, sarcastically. “Did you guys collect and synthesize that data all by yourselves?”
“Fuck you, man!”
“Said the man who implied clouds are making people kill each other,” said Trent.
“You want to listen or you want to break balls?” said Jack.
“Fine, fine. What’s up? Give it to me.”
“Totally ignoring the fact that I’ve broken about 99 operational security regulations in the last twelve hours, here it is. That… thing above the city is -”
The flap to the S2 tent opened. Colonel McColgan emerged, Ronak in tow.
Trent’s face went stark white. “Down in front!” He threw Jack to the ground, raised his carbine and flicked the selector lever with his thumb.
Oh my God, what the fuck is that?
Karl rushed Trent, grabbed the barrel of his weapon and pushed it toward the sky.
BANG!
Karl tackled Trent, throwing his weight on top of him. “Hughes, stop!”
“Trent, it’s cool!” yelled Jack. “Relax!”
Holy shit. Callie froze. She had no idea what to do. Inexplicably aggressive humans were one thing, but this was simply shocking to witness. She dropped to the ground and covered her head with her arms for protection.
Trent finally settled down enough to realize what Jack and Karl were saying. Karl, meanwhile, had mounted Trent, placing all his weight on Trent’s chest and shoulders.
“What the fuck, man?” asked Trent.
“Dude, it’s OK. He’s with us,” said Karl.
“What?”
“Yeah man, fucking chill!” said Jack.
This just keeps getting better!
HUGHES
Holy shit, what have I done? What the fuck do you mean, ‘He’s with us.’ How am I going to deal with this? Trent felt his face flush and become extremely hot. His stomach churned. He couldn’t get the shame out of his mind that he’d killed someone he wasn’t supposed to. It had happened twice in the past, and had taken years to reconcile in his mind. Not again. FUCK!
“You good, man?” asked Karl, still on top of Trent.
Get your head right. “Yeah man, I’m good.” I need to figure out what they know. “Karl, what the fuck is going on? I just had more soldiers than I can count try to kill us. You need to tell me.”
“Who the fuck is this?” yelled McColgan. “Major Rugerman!”
Jack leapt to his feet and stood before the colonel, who was enraged. He came up with his story on the fly. “Sir, this is Captain Trent Hughes.”
Not a COMPLETE lie. I never resigned my commission. What the hell, I’ll go with it for now.
“He and I served together previously. His family is from here and he was on leave.”
“With an M4 and combat gear?” McColgan had a disbelieving look on his face.
Jack, a terrible liar, was clearly having issues coming up with the next twist in his tale.
Trent, on the other hand, had no such trouble. “Sir, Captain Hughes, 2-327 out of Campbell. Charlie Company Commander. The guy who owned this won’t be needing it anymore.” Trent gestured to his rifle. Shit, the only other unit I can think of is the one where I did my CTLT “Lieutenant Ride-along” for a month in the summer of 2003? Really?
“I was at Campbell for three years, but I was up at division,” said McColgan.
“I wouldn’t know, sir. I do real work.”
McColgan liked Trent’s initial impulse to protect everyone around him, misguided as it was. He also appreciated anyone with the balls to fuck with him. “Who’s the Brigade Commander over there nowadays?”
Oh shit, here’s where it all falls apart. “Colonel Blake, sir.”
“John Blake?”
Fuck it, all in. “Yes, sir.”
“Holy shit, I haven’t seen him since before he got wounded! Glad everything’s working out for him.”
“We’re lucky to have him.” Dodged a bullet. Now we play “avoid the colonel” with my illegal guns.
“OK, enough talk,” said McColgan. “Everyone here get inside the S2 shop. It’s now or never, and we need to move.” He gestured to Sam. “Sergeant Ramos, is that you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Sam, ever the consummate professional.
“I need you to pick up the pieces out here. Find any more of your medics that didn’t go berserk and start triaging wounded and setting up a CCP. You understand? Just like Firebase Purgatory way back when.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The first non-medic NCO you find is responsible for helping the sergeant major with a security plan around the birds, the guns, and these three tents.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam signaled to Callie to stick with Trent. “Blend in. Follow his lead.”
The group proceeded into the tent. By now, a small smattering of soldiers, NCOs, and officers were crowded around a large row of satellite images of New York City, scaled to approximately 1:25,000 units of size.
I cannot wait to hear what the hell these people have planned.
“Everyone gather around.” The colonel gestured to the small metal folding chairs scattered around the disorganized S2 shop. “Make it work, guys. Come on.” The soldiers quickly seated themselves. Trent stood in the back.
Goddamn, it feels good to ground my ruck. Trent had long relished the act of grounding the heavy pack after it had been hanging on his back for several hours.
“OK
everyone,” said McColgan. “You know me - I love a good, thorough OPORDER (Operations Order), but right now we don’t have time. This is going to be a FRAGO (Fragmentary Order) at best.” A few of the more tight-assed officers managed a brief chuckle.
Ugh, I hate OPORDERs. Wait - I’m sitting in an OPORDER. Why the fuck am I sitting through an OPORDER?
“Gentlemen, this is the situation as we know it,” began McColgan. “If you are a primary staff officer and you know your piece of the briefing better than we do, please make yourself known. I’m not sure just how far Major Rugerman got in the dissemination process.”
“Sir, I didn’t get anywhere,” said Jack. “The shooting started before we could do anything. It’s just me, you, Major McMullin, and Colonel Fry.”
“Got it. What about imagery?”
“You’re looking at it, sir. All we could unpack. No SIPRNET connectivity for info on the area around the building itself.”
Jesus, can’t the Army just Google shit like everyone else.
“Alright, listen up,” said McColgan. “We’re down to one functional helicopter and we need to air assault into the Upper West Side to find and rescue a scientist from the American Museum of Natural History.”
No fucking way. I love that place!
The audience began muttering; they sounded disgruntled. Clearly, they gave the mission a low probability of success. Colonel McColgan needed to sell it.
“Gentlemen, listen!” McColgan said. “I’m not gonna bend you over and tell you it isn’t going to hurt, but I can safely say the vast majority of you have respected my judgment and decision-making ability in the past. I will tell you one thing before I pass this off to the person you are dying to hear from - this is the only option we have. Ronak, please. You have the floor.” McColgan stepped to the side and gestured for Ronak to stand front and center.
Ronak stepped in front of the chairs, blocking out almost all the dim light by the map boards. His eerie silhouette, combined with the shitty generator light, reminded Trent of the iconic image from Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
Seriously? How the fuck do they trust this thing?
Slightly hunched, the massive being began to speak. “I am Legate Ronak of Æther. I would first like to thank you all for your hospitality. Other species have not been so pleasant when I have been forced to make my presence known. However, I will not waste additional time on pleasantries. I now present to you a brief summary of recent events for the purpose of ensuring we operate based upon identical information.” Ronak lowered his left hand to what appeared to be either a drop-leg weapon holster or a container. It matched the pale, off-white color of his suit. In one fluid motion, he swiped downward and then back to his front at a forty-five degree angle. As his hand moved downward, the container opened with a quick shoosh sound. He flicked his wrist upward, causing a dull silver sphere to float before him at chest level.
What the hell?
Everyone watching stared in awe; the sphere was clearly defying Earth’s gravitational pull. Karl put hand to his mouth, fingers slightly spread, as if to hide from what he was about to say. It was a tactic he had developed in high school and still employed in his thirties. “Ya’ll muhfuckuz got hoverboards, too?” No one else paid any attention.
“How many of you remember this progression?” asked Ronak. The dull sphere flashed brilliantly, converting the inside of the tent to something like a view screen ride at Universal Studios. This particular ride made everyone in the tent feel as if they were at the center of a 360-degree camera flying around both the financial district of Manhattan and various surrounding areas, in order to gain as many viewing angles as possible. The point of view shifted and fast forwarded several times, demonstrating the progression of the entity’s arrival. The officers inside the tent watched in awe.
Fuck it, I’m all in. This is too interesting not to see through to the end. I need to get to the city anyway to find Emma.
“What you can see here is the entity arriving over the course of your last five planetary revolutions,” said Ronak.
Do these people watch us ALL the time?
“Initially, it appeared to be little more than a heavy volume of your self-induced atmospheric pollution.” The images whipped around in a clover-like pattern throughout the city, offering different perspectives of what indeed appeared to be hazy pollution over the western portion of the financial district. “Around the second day, it should have become clearer that it wasn’t simply pollution. What you see here appears to be quite similar to a tumultuous weather system, but without any of the associated differences in pressure, wind, or precipitation.” The rotating images stopped and the view panned out to the northwest.
This isn’t too different from what I saw from the balcony two days ago. How did they get this imagery? Was that thing I killed doing a recon?
“Finally, if it’s not readily apparent, it will be shortly,” said Ronak. As the images progressed forward in time, the small, infinite, spiral fractals began to form in the center of the entity. Many of the officers watching the dizzying presentation shook their heads, as if they were looking at a “Magic Eye” optical illusion at a shopping mall kiosk.
I recognize that from college math classes! It’s the Fibonacci Sequence! The golden ratio!
“Does everyone notice the spiral patterns?” asked Ronak.
Most of the audience nodded.
“The rate and patterns at which the array of fractals repeats itself leads our people to believe, for a variety of reasons, that this is a previously uncatalogued species of intelligent life.”
Five hands immediately went up. Sergeant Martin spoke first. “Ronak, what makes you so sure that cloud, for lack of a better term, is alive?”
“Which leads me to my next point,” said Ronak. “The way your species perceives reality is not congruous with how nature actually behaves.”
The same hands went back up; agitated grumbles filled the tent.
“Allow me to elaborate,” continued Ronak. “The concept of consciousness is something you think-”
“Ronak, would you mind if I interjected?” It was Jack.
“By all means, Major Rugerman.”
“Sir, you mind?” Jack glanced at the colonel.
“Go for it, Jack.”
Thank fuckingGod. Jack had always been direct and efficient in times of crisis.
“OK everyone, check it out,” said Jack. “Time IS a factor right now, as I’m sure you can understand. None of us, Ronak included, have any idea what the hell happened out there, but we’re operating under the assumption that the fractal entity over the city is somehow related. In order to find out more about how this is affecting us, we need to get the right people on board to interact with Ronak and his people. This is an imperative first step.”
Fuck it, good enough for me. Let’s get on that goddamn bird.
Harrison sounded off from the back of the tent. “Sir, they don’t have scientists on this side of the river that we don’t need to air assault to? How do we know he’s not dead already? What are we looking at when we get there? How do we know this will work? What if-”
Jack calmly extended his hand Harrison’s direction. “Harrison, slow down, man. You have valid points on all counts. The truth is, this guy is apparently the only dude who has chosen to even entertain the idea that we’ve been looking at quantum physics backwards. Ronak says the dude is leaps and bounds ahead of his peers. Right now, he’s the only chance we have at a solution that involves both our species.”
The brigade communications officer, a frumpy-looking major, stood up from his seat. “Jack, fuck this.”
“Excuse me?” Jack was taken aback.
The communications officer looked directly at Colonel McColgan, who appeared disgruntled. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’m taking the first humvee I see and driving back upstate to find my family. There is nothing you can say or do to make me change my mind, except kill or arrest me.”
Look at this m
otherfucker. What a pussy.
The colonel saw that many were wavering in their resolve. He stood and glanced at Jack. “I got this. Please sit down.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jack.
Colonel McColgan walked to the hovering sphere that had displayed the images. He was an unassuming man, five feet ten inches, with an average frame. “Everyone, look. I get that the situation is fucked. If you want to leave right now and find your families, go. I get it. Hell, when the rest of us fix this and you’re looking for honorable discharge paperwork, I’ll even make up some nonsense to make sure you sound like a goddamn hero. I don’t need people who won’t give me everything right now. I have one bird. I have eleven seats on that bird that aren’t already occupied by the flight crew and door gunners. We need to plan for a maximum of four people who will need a ride once we get there. I need seven people to go get this fucking guy and potentially three of his family members. We have thirty minutes before I want seven competent people on a helicopter to make this happen. Who can pull a rabbit out of their hat right now? Anyone know the area?”
The room was silent. Most of the soldiers in the First Brigade Combat Team were not from major metropolitan areas. Most of them grew up far away from the more heavily populated towns, let alone New York. Everyone looked at each other. The communications officer walked out; a few others joined him.
Jack was the first to speak. “Sir, I know the city pretty well, but I’m from Brooklyn.” He glanced in Trent’s direction.
And here we go again. “Sir, I got this. I’ve been to that museum a million times.”
“Please, Captain… What was it? Hughes?”
Trent walked up toward Ronak and the sphere. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Seriously? Come on, you’re better than this. “Alright, let’s all take a moment to recognize how awkward and uncomfortable that was.” Some of his audience chuckled. “I’m Captain Hughes. I’m an infantry officer who wasn’t supposed to be at work today. I should be watching Star Trek reruns half in the bag off Jameson, but now we’re air assaulting into Central Park and raiding the American Museum of Natural History to find some dude, because that’s completely normal.” This brought more chuckles. “Is anyone here besides Ja-, ah, Major Rugerman familiar with New York?”
