The Caliphate Invasion

by Michael Beals

  Kat shrugged back into her uniform top and forced out a lopsided smile. “Uh huh. I don’t suppose I could slip you something extra? Maybe a doctor’s note could get me out of this doomsday mission.”

  “See, it feels good, doesn’t it?” The doctor gave Kat’s chart one final look-through before tossing it into an overflowing burn box.

  Kat grunted as she laced up her boots and tilted her head. The doc meticulously dumped the rest of everyone’s medical records into the burn box. All except for one thick stack with a familiar, hairless face gracing the cover.

  “So you’re keeping Washington’s paperwork? Fascinating guy, huh?”

  The doc’s chirpy voice dropped below freezing. “Something like that. This ‘man’ is definitely worth studying, evacuation orders be damned.”

  Now it was Kat’s turn to snort. “What’s wrong? Find any mutant powers on our resident ET? Besides those panty-melting good looks, of course.”

  The doctor tossed her stethoscope in one of many half-filled bags lying around. “Oh, your alien hunk is a plain old Homo sapien, all right. That’s clear in his genome. We’ve been testing his DNA every which way since he got here. If I had the full resources of my old lab in Boston, I could probably even map his ancestry back to Earth. That said, if I didn’t have living proof in front of me, I would swear his blood sample was fake. It’s been heavily manipulated.”

  “How so?”

  “Where to begin? For starters, all known lethal genetic abnormalities have been cut out of his chromosome chain. What’s really interesting are these exotic strands of extra DNA bits that I can’t identify, but which probably explain his 20/5 vision, off the chart reflexes and God awful strength. Did you know Washington even has better night vision than a dog?”

  Kat only whistled. “So he’s some kind of superman?”

  “Not quite. He’s only...I guess you can say, biologically optimized. He claims this is standard procedure in his time, but I wonder. Someone put a lot of work into carefully tailoring his genome. They must have mixed and matched snippets from billions of donors. Genetically speaking, he’s 99.99% just like you and I... but Christ! The devil’s in the details here. Take a gander at his telomere chain, for example.” She shoved the stack of test results at Kat, who just flipped right over the hieroglyphics.

  “His tele-what?”

  “Uh, right. Telomeres are a chain of nucleotides that cap each chromosome and protect it from breaking down. Now every time a cell divides, the telomeres are chopped up bit by bit until the chromosome is exposed and eventually destroyed.”

  Kat narrowed her eyes skeptically. The doc splayed out her hands. “In plain English, it’s what causes old age. But somewhere in his improved DNA chain though is a little bit of code that causes his telomeres to decay much slower than ours. That simple tweak alone has at least quadrupled his life expectancy.”

  “Well, thank God he’s on our side.” Kat stood up to leave, but the doc slid over and closed the door.

  “Sure, of course, but there’s always been something... Well, you’re the one going into battle with him. I guess you have a right to know...”

  “Oh, spit it out already, Doc.”

  “Well, you know how he likes to play up the country bumpkin routine, right? But that just doesn’t jive with his genome. You know, we gave him an IQ test as part of his initial evaluation, when you all first arrived. We used a military-grade electronic jammer and hooked him up to a CAT scan to make sure that implanted Artificial Intelligence computer unit of his was off.”

  “Don’t tell me, he scored off the charts?”

  “No. Actually, he scored at the precise median range for males evaluated in the last ten years. Not near the average, but exactly in the middle. Not one point more or less.”

  “So he’s just a regular guy of average intelligence. What’s the big deal?”

  “Average? If you look at his DNA, every single damn gene we know of that affects intelligence has been reinforced. In theory, he should be a super-genius. Ought to make Einstein look like a cheap hack.”

  Kat scuffed. “Maybe your theories are wrong.”

  “Could be. Can’t rule it out. Could also be that he’s acting like a fool for a reason. My point is,” she waved her hand at all the partially packed up lab equipment. “None of this gives us any insight into his state of mind.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.

  “Or to put it scientifically: I don’t fucking trust him.”

  Lake City Regional Airport

  “So how many of our Minutemen do you have hiding nearby?”

  Brown fiddled with his tactical vest and stared past Rand, studying the tiny Lake City airstrip around them. For the first time since arriving, none of the End Timers were within earshot. “You know I can’t tell you anything. Boss, I’ve done what I could to keep you safe, but if things go south… well, the less you know, the better. Just try to make sure they don’t move you far from the command post here.”

  Rand reached out and squeezed his calloused hand. He flinched a little at her rare warm touch, but then froze when she shook her water bottle. The water wasn't quite clear. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got my own protection against torture.”

  Brown squeezed back. “Please don’t. No matter what happens, we’ll still need you. Your crazy ass is the only thing holding the Confederacy together. If they double-cross us, I’ll get you out eventually. Even if it takes a little while. Don’t do anything permanent…”

  She tucked the bottle away and chuckled. “Oh, Gaia no! It’s not cyanide. Just some of the most potent LSD you’ve ever seen. One slug of this and I’ll be a babbling, worthless mess for hours. I’ll be so messed up I’d probably help them pluck my fingernails off, just for giggles. They won’t get shit out of me. You stay focused on getting Dixon back. We need him.”

  Four SUV’s rolled up, disgorging a cluster of unarmed End Timer officers. Eight heavily armed men followed, with gold crosses stenciled on their expensive tactical vests.

  “Looks like someone raided a Ranger Joe catalog.” Brown spit into the weeds blossoming from the raggedy concrete at his feet. “Anyway, yeah, I like the guy and all, but you know we don’t really need Dixon. Let’s be honest. Martyrs work best as legends.”

  Rand choked up, but forced down the tears. “Fine, I need him. I… well, now’s not the time. Stay focused, Colonel. Bring yourself back in one piece too. God knows what the militia would do without you.”

  “No man’s irreplaceable…”

  Group Leader Killebrough sauntered over from the SUV’s with hands in his pockets. “So, my strike team’s here. You ready to do this?”

  Brown narrowed his eyes at the calm, young fighters milling about and cutting jokes. All carried exotic, curvy assault rifles with some type of pad in place of a trigger. Their bored, loose stances hinted that they were no strangers to the odd weapons. Each man also sported the weirdest blue body armor he’d ever seen.

  “Cool toys, but where’s this helicopter of yours? It better be a big one if you’re going to carry all of us and the prisoners.”

  Killebrough nodded towards the largest hangar on the tarmac. Brown stepped forward and peeked inside as two End Timers rolled the doors open. A gaggle of mechanics finished some pre-flight checks and towed the chopper out with a small truck. Brown gaped at the familiar red and white helicopter.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me! Where’d you guys get a Blackhawk?”

  “The Coast Guard calls it a Jayhawk, but same difference.”

  Brown cast his eye over the ground crew and their dirty denim jeans. A paunchy old man in coveralls climbed inside the pilot’s seat. “Is there any point in asking what happened to the Coast Guard personnel?”

  Killebrough hung his head. “It’s a rough world. You should know that by now.”

  One of the battle-ready Warriors strolled up and reached for Brown’s rifle. “You won’t be needing this…” He sprang back and raised his own weapon when he met Brown
’s eyes.

  Rand stuck out her palms. “Hang loose, everyone. We’re all on the same side. Colonel, let’s just do whatever we can to make this go smoothly and get the hell out of here.”

  Brown said nothing as several soldiers clustered around and patted him down. They left his body armor and personal radio, but stripped him of every potential weapon. Even took his Leatherman multi-tool.

  Killebrough nodded and clapped the back of a tall young Warrior at his side.

  “Listen to Rand. Let my boys handle this. You’re along simply as insurance that this isn’t some trap. Just an observer. This is one of my most elite assault teams. They stormed the courthouse and National Guard armory in Lake City… back when real cops and soldiers occupied them. They’ve been slaughtering Feds ever since. Colonel, meet Storm Leader Greene.”

  Both warriors eyed each other, but neither took their hands out of their plate carriers. Brown sniffed. “Whatever you say. Are you at least going to fill me in on your elaborate plan?”

  Greene cocked his head. “Nothing complicated to it. Simple snatch-and-grab. We’ve run several rehearsals. Even before you came to us for help. Raiding Heinrich’s seat of power has always been a dream of the Preacher.” He turned to Killebrough. “Sir, is our fire support ready?”

  Killebrough studied his feet rather than make eye contact with anyone. “Yeah, God help us. Well, desperate times and all that. Let’s just get this over with. Good luck, everyone.”

  Brown raised his jaw at the grinning assault team leader. “Fire support? What’s he talking about?”

  Greene just winked and broke out in song. “Stand up, stand up for Jesus…”

  The rest of his troops picked up the cadence as the helicopter blades began spinning.

  “Ye soldiers of the Cross!”

  The team bowed their heads and crossed arms over their chests. They trumped on board, while keeping perfect rhythm with their chanting.

  “Lift high His royal banner! It must not suffer loss!”

  Rand stuck out her water bottle and smirked. “Thirsty?”

  “Till every foe is vanquished and Christ is Lord indeed!”

  Brown closed his eyes and raced to catch up with the Warriors. “I’ll pass. This is trippy enough already.”

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, Brown whipped his head out the open right door of the chopper. A dozen rocket trails rippled off from somewhere to the northwest. The motors flared out and hid the weapons as they reached their apex a bit north of Gainesville. Brown shook off the sudden goose bumps.

  “That’s impossible. Russian Grad rockets? Where the hell did you people find them in Florida?”

  The assault leader’s eyes twinkled. He shared a chuckle with his team. “We have guardian angels looking out for us. When you serve the Lord, all things are possible.”

  Brown set his jaw and leaned out the wind-lashed door to scan the far horizon. With the sudden blackout, courtesy of some well-placed saboteurs, the blasts should have been easy to spot inside the dark city. “Are they all duds? They should have hit by now…”

  A chill that had nothing to do with the wind forced him to spin around. Inside, every member of the assault team had donned a gas mask. Brown grabbed the storm leader as he covered his filter with one hand and checked the seal.

  “You crazy fucks! The rockets are loaded with gas? You’re going to kill the prisoners!”

  Greene plugged something into his mask’s intercom and laughed over the internal net. “Can’t rule that out, but it’s not likely. The prisoners are in the basement. The courthouse is supposed to be sealed up tight. With the power out, thanks to a few of the Lord's sneakier cherubs, the AC won’t be on. So the gas would need time to seep in and get at the lower levels. From what we were told by our… uh, allies, this stuff is potent but short-lived. Should clear in three to five minutes. Hopefully your guy has the commonsense to hold his breath. Just in case, I hope he’s made his peace with the Lord.”

  Greene held out an extra mask. Brown snatched it, but the End Timer gripped the rubber cover tight. “So I’m going to trust you enough to let you man the door gun and cover us, but don’t freak out if we only bring back up a corpse. Lord knows what the agents of the antichrist have already done to your heathen comrade. Understand?”

  Brown ripped the mask away. “I get it, but Rand won’t. Nor will the rest of the Minutemen. You’d better pray that Dixon makes it out, or else you haven’t even seen a real holy war yet. You’re always dropping His name, well, now’s the time to call in any favors you have with the big guy upstairs.”

  ***

  Dixon craned his neck and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes onto his pillow. He blinked hard, but still couldn’t get the searing white spot to go away. The pinhole-wide, but welding-torch intense strobe light pouring from the steel door’s keyhole was the only touch of color entering his black hole basement.

  A short flurry of fire erupted right after the flash bang grenade in the hall... which was followed only by snickering and boot falls.

  Dixon blinked away more wetness that had nothing to do with the stuffy cellar air. His Minutemen weren’t professional soldiers. How many brave amateurs had they just pissed away trying to save his broken ass?

  “Goddamnit!”

  He twisted around to his side, or at least as far as possible with his left wrist in a handcuff, and rocked the steel bar on the bed with his free hand. Ever since the catheter and other tubes were taken out yesterday, he’d been working feverishly on loosening the bolts fastening the bar to the bed frame. He’d already ripped off four fingernails while using them as makeshift screwdrivers, but there was only one unloosened screw left.

  The boot steps in the hall shuffled closer. Dixon roared through the Charlie horse in his upper back and the blood gushing from his thumb and index finger as he pried on the last screw head. The jagged corners cut through to the bone and finally gave him some grip.

  The screw budged a good half turn just as someone unlocked the door and flung it open.

  Dixon slung spit and blood at the slight green glow spilling out from the four Night Optical/Observation Device eyepieces. “You won tonight, but they won’t be the last to come! You can kill them, you can kill me, but you can never kill freedom!”

  The black silhouette switched on a white light and guffawed.

  “I think you’re in the wrong movie, buddy.”

  Another soldier, decked out in the same bug-eyed night vision and fancy tactical gear, slid inside and snapped the handcuffs off with one smooth flick from his bolt cutters.

  “The Lord has other plans for you. You’ll have to wait a bit longer to meet Saint Peter.”

  “Who the fu—”

  The nearest guy scooped him up in a fireman’s carry and trotted to the door.

  “Got the package. Three friendlies comin’ out!”

  Everyone flicked off their night vision and switched on white light. As the odd newcomers formed up in a perfect wedge and glided towards the stairwell, Dixon tilted his head up and waved at the man behind him. He squinted at the white cross stenciled on the soldier’s body armor.

  “Hey, what about the other prisoners? Some of them are your people! I’m pretty sure the next wing over are nothing but Warrior POWs.”

  The last trooper in the column, marching backwards to provide rear security, raised his cheek off his weapon’s stock and gave him a sideways grin. “Maybe, but no one important. Anyone with so little faith that they’d let themselves get captured isn’t worth the trouble of rescuing. Sinners have to pay.”

  The rest of the team picked up the chant and doubled their hustle. “Sinners have to pay!”

  ***

  The wheels of the Coast Guard chopper never even touched the roof as the assault team bounded inside. They chucked Dixon in like a busted surfboard as the bird screeched off into the dark, a tail of red machine gun tracers flashing in its wake.

  Someone hefted Dixon off the deck and into a jump seat. He
did a double-take when he caught sight of that familiar, pissed off face trying to strap him in.

  “What the hell have I missed, Colonel? The End Timers are on our side now?”

  Brown just scowled deeper as the Warrior lieutenant whispered something into a separate secure radio and smirked back at Dixon. “You can thank us later. Just relax. We'll be back at the base in 45 minutes.” He lounged as casually as he could in the rear facing crash seat, but his space-age carbine rested on his knee.

  At the low ready.

  The only person on board that seemed truly relaxed was the unarmed Colonel Brown. Dixon sat shoulder to shoulder with him and couldn’t even tell if he was asleep or not. Brown just kept his hands tucked in the top of his body armor for warmth and faced out the window. Dixon quit trying to catch his eye and snorted.

  “Jesus. Can you give me a hand? This hurts like a mother.”

  Dixon wiggled in his seat, making a big show of adjusting his banged up legs in the crowded cabin. Still looking down, he reached over his head and grabbed the cargo netting for balance.

  “What the hell did Rand promise you people for rescuing me, by the way?”

  He kept chatting while he laced his fingers around a fire extinguisher. Just as his thumb met the safety latch, the Warrior officer slid that damn blue rifle into his crotch.

  “The keys to the kingdom. Keep your hands where I can see them. So you want to be clever? Fine. No need to wait until we get home. The Preacher won’t be happy, but I’m not taking any chances. Open the door!”

  Dixon went pale as another Warrior across from Brown leveled his rifle with one hand and snagged the sliding door handle with the other.

  Brown finally turned their way… and snickered as he slid his hands out of the vest. The entire assault team whipped their weapons up as one when he flashed a little green clacker with a wire unspooling behind it.

  The arming safety was already off.

  Brown just grinned wider and kept holding the plunger button down.

  “Oh, put your irons down already. You all look ridiculous. So, anyone know what a dead man’s trigger is? It was pretty popular with the Taliban. If I ever let up on the pressure, ka-dush.” Brown traced his finger over the nearest rifle’s flash suppressor. “Shoot me and you’re all dead before my body hits the deck.”