These Few Brave Souls

by Rodney Manchester

  These few brave souls

  By Rod Manchester

  Copyright 1993 & 2015

  All rights reserved

  Cover art by Arron McArthur

  From www.mcarthurart.com

  PROLOGUE

  The satellite entered orbit just as sunrise was approaching the east coast of the largest continent. Electronic sensors began the process of gathering information. The atmosphere was checked for gaseous content, temperature, industrial pollutants, etc. A broadband of the electromagnetic spectrum was evaluated from below VLF to above gamma radiation. Emissions were detected and classified as naturally occurring phenomena. Infrared imaging scanned the planet's surface in a thorough manner. During this investigation, a variety of flora and fauna were noted and categorized, the most significant of which were possibly sentient creatures of no significant technological achievement.

  This process continued, mapping the entire planet in 115 of its rotations on its axis. A slight nudge of the propulsion system marked the objects transition from satellite to space craft as it began the journey down the star's gravity well toward the second planet from the sun.

  On the planet just examined, in a fertile river valley about 32 degrees north of the Equator, a Pharaoh ruled. His claim to historical fame lay not in any great personal accomplishment, but in his great granddaughter's husband, and then only by the fact of the discovery of his intact tomb is Tutankhamen very different from those pharaohs who ruled before or since.

  Part I

  Prelude

  "Our strength consists in our speed and in our brutality. Genghis Khan led millions of women and children to slaughter - with premeditation and a happy heart. History sees in him solely the founder of a state. It's a matter of indifference to me what a weak western European civilization will say about me.”

  - Adolf Hitler

  CHAPTER 1

  Tuesday, June 1, 1993

  San Diego, California

  Ramon Juarez was a young man of 22. He stood under five and a half feet tall and was of slight build. His small size resulted not from any genetic heritage but from malnutrition as a child in Peru. His jet black hair and olive complexion betrayed his Latino ancestry. His work clothes were heavily sweat stained despite the late morning hour.

  He had not meant to kill his wife, it just happened. He had broken his wrist at work and had come home early, only to find his wife with their neighbor, Jorge. They were intertwined with clothes scattered haphazardly about the room. While it was clear they had not had sex, it was also clear that they were not very far from doing so. The look of horror on Jorge's face would have been comical under other conditions. He grabbed at his shirt and shoes and buttoned his pants at a dead run for the door. Ramon stood frozen in place as the ramifications of the scene impressed themselves upon his mind.

  His wife Rene was his prize in life. He had been so proud on their wedding day. She was so beautiful, so desirable. This foreign beauty had chosen him to be her husband. He had done everything he could for her. He bought her beautiful clothes to match her perfect trim figure. He worshipped her.

  All the whispers came back now. He remembered two years of behind the back chuckles. Rumors of infidelity. Rumors that he studiously ignored. They couldn't be true. She had chosen him. Him.

  Rene stared unrepentant at her husband, the nipples on her naked breasts still shinny from Jorge's saliva. The fucking weasel came home early and caught me she thought. So what. He's not man enough to do anything about it. It wasn't the first time she had been with other men. "So, you’re home," Making her second mistake of the day, she arrogantly turned her back to Ramon and fastened her bra.

  The first blow struck her on the right side of the head. It was surprising and not very painful. "You pig. How could you do this, and with Jorge!" Ramon shouted. "With our neighbor. How can I show myself and still be a man."

  "Since when have you been all that concerned about your manhood?" she taunted, turning around.

  The next blow hurt her. From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of white at the end of Ramon's arm and then the world exploded. She fell against the wall as blood trickled out of her ear. The following blows caused her to sag toward the floor. The world dimmed as the pain cascaded upward into regions of unbearable agony. Finally the pain stopped as everything went black and unconsciousness was a welcoming relief.

  Ramon continued unabated. He was frenzied in his attack, looking to avenge himself for all of his wife's slights and humiliations. Minutes later exhaustion caused him to pause and stare at his work. He staggered away, conscious of the pulpy remains of his wife's once pretty face that had now colored his new cast a bright scarlet. He sank into a kitchen chair and lay his head on the table.

  A throbbing pain awakened him, not from sleep, but from an exhausted stupor. His wrist hurt. A lot. Ramon raised his head and looked at his hand. It was partially covered with a plaster cast that was gruesomely stained. He went to the sink and tried to wash the color from his hand and the cast. The blood washed from his hand, leaving a puffy shade of blue behind. The cast refused to return to the pristine white of a short time ago.

  He walked into the living room and was assaulted by the rich smell of fresh blood and the stink of human feces. His wife's limp body was crumpled in the corner, the walls behind her splashed with blood and studded with bone fragments. The enormity of his deed was sinking in as the door exploded in noise. "Anybody home. It's the police. Open the door."

  Ramon's heart threatened to explode as it beat painfully hard and his bladder let go. He stood unmoving as the pounding continued and fluid warmed his legs. He heard muffled speech but was unable to make out more than a few words. "Heard fighting," from one voice and "Maybe they're making up now," followed by a chuckle from another. Finally the knocking stopped. After several minutes, he heard a car start. He risked a look out the curtained window and saw the police cruiser pull away.

  What do I do, he thought. Oh God, what do I do... Home. I need to go home. Sure, I'll be safe at home. I can hide in the 'young towns'. I know every hiding place there is. I played in them all growing up. I can't let my parents see me though.

  Ramon almost ran into the bedroom he had shared with his wife. The breeze of his movement cooled the urine on his trousers. The shame of pissing himself was nothing compared to the other events of the day, but he must change clothes to avoid people staring at him. He packed some clothes that were easily grabbed, stuffing them into an overnight bag.

  With fresh clothing on and his broken wrist in a homemade sling hiding the now colorful cast, he closed and locked his apartment door behind him. Ramon showed patience and calm as he strode toward his car. He set the bag down as he dug into his pocket to retrieve his keys. His nervousness betrayed him as he fumbled with the locked car door. He finally opened it and slid into the driver’s seat, reaching out for his bag and placing it beside him. Just then Jorge appeared at his front door, knocking.

  "Rene," Jorge shouted. "Rene, it's me Jorge. Open the door."

  Ramon felt panic welling up inside himself. Unable to remember if he had locked his front door, he started the engine and slammed on the accelerator. He heard the car's frame creak as the tires chirped at the sudden abuse. He turned onto the street and away from his apartment and his problems and toward home.

  Onizuka Air Force Base

  Sunnyvale, California

  Air Force Lieutenant Warren Harlin normally supervised his current post but Sergeant Jacobs had called in sick, again. He stared unseeing at the computer screen. His brain was reliving his nightmare and he felt emotionally drained. That always happened after any of The Dreams. He was more tired than when he went to bed. The Dreams had almost gone away, but they had begun r
eoccurring after his wife told him that she was pregnant. On that day, he had made a vow with himself that he would never, ever, be like his father. The yellow cursor's flashing finally registered in his consciousness and he turned his full attention to the computer. The moment's inattention had gone unnoticed and the ancient cobwebs cleared from his mind.

  Lieutenant Harlin pressed a button on his console and spoke. "Captain, we have an anomaly coming over the pole."

  Five years ago this would have demanded immediate reaction, but with the relaxed tension following the end of the cold war and the breakup of the Soviet Union, the likelihood of inbound nuclear missiles was considered slim.

  Seconds later Harlin heard footsteps upon the spotless linoleum floor as he manipulated the computer keyboard. Numbers and images began to scroll across the screen, imparting information to those skilled in orbital ballistics.

  "What do you have, Lieutenant?" Captain Nunley inquired. He looked over Harlin's shoulder at the computer screen and frowned as the numbers began to make sense.

  "Sir, we are tracking a new object. The computer is working on the trajectory now."

  "Any indication of a planned launch by anyone?" Captain Nunley asked.

  "No sir, nothing on the alerts. The preliminary data here shows a stable orbit. This is not on a re-entry trajectory."

  Nunley walked back to his station and picked up a white phone. "Give me the Colonel," he said to the technician who answered.

  "Stand by, sir,"

  "Colonel Newburg,"

  "Colonel, Captain Nunley here at orbital surveillance. Sir, we have just detected an unknown object in orbit over the pole. Preliminary information indicates a stable orbit. No indication of launch by anyone. I'm calling to confirm that information next."

  "Keep me informed Captain," Colonel Newburg said as he broke the connection and reached for a red telephone

  Royal Air Force Station High Wycombe

  Buckinghamshire, England

  Royal Air Force Flight Lieutenant Walter Higgins sat quietly at his desk, thinking of his latest personnel problem in the ranks when his phone rang. Junior Technician Reynolds’ discipline was becoming a problem he was just going to have to deal with sooner rather than later. Trying to develop the necessary leadership skills in Corporal Whinegarden, Reynold’s immediate supervisor, was proving a challenge. Not all problems are solved through pushups and extra duty.

  “Flight Lieutenant Higgins here sir,” he said into the handset.

  “Hot stuff, get in here now,” was what he heard.

  “Yes sir,” he said as he stood. He left his Spartan office and walked quickly down the polished linoleum floor of the hallway. He quickly tapped his code into the armored door and entered the secure chamber.

  Walter began to weave his way through the office packed with gray metal desks that were normally staffed with harried enlisted clerks bustling with activity. Today the room was nearly silent and abnormally empty of staff.

  “Over here.” Wing Commander Chelin spoke quietly but with the near silence in the room, his voice was clearly heard.

  “We got pinged on this by the General Staff. I want your take on this. Seems odd, to say the least.” Wing Commander Harold Chelin was a man of medium height and a very straight back. Back handed jokes spoke of broomsticks residing up his back side, referring to his stiff neck manner and general lack of humor.

  Higgins wended his way between the packed desk arrangements, often stepping sideways as he made his way to the Commander, who stood behind Junior Technician Reynolds, late of his recent thoughts.

  “The American’s caught this and we were copied. Something in orbit no one can explain. No Codswallop on this one, eh Reynolds?” Chelin remarked as he patted his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  Reynolds turned a bit red as his recent exploits were revealed to have gone higher up the chain of command than he had imagined. “No sir,” he said. “We will get a pass on this orbit as it comes up from the south. If it’s where the Yanks say it is anyway.”

  “When?” Higgins asked.

  “In about 3 minute’s sir,” Reynolds replied.

  When the object rose above the horizon, puzzled surprise, hurried phone calls and general disbelief were evident as the men exchanged glances.

  “What the bloody hell is it?” Reynolds said aloud, voicing the sentiments of his superiors.

  CHAPTER 2

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Henry Lawson had been National Security Advisor for just over 17 months. A tall thin former Naval Aviator, he had risen to the rank of Rear Admiral (upper half) before retirement 3 years ago. He had known the current President of the United States since they were both midshipmen at Annapolis. Steve Bermin had served his five years and gone into law school, followed by great success as a county prosecutor. Politics had seemed the natural path for his career. Henry and Steve had remained friends for over 35 years.

  A Major General of the Marine Corps entered the meeting room and announced "The President of the United States."

  14 men and women rose from their seats as Steve Bermin swept into the room. Great enthusiasm and seemingly boundless energy had marked his Presidency to date. His average size and weight had fooled many political opponents into complacency while his razor sharp mind deftly sliced their positions to pieces. He was a man who commanded respect, not just for the position he held, but for the person who held it. Now if he could only keep his pecker in his pants, but that was proving to be difficult.

  Henry Lawson spoke. "Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen. Several developments have occurred since yesterday's meeting. On the international front, the Israeli attack upon a Shite village in south Lebanon in retaliation for last week’s shooting and increased border tension between Pakistan and India. Sharon, why don't you start?"

  Sharon Wilson, the first woman to hold the position of Secretary of State was, as always, quick and to the point. "Mr. President, we saw the Israeli retaliation as inevitable and have protested to Foreign Minister Yitsag. He has assured us that this is only retaliation and does not indicate a change in their policy toward Lebanon. India and Pakistan are an entirely different matter. Tensions are very high over an Indian soldier shooting across the border, killing an escaping prisoner. A brief fire fight ensued, though no further blood was shed. Both sides have increased border patrols, though not substantially. I think this incident can be contained. I have offered our Ambassador in Pakistan as a mediator and Russian Foreign Minister Chernko has offered their Ambassador in India in the same capacity."

  Steve Bermin considered the action taken and spoke "Okay Sharon, sounds good so far. We need to keep tempers cool between those two. Stay on top of this and let me know if anything else develops."

  "Howard," the President continued, "remind me to call Israeli Prime Minister Rabin tonight. I need to emphasize the importance of the next session of the Peace Talks and assure him of our support if he can keep these cross border problems under control."

  Howard Cartier, the President’s Chief of Staff, nodded at the President as his overly long fingers made notations on a scratch pad. His six foot six inch frame was very thin, almost gaunt in appearance. His eyes drooped with a kind of sadness that was difficult to place, yet hard to forget.

  Henry caught Howard's eye and nodded. "Alice," Howard Cartier said, referring to Alice Copperfield, the Secretary of Labor, "any news on the Labor Reform Bill?"

  "We may squeak this one out of committee by next week, Mr. President. Senator Harrison is convinced, that leaves two more to work on. I've got several key people on my staff working on them and it looks good. Too soon to be sure, but I'm confident." Alice Copperfield projected that confidence in almost everything she did. She was a tenacious fighter for what she believed in and that made her a valuable member of the President's cabinet.

  The door opened and an Air Force Major entered the room and marched over to Lawson's chair. She leaned forward and whispered into the National Security
Advisor's ear. A moment later Lawson said "Excuse me, Mr. President."

  The President nodded and Lawson left the room followed by the Major. Interruptions during a Presidential meeting were not unheard of, but they were sufficiently rare to warrant an exchange of knowing glances among those present. When problems arise at this level, the splatter when it hits the fan can be extraordinary.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tinker Air Force Base

  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

  Sergeant John Hutchinson, Crew Chief of the special satellite observance RC-135 opened the hatch and stepped onto the plane. "Did you take any good pictures?" he asked of Lieutenant Kelly.

  Lieutenant Hiram Kelly was offended. Hutchinson had complete disregard for normal military courtesy and discipline. The son of a bitch was actually smiling at him.

  "Sergeant Hutchinson, you will stand at attention when speaking to a superior," Kelly said harshly as he marched past and through the open hatch.

  "Ouch. He's a starchy little prick isn't he," Hutchinson said to Corporal Williams when Kelly was out of hearing.

  Corporal Williams grinned uneasily at Hutch as he nodded his head. "We got some incredible pictures though, but someone blew it," Williams said.

  "How so?" Hutch asked.

  "That thing was closer than they thought. The orbit was all wrong. It was too big to be where they said it was," Williams replied, confident in his assessment, yet totally wrong.

  Inside a drab looking building on Tinker Air Force Base, the analyst was looking at the product of the RC-135 flight, a series of photos of the object recently detected in orbit. The specially equipped RC-135 had a telescope mounted inside the plane and was used to photograph satellites in orbit. The high definition photographs were laid out before him as he shook his head in disbelief.