She quietly began to gently rinse his backside with a washcloth.
Warren woke up gradually, his hand sliding over the many scars on his legs and buttocks. The scar tissue was fading from his flesh with the passage of time. If only it would fade from his dreams.
His throat hurt, like there was a lump in the back of it. His face was wet and his nose was runny. His pillow was very damp, almost wet.
He sat up in the bunk and turned on the light. 6:15. Well, he thought to himself, at least I got some sleep.
Christopher Jorgenson awoke to a pounding on his door. "It's open," he said.
The room's darkness was vanquished, first by the corridor light spilling through the door, then by the single light bulb's brilliance as it shone from the ceiling from within a metal lattice. Lieutenant Harlin stood in front of the open door
"Hey, Warren," exclaimed Christopher. "How was the trip."
"Fuck the trip, tell me about the UFO," said Warren as he closed the door to the tiny room. His dreams were now a million miles away and yet they were always just below the surface. "I got in about 3 and I couldn't even think about sleep."
Jorg looked at his watch. 6:35. "I turned in about two myself. I tell ya, it's catching up with me, man. I was falling asleep inside the thing."
"You got inside!!" Harlin was wearing a grin that stretched across his face. His eyes glowed with enthusiasm as he continued. "What's it like?"
"It's a full blown fiber optics computer. God knows how fast it runs. I'm just trying to map the connections right now."
"I can't wait to see it myself," bubbled Harlin.
"Okay, give me a minute to get up and then we'll go take a look. Not much time to do anything though. We leave at 8:30."
"I know, I know. This time, no coffee first. I almost burst my bladder on the trip down here."
Twenty minutes later, Christopher and Warren entered the docking area and slipped under the canvas. Warren's face turned to childish glee as he spied the craft. He rushed toward it and ran his hand gently over the sleek, silvery surface. "How do you get inside," he said quietly, almost reverently.
"Over this way," was the answer.
Warren ran his hand around the side of the opening, noting the smooth and perfectly straight edge. The dark interior was lit when Christopher flipped a switch on the drop light. A chill ran down Warren's back as the core of The Vehicle lit up. In a sense, he felt like a cave man looking at a wheel. He knew deep down inside that it was incredibly useful, he just wasn't sure how to use it.
They were lost in thought as General Westbrook arrived to tell them that their mission scheduled for later that morning had been cancelled. Their minds grew numb at the reason he gave.
CHAPTER 40
Special Forces Team Bravo
Pacasmayo Sand Dunes
Victor and his men were getting tired. Tired of routine sentry duty. The danger was obvious, yet there seemed to be no immediate threat. Just sit in the incredible heat during the day and equally incredible cold at night. Watching for movement, or any other activity.
Captain Winfred was startled as the hum intruded upon his thoughts. The UFO's had remained motionless since their return from the north. He moved from the partial cover of sand and crawled up to the crest of the small dune.
Peering over the top, he saw the larger UFO that had carried the human passenger begin to rise as the grating noise became nearly unbearable. It hovered briefly before accelerating briskly away. The loud hum was now fading with the UFO's withdrawal and Victor's ears rang in the silence.
He had noted the return of the seven UFO's late last evening and had wondered about the lack of appearance of the human passenger. His return to humanity, indeed, the events in San Francisco, were unknown to them all.
Captain Victor Winfred assembled the antenna with practiced ease. Being careful to keep sand off the plastic cover of the keyboard, he quickly typed in the new information for transmittal to Washington. He aimed the antenna at the eastern horizon and felt the vibration signaling a successful connection. Now we wait some more he thought.
USS Coronado
Off the northwest coast of Peru
All thoughts of dreams and his Father and his childhood in general had faded into the background as the reality of this device sank home. He was inside a real flying saucer. Well, not quite a flying saucer, but a real UFO. And he, Warren L. Harlin, was helping to unlock its secrets.
The early morning cool temperature had given way to oppressive humid warmth, then to heat. His perspiration had soaked through his shirt and clung to him like a suffocating blanket, refusing to evaporate in the already water saturated air. His biggest problem at the moment was keeping his dripping perspiration off the yellow legal pad he was taking notes on.
Sarah Von Framden joined them at 8:47 by Warren's watch. Her appearance startled him and Christopher stepped into the breach and introduced them.
"Good morning Sarah. This is Air Force Lieutenant Warren Harlin. Warren, this is Sarah Von Framden from JPL."
"How do you do," Warren responded with a handshake.
"Yeah," Sarah replied. "You too. You haven't been back messing with my engines have you?"
"Not at all," answered Warren. "I've been taking notes for Jorg."
"Jorg," she chuckled. "How cute."
"Yeah, well, it's a just nickname." Christopher glared at Warren as if he had given state secrets away to the enemy.
Sarah, realizing that she may have been snubbed, turned around in the tight crawl space and retreated to her engine compartment.
Once she was safely out of ear shot Christopher muttered "Wise ass. Why did you have to call me Jorg where she could hear?"
"I didn't think anything about it," replied Warren. "Besides, didn't you tell me that she has the engines almost figured out? I mean, she's on the same side, right?"
"Yeah, I guess so. She just struck me the wrong way yesterday is all."
"Yuhoo. Anybody home?"
The call came from the Vehicle's entrance. Standing there, bathed in sweat from the morning heat and humidity stood Master Chief Murdock.
"Good morning Chief!" Christopher said loudly. No reply came from the engine area so Warren and Christopher were the only ones to exit the craft.
"Chief, this here is Lieutenant Harlin, airdale from Onizuka."
The Chief saluted and extended a hard callused hand and shook Warren's firmly. "Pleased to meetcha sir."
"Like-wise Chief."
"I thought you could use something to drink out here. In weather like this, if you don't have to piss then you haven't drank enough." Murdock extended a metal pitcher full of water floating with ice cubes and three stacked plastic cups.
"Thank you Chief. I could use something to drink just now." Warren took the offered cups and poured a glass of water in one of them. He leaned against the craft and downed half a glass despite the ache from his teeth.
Christopher poured himself some and sat down on the deck, relaxing in the shade of the canvas.
"How you guys coming, sir?"
"We're gettin there. Slow work. Like feeling your way through a strange city without a map in the dark!" Christopher's neck and back hurt from the cramped condition inside, yet he was anxious to return. Downing the remainder of the water, he gave the glass back to the Chief and returned to the hatch. Warren shook his head and said, "Stupid, I know, but it’s hard to stop, even for a moment."
Chief Murdock nodded and found his way out of the canvas area.
Christopher crawled into and through the spaghetti mess of optical cables followed closely by Warren. Once through, Christopher paused to hold open his pathway of draping cable when Warren picked up a connector lying on the floor.
Warren examined the component and searched with his eyes for its proper location. Seeing an empty slot on the main board, he slid the connector into place as Jorg's voice shouted a shrill "NO!"
The force of more than five gravities grabbed at them and violently slammed them i
nto the hard, unforgiving floor. Warren lost consciousness briefly as his head struck, leaving the imprint of a fiber cable on his forehead. Christopher, on his hands and knees, felt his body forced down, far beyond his ability to hold it stable. Moments later the acceleration waned and the noise of high speed air became all encompassing. Powerful turbulence from the open hatch caused whirl-winds to whip about them, throwing the mass of fiber-optic cable together into a chaotic mess.
Warren raised his head and felt the growing lump on his forehead. Tenderly he felt about his face, he discovered no other major problems. Christopher seemed okay, just shaken up by the force of the reaction.
"Should I unplug it?" shouted Warren.
"Not yet. We better see where we are first," yelled Christopher back.
Warren nodded his head and began the crawl back to the open hatch. At the companionway leading to the rear, he encountered Sarah crawling out.
"What happened?" she called.
"I plugged something in I shouldn't have," shouted back Warren.
Sarah gave Warren a disgusted look that said all there was to say and continued crawling toward Christopher.
Warren found the open hatch and looked out over the edge. Their altitude surprised him. They were already several thousand feet high and gently climbing. Judging by the position of the sun, they seemed to be heading in a southerly direction.
Turning in the limited space was difficult and he scraped his arm, further adding to his growing collection of aches and pains. He crawled back to the other two who were now shouting at each other.
They paused to hear his report, only to start back into each other when he finished.
"We have got to ride it out and do the best we can," Christopher shouted.
"What we ought to do is throw that asshole out the fuckin door," replied Sarah in a horse yell.
"I could almost go along with that," answered Christopher as he looked at Warren and shook his head.
Warren was almost overcome with guilt as he pictured his Father calling him a worthless little shit. All his life, accomplishments always seemed to be accompanied by incredible acts of stupidity that his Father had rubbed his nose in with obvious enthusiasm and gusto. He felt his muscles quiver at his shame and he almost wished for someone to punish him for his errors. Such was the legacy of his childhood.
Warren backed up and turned around slowly and with great difficulty. He made his way into Sarah's area in back with the engines and slumped against the corridor wall. He held his head in his hands and alternated between rage at his stupidity and shame for placing his friend in danger.
CHAPTER 41
Dog Company, 1st Battalion, 7th regiment, 1st Infantry division
Ludlow, California
Captain Samuel Goldberg sat inside his motionless Bradley Armored Fighting Vehicle, thankful for its protection from the outside hazards, both chemical and environmental. It was in excess of 90 degrees in the morning sunshine. The sterilization chemical was supposed to be inactive now but he was waiting for several hours before betting his life on it. Sending one of his men to test the hazard never occurred to him.
They had been east bound on Highway 40 when they found the Ludlow exit. They were sitting quietly, letting their engine idle so as to supply cool air and at the same time be ready to move instantly. The desert of Southern Iraq had lent itself as a classroom for those with wisdom enough to learn. In tank warfare, movement is life. Saddam, if he had any wisdom, learned that motionless tanks are nothing but targets.
They were in overlook, a tactical formation that had one vehicle watch while another moved, when they encountered the UFO. It overflew them twice and Sam knew how a fish in a bowl must feel. They must not be perceived as much of a threat because there was no attempt to examine them other than the double flyby, Sam thought. A word on the local radio net had stopped their companion Bradley and it too was ignored.
Captain Samuel Goldberg was 27 years old and stood five feet ten inches tall. His orange-red hair betray his Irish heritage just as clearly as his last name portrayed his Jewish religion. He was Commander of Dog Company, 1st Battalion, 7th regiment, 1st Infantry division.
The Big Red One.
Inside he seethed in outrage at his nation's defilement. In his home state of California, he was actively seeking an enemy. His orders were not to engage unless fired upon, but to observe and report. Secretly, he hoped they were attacked. He had never felt such anguish and anger and impotence in his life. He wanted desperately to strike out at something, anything.
His vehicle was watching the parking area of the strange craft. After the UFO flew on, he called out on the net, "Bravo Sierra one-five, this is Bravo Sierra one. Continue."
The splash of noise over his headset built into his tanker's helmet startled him in its volume. "Bravo Sierra one, this is Bravo Sierra one-five. Roger."
Sam looked out the viewing prism into the parking area. There, before him, were five round UFO's, each more ominous than the other. There was no sign of activity at all. Only silvery surfaces shimmering in the heat.
Captain Goldberg keyed in the battalion frequency and transmitted. "Bull base, Bull base, this is Bravo Sierra one, Bravo Sierra one. Do you copy, over?"
"Bravo Sierra one, this is Bull base, go ahead."
Goldberg turned the volume down as he reported. "Bull base, Bravo Sierra one. We have reached objective Lima, repeat, we have reached objective Lima. Both vehicles operational. We have been overflown twice, repeat, twice. No hostile action. No, repeat, no activity at objective, over."
His headset replied, "Roger that. Stay in position and report next assigned time."
Before a reply could be heard at the Battalion headquarters, a blue flash winked in two patrolling Alien craft and both Bradley Fighting Vehicles and their occupants disintegrated into powdery smoldering rubble.
The event was noted as broad bandwidth energy spikes on board two separate RC-135's and one E-3 Awacs orbiting considerably outside the UFO's patrol area. All three sensitive aircraft had heavy fighter escort, although few believed they would be much good if the Aliens came after them.
Inside a temporary building, built during the Vietnam War, on the grounds of Tinker Air Force Base, signals analysis technicians added another brick in the wall of the Alien's techniques and capabilities. Added to what they learned the day before, a possible defense was emerging. Yet one fact stood above all the others. Wars were not won using defense.
Onizuka Air Force Base
Sunnyvale, CA
Lieutenant Spurtig had progressed from incredulity to the point where nothing could surprise him. Sergeant Jacobs had reported the space docking about an hour ago, now he was pointing out the display that showed another exodus from the orbital craft.
"Another trip to sunny Southern California?" Nathan Spurtig asked bitterly. His sister lived in Los Angeles and he was unable to contact her. Since the Aliens had knocked out all of the satellites in geosynchronous orbit, long distance calls had gone to shit. Incredible as it seems, Northern California calls to Southern California went through a satellite.
AT&T was scrambling to re-activate their microwave towers that pre-dated the space program. Even at their best, they were unable to handle the mass of emergency traffic, let alone the civilians who wanted to call loved ones.
The military had redundant systems to fall back on, but the private sector doesn't have virtually unlimited funds to maintain equipment, nor do they have to have systems that could survive a nuclear war.
"Probably," answered Jacobs. "We'll track this one down and I'll let you know first thing, sir." Jacobs knew that 'Spurty' had family down South. Hell, most everybody did around here, he thought
"I know you will, Sergeant, I know you will." He patted the Sergeant on the shoulder and continued, "I've got another phone call to make."
"Yes, sir."
CHAPTER 42
The White House Situation Room
Washington, DC
General Easter
ly felt the weight of nations on his shoulders. He had been without sleep for almost 48 hours and he felt every minute of it. He looked around the crowded room and knew that he was not alone. There were more than a few red bleary eyes and rumpled suits. At least his uniform was crisp and neat. That's what you have orderlies for, to keep their Generals looking like Generals, not Washington politicians in a crisis. He grinned to himself.
Bill Easterly reminded himself for the thousandth time that it was in a crisis situation that he excelled. He had always had the ability to think and act quicker than the other guy. It had kept him alive when it really counted in the skies over Vietnam and it had given him the edge in the competition for command in the Air force.
Now, when the shit had splattered all over the fan, when it counted for the very survival of his country, indeed, the world, this moment was when he must produce.
Four Star General William Easterly sat very still and weighed the probabilities. Again and again, he came to the same conclusion. There really was no acceptable alternative. Yet the plan had a BIG hole in it. It didn't deal with the satellite in orbit.
His systems people had pretty much concluded that the Aliens used radar. A highly advanced form of low power radar, but nonetheless radar. They could jam and evade and/or suppress that. Computer models had shown that their equipment could be slightly modified to jam the Aliens form of electronic surveillance. The Air Force even had an airplane combination with just that mission in mind. The F-4G and the EF-111A. Wild Weasels.
The airplanes and the mission had begun during the Vietnam War and it was a mission born of necessity. American losses were too high in the skies over North Vietnam. High speed surface to air missiles had plucked a great many brother Officers from the sky. The introduction of this special technique had drastically reduced their losses. It worked very well.
The operations staff had put forth a plan that called for the new Advanced Tactical Fighter to spearhead a fighter attack against the patrolling Aliens. Wild Weasel support coupled with another combined F-16 and F-15 attack would divert the Aliens attention from the real mission. F-117A bombing runs made simultaneously against the UFO parks in both South America and California.
These Few Brave Souls Page 20