by Rod Porter
Troy was not so sure.
GUERILLAS
Delta had shifted from one campsite to another, although the new one was at least human. More like a small village than a campsite, the buildings were constructed of some kind of mud clay with straw roofs. Whoever these people were, they were natives of the jungles. They seemed to coexist with the surroundings. Troy saw that there was no need to hide underground from the aliens in this section of Africa. If you knew the jungle, and these individuals clearly did, you could hide a whole village on the surface.
The only thing that gave Troy and the rest of Delta hope was that, whoever their rescuers were, they were enemies of the invaders. Being captured by traitors had been a concern when they had set out for Africa. There were surely treacherous civilizations in Africa just like America, but these people were not that. It helped raise spirits to see children and the elderly busying themselves with odd tasks. They stared at Delta squad, particularly its white members.
When they got to the camp, Delta was brought into a medium-sized hut. Inside the hut was a table with a woman sitting behind it, flanked by two men clutching assault rifles. Their faces were very serious, and Troy knew immediately that the woman sitting down was the one in charge. Their captors muttered amongst themselves in their language, while Delta sat awaiting their fate. Troy was getting tired of the uncertainty. He did not want to come across as weak, and the best thing he could do was relate, somehow to these people, that they shared a common enemy.
“We’re soldiers.”
The Africans turned to Troy with looks of irritation, perturbed that he had interrupted their little pow wow. They went back to talking.
“We are soldiers,” Troy said again, still in his restraints.
One of the men came over and slapped Troy in the face. Grabbing him by the throat, he poised himself to snap Troy’s neck, but a guttural objection from the leader stayed his hand. He released Troy.
“We are soldiers, just like you,” Troy continued, now that he had their full attention. “Does anyone speak English here?”
The Africans did not say a word, just continued to look at Troy.
“We come from America,” Mickey chimed in. “What’s left of it, anyway.”
“He’s right. We share the same enemy,” Troy began. “We fight the aliens back in our homeland.”
None of this seemed to be registering. Then one of the men leaned into the leader’s ear and whispered something. The leader whispered something back and the man relayed the message.
“You come from across the oceans?” the standing African offered.
“Yes.” Troy made no attempt to hide the relief in his voice at hearing English. “We fight the invaders, just as you do.”
“You share the skies with them?” the African asked after the leader whispered in his ear.
“We share nothing. We take to the skies against their will. We have come to Africa looking for others who fight them.”
The English speaker and the leader shared some more whispers.
“You are the leader?”
“I am,” Troy answered.
“And how many soldiers do you command?”
“Hundreds, back in America.” Troy thought it wise not to share any information about Cartwright or the crash site at the moment. “We were looking for a suitable strip of ground to land our airplane when the aliens shot us down. Since we had come here to find possible allies, we figured, plane crash or no plane crash, we might as well get on with it. The aliens ambushed us. You rescued us, and here we are.”
They whispered some more before the leader stood and relayed through her interpreter:
“Everything about your story is accurate except for one thing. They…did not shoot your plane down. We did.”
“That’s a roge, we’ve found resistance fighters,” Troy spoke into his radio. All of Delta’s weapons and equipment had been returned to them. They were fed, permitted to bathe, and looked after, once the Africans realized that they were not a threat.
“I don’t believe it,” Cartwright responded. “We sent out a search party but they found nothing.”
“Roaches must have taken us off course when they took us back to their camp. Don’t sweat it.”
“What are their numbers like, if I might ask, sir?”
“Nothing particularly impressive at this site. They’re not really a resistance so much as a band of guerilla fighters. Apparently they are one village of nine. From what I’ve been told, there are nine different tribes that operate as separate guerrilla outposts. The only thing that unites them is their common enemy. Before the aliens came, there were dozens upon dozens of tribes and they all fought each other.”
“Sounds just like the States during the downfall.”
“All in all, we’re talking about a hundred and fifty fighters if you include all nine tribes. At least, that’s the number I’ve been given.”
“We were hoping to find triple that. I guess it’s a start.”
“It’s more than that,” Troy interjected. “You’re not going to believe this. They’re the ones that shot us out of the sky.”
“You’re telling me that they have anti-aircraft technology?”
“That’s a roge. Not just AA guns, they’ve got huge stockpiles of light and heavy artillery. Looks like we hit the mother lode.”
“That’s great news, sir. How do you want to proceed? We’ve still got the rations, and the techie reports that the portable transmitter is all but fixed.”
Troy had a difficult call here. Either have Cartwright and the gang sit tight, and risk falling victim to possible alien patrols, or have them hump it out to the village. The tribe leader had already explained through the interpreter that they would be more than happy to bring Delta’s comrades in arms to their home. What had won the Africans over was not necessarily the tales of hundreds of resistance fighters back in America. The Africans were truly amazed that Troy and his people had the capability to fly in the sky like the aliens. That territory was off-limits to humans as far as they were concerned, and these people flew them defiantly without a care. When Troy told them that the Unconformed had fighter jets that could actually do aerial combat, they were totally sold. They might have been in awe of the Unconformed’s planes, but the Unconformed were in equal awe of their ability to shoot things out of the sky, and their abundant surplus of rockets, grenade launchers, and other types of artillery.
“Colonel.” Troy snapped out of his trance. “For the moment, I want you to stay put and keep the crash site secure. Get that portable transmitter to high ground and link back up with command headquarters. That is your top priority. Copy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Williams out.”
Troy and Delta spent the next couple of days relaxing in the village and interacting with its people. The jungle had seemed like such a horrid place to them when they had first encountered it, but it had been transformed into something majestic and beautiful through the eyes of its native inhabitants.
It was a lovely respite for Delta. Being above the surface and living in peace was something impossible where they came from. This jungle was filled with wondrous, exotic discoveries that the villagers shared openly with them. They swam in the mystic streams, played in the trees, and smoked what the Africans called the communal pipe, jovially experiencing one another’s company. It was beautiful to see human children running about, playing on the Earth’s surface without a care in the world. Most importantly, Delta ate like kings. Somehow the ecosystem in this particular area of the continent had been preserved. More than likely, there had been no nuclear fires in the region.
Troy spent all his time with the interpreter and the tribe leader. They talked of past experiences, what they wanted for their people, and what they wanted for the human race in general. Troy tried to sow the seeds of politics and diplomacy and found refreshingly that the Africans were well versed in such matters. They relayed to him that it would be tri
cky to get the other eight tribes to agree on anything, but the leader could not stress enough how much weight being able to fly would carry, and that if Troy did in fact command hundreds of troops and did have a way to link channels of communication across the oceans, the tribes might consider his offer of unification. Combining his soldiers and planes with the Africans’ artillery would produce one hell of a powerful punch. The leader agreed the aliens would not be expecting anything like that. She assured Troy that she would do her best to unite the tribes, because while they did enjoy their simple lives in the hidden villages, the alien ranks were growing rapidly, and their sentinels and soldiers were growing more efficient at hunting humans. It was just a matter of time before there would be nowhere left to hide.
DETAIL
As Tommy had anticipated, it had been difficult for him to remain in Jade while his friends left for Africa. He had been so used to protecting Mickey in the prison camp that he viewed it his personal responsibility to see that no harm ever befell him. They had come to look on each other as brothers, Tommy being the elder. Mickey had also felt regret at leaving so soon after Tommy’s recovery. Who knew what kind of trouble they were going to run into on another continent? Tommy had always been there to save Mickey, even during the prison escape, when he had been ready to sacrifice his own life.
But now Tommy had a job to do, and he was grateful to be of service to the cause; a fact which he would admit to no one. He might not have been living the lifestyle of a nomad anymore, but he still was one through and through, and the only cause a nomad pledged was his own. Nomads lived only for themselves and those in their group. This was why he had been so close to his cellmates in prison, he realized. Troy, just like Mickey, was his family, and he was not going to let Troy down. If he could not protect them in Africa, then he would have to do so back in Jade.
Demoskeena had reassured Tommy that, as a member of the security detail, he would find Jade a much more inviting place, and he was true to his word. Tommy and the other seven Unconformed soldiers assigned to protect the Prime Minister lived a very comfortable lifestyle. Each had their own bedroom in the most luxurious municipal building in the city. The building they lived in was known as the Vatican. It housed not only the Prime Minister and his guards, but other high-ranking members of the Church. It was rivaled only by the Palace, which was under construction. The Palace was going to be the new home of the Prime Minister. Many citizens were angry that money and resources were being spent building the Prime Minister a luxurious home, but Demoskeena insisted it was vital for security. The Palace would also house the representatives of the Quorum. It had been a requisite for Demoskeena to include living quarters for the Quorum. Without their support, the Palace would have no chance of being built.
Demoskeena was very active, day in and day out. Tommy could not believe that he was protecting the head of the only remaining human government. Everywhere the Prime Minister went, Tommy was at his side. Demoskeena visited different churches, heads of the Quorum, various dignitaries, and other like-minded individuals of status. He visited schools and public service headquarters, never shying away from the media that always seemed to be present to promote his daily campaign to improve the city of Jade. More often than not, Tommy was too far away to hear the conversations the priest had word for word, but he made sure to document everyone the head priest visited in the report that he would give to Troy upon his return. While most of the visits and errands were political business, some were recreational.
Tommy was reassured when they would visit the poorer districts of Jade to part-take in certain behaviors. It felt good to know that Demoskeena was a flesh-and-blood man like the rest of them. Three times a week, the Prime Minister would frequent the slums in district seven and have sex with prostitutes out of the same brothel every time. Tommy knew the guy was a complete hypocrite, and now he had the proof. Priests were supposed to be abstinent. How ridiculous, Tommy thought.
The teachings of God were suspect to him. During the screening process, when Tommy had been interviewed by Demoskeena personally, he decided then and there that he did not like the man and believed that he was abusing his powers with the Catholic Church.
“So you have been recommended to be a part of my security detail,” Demoskeena said when the interview began. It was just the two of them, alone in a room.
“Yes.”
Tommy was anxious in the semi-professional setting. He wasn’t afraid; he just hated conversing in such a formal manner. A real interview should be conducted in a bar with a few beers. That’s how you really got to know a person.
“And, the reason General Williams recommended you?”
Tommy had been coached to answer these types of questions. It was important that the priest not find out how close he and Troy were. If he did, Troy would have no informant.
“I’d guess the same reason he recommended the others.”
Demoskeena looked him over letting him know that that simple answer would not suffice.
“I’m a good soldier. Handy with firearms and even better with my hands. I was a nomad in my previous life. Traveled to lots of different colonies and such. Got good street sense and instincts. If you’re ever in any danger, you can believe I’ll sense it, and I won’t hesitate in defending you. Plus, I’m a big guy; good deterrent for any amateurs thinkin’ about causing trouble.”
“Are you a religious man, Thomas?”
“You can call me Tommy.”
Tommy had been coached to deal with these types of questions as well, but he hesitated. There was something about the way the priest was looking at him that made him want to give a truthful answer. He had not anticipated this.
“I’d have to say, Mr. Prime Minister, that I find it hard to be religious.”
Demoskeena did not interrupt. He let Tommy say his piece.
“The things I’ve seen, being a nomad and all, there can’t be a God. I mean, I don’t know for sure...I ain’t so familiar with the Bible...figure it would be nice if it was true, though.” Tommy himself was surprised at how sincerely he asked his next question.
“If God exists, why doesn’t he save us from the plague?”
Demoskeena grinned and nodded his head. “That is the most frequently asked question, and when you discover the answer, the theologians of the world will beat a path to your door.” He paused briefly. “I find,” he continued, “that those who ask it are often looking for something to believe in. I see great potential in you. Not only as a person, but as a person of faith. Would you pray with me, Tommy?”
“I’ll listen,” he agreed reluctantly.
And that was how the meeting had ended, with a prayer. Tommy had not seen that coming, and he felt strange leaving the room afterward. Perhaps there was something to this religion? He would never admit it, but the conversation and prayer had made him feel a little better. But he was not going to lose sight of his mission to be a snitch. Troy and Mickey were family and had been there for him through thick and thin. He was not about to betray that friendship to some politician who was good with words and playing on emotions. He just hoped that he would not let Troy down.
AFTERMATH
Jackson kept a firm grip on the dying man’s hand. Since he had killed him, the least he could do was let the man die looking into the face of a friend. The traumatized villagers of Hivestown were anxious to get in the van and head back to their colony. They were all still in a great deal of shock and afraid that more bandits would come. Jackson’s behavior was baffling to them. He had just killed four men who were trying to kill him. Why was he behaving so remorsefully and gripping one of the dying bandit’s hands in friendship?
The villagers called out from the van that they needed to go. Jackson ignored their calls and instead searched the dead bandit’s body. As he had suspected, the bandit had dog tags. Jackson’s heart broke in two when he read the inscription on the tags. It read: Wolves.
Some of the survivors of the bandit attack had minor wounds that needed to be
seen by the hospitals. Luckily, Stephanie had not been harmed. People crowded around them when they realized that they had brought back some dead bodies. Everyone wanted to know what had happened. Had they been ambushed by slavers? Mercenaries? Cannibals? Raiders? The people’s inquiries made Jackson sick to his stomach. How could people actually be interested in the horrible events that had taken place? They were asking these questions in tones of excitement, as if violence and death were good things in some way. As if they were a pure form of entertainment. Disgusting!
He pushed his way through the crowds with Stephanie and they headed back to their home. Billy, the Hivestown Bureau of Investigation agent, did not get a chance to thank Jackson for saving his life. He had gone to tell him himself, but Jackson and Stephanie were nowhere to be found. Billy had been assigned to Jackson for reasons that had seemed far-fetched when he had first gotten the assignment from Divisional. Now those reasons did not seem so grandiose. Jackson was every bit as dangerous as the Bureau suspected. Billy not only wondered where Jackson had learned to kill so efficiently, but what he was going to tell his superiors when they asked for his report on the events. He was the only remaining agent who witnessed the encounter, and that did not sit well with him. He would have preferred to take a back seat on this one, but now he was the lead agent.
Jackson stepped into the house that he had called home for so many months. The room began to reel and sway as soon as he stepped in the door. He felt nauseous; everything was spinning, making his stomach queasy and his head throb. He ran through the living room into the kitchen and began throwing up in the sink. Stephanie came into the house behind him and closed the front door. She was very concerned and slightly scared by her husband’s erratic behavior. His wounds when they had first met in the hospital were combat-oriented and had always been suspicious to her. But Jackson had turned out to be such a good man that she did not dwell on the fact that he might have a troubled past. Now she had to know. It saddened her greatly to see him in such mental anguish, vomiting in the sink, but she felt now was the time to pry.