The Star Chronicles: Book 01 - Battle for Earth

by Rod Porter

  The British resistance was represented by General Hatton and his First Officer Campbell. The British resistance was known as the Brown Coats on account of their uniforms. They specialized in covert operations, since their numbers were painfully small. General Hatton had no more than seventy soldiers under his command. Yet the Brown Coats’ small number was what had made them so deadly. They had six or seven Delta squads at their disposal. They had caused a truly impressive level of disruption through special forces covert missions and the like in England. The Brown Coats’ covert capabilities would be an invaluable asset to the planned global resistance body. While the Unconformed ranks, in particular, were growing mostly with journeymen that needed training, the Brown Coats were all specially-trained warriors of the highest caliber. Not only could they be used to train others, but they could be very useful in the field. The Brown Coats also possessed an enormous surplus of explosives.

  Last, but certainly not least, was Ayira and her interpreter, representing the Xhosa-Zulu of Africa. Just like Troy, the other representatives had been floored by the Xhosa-Zulu’s artillery and anti-aircraft capabilities.

  “You have all been invited here because, to the best of our knowledge, you are the strongest resistance forces that humanity has to offer,” Troy continued. “Jade welcomes you and you are to treat our city like it is your home. I speak for the Prime Minister also when I say that we are honored to have you here. That being said, I will get straight to the point. We have all had differences with each other in the past. But the past is just that: it’s over. Now we all share a common enemy, a common enemy that none of our forces can defeat alone. A common enemy that has no objective, save to kill all of us. Regardless of race, creed, or religion, divided we cannot defeat them. Certainly, we can secure some victories in various battles and keep them at bay, but they will keep coming back. The only way to take back our planet, our freedom, is by combining our military strengths, because while Jade’s civilian government is impressive and essential, it is meaningless without the Unconformed. We cannot talk things out with the invaders. Each of our groups brings unique strengths to the table. Divided, we will be fighting this war for eternity. United, we can end it and give a future back to our people. I cannot promise that the petty squabbles of the past will not resurface once the aliens are defeated, but I can promise that, unless we band together, the human race will never know anything but war and hardship. What you leaders decide at the coming summit, you will have to live with for the rest of your lives. And I promise you, right here, right now, that if we unite, we will be the ones to usher in a new era of freedom for our children. The Prime Minister and I will leave you all to decide amongst yourselves if this can be done.”

  Troy looked at them all.

  “Stand together. I beg of you.”

  Troy and Demoskeena did not wait for a reply. They simply turned and followed Colonel Cartwright outside. Hopefully the foreign leaders would be able to come to agreements with one another.

  The day of the summit finally came. Jade’s conference hall had never been so crowded. There was literally no room to stand; it was that full. The representatives agreed unanimously to unite as the first human global resistance. It was a textbook dog-and-pony show for the elated public. The decision was announced on all frequencies of the city’s public broadcast system. The entire city erupted in joyous celebration. People cried and hugged one another in the streets and public establishments. Demoskeena delivered an eloquent speech after the decision had been announced; Troy Williams’s stock with the public was through the roof. The audience was completely floored when the Global Resistance unfurled the very first flag of the Planet Earth in the conference hall. It brought tears to almost everyone’s eyes, the thought of that single flag representing them all, regardless of what country they were from. They were humans of Earth now, and the mere sight of the flag made not only the civilians, but Troy, Demoskeena, and everyone else present feel a pride long forgotten. It was time to celebrate.

  QUISLING

  Jackson had been interrogated by the Bureau for a week with no success. He was not cooperative and had answered no questions. But they did not ask him hard. The Bureau’s interrogations were civil and lawful, completely mindful of the human condition. Any forms of torture or physical harm were prohibited by law in Hivestown, which was why further interrogations would no longer be conducted by the Bureau.

  “Do you understand what is going to happen if you don’t talk to me?”

  Billy had begged his commanding officers to let him interrogate Jackson. He convinced them that the firefight on the surface with the Wolves had created an intimate link between himself and Jackson, a link that he could manipulate, but he had been wrong. Jackson had not spoken for an entire week and had said nothing to Billy.

  “This is your last chance, Jackson. Today is your last day to talk to one of us. Maybe even cut yourself some kind of deal.”

  No response.

  Billy sighed. “You do realize that, after today, the interrogations will no longer be conducted by the Bureau? A quisling has been assigned to oversee the interrogations, starting tomorrow. You know what a quisling is, don’t you?”

  Jackson did, but he kept quiet. Quislings were the only real treacherous humans alive. Quislings pledged absolute allegiance to the aliens, doing whatever they needed done, wherever they needed it. It was rumored that quislings lived in the sky, on the alien spaceships.

  “We’ve been very civil with you, Jackson, but the quisling won’t be. Quislings aren’t bound by our colonial laws; they hold absolute power. If he wants to pull your fingernails out one by one, which I’ve heard they are fond of doing, he will. There is nothing he will not be able to do to you once he gets here.”

  Billy let that sink in. Jackson just stared down at the table. It was impossible for Billy to tell, but Jackson was terrified.

  Deep underground, Stephanie sat alone in her house, staring at the fireplace. She had not been sleeping well. It had been harder to be around the house without Jackson. Her husband was on her mind always. She missed him and wondered if he was okay.

  Part of her felt that the blame was not all his. She could have asked him about his injuries a long time ago, before they had gotten married and decided to have a family. Now he was in the Bureau’s custody. What would they do to him if they found out who he really was? Jackson was a good man, and Stephanie believed, in hindsight, that he had established the Wolves with the noblest of intentions. How she wanted to take back the events of the past couple weeks. If only they could start over and be honest with each other, maybe they could salvage their love.

  “Has it been explained to you who I am, Mr. Wright?”

  The quisling had arrived in town in the dead of night, dressed in a formal black suit and tie. He carried himself with supreme arrogance, and it was obvious that he would favor a lengthy interrogation. He very much enjoyed the sound of his own voice and reveled in his power over his helpless victim.

  If Jackson was scared, the quisling could not tell.

  “I will ask you politely, one time only, for information. If you do not answer me, we will resort to other measures.”

  Jackson seethed with anger. This traitor sitting in front of him was what the Wolves should have been formed to kill.

  “Fuck you,” was all that came out of his mouth.

  The quisling sat back in his chair and smiled. He had hoped that would be Jackson’s answer.

  Ten minutes later, Jackson found himself bound to a whipping post, with fresh lacerations across his back. The quisling had brought an assistant with him. The assistant’s sole purpose was the physical torment of Jackson, and he had lost count of how many times he had cracked his whip across Jackson’s bare back. The quisling motioned for the whipping to stop and stood up from his chair. He came around to stand in front of Jackson, who fell to his knees in exhaustion. Jackson knew that it was important that he rest when they rest. He could hear the heavy breathing of the quisling’s as
sistant and feel the warmth of his blood, which was pooled on the ground under his knees.

  “Don’t you grow tired of this, Mr. Wright? I do, but it is not going to stop until you tell me what I want to know. Where were you trained in combat?”

  No answer.

  “Were you a mercenary? Resistance fighter?”

  Jackson craned his head and spat in the quisling’s face. The stout, arrogant man wiped the spit from his spectacles and nodded to his assistant. The brawny man came around to Jackson’s front side and put a bucket of water down on the ground in front of him. The quisling took his seat once more and gave the assistant the signal. The assistant proceeded to dunk Jackson’s head in and out of the bucket. Each time Jackson was brought up for a moment, he tried to suck some air into his lungs, but before he could he was dunked under again. It felt as if his lungs would burst, and he desperately wanted to give in and see his wife again. But Stephanie did not want him anymore, so he was not going to give in. They would have to kill him first. Finally, the assistant stopped the dunking process at the quisling’s gesture.

  Jackson spat up water and fought to regain his breath.

  “Now do you feel like talking, Mr. Wright?”

  Jackson started to laugh, which amused the quisling for a moment. Perhaps he was finally going to get his answer. But a simple “fuck you” was all that Jackson offered.

  The quisling sighed. “I think we are going to have to elevate our efforts.”

  For two days, Jackson endured hours of torture: beatings, simulated drowning, and starvation. By the fourth day, Jackson was in very bad shape. He had been tortured almost to death. The most recent method was electric shock. They had hooked his body to some kind of battery, and when he refused to answer a question he would be shocked. Jackson never thought he would experience such pain. He was sure that in a few minutes he would finally concede. His body and his mind could not take any more abuse.

  “Mr. Wright, this is getting tiresome, is it not?” the quisling asked, frustrated, on their fourth day of interrogations. At this point, the quisling was beginning to get fatigued. His meticulous appearance now showed his genuine frustration: his suit was wrinkled; his hair and face were disheveled and covered by a stubble beard. “I do not want to have to kill you, but I will if you do not start cooperating.” The quisling leaned in to make sure that his victim could hear him. “I have to report back to my superiors by the end of today with some sign of progress. So I am going to ask you one more time for some information. If you do not provide any kind of answer, we are going to flick that battery switch and leave it on until you are fried like an egg.”

  Jackson glared at the quisling through his bruised and swollen eyes. How he hated him!

  “Are you a member of the resistance? Are you a mercenary?”

  “Go to hell.”

  At that the quisling lost all control. He reached out and grabbed Jackson by the throat.

  “You are going to provide me with an answer! You are going to give me the information that I need!” he screamed pressing against Jackson’s throbbing skull, causing him to wail in pain.

  “Flip the switch!” the quisling spat stepping back.

  The assistant did, adjusting the battery to its highest level of voltage. The voltage was so intense that Jackson’s body began to convulse violently.

  “What do you know about the Unconformed! Where are they hiding! Do you have any knowledge of the location of the city of Jade?” The quisling yelled over Jackson’s painful wails, as the assistant killed the power.

  “Fuck you!”

  With that, the quisling drew a pistol and pointed it at a trembling Jackson.

  “Tell me what you know!” the quisling screamed.

  “I’m not giving you shit!”

  “Then you’re dead!”

  The quisling cocked the gun and aimed for Jackson’s face. Before he could pull the trigger, someone kicked in the door and fired three rounds from a gun. Jackson collapsed onto the floor. He felt a strong pair of arms wrap him up. Looking up, he saw the face of his rescuer. Billy had killed the quisling and the assistant.

  “Time to get you out of here,” Billy said, right before Jackson passed out.

  “Wake up.” Billy slapped Jackson in the face to revive him.

  Jackson found himself in terrible pain, bleeding from what seemed like every orifice in his body. Clearly, not much time had passed since he had been rescued. He was limping along while he leaned on Billy’s frame for support. Billy ushered him down a long hallway as rapidly as he could without aggravating the injuries.

  “Try to stay alert. They’ll be looking for you. We’ve got to get out of this building, and the only way is through a checkpoint up ahead. Just keep your mouth shut and avoid eye contact.”

  They continued down the long corridor. Jackson’s senses had mostly returned, although they were not functioning up to speed. He noticed that he was in some kind of uniform. His head had been wrapped in bandages, and there was an oxygen mask over his face. He could see the checkpoint that Billy was referring to up ahead through the plastic mask. Each step was agony, but he had to stay strong.

  Billy flashed his badge quickly, once they reached the checkpoint.

  “Who is this?” the guard asked suspiciously.

  By this time, Jackson noticed that there was an emergency alarm sounding throughout the building. The whole colony must be looking for him. He prayed that the swelling in his face and other injuries would do a good enough job masking his features.

  “Guard duty outside the interrogation room,” Billy lied. “That prisoner beat the hell out of him right before he escaped.”

  The guard suspiciously looked Jackson over.

  Billy noticed. “Not much time for this one,” he said. “I got to get him to the hospital now.”

  The guard nodded. “Okay. Move along.”

  Billy wanted to jump in the air and do somersaults in celebration, but he kept his cool. They passed through the checkpoint together. Jackson still needed help to move, but he was feeling stronger.

  “Keep moving. We’re almost there.”

  It was nerve-racking smuggling Jackson out. Hivestown was on red alert. They must have passed by three dozen agents and police who were all looking for Jackson. Finally they reached the surface. Jackson was close to fainting. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had not passed out during their escape. His wounds were so horrific that Billy had actually contemplated running him by the hospital just to save his life.

  The moon was full, casting long silver shadows down onto the surface of the wasteland. Billy helped Jackson towards a lone vehicle in the distance. They made their way towards its silhouette along the night skyline. Jackson was finally free, it appeared, but he was leaving everything behind: Stephanie, their child. Perhaps someday he could return for them. Billy finally got Jackson over to the car and leaned him up against it. He opened the back passenger door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We are not going anywhere,” Billy responded. Gently he laid Jackson on his back across the rear seat.

  Jackson looked up at the driver through his blurred vision and could not believe what he saw. It was Stephanie! They looked at one another for a moment.

  “Like you said,” she said with soft affection, “the angels didn’t protect us.”

  Billy closed the door shut and banged his palm against the window. Stephanie drove the car north into the darkness. Billy knew a place where they could lay low.

  DEBRIEFING: OPERATION HAMMER

  The highly-sensitive intel that the Japanese resistance claimed to have in their possession turned out to be just that. They had a slew of confirmed reports that the soldier aliens were nothing more than robots.

  “So you’re saying that the soldier aliens are not organic in any way? They’re not life forms?”

  “That is correct, Colonel Cartwright,” General Tanaka’s interpreter relayed. “We came upon this fact some time ago. The soldier aliens
are, in fact, drones for the invaders to use at their discretion.”

  Troy could not believe it. “Drones? You mean like puppets?”

  “Exactly,” the Japanese General’s interpreter continued. “It appears that every alien has access to their very own soldier alien. They control these drones from remote distances. This way, they don’t have to worry about being killed themselves.”

  Colonel Cartwright wanted to be clear. “So they control them from afar?”

  “Yes,” the interpreter replied. “A soldier alien is killed, its operator is not. Presumably, the defeated alien just gets outfitted with another drone.”

  “That’s great,” Cartwright said. “How the hell are we supposed to defeat an enemy that can engage our troops without having to leave their front door?”