Invaders: The Chronowarp

by Vaughn Heppner

  As unbelievable as it might sound, Ukrainian gangsters operating out of Vegas had stumbled onto that base, apparently recognizing the uniqueness of their find.

  I found the idea that they had so successfully figured out what to do with the alien machines and equipment astonishing. I suspected alien involvement with the Ukrainians.

  With my hands still cuffed behind my back, I walked down an aisle. There were seats on either side like a regular Learjet. I headed for a partition with a hatch. I wanted to make sure Jenna was all right.

  “Mr. Logan,” Sergei said.

  I stopped and glanced over my shoulder.

  “You will remain in this part of the plane,” he said.

  I shrugged, chose a seat near the partition and sat uncomfortably. My shoulders were getting tired, being held back like this for so long.

  Sergei closed the main hatch, pressed a switch so the ladder folded up, and sat in a seat across the aisle from me.

  We didn’t have long to wait. The Learjet started up. It sounded similar to a regular plane, but with a quieter hum. With a lurch that quickly smoothed out, the plane maneuvered down the icy, abandoned highway.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  Sergei smiled enigmatically.

  I got up and slid to a window seat, peering outside at the pines. The plane picked up speed, lifting from the highway and climbing into the nighttime sky. There was nothing but pines below, either the North American or the Siberian taiga presumably.

  “How did you happen to arrive at the wreck?” I asked, looking at him.

  “Come now, Mr. Logan. That should be self-evident.”

  “You have a…device that can track alien machines?”

  Sergei inclined his head.

  “Can you track the Guard ship?” I asked.

  “What did I say about asking too many questions?”

  I peered out the window again. The pines had already dropped far below as we continued to climb faster and faster.

  A chime sounded, and a voice spoke in Ukrainian over the intercom.

  “Now we must decide,” Sergei told me. “Where should we go, Mr. Logan? Should we head to Kiev? There, you shall sit in a chair. It will deliver pain for each wrong answer. That chair is frightfully effective in detecting liars, I’m afraid. You will end your days in that chair.”

  “What’s the other option?” I asked.

  Sergei smiled. “That depends on you. If you are more forthcoming, I could consider a quick jaunt to Iraq. This Sumerian ruin interests me. Yet, I would have to know why you’re so interested in the ruin. What do you hope to find there and why?”

  I peered out the window as I debated the possibilities. How trustworthy was Sergei? Probably not very. He would obviously continue to use Jenna as a prod against me. Eventually, I would end up in that chair in Kiev. I could tell him about the Eshom. I could tell him what I thought the Eshom planned to do. The Ukrainian Mafia and the government in the Ukraine seemed inclined to grab whatever alien tech they could in order to strengthen themselves. They did not seem inclined to consider the greater good of the human race. It was possible Sergei and his confederates would attempt to use the Eshom if they could think of a way.

  The Eshom—if it could open a portal to its rocky Hell World—would flood the Earth with the energy creatures. That would be a disaster for humanity.

  I didn’t have time for Sergei Gromyko and his thuggish confederates. I had to—

  “You disappoint me, Mr. Logan.”

  I turned from the window. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’ve been lost in thought. If you must know…”

  I finally realized the best way to play this. I nodded to myself.

  “Okay,” I said. “I guess it’s time I leveled with you. I’ve been using the CAU. You asked me before if I loved Jenna Jones. The idea is laughable. She’s a fool like her entire organization. They walk through a goldmine and don’t even realize how to make themselves rich.”

  “You expect me to believe you’re a clear thinker?” Sergei shook his head. “Your previous actions show that you have altruistic impulses. You owned the Guard ship for six months or more. Yet, you did nothing with it but sightsee. You indulged in heroics the rest of the time, Mr. Logan, going so far as showing yourself to the U.S. Secretary of State. Even when he betrayed you, you did not punish him. No. I do not believe you’ve suddenly grown clear-sighted.”

  “That’s just the point,” I said. “I played it right. I went by the rules. And what happened? The American government screwed me. That pisses me off. You have no idea how much of a fool…”

  I turned away as if too angry to continue speaking.

  Sergei chuckled, shaking his head. “I understand your urge for subterfuge. You are straining hard to save the woman. Yet, for all the humor in this childish attempt, you show vast contempt for my intellect. You believe I am a fool, too. That is unflattering, Mr. Logan. I do not appreciate that.”

  “What can I do to convince you?”

  A weird shininess returned to his eyes. “You are spitting in my face. How can you turn me into a fool? That’s your question. The answer is that you cannot, Mr. Logan. I’d thought to work with you—”

  “Please,” I said, interrupting. “I’m trying to act in good faith. You’re taking this wrong. Maybe because you died in the Hummer—”

  “Enough!” he said, standing, drawing a gun. “You have gone too far. Now, your woman is forfeit.”

  -31-

  I stared at him. It seemed clear that Sergei Gromyko had made up his mind about me. That was probably to his credit. I’d thought him foolish enough to believe I’d become like him. Some people will fall for the ideas they cherish. Or it could be I hadn’t suffered enough, in his opinion, to have changed my mind this fast.

  I turned back to the window.

  I could pretend to plead for Jenna, but I don’t think Sergei would fall for that either. He did seem touchy about the Hummer and dying. He was arrogant. Maybe the best plan—

  “Mr. Logan,” he said. “You will attend me.”

  I ignored him. As I saw it, I only had one real chance left.

  The pines were no longer visible below. Darkness hid them. We were high, moving well above the regular clouds. Still, we climbed. Did that mean we were going to travel to Kiev? If we were in Siberia—

  “You will acknowledge me,” Sergei said.

  I did nothing of the kind. Contempt was my last tool left.

  “I can put a bullet in your brain as easily as into the field agent.”

  I continued to stare out the window, silent.

  Sergei swore quietly in Ukrainian. I heard him move out of his row and into mine. The cold barrel of his gun touched the back of my head.

  My heart began beating faster. I had an idea. It was crazy. There was no doubt about that. Yet, at this point, it was all I had left.

  He pushed the barrel against my head.

  “Do you desire death?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  I finally turned, working to give him the coldest, most contemptuous glance I could.

  He stared into my eyes. The shine of psychotic sadism bloomed in full flower there now. The wheels turned in his mind. I imagine he was giving himself over to the torturous plans he had in store for me.

  His gun had a barrel like an old-time German Luger. I knew this was a longshot. I knew I jeopardized both Jenna’s life and mine by attempting this. But I’d had my fill of being a prisoner. I could no longer wait for the perfect moment, and decided to take the small opportunity this presented me.

  I pulled my head away from the gun.

  He grinned in delight at my seeming fear of the weapon.

  I lifted up from my seat, opened my mouth and latched my teeth onto the barrel of the Luger-like pistol. I clenched onto the metal as hard as I could. Some circus people used to grab a rope with their teeth and hang in the air. I had a powerful grip, and I yanked the gun with a twist of my neck. I did it fast and hard, and despite his gri
p, I yanked the pistol out of his hand.

  I opened my mouth. The pistol dropped. I surged up from my seat as his eyes widened in shock. I had one second at the most while surprise gripped him. Pulling my head back as I stood, I slammed my forehead as hard as I could against his nose. It wasn’t a perfect strike. I did not crunch his nasal bones, but I slammed against him like a sledge. He staggered in the tight confines of this row. His heel must have struck something on the floor. He went down with a crash.

  With my hands behind my back, I jumped up to a cushioned seat, and jumped again so I landed in the main aisle.

  He groaned. His feet were in one row and his head was in another. I jumped up and used my boots to land forcefully on his stomach. Then, I skipped off him before I tripped.

  He knifed upward in agony, his eyes widening.

  I turned in the main aisle. He thumped back down. I moved up to his head, raised my right foot and stomped on his throat the best I could.

  He made gurgling sounds.

  I did that again and again until I felt something in his throat crush. He might have gone unconscious.

  Panting, my heart tripping with adrenaline, I used my feet, pushing his torso, dragging his head and neck out of the seat row. I finally had a good shot at his neck.

  Let me finish this part by saying it was brutal and ugly. Stomping a man to death—yes, I killed him. There was no doubt about that.

  I’d been lucky so far. No one else had come into this part of the plane. That could change at any second. If I didn’t get free soon—

  I turned my back to him, lowered myself and used my hands. I grabbed the hilt of his monofilament blade, drawing the dangerous weapon from its scabbard.

  I stood, flung sweat out of my eyes and concentrated. I maneuvered the blade to slice through the metal links of my handcuffs.

  My hands parted, and my shoulders tingled with agony as my arms hung freely again. I’d kept hold of the monofilament blade. I checked my hands to make sure they weren’t bleeding. Incredibly, I’d managed to cut the short chain instead of any of my flesh.

  I took a moment and shaved off the cuffs around my wrists. I would have liked to sit down and think things through. I simply had no time for that.

  I regarded Sergei for a moment before using the knife to cut his throat. It worked far better than I’d thought it would. I ended up decapitating him.

  That caused blood to gush from his severed neck. I won’t go into details. The blood made the area stink frightfully. I probably shouldn’t have done that.

  Now, I had a choice. Should I cut my way into the cockpit or free Jenna from the thugs in the next compartment?

  As I tried to decide, the hatch that separated me from the thugs began to open…

  -32-

  Fortunately, I’d already debated with myself regarding tactics. Should I take the gun or simply rely on the amazing knife, or should I use both?

  If I tried to attack with both gun and knife, I’d have to be thinking about more than one thing at a time. I’d have to decide each time, should I shoot or cut the bastard? If I just used the knife, I’d know I’d have to get in close with each thug to dispose of him. That would focus my thoughts and spur me to greater speed.

  Surprise was a fantastic force multiplier. I was one person. I needed all the extra help I could get. The time it took to realize a danger, realize you needed to draw your gun and take aim and fire actually took longer than most people realize. Surprise and fear can also paralyze some people, especially for the critical first few seconds. No one likes the thought of someone closing in on him with a knife. There is something primeval about a blade chopping at one’s flesh that terrorizes almost all modern people.

  In other words, I’d already decided on a pure knife assault. The opening hatch made my other decision for me. I would attack the back compartment first.

  The door opened. A shocked Ukrainian stared at me, with his hand still on the handle.

  I lunged at him. This was going to get messy. I couldn’t worry about that. I stabbed him as I thrust at his chest. This was one knife that wouldn’t get stuck in a person’s bones. I thrust and shoved him, propelling him back into the compartment.

  I moved as silently as possible. I did not want those who couldn’t see what was happening to hear what was happening and get their bearings before I got to them.

  I shoved the Ukrainian. He slid off the monofilament blade and struck the floor on his back, blood jetting from his chest. I jumped across his body, taking in the details of the larger back compartment.

  This place did not have rows like a regular plane. There were couches, tables and even a small fridge.

  Jenna was in the center of the area. Her wrists were still tied behind her back, and two Ukrainians were leaning toward her on a couch, no doubt trying to engage her in conversation.

  I figured in my initial eye-scan that eight to ten thugs were in the back area. I had my work cut out for me.

  I roared at the top of my lungs and began to attack. I closed with the nearest thugs, lunging, hacking and continuing to move. I killed or seriously injured three of them before any of them could react.

  The fourth thug stood and threw a punch, hitting me in the side of the head. That did nothing to halt me, though. It was too late for half measures on their part. My adrenaline was pumping. I shrugged off the hit, heard a gun boom and didn’t bother to check my body. I kept moving, lunging, hacking and twirling this time.

  The pent-up rage of the last hour exploded into a killing frenzy. I wasn’t proud of the bloody mayhem. It was primitive in the extreme. I gutted and sliced, finally becoming aware of a sharp pain in my side.

  Another gun smoked. There had been more shots. A Ukrainian holding a gun stared at me in surprise. I thrust the knife through his head. I kept charging as I pulled the blade free, passing Jenna.

  Two last Ukrainians faced me. One backed into a corner, shouting for mercy, crumpling into a corner. The last one fumbled with a gun in his shoulder rig. I killed them both without hesitation. I wasn’t in the proper state of mind for mercy. I was too worried about failing, about ending up their prisoner tortured to death.

  A voice began shouting as I rose from the corner. It had a feminine quality to it. I knew that meant something.

  I whirled around.

  Jenna was on her feet. She was wild-eyed, and there was blood on her garments. Had the bastards cut her?

  “Logan!” she shouted. “They’re dead. You killed them all.”

  I blinked at her. I must have looked like a butcher. Slowly, my mind returned to normal speed. I looked around the compartment—

  It was horrible. There was no other word for it. Yet, it wasn’t over. I could see some of the Ukrainians beginning to stir.

  “Turn around, Jenna,” I said.

  For once, she didn’t argue with me. She turned around as her shoulders shook.

  With cold deliberation, I began to inspect each man. I stabbed each Ukrainian in the heart to make sure he was dead. There were only two of us on our side. We couldn’t afford to keep prisoners. I didn’t want to believe that this made me a murderer, but I had killed the entire Ukrainian Mafia crew, and now I felt something harden in me.

  I didn’t like that. But I hadn’t picked up two strangers and threatened to torture them to death. Besides, we were talking about the fate of the world. I wasn’t an angel. I was just a man who didn’t want to take needless risks.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jenna said in a small voice.

  “Wait,” I said, surprised how hoarse my voice had become. I’d been roaring for some time.

  With the bloody knife, I cut her wrist-ties. Her arms swung free. She didn’t look at the dead. I had the feeling she was keeping her eyes slightly unfocused.

  “Did they hurt you?” I asked.

  She kept the same unfocused gaze as she shook her head.

  “Wait here,” I said. “I’m going to break into the piloting compartment.”

  “I’m goi
ng with you.”

  I looked at her. She would not look at me.

  “Fine,” I said. “Grab a gun.”

  She looked down, moaning softly, and picked up a Ukrainian’s gun. “I’m ready,” she said, as if she weren’t horrified by this compartment.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  -33-

  The front hatch leading to the piloting compartment was locked. No surprise there.

  I looked at Jenna. She still wouldn’t look at me. She stood as if waiting for me to get started.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She nodded, but I didn’t believe her. Among other things, her gun hand trembled.

  “Look,” I said. “I had to—”

  “I know,” she said, interrupting. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  She didn’t respond, although her gun hand trembled more than before.

  “This is a nasty business,” I said. “I’d rather not have done what I did.”

  She frowned as she stared fixedly at the hatch.

  “I was worried they would torture you. They threatened me with torture, with your torture and death.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

  “You think I enjoyed that?”

  She finally met my eyes. “I do,” she said. Then, she looked away.

  That left me speechless. I hadn’t enjoyed that… Well, I wasn’t proud of myself. In retrospect, that had been an ugly way to free her and dispose of them. Yet, there might have been a part of me that had enjoyed murdering them while I’d been in a berserk state.

  I’m not going to psychoanalyze myself for your enjoyment. I liked to fight and conquer. It was part of my heritage. Killing them meant they weren’t going to kill me. Was that so wrong? Would it have better if they’d defeated me? Would it have been better if they’d strapped me down while they tortured Jenna?

  I shouted and kicked the door with flat of my right foot. Jenna backed away, surprised. My foot bounced off the door.

  I knew kicking the door was futile. It was made to resist such attempts.