The Turret: Starclan Foundation

by James McAlliater

  “I can’t withdraw, I can’t even roll over; my legs are pinned under a pile of rocks that fell from the last mag-gun barrage. They stopped hurting a little while ago. I can’t feel anything below my thighs now. My legs just feel wet. Where would I go anyway? Commands stopped coming over the comm channels when that flash behind me wiped out the snipers.

  “If anyone finds this recording, remember what the 10th Mountain Division did here. We did all we could.

  “I hear them near me. Now I…”

  “Daddy, wh…” Jock started as the viscreen went blank.

  “Shh, Jock. Listen. Watch. Not everyone gets to see this live,” Nial whispered.

  “Today, we remember Over Bear Mountain Bridge”

  “Robert asked me to record this in Anglaise. I do not know why, except maybe he is recording his in Francaise, and wants a monopoly. Hah!” The grinning face was barely discernable through the helmet’s visor.

  “We got the scramble call an hour ago. Oh, we had been briefed some time before that. . A soldier’s fortune, no? Wait, wait, wait, a lifetime for a heartbeat’s moment of frantic battle.

  “The Americans were losing. Inconceivable! They never lose. They may get bored and quit, but they never just lose. Impossible! Well, enough of our politicians waiting for the Americans to win; now we must win, or we all die.

  “The world depends upon us now. Some of the American and Canadian resources have trickled in, but we are nowhere near as strong as they were. And they are being beaten. We must fight better!

  “We have no choice. That is not really true. We can fight and win, or we can die. Every single one of us. That is our choice. The oiseaux do not talk, do not negotiate. They only kill.

  “Our superiors have taken the gauntlets off, as you say in Anglaise. The first flight went in with napalm and explosives. I hear they inflicted severe casualties, but that they were all shot down. How do you shoot down a ship traveling at Mach 6? Incredible!

  “The boost from Paris was hard. I always hate the boost! Magnetic rails shooting us to unbelievable speeds. Thank the Lord it only lasts a few seconds. I feel like a, what, sandwich? Panini! Pressed back into my seat under an oppressive force. Then nothing, no weight, no sound. Up and over the ‘top’ of the Earth. I see the glimmers in the distance. Alien ships, orbiting MY world! I carry one very special package for them. I arm it, and set it free. It will drift in a sub-orbital glide until it is very close to the oiseaux ships. I hope it will be too small, too close for them to shoot it down, like they have all the others.

  “I roll the ship and get a terrific view! I have seen this dozens of times on training missions, the wondrous blue globe. This time I see South America, smoking, brown, smudged and broken, nothing but mud left. The scale of the thing hits me, and I nearly vomit. How many billions dead? I have been to Rio. I know people, I knew a woman there. No more. Sacrebleu!

  “The intense sadness turns into anger. Anger I can use, to keep me focused. I want nothing but to kill them all. If that damns me, then so be it! Mon Dieu, forgive me, but I do!

  “Nose over; computer fixing targets thousands of kilometers away. Tiny green, red, and yellow dots on my HUD. Arming the big ones; I have the nukes now. This is to the death, une lutte `a mort. Die, you salauds!

  “I’ve got something tracking me, my ship, she knows. Countermeasures on our ships are designed for very general work, the Americans designed theirs for the way the Chinese track you. Too specific. The oiseaux track differently than the Chinese. Whatever is tracking me loses its lock. Perhaps Robert will catch that missile! I hope not. As much as I kid him, I like Robert.

  “My targets are approaching fast. Even my mission, though it lasts but a few seconds, is mostly waiting. An instant of combat, then more waiting. I release my atomics; they will free-fall for a time before they accelerate to their targets. They are now out of my hands. I hope the programmers were competent.

  “Now I have a few moments to select targets I can hit with my rockets and plasma cannon. My computer targets a large, flat vehicle, roughly oval in shape. There was nothing in the briefing like this, so I target everything on it. The rockets are gone now, and I keep the trigger depressed on the plasmas until they shut down from overheating. Now I can pull up, hitting the final booster back to the edge of space. Damage assessment will be someone else’s mission.

  “A bright flash snaps my head to the window, but I see nothing. My ship rocks, tumbling as if God has hit it himself. I can’t do anything, so what will be….que sera, sera.

  “I roll over again, trying to see the alien ships once more. There! Fewer, amidst sparkling dust. HITS! We’ve hurt the bastards!

  “I see also many streaks, and flashes. Then my arc takes me out of view.

  “I have a few seconds of communications now. Robert is gone. Damn! The force at Bear Mountain Bridge has been badly mauled. The alien ships were also hurt badly, and an American supply ship is….that was what the streaks were! They accelerated to high velocity and exploded their ship, so the debris will ram the aliens! Those are the Americans my great-grandfather spoke of with such awe! The ones who came and save his great-grandfather! The ones the world has seen too little of since. Now I get the reports, of the Americans fighting with knives when the bullets ran out, with nails and teeth when the knives broke. And of the Chinese, and others, taking inspiration from them! Now, we French as well! Vive la Americans! Vive la France!

  “Communications are out now, due to reentry heat. I have an alarm, but there is nothing I can do. A rip in my ship’s skin, near my left leg, is letting the superheated air in. Flames surround my legs. Soon I will be burning. It hurts very much. Not much time left. I think of what my great-grandfather told me, and I hope I made a diff…”

  The viscreen went dark once again.

  “Today, we remember the SS Jeremiah Wadsworth.”

  Nail hugged his son a little closer. “Your great-uncle, Jock.” Several people nearby turned and looked at Nial, some mouths agape in awe.

  “Is this on, Johnson? It is? OK.” The man on the screen looked exactly like Nail MacAlister.

  “Eh-hem. Captain’s log, SS Jeremiah Wadsworth. Joel MacAlister, Captain. We have received the reports of the invasion, and the dire situation. We have, the entire crew, decided on a course of action.

  “We began accelerating at maximum thrust from Europa orbit. We figured that at that distance, the aliens wouldn’t notice us until we hit them. At this point, we have exceeded the structural design limitations of this ship by at least one order of magnitude. Our engines remain at full thrust. Our engineer estimates our relative velocity at intercept to be nearly three-quarters light speed. We are sure the aliens will feel our impact. Heh, Davey Johnson came up with that one.

  “From what we can tell, the aliens haven’t seen us. Could be they’re focused on the Earth. We’ve got a bit of a surprise for them.

  “Our engineer, Philip Bazaar, has rigged our reactor to explode when we intercept the alien fleet. Even if we are not on a direct collision course with one of their ships, the core overload will turn us and our cargo, twenty thousand tons of uranium ore, into a shotgun blast they can’t escape. At least, that is the plan.

  “We haven’t been able to contact anyone, so this log will be the only record. Philip says it’s a relativity effect, or something. We’ll eject a distress buoy with it soon. First, I want to say to my wife, I love you very much. To Jerry, Jen and Jack I love you all…very much.

  “My crew is… this is the best… Cargo Master Davey Johnson. Engineer Philip Bazaar. Navigator Rico Veronesi. Cargomen Doug Collins and Steve Witowski. Remember them. They are all special men.

  “Davey, it’s your turn. Keep it short, Phil, Rich, Doug, and Steve need to go, too. Yeah, I’m cryin’. See me about it when you’re done.”

  “Today we remember United!”

  “Are we on? Are we broadcasting?” A man in a dusty suit asked someone off camera.

  “Good evening. This is Andrew Parker. I a
m broadcasting over the old antennas, radio, and television, they were called. I hope someone has the equipment to hear us.

  “Tonight, we have good news.

  “Our forces, the Tenth Mountain Division, have engaged the aliens north of New York City. Although they suffered severe losses, the alien advance was halted.

  “Furthermore, French sub-orbital attack craft have hit the stalled alien army very hard, using conventional and atomic weapons. Preliminary reports indicate near total destruction of the alien forces. All French attack ships are reported as lost.

  “French, Chinese, and Russian ships have also inflicted severe damage onto the orbiting alien fleet. And a commercial cargo hauler has run a… excuse me…they…a-hem. The SS Jeremiah Wadsworth has run at maximum acceleration into the alien fleet. Just before contact, the reactor core of the Jeremiah Wadsworth exploded, turning the ship, and its cargo of asteroid ore, into a spread of hypervelocity projectiles aimed at the alien fleet. All crew aboard… heroes, all.

  “We should never forget the brave souls who have fought and won this…great victory.

  “The alien fleet has been destroyed! Their ground forces have nowhere to retreat to now!

  “We are hearing that Chinese and South African troops have landed along the West Coast and the Gulf of Mexico. Word is that they have liberated Oregon, California, Nevada, Mexico, Texas and Louisiana. Eurozone and Russian troops have landed on the East Coast, freeing Washington D.C., Philadelphia, and Boston. Troops from India, Indonesia, Pakistan, The Saudi Arabian Empire, and Israel have landed on Australia. Reports are still sketchy, but indicate that the Birds are in full retreat on every front!

  “We will try to broadcast updates every two hours. I will see you then.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Godspeed, and goodnight.”

  The announcer stepped up to the podium.

  “Today we remember VICTORY!”

  Jock was surprised at the loud cheering from his father.

  ***

  West Lake Road

  Skaneateles, NY

  Standard Earth Date June 2 3432

  “Here, Jock, can you see this? See how the reach of the weapons from each one overlap the fields of fire for the others? See how every approach to the system is covered?” Nial MacAlister looked at his pride and joy sitting on his lap. How he has grown! Ten years old already! I can barely keep him on my knee; this will end soon, he’s growing up. So big! So strong! So smart! How happy, how sad!

  “Gee, dad, this vidagram makes it look like nothing could ever hit us like the Birds did! Those guys in the Turrets must be top-notch!” Jock’s preadolescent enthusiasm was boundless. Power, strength, skill meant everything, not yet tempered by the choice of application nor by the finesse earned through experience. But, they will be, Jock thought. My young boy is learning.

  ***

  Skaneateles Junior High School

  Skaneateles, NY

  Standard Earth Date September 9 3432

  “Jock MacAlister, stop staring at me please.” Sandy smiled. “What do you want this time?”

  “Um, yeah. Well, I’m, uh. I thought we could do a project for the science fair together.”

  Sandy frowned and said quietly, “That’s NOT why you’re here! Don’t ever lie to me again. Even a little.”

  “I, I’m sorry. Sandy? W-would you, um, do you want, maybe…” his voice cracked as the words stuttered out.

  “Jock MacAlister, what is wrong with you? Spit it out!”

  “Doyouwanngotothefallformalwithme?”

  “Yes, I will go to the dance with you, Jock MacAlister.”

  ***

  Skaneateles High School Athletic Fields

  Skaneateles, NY

  Standard Earth Date May 24 3436

  “Aren’t they beautiful Jock?”

  “Your eyes? Yes. Yes, they are.”

  “No, the stars, silly!” Sandy snuggled a little closer into Jock’s side, resting her head in the crook of his arm.

  “You’ll be flying around them in a few years.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you will. You’ll go to the Academy, become an officer, and save the world.”

  Jock raised his eyebrows and looked at Sandy.

  “I’ve never told anyone. I don’t know if I’m good enough…”

  “Oh, silly. You’ve got the second best grades in our class, you’re going to be State Champion in wrestling the next three years, and you have a scientist father in the USF. Of course you’re good enough.”

  Jock sat up and looked at Sandy, her blonde hair glowing in the starlight.

  “What? State Champ? The next three years…what? How?”

  Looking at her in this light took his words away.

  “You hate to lose. You won’t.” Her smile faded quickly.

  “What?”

  “Jock, be…be careful. When you go to the Academy.” She held onto him tightly.

  “Sandy, how did you know I wanted to go to the USF Academy?”

  “I just seem to know what’s going to happen around you. I told you you’d make State finals this year. I told you you’d win the science fair. I know you’re going to the Academy.” Her arms tightened a little more. “Just be careful. Promise?”

  “What has you so worried?”

  “I don’t know. I just know there’s something dark hanging there, dangerous.” She took a deep breath in, “but you will save the world!”

  Jock smiled at her, “Well, what’s this about me having the second best grades?”

  “You don’t think I’m letting you beat me, do you?”

  Sandy set her hand on Jock’ chest and pushed him back on the grass.

  “What are you going to do? You’ve never told me, and I can’t see the future like you can.”

  “It’s not seeing the future, really. It’s just a sort of buzz that is around you. I don’t get that with anyone else.”

  “Good!”

  They lay for a few minutes just watching the stars.

  “Jock?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you love me?”

  “I, um… I don’t know… I…”

  Sandy sat up and slapped jock’s chest.

  “Jock MacAlister, you promised me when we first met that you’d never ever lie to me again!”

  “Come with me to the stars.”

  “No way! I don’t even like the rides at the Fair! I’m going into business law. Somebody has to run Starclan for your father.”

  “Sandy,” Jock pulled her shoulders down to him. He bent her head down and kissed her forehead before looking into her eyes. “I just want to spend forever with you. Like this. I love you, Sandra Wilson.”

  “You will. But we both have things to do first. Now kiss me handsome. Then we have to get back to the dance.”

  ***

  Skaneateles Lake Hobie Cat Regatta

  Skaneateles, NY

  Standard Earth Date August 28 3440

  The fourteen-foot long lime green catamaran sliced through blue-green Skaneateles Lake with one hull out of the water. The tall, well-muscled young sailor held tightly to the line in his hand as he stood on the side of the raised hull, leaning down towards the water’s surface to balance the force of the wind. This last leg of the race had put him in the lead, and now the finish line was rapidly approaching as his back was skimming inches above the waves at just over twenty-six knots.

  Jock glanced up at his sail, judging the feel of the wind through the line in his hand. He glanced through the spray hitting his face to the finish line, and then back to the other boats. The boat was sailing right at her limits, as usual. He loved that feeling of riding the edge! He loved the clear blue sky, the wind, the smell of the lake. Life was good.

  The horn sounded as Jock crossed the finish line clearly ahead of everyone else, as usual. Jock was used to winning, plunging into every undertaking at full speed. Oh, how he hated to lose. Jock let up some tension on the sail, and bent up as the cat’s seco
nd hull dropped into the water. The small boat slowed to a more leisurely pace. He looked around the lakefront, taking in the picturesque little town, and thinking this could be the last time he would see it from a boat. In ten days he left for the United Space Force Fleet Academy. And, a different kind of sailing.

  Jock looked over to the marina, turning the boat smartly towards the dock. His three closest friends were there, waving and sporting big grins. There was the perpetual pair of Agnes and Don, and Sandy. His Sandy. Every drop-dead gorgeous blond inch of her, glowing in the sunlight, had been a part of him since they’d met in ninth grade. He almost lost his grip and fell overboard looking at her. Tonight I’ll ask her.

  “All hail the conquering hero!” Don cupped his hands around his mouth to help his shout carry.

  Jock laughed to himself. Don, the master of hyperbole!

  “Yeah, right! Here, grab this line, and help me tie her up!” Jock shouted back, as he threw the mooring line exactly one-half meter short of the dock. Don leaned out, realizing the joke just in time; he still made a great sight flailing his arms about to regain his balance.

  “Funny!”

  “Okay, here you go!” As Jock tossed the line to Don this time, he looked past his friend to see the USF Marine Corp staff car that rolled down to the dock. What are they doing here? The reason hit him like a sledgehammer to his gut when he saw his mother in the car, hands over her face. Jock froze, his cat hit the dock, nearly throwing him into the lake.

  DAD!

  ***

  United Space Force Academy

  Freshmen Orientation

  Cape Canaveral, Florida