Indian Hill 6

by Mark Tufo

  “Sure did.”

  “And yet you disregarded that order?”

  “Sure did.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “You may.”

  BT smacked my arm. “Stop giving the man two-word answers.

  “What the fuck man, you taking over for Tracy while she’s gone?”

  “That poor woman has a full-time job keeping your ass in line,” he berated me.

  “Colonel, I’m running a ship here.”

  “Sorry, I’m with one of the Genogerian leaders.”

  “We do not have leaders.” Keecan clarified.

  “It’s rude to eavesdrop on others’ phone calls,” I told him before walking away. “Listen General, it would have looked bad if all the Humans abandoned ship during a battle. I’m doing my best here to single-handedly rebuild an alliance we desperately need and want.”

  “There is nothing about that alliance that I want, Colonel.”

  “Just how many brain cells did you burn out General? Have you forgotten that without the Genogerians and the Progs that came to our aid we’d already be gone?”

  There was a long pause on his end. I thought maybe he was building up steam for a tirade. Was not prepared for what I got instead. “Mike, I know what they did. I realize the sacrifices they’ve made along the way. It’s just…it’s just that every time I look at them all I see is the destruction of our world. I can’t get past that. I want them fucking dead, every goddamned one of them. Geno, Prog, mute, and Stryver.”

  “And Dee?”

  “And Dee,” Paul added. “I feel like that monster took my place in the relationship we used to have.”

  “Oh, buddy,” I said with derision. “I think you have a little bit of misplaced anger. You know what, or rather who, was responsible for our rift. That you allowed it—that’s where we went astray.”

  He left that one alone. “What are you calling me for?” he finally asked.

  “Keecan wants me to have you halt the air assault.”

  “What the fuck for?”

  “If it is not stopped soon, I will order my men to stay engaged with the Devastators, even in the firing zones.” Keecan was obviously not pleased with how long our conversation was taking.

  “I thought philosophers had patience,” I told him. “Well there you have it. The Genos want to continue their throw-down without outside influences.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Oh, I’ll probably stay along for the ride; I don’t like the idea of my general, who has an itchy trigger finger and publicly expressed hatred for all things alien, looking down on this little scene and going ‘oops.’ Out.” I tossed the radio back to Keecan who deftly caught it.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” BT asked.

  “Man, I don’t really know. Paul—General Ginson—is a funny little fucker these days. Give him enough rope, he’ll hog tie the world before hanging himself with it. This might be a little too much for him, all these Genos and mutes in the same place.”

  “You just gave shit to a man that wants to drop a nuke on this place?” BT was looking up expecting a missile to be incoming.

  “Yeah, I guess. Sort of.”

  “I…” BT was stumped for words. “I…ummm, okay, I don’t know what to say. It’s like you went to a drug dealer and bought a kilo of coke and asked if he’d mind extending you a line of credit after you snorted half of it.”

  “He won’t bomb this place with me here.”

  “Isn’t this the guy that already tried to kill you once?”

  “Well, I mean, yeah there’s that,” I told him. “But he won’t do it again.”

  “Oh man, you sound so absolutely confident when you say it. No wonder everybody buys your shit. You’ve got that thing you do...that upward lilt at the end of a sentence like it’s a question. I stay with you out of some sense of loyalty, like I need to watch your back, but you’re just fucking nuts man. It’s like you’re one of those damned figure skaters.”

  “Figure skaters?” I questioned.

  “Yeah, you know when they do those front toe pirouettes or some shit and they’re spinning like a hundred miles an hour? They’re basically all back, so you gotta watch every angle.”

  “It gives you something to do.”

  “What have you got me into? We’re in the middle of an alien war and the one advantage we had, our one bargaining chip, and you just let that alien talk you out of it. Plus the great overseer of this entire affair, the one with his finger on the red button, hates you and would rather just wipe the entire thing off the table.”

  “Well when you say it like that, it sounds pretty bad.”

  “When I say what like what? Oh, you mean the truth?! When I say the truth, you think it sounds pretty bad? Fuck!” BT stormed a few steps away trying to figure out exactly what I’d done. Although, in all fairness he could have gone with Tracy, of course that would not be the smartest thing I could mention just now. “Is there something about life that you find offensive?” He’d turned to direct that at me, and it seemed like a legitimate question.

  “No. Not really. I’m actually a pretty big fan.”

  “Then why, man? Why are you so anxious to cash in your chips?”

  “I’m not cashing in my chips, man! I’m stockpiling them. Nobody seems to get the fact that we are going to need the Genos on our side before this is all over. The Progs are out there, more Devastators are out there. The fucking Stryvers are out there, and they want all of us dead. Want to know what the weak link in the chain is? It’s us, man. Humans are the weak link. We’ve been pushed to the edge; we’re fractured. Those of us that are still alive are damaged goods. We’ve watched nearly all of our loved ones die horribly, we’re rapidly losing hope, and to be honest, I can’t blame anyone for just wanting it to be over. There are three distinct races, each much more powerful than us, smarter than us, with better technology than us, and they all want this place. We’re the infestation, BT. A new tenant comes in, and they want to eradicate us like the useless garbage we have become. The Guardian is being held together with duct tape—sure, it’s space-rated duct tape—but tape nonetheless. The Prog battleship is out there, probably watching and waiting for one single opening to strike a fatal blow, once the Guardian is gone…well, I think you get it from there. They either subdue what is left of the resistance relatively quickly or they just erase us, and that choice is going to be decided by logistics, not ethics. The Stryvers, in the meantime, lurk in the shadows, always on the periphery and when the Progs have all their attention directed at us, they’ll swoop in and snap the jaws of their trap. There are so many ways we get fucked, I don’t know if there’s enough lube left in the galaxy to make it a palatable experience.”

  “Lube?”

  “You get the idea. We need these fucking Genos. We need them to know we’re fighting for the very same thing: our existence. Right now, BT, we’re not even fighting for freedom, which is pretty high up on the list of things I enjoy. We are fighting for our fucking right to just be.”

  “I get it, man, I get it. I just wish there was a better way. Hell, even a fucking option to consider.”

  “I wish for that all the time.”

  Keecan came over to us. “The fighters have withdrawn; we are prepared to launch our offensive. You will need to stay close to me; not all of the Genogerians know of our pact.”

  “I get hit by friendly fire, Keecan, I’m going to be mighty pissed,” I told him. “Lead on.” The bubble of protection we had been afforded earlier was beginning to flatten out as the Genos were given their new set of marching orders. Keecan was pushing through the ranks like the beer was on sale, two for the price of one, and it was last call. BT and I stayed in close behind him. His two other senior members, Rackinall and Lumball flanked him, making a very effective cutting edge.

  I wasn’t afraid of fighting, but on the flip side, I also wasn’t enamored with the thought and we were about to be in the thick of it. Getting through the living Gen
os was hard enough work; slogging through the corpses, well, that was an entirely different experience. They were everywhere in various states of dead. Some looked almost peaceful enough to be sleeping, others had been blown into so many parts they looked like jigsaw puzzles dumped off a table by a pissed off toddler. Fucking Humpty had nothing on a great many of them. It was like barricades made from flesh in some places, piled as many as ten high. A person could easily get crushed if that mound of meat came crashing down. And that was only the Genos. Once we got past that we started hitting the mute lines. If what I’d seen previously was bad, this was nightmarish, outlandish…surreal? I don’t know that I can get an appropriate word to express the range of emotions I was going through; I’d never seen anything quite like it. Disgust was definitely up there…then, unexpectedly, happiness at their demise poked its head out. Of course, on some level, I knew that being happy for the destruction of so many beings was fundamentally wrong, but it’s not like I had time to analyze my gut reactions to this slaughter. There was also pride at our perceived victory…followed closely by paralyzing fear at what was to come.

  At times I was knee deep in the amalgamated soup of what remained. There were large pools of blood and body parts, the ground so intensely saturated it could not hold any more of the liquid. Making blood ripple with my footfalls as if I’d thrown a stone into a black lake will be among many persistent memories of the day. The fighters and gunships had done their jobs admirably. Death had been delivered in broad swaths. This, it struck me, was another difference between us. Humans, after such a cataclysmic battle, maybe wouldn’t have completely left the area, but it was safe to say the opposing sides would have each been given a respite. Allowed to retreat, even briefly, to lick their collective wounds, maybe even search the field for wounded. Not so here. Nothing short of total annihilation ended these battles. No sooner had the ships left than the fighting started up again. Blue and red bolts flew across the landscape; at least we had some separation between us. That was a good thing, too, because I wasn’t going to fare so well in a hand to hand combat scenario.

  Keecan’s trio, myself, and BT kept advancing. Well, all of the Genos did, really, like the stupid fucking old British way of war. I know there was a point in history where the sun never set on the British Empire…they knew their shit in the art of warfare. But this crap of marching headlong into the thick of it? Well, they could have it. I don’t know if the mindset of the mutes had changed somewhat, it surely must have…but they weren’t coming out to meet us, they weren’t running away…just not engaging. That was a fundamental shift in their behavior.

  I was of the mistaken hope that maybe they didn’t have the numbers to rally. There was a good chance they thought the ships leaving was a ruse on our part meant to draw out those that were still under the cover of the tree line. There was a weird moment where everything went quiet; no shooting, no grunting out in pain, just the cawing of gathering flocks of carrion birds. A light wind picked up at our front; it would have been easy to call it an ill wind, but I paid it so little attention I didn’t think to consider what it might mean. That was until it seemed to push mutes from the forest and directly into our line of sight. Hundreds at first—then thousands.

  “Fuck,” was my response.

  “That’s the best you’ve got?” BT asked.

  “Perfect summation of how I feel at this exact moment.”

  “Tell me again why I came with you?”

  “Something to do with how much you’ve grown addicted to my companionship. I think you were going to go with something about how you couldn’t quit me.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “What about my asshole?” I asked.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “I’m terrified man. I’ll deal in my way, you deal in yours.”

  “I do not want the last thing I think about on this planet to be this conversation.”

  A lone Devastator troop walked ahead of the army he had to his back. Keecan did the same. “Hide them,” he said to Rackinall and Lumball. They immediately moved in closer, obscuring us from view.

  “What the fuck man! Are we not invited?” I asked indignantly.

  “Will you for one fucking minute shut that flapping cracker mouth of yours? Just because you’re white doesn’t mean bad shit can’t happen to you.”

  “What? Are you kidding me? Here I was, all along, thinking I had some kind of cosmic free pass. I’m trading in my race card then.”

  BT put his head in his hands. “You hear about insane people but you figure your exposure to them is going to be fairly limited, and then something like you comes along.”

  “Someone,” I corrected.

  “Something. I really don’t know what you are.”

  I said nothing; we said nothing, as we fought to look around the behemoths that were covering us. I’ll reiterate for those not familiar with my ways, I do not make light of these situations on purpose. I was fearful for all involved, my wife, BT, my son, myself, shit—the entire Human race. When I get to a point where I’m having a difficult time muddling through, I digress to humor as a coping mechanism; tough to get a hold of a keg of beer in these situations.

  Keecan and the much larger mute drew nearer to each other; there was some serious mistrust and wariness on both their parts. I did notice the mute scan the sky from time to time. When they were within talking distance they stopped and did just that, though we could not hear what they were saying.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” BT said.

  “About what?”

  “Them talking.”

  “Maybe they’re making a truce. That would be alright with me.”

  “Or an alliance,” he said.

  I thought about that for a few seconds letting the implications sink in. “Yeah, that would be bad.” It was now, regrettably late, that I rethought the implications of being completely enclosed in a Genogerian ring, like this whole formation was an éclair and we were the Bavarian cream filling. We were a hell of a bargaining chip if Keecan wanted to use us to further his cause.

  Keecan turned, Rackinall and Lumball moved aside; how they knew what the hell he wanted, I don’t know. But there we were, exposed for all to see. The Devastator was looking over Keecan’s shoulder at us intently.

  “Go.” Lumball pushed me in the back…somewhat gently.

  “I fucking told you,” BT said as we walked out into the field.

  “Nothing’s happened yet and we still have our weapons.”

  “Big fucking deal. We’re not going to be able to fight our way out of this.”

  “Sort of, man. I’m not going to get captured again.” I told him. “Not ever.”

  “I guess that is better,” he said hefting his rifle up into a more ready firing position.

  “We are familiars here,” Keecan said as he watched me bringing my rifle up.

  “That doesn’t really imply friends,” BT said to me.

  I don’t know what the Devastator thought of us as he looked down. I can’t imagine he was all that impressed. I was maybe a quarter his size, like a Corgi to a Human male. Sure the dog could get a quick ankle bite in but in the end, the man should be able to kick the living shit out of the thing.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Keecan, waiting invariably for something bad to happen.

  “Grar.”

  “Grar?” BT asked me so softly I thought he was growling.

  “Yeah, it’s like Rar with a G,” I explained.

  “Grar says more ships are on the way,” Keecan said.

  “I told the general to stay away.”

  “Not Human,” Grar spat out. It sounded like he was swearing while he was coughing up a hefty loogie—not a pleasant sound, and not very comforting to us.

  Now I was confused. If Prog vessels were coming, I couldn’t understand why they would afford us any kind of warning; we hadn’t done it for them, and in terms of war conventionality they certainly didn’t have to. The whole idea was t
o destroy the enemy before they destroyed you, and I was always of the belief that by any means necessary was just fine.

  “Stryvers.” BT put it together a lot quicker than me…okay let’s be honest—I don’t think I would have ever gotten there. I was still meandering along the path wondering why they were warning us.

  “Give me the radio,” I urged Keecan.

  “How much time?” I asked Grar. I didn’t give a shit that he turned to Keecan to answer, who actually talks out strategy with a fucking Corgi?

  “Twelve minutes.”

  Keecan felt the need to repeat the words like maybe I couldn’t understand what the higher beings were talking about.

  “Guardian, this is Colonel Talbot. I’ll give you a dollar if you come in. Over.”

  “Like tits on a fish,” BT said.

  “This is Guardian, Colonel Talbot.”

  “We are in some serious need of help here.”

  I could not finish before Paul got on the line. “You just sent my ships away and disregarded a direct order to get on a shuttle. Now you need help? I should have you arrested…”

  “Stryvers are coming in hot.” It was my turn to cut him off.

  “Sweet Jesus.” I heard him hiss.

  This was a whole different can of suck ass I was opening. The Stryvers, which had helped me out and had greatly helped out the Guardian, were now seemingly coming in to help again by killing a shitload of Genos and mutes. Double win as far as most Humans were concerned.

  “I fucking told you, Mike, to get on that ship. I fucking told you.”

  Then it hit me. “You knew. Somehow you knew they were coming. You can’t send help, can you? You send fighters here and you break the tenuous peace you two have made.”

  “Get the fuck out of there, Mike. We can’t take them on. I’m in no position whatsoever to do anything about it. I attack and they’ll annihilate this ship.”

  “Fuck you very much,” I told Paul as I tossed the radio back to Keecan. “Keecan, Grar, we need to set up everything we have that can be used for anti-aircraft.”

  Neither moved. “Fuck. I’m getting sick of giving this speech. Listen, if we don’t do something together about the incoming Stryvers, how are we ever going to continue our hatred for each other?” BT smirked, he knew Keecan didn’t have the level of humor needed to fully appreciate me, but I was on a roll. “The Genos and Humans are on dubious terms—I get that. mutes hate us, maybe marginally more than they hate Genos...or not…maybe in war you don’t have levels of hate—you just hate everything you’re staring down the barrel of. But maybe not…and that maybe is what I’m counting on.” Keecan frowned at me. “It’s Stryvers coming, right? And they hate all of us equally. Can you imagine how easily they will wipe us out while we’re fighting against each other? Now, stay with me here. Try to imagine what we could do if we join forces—at least for this one battle.” I held up my hand. “I’m not saying we’re going to be drinking buddies or that we’ll invite each other over to play Xbox or some shit, but if just this fucking once we could all be on the same side. I mean, yeah, I get that neither of you are big fans of mammals, probably feel the way I do about lizards or whatever the fuck classification you fall under...but I think it’s safe to say we all despise arachnids…” BT cleared his throat, bringing my train back on track. “The point is, somewhere deep down in everyone’s genomes there is a fundamental and healthy fear for something that is so alien to all of us.” I let that sink in. BT and I stepped back a pace or two while the grown-ups talked.