by Grover Young
“Like with the Diplomatic Service, they can always expect to be called away at any time to go anywhere.” Tamara began cleaning off the table to set dinner, “Attraction may be how we meet, but to build and keep a relationship that can grow into something that lasts a lifetime takes dedication and care.”
“In a lot of ways, the gifts they gave each other are perfect for Valentine's,” Tamara continued, “It wasn't an engagement since they both know how crazy and unstable things are right now. However, they show without any doubt, how much they love and cherish each other. We all know how uncomfortable Craig is with feminine clothing, but he went to the trouble and time to put that outfit together. He did it for her.”
“It's one thing to tell someone you love them,” Dean chuckled, “It's another to put yourself way out of your comfort zone to prove it.”
“Normally, I would tell you two to get a room,” Tamara tapped us on the shoulders, “but we 'do' have a dinner to put on if you will remember.”
We both blushed. At some point, I'd picked her up, and she'd wrapped her legs around my waist.
“Excuse us,” I eased her to her to the floor.
“We got carried away,” Sheila giggled, twisting her bracelet in the room's light to see the diamonds sparkle.
“How did you ever afford this?” She asked.
“A pair of pilots that owed me a favor picked up 'five' boxes of those chocolates while overseas,” I explained, “That pretty much cleaned me out. One box went to the jeweler, but I sold the others which covered the rest of the costs and then some.”
While not a wheeler and dealer, I was rather proud of how well those transactions worked out. It was a more than a little mortifying to realize how much power Halcyon had over males when I asked for a favor.
“The bracelet is titanium and the gems were bound to the settings using the same technique our Guests use instead of welding.” I held up mine besides hers.
“Molecule binding,” Tash gave us the name, “it's a much more advanced method than welding.”
“And yet,” Ralt sighed, “another technology we've inadvertently shared with your people.”
Of course, 'I can think of how more such exchanges might be avoided' sprang to my lips, but I held my peace.
An uncomfortable silent moment passed as everyone thought, but didn’t say my unvoiced comment.
“May I see your gifts?” Tash asked, breaking the tension.
Like every woman I'd ever known, Sheila wasn't shy about showing off her 'gift', and unfortunately, she wasn't hesitant about dragging me over to show off how we had a matched set.
“This is not a use to which we would've put our technique,” the Sha'leian said as he examined our bracelets and my pendant, “however, it is practical considering both of your professions.”
“Both of our peoples are passionate,” Tash sighed, “however, humans seem to possess greater highs and deeper lows than Sha'leians. We are perhaps a more moderate race.”
Ralt stood as if thinking on the subject.
“Well,” I mused, “it's true that we seem to have more than our share of adrenalin jockeys and jockettes for that matter. There are times I really wonder about humankind, given how inhuman we can be to each other.
“But then, there are others that lift my heart, such as the complete stranger giving aid to those in need,” I sighed, holding my love in my arm, “So, maybe you have a point.”
Shooing us into the kitchen, Tamara got her chance to play Mistress of the Manor.
“You have learned much,” Sheila quoted as she eyed me and my tux in appreciation, but then sighed, “There is just one problem with Skins.”
“I know I shouldn't ask,” Tamara said, as she took the dishes that had been warming in the oven out, “but what kind of problem? You can make just about any outfit you can imagine with these things. They don't need cleaning and never get soiled. The stuff even self-repairs. What could be a problem?”
“Not being able to undress your Valentine's gift all by yourself takes a lot of the fun out of it,” She answered softly never taking her eyes from me.
My face burned coppery red under Halcyon's golden complexion. Tamara had to quickly put the dish down she was carrying so she would drop it, because she was laughing so hard.
“You are so bad!” The diplomat gasped for breath.
“Shhh!” I hushed Tamara, “don't encourage her!”
Watching my smirking girlfriend, I knew it was far too late for that. My life had gotten so very strange, but besides being in a war with aliens and being on the losing side, and this little problem with being a golden, living Barbie Doll, I was happy. Stressed out of my mind over yet another mission that many thought was a one way trip, but happy.
“It’s too late for that!” Sheila leered, “I have you now, my pretty!”
“Auntie Em, Auntie Em,” I dryly replied, with a raised brow which set off Tamara all over again, “help me, help me.”
Sheila's leer collapsed into giggles.
“You!” her eyes promised retribution of a kind I was actually looking forward to encountering, “You're so going to pay for that one. Calling me a witch!”
“Hey!” I protested, “you're the one who used 'My Pretty' first. I merely gave the expected reply.”
“If I'm a witch,” She sniffed, “it's a good witch!”
We got out the rest of the dishes and took them to the table.
“Of course you're good!” I grinned, “but when you're bad, you're even better!”
“If you're not careful, you'll find out just how bad I can be.” She playfully smacked me on the arm.
“I'm not afraid,” I quoted from yet another movie.
“You should be,” she fought to keep from giggling while reciting Yoda's lines. To illustrate her point, she looked right at the bag of stuff she hadn't revealed to everyone else.
I don't think the guys noticed our banter too much. Dean had already moved the conversation onto our next point of interest.
“Our families tend to consist of a father, mother, a son and daughter,” he explained, “The two sets of grandparents aren't as much a central part of the families as they used to be, although technology expanding our life spans is changing that. Yours, however, seem to be bigger and the expanded ties stronger.”
“That's true,” Tash nodded, “although what you mean by expanded family ties such as cousins, nieces and nephews are regarded as close families to Sha'leians. So while you see families as being from four to six individuals, we see families as being three or four times bigger.”
This was all part of the plan to help narrow down just how many Sha'lenian colonists were on the way. From what we could tell, their ship in orbit was enough for the initial set up work, but to make their colony long term viable, the numbers were looking to be between three and five thousand.
It went without saying that, if we were having trouble enough with an estimated couple hundred, a few thousand would be a nightmare. That had been the other telling point in Operation Artemisium's acceptance.
It was named for the battle where the Persian battle-fleet had met a major defeat. Occurring at about the same time as the Battle of Thermopylae, the Greeks had been as horribly outnumbered by the Persians as the Sha'leians out-teched us.
With so many other enemies potentially on the way, we had to deal with our current Guest's vessel, and we had to do it now. That was the only way we would have time to prepare for Alien Invasion Part Two.
So, pretty much what I was hearing was what we had mostly guesstimated. Sheila and I left the conversation mostly to Dean and Tamara. We had other things to do, like staring into each other’s eyes.
That's not to say we didn't participate, but that we pretty much just commented on what everyone else were saying. I will admit to wanting to give Sheila my entire undivided attention. It took my mind off everything that had led up to this moment.
War was Hell and the main event was coming fast.
Being here with
her gave me a blessed respite from thinking and worrying about the future. Even dressed in this ridiculous tux, wearing jewelry and eating exorbitantly priced chocolates, I didn't have any regrets. I had designed that tux and picked out those bracelets. Those chocolates had cost me a good portion of my savings, but selling them had given me money to get the jewelry.
Additionally, they did taste so good! The chocolates and not the titanium jewelry that is!
As for the 'pendant', many service members had a soldier’s locket with a picture or keepsake of their loved ones.
We got chuckles from the others as we jumped up as soon as dinner was finished.
“Desert!” was Sheila's battle cry.
Bringing in the hoarded ice cream, we all indulged in the sinful pleasure. Following our lead, they mixed their brownies and ice cream together. We got the giggles watching the Sha'leian pick the walnuts off their baked chocolate treats.
Dean rolled his eyes at the two of us feeding each other.
“It can also be very trying being around love birds like these two,” Tamara continued to be diplomatic.
“Our biology relies on what you would call seasonal mating practices which can be regulated by medication,” Tash took our romanticism in stride, “The differences between your and our mating behaviors are amazing.”
“Sha'leians can be rather aggressive during conjugations,” Ralt agreed with his companion, “This 'sappy' conduct from humans is unexpected.”
“Oh,” I laughed as Sheila dropped some sweets right down that opening in my tux onto my golden 'mountains', “we can be very illogical and downright idiots when in love. I guess seeing the issue from both sides and given the strangeness of my Prometheus's Gift gives me a rather unique viewpoint.
“As strange as it sounds,” I took it in good humor as Sheila dabbed at the spill, “I think woman are more aggressive, but in that passive aggressive way they have. The guys generally make asses of their selves trying to be noticed by the woman who caught their attention. They can be aggressive, but most I don't think are.
“Don't mix that up with those who simply think they can take whatever they want,” I shook my head, “That's like rape. It's all about the power over someone else and very little about sexual desire.”
“You're talking about most of the men I know,” Tamara observed, “but I'm not disagreeing.”
“Just calling them the way I see them,” I loaded up my spoon for Sheila. Playfully, I pretended I was thinking about returning the favor of dropping it down her blouse.
“Okay!” Dean had enough, “You two get a room. Since you two are on leave, feel free to lock up when you're finished. Tamara and I need to be getting back to base.”
“It's time we were leaving as well,” Ralt laughed in that tittering way they had, “As always, your holidays are very interesting – similar to some of ours, but different as well.”
“I wish our peoples could've met under different circumstances,” Tash sighed with a sad whistle.
“No one wishes that more than I,” Sheila and I put our plates aside to say goodbye to our guests.
Hands were shaken and salutes exchanged.
“You two go ahead upstairs,” Dean told the two of us, “I'll get the barn door so these guys can get on their way.”
“Yes!” Sheila jumped into my arms and I carried her upstairs.
Shutting the doors, we simply hugged each other for all we were worth.
Hearing the whoosh of Ralt and Tash departing, we both knew it was time.
Humanity is fighting for the right to live on our own home world. Every month, week or day could be our last. However, no matter how we fight each other, if you give us a good enough reason to band together ...
The Last Valentine Part 2
by
Grover Young
Lookout Point.
“Lookout to Guard Dog, Lookout to Guard Dog,” the hidden observer reported on his buried and shielded land-line as his partner continued tracking the departing alien machine, “The Chickens have flown the Coop. I say again. The Chickens have flown the Coop.”
“Affirmative Lookout,” the officer at the other end confirmed, “The Chickens have flown the Coop. Bug-Out is in effect.”
“I confirm Bug-Out.” The trooper and his partner who'd been dug in on the far away frozen hill, slipped out of their hide-away down their prepared line of retreat. In moments, they were lost from view in the snow covered forest.
Norfolk Naval Shipyard
SSBN USS Henry M. Jackson
'The Scoop'
“We're out of time,” Captain Jamie ‘Truck’ Tucker stared at his command crew, “The final preparation signal just went out. Are we ready to go or not?”
“We've got both Gold and Blue crews finishing up the final checks, Skipper,” his XO reported, “The yard dogs are still clearing the slip of ice.”
Looking out over his vessel's stern, the 'propulsion' unit was a big, ugly, bulging cylinder slap-dash welded-on ruining the submarine's once sleek streamlining. Sure they used that new molecular binding stuff instead of torches or plasma welders, but a rose by any other name.
All the other Ohio nuclear ballistic missile submarines, with the exception of the three boats that had been reloaded with the modified Trident missiles and immediately had gone back to sea had already finished this bastardizing spaceship refit and conversion.
If not for the fact that all the Ohio's shared the same design and much of the work was prefabricated ahead of time only needing to be installed, they never would've made it this far. The 'Scoop' had been saved for last, given she was the oldest of the boats being converted. The LA class nuclear attack boats, while some were older they also had much more time to at least pretend to have proper shakedown cruises, even if going to orbit was denied them.
In what some were calling Earth's first space battle, they had learned some damned hard lessons. All of the first group of converted US Navy subs had been L.A. Class Attack boats. Most had only slapped together weapons and only a vague idea of how the hell to fight a space battle. Needless to say, that fleet, which included United Kingdom, Russian, French and even Chinese vessels had gotten their asses handed to them.
This time, they'd tried to learn from their mistakes, and all the converted submarines had a much heavier and better refined weapons load-out. Both Blue and Gold crews had worked like mad, not only to get their ship ready but by running simulations until they were seeing double. That went threefold for all the officers.
Each war vessel now had an astronaut on-board or at least an adviser who had a firm understanding of the new medium the sub skippers found themselves functioning in. Sometimes the Navy's assertion that no one was truly knowledgeable about fighting a space-battle so it was better to keep crews that at least knew their ships went just so far.
So they all studied, trained and worked their asses off, knowing it was succeed or die time.
However, that did the 'Scoop' no good if she wasn't ready to launch.
“Hell, I say launch,” Marty Morton, the Captain of the Blue crew said, “Nothing has come back as a down-check on this go around. That's as good as any of the other boats that have had their tails chopped off and that damn alien contraption slapped on.”
“We've been provisioned, Captain,” Chief O'Hana spoke up, “Everything's been stowed, and we about as ready as we're going to be.”
“Nobody is saying no, so I'm saying yes,” Captain Tucker made his decision. “We're going. Tell the yard dogs to forget about flooding the slip. Just open the doors. We'll fly 'The Scoop' out. If she doesn't make it, well, it's better to know now than later.”
“You heard the Captain,” barked the EXO, “we're getting underway, move it.”
“You coming, Marty?” Tucker asked his counter-part who commanded this boat on his shift.
“Damn right I am,” the Blue crew's Captain replied, “you might have the con, but the Scoop is my boat, too. Put me where you need me.”
“I th
ought you would say that. If I'd lost the coin toss, I would've said the same thing,” he picked up the mic, “All hands, this is the Captain. Prepare to get underway!”
Republic of the Congo Allied Expeditionary Force
Hauptmann Schmidt of the German 1st Mountain Division triple checked his panzers one last time. So strange that the German army was in the Congo again, it was even stranger that 'he' was in the Congo at all. Just a week ago he and his platoon had smashed the alien invaders at Balboa, Spain, only to be ordered to immediately proceed to Africa.
The Hauptmann supposed it did make sense of a sort. Their Griffin Panzers could travel at a couple hundred kilometers an hour and required very little in the way of fuel and ammunition. Not so with food and other essentials for their crews which was why they had loaded down their decks and turrets with spare parts, gear and supplies.
The whole crew had taken turns as 'driver', while the others slept on the long journey. More than a few hair-raising incidents had occurred, but they had overcome them. Being able to fly over the rough terrain greatly eased their journey.
Now they sat ready for battle. The African nations rallying to force the invaders out had an astonishing array of armor. Old Soviet tanks predating the Hauptmann's birth by decades, clanked their diesel engines, spewing blue exhaust smoke into the African night.
He almost felt sorry for those poor souls going into battle in such antiques. Still, while the Griffin Panzers were superior in every way than the Leopard tanks he'd spent most of his career commanding, they were still inferior to the alien robots.
Faster and much more maneuverable, the robots carried four times the Griffin's weaponry. Being humanoid shaped, they could run, jump and climb. Additionally, they were smaller and more agile than any tank, being about the same size as a small sedan. That's if a car had arms and legs.
The robots were also well armored. It was possible for heavy machine guns to damage one, but the gunner would have to be very lucky. Most anti-tank missiles could kill one, but the machine's targeting computers would, 99% of the time, destroy the projectile before it could strike. Again you had to be lucky.