The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

by Sam B Miller II

  Lucy nervously glanced over at Mike Jenson, but he seemed reassuringly calm. Not even a frown line creased his forehead.

  "And just who are you?" Jenson replied in an even voice.

  Looking first to his right and then to his left at the men standing near him, the big German moved a step closer to Jenson and replied, "I am Hans Gutlang." Jerking his thumb back in the direction of the other two men, he said, "The guy over there is my older brother, Manfred. The little one is my brother, Ernst."

  Upon hearing the name, Hans Gutlang, Lucy expelled the breath she had been holding in a loud whoosh. She hadn't understood a word the men had been saying, but a person's name usually stands out clearly in any language. Relief was plain on her face, and the ghost of a smile crept onto her lips.

  Slowly raising his hand to his jacket pocket so not to alarm the men, Jenson pulled out a piece of paper. It was the German newspaper article describing how a soldier named Hans Gutlang had lifted a massive 3-ton class half-track off a fellow soldier who had been run over on a muddy road in France. Handing the article to Gutlang, he said, "This is why we have come so far to meet you. Please read it."

  Glancing quickly at the paper, Gutlang handed it back to Jenson and said dismissively, "So it is true. So what! My friend was sure to die. I did what was necessary. Nothing more."

  Looking at the defiant man, Jenson knew his next few words would spell the difference between the success or failure of this trip. Without Whatsit here to show the man physical evidence of the coming alien invasion, he had to rely on his wits to convince Gutlang to give them a DNA sample. He was sure a physical confrontation with the man could only result in his own hospitalization.

  Thinking quickly, Jenson said, "Mr. Gutlang, the United States Government has determined you are the best example of natural human muscular strength it has ever found. My government has ordered me to retrieve a sample of your genetics to preserve as the best example of the muscular, male human body."

  As the last syllable of the sentence left Jenson's lips, the big man swiveled his head to the right and left, looking at each of his brothers in turn. All of them began laughing, and Gutlang returned his attention back to Jenson and declared, "What a pile of horse shit!"

  At that moment, a gang of men walked through the open gate from the street. There were seven of them. They acted like they owned the place, confidently taking up positions blocking exit from the fenced lot. Five of them held either a length of steel pipe or a thick wooden pole resembling a baseball bat. The remaining two held wicked looking knives with 7 inch blades.

  A man with large tattoos on his neck who seemed to be the leader shouted out, "Traitors working with American swine are what lost us the war!"

  Every man blocking the gate nodded, their faces grim death masks. Lucy Smith had never been so terrified in her life. She couldn't understand a word of German, but she could clearly hear anger in the voices and the menacing weapons were unmistakable. Seven armed men against four. She knew she was of no use in a fight and poor Lt. Jenson was a desk jockey, not a fighting soldier. She reached out to the hood of the car to steady herself, feeling as if she was about to faint.

  Without warning, the gang of seven advanced. Two men went after each of the Gutlang brothers, Manfred and Ernst. The remaining three, two with the knives and one with a metal pipe, went for the bigger brother, Hans. Lucy felt Jenson grab her right arm and pull. Glancing toward him, she saw one of the Chrysallaman ray pistols clutched in his hand. Her eyes wide and her lips forming an O, she allowed herself to be pulled back toward the warehouse wall as Jenson kept the pistol trained on the advancing group of men.

  The middle sized Gutlang brother, Manfred, sidestepped the swing of a bat towards his head and swung his arm in a clothesline swipe across the adam's apple of his first assailant. There was a muffled thump, and the bat swinger's head snapped backwards. The blow was so hard the guy flipped in a backwards somersault and landed in a heap in the gravel. The second man took advantage of the distraction of the bat swinger and clubbed the back of Manfred's right knee as hard as he could with his steel pipe. The knee buckled and Manfred let out a groan as he dropped and rolled away from his attacker.

  Lucy watched Manfred get hit by the pipe, and her eyes darted around the lot desperately seeking a way to escape the confines of the fenced trap. "Everything is happening so fast!" she thought.

  The shorter brother, Ernst, crouched down and widened his stance, his head moving back and forth as he tried to keep an eye on both his attackers. The thugs coming at him bore a resemblance to brutish gorillas. Each man had oversized arm and shoulder muscles and inch long curly hair covered their arms all the way up to their shoulders and poked out from under their shirt collars. The ugly smiles on their faces and the confident looks in their eyes were clear indications they were bullies who enjoyed preying on smaller men. They spread out quickly to his right and left, trying to position themselves for a simultaneous attack. They looked very confident as they inched closer to him. Ernst crouched down and shuffled backwards against the car trying to use it to protect his back. As he did so, the height of the car hid him from view making it impossible for Lucy to see what was happening.

  Manfred had managed to roll away from his attacker and reach his feet, but it was plain he was unable to put any weight on his right leg. Desperately trying to walk on his injured leg, he limped toward the side of the lot where the scrap wood and metal were piled. His attacker leisurely followed him, confidently whacking the pipe he held in his right hand against his left palm.

  Hans was suffering the worst of the attacks. The two men with knives slashed at him, sometimes separately, sometimes together. The man with the pipe would jab towards Han's body, then swing mightily at Han's head, forcing Hans to defend himself against all three attackers at the same time. Savage, deep cuts appeared on his forearms and one of the blades cut deeply into his thigh, causing him to stagger. It was obvious from their coordinated attack the three men had worked together in the past against a victim.

  Lucy felt a shiver of fear run down her spine as she realized the constant fighting and loss of blood had weakened Hans to the point he was unable to fend off a swing of the metal pipe. With a sickening crunch, the pipe bashed the back of his skull, and Hans tumbled to the ground and lay still. The three attackers looked at each other, evil grins spreading across their faces.

  The leader with the tattooed neck had been holding his knife so he could slash and cut upwards. Now he casually flipped the knife into the air and grabbed it in a stabbing hold. Kneeling down next to Hans, he raised the blade to stab down and complete the kill.

  Suddenly a beam of silvery light, about the width of a good cigar, sliced across the forearm of the hand holding the knife, and with a sharp sizzle, the hand, knife and about 5 inches of the forearm dropped to the stony ground. No blood gushed out of the arm since the beam instantly cauterized the wound, but the wild scream from the mouth of tattooed man was loud and shrill. The second man holding a knife swung quickly towards the source of the silvery light, knife at the ready, but another beam sliced into his arm above the elbow. With an oddly soft thump, the second arm and knife joined the tattooed man's in the gravel, and both men began screaming in unison. The thug going after Manfred whirled at the sound of the screams, a puzzled look on his face as he tried to fathom what could have happened to his cohorts.

  At that instant, a big hairy body came flying over the car as if it had been launched from a catapult. Lucy watched in amazement as the flying torso arched through the air in a graceful curve and crashed into Manfred's attacker standing some 20 feet past the car, bowling him over as if he had been hit with a battering ram and knocking him senseless. Then a second body flew up into the air, held by one arm as if it was a rag doll, and smashed down on the roof of the car with such force the metal dented inward. Around the car stormed Ernst, a startling look of pure hatred on his face. The third man standing over Hans with the metal pipe quickly raised it to batter down on Ern
st's head. With all his might, the thug swung the pipe, but the smaller man was amazingly fast. His left hand darted up, grabbed the descending hand holding the pipe and squeezed. A piercing wail bubbled out of the lips of the poor devil as his hand was crushed, completely flattened against the metal, bones turned to mush under the inexorable force of Ernst's grip. The man fell to his knees in agony, his left hand holding his right wrist, blood flowing out of the stump where his right hand used to be. The pipe fell with a clank to the ground, its bloody end showing distinct finger-like impressions where Ernst's hand had squeezed.

  And that quickly the attack was over. Breathing hard, Lucy tried to calm herself. Glancing over at Jenson, she noticed he had hidden the ray pistol under his coat. Eyes still wide from a mixture of fear and shock, she whispered to him as they moved towards the car, "You and I need to have a serious talk about sharing information!"

  Kneeling down beside his unconscious brother, Ernst tenderly shifted the big man's body until it lay flat on the rocky surface of the lot. Manfred limped over and dragged the still mewling attackers off to one side. Lucy took off her jacket, folded it and gently arranged it under Han's head, receiving an appreciative nod from Ernst.

  Peering up at Lucy and Mike, the man called Ernst said softly, "I guess you figured out I'm Hans, not Ernst."

  Mike smiled and replied, "I began to get that impression when the first body flew over the car."

  Hesitating slightly, Mike said with a smile. "I think I was really convinced when you crushed the asshole's hand and left your fingerprints in the pipe," nodding his head at the bloodstained pipe still lying in the gravel.

  Lucy couldn't understand German, but she could tell from their body language and gestures they were talking about the dented pipe. Unable to control her curiosity, she blurted in English, forgetting that only Jenson could understand her, "Just how strong are you?"

  Translating what she asked and receiving a reply from Hans, Jenson looked over at Lucy and answered, "He doesn't know. His strength is simply part of him."

  Lucy just stared at Hans and shook her head in disbelief. His strength was utterly amazing yet he appeared completely ordinary. There was no outward indication of his power. No bulging muscles or brutish appearance.

  Jenson looked back at Hans and asked, "Why the subterfuge? Why hide who you are?"

  Hans replied evenly, "Think about it. An American military officer wants to talk with a German soldier so soon after the war's end. Why shouldn't I take some precautions?"

  Turning his head to look at the injured thugs lying everywhere, he said drily, "When we saw only a man and woman came to meet us, we thought there was little danger. I have to admit we never considered a gang of street toughs would crash the party."

  The brother lying in the gravel began to stir, a sighing groan escaping his lips. Jenson looked down at the man and asked, "I guess this is Ernst, the younger brother?"

  Reaching down to feel the man's forehead, Hans replied with a slight smile, "Ernst is the youngest brother, but his size is intimidating. Yes?"

  Jenson laughed. He had to agree that he had been completely fooled.

  Hans gazed at Mike, narrowed his eyes and said, "You saved my brother's life. Why did you do that?"

  Mike met his gaze openly and honestly and replied, "The fight was unfair. Those idiots were going to kill him for no reason except that they could. I was not about to let it happen."

  Hans nodded. He liked this American in spite of his GI Joe appearance and English accent. Shifting his eyes up towards Lucy and her long, silk stockinged legs, he decided he really liked her. Lucy caught his leer and lifted her chin and crossed her arms, trying her best not to appear to be enjoying his lascivious stare.

  Pulling his gaze away from Lucy and back to Mike, Hans said in a conversational tone, "I don't know anything about the silvery light beam you used to slice up these assholes," pointing at the cringing men lying huddled on the rocky ground, "but I have learned not be a curious man. My years in the military taught me not to ask too many questions because I might not like the answers I'm given."

  Manfred took that moment to pull the body of the guy off the dented top of the car and drag it away. It appeared his right leg was overcoming the disabling blow from the pipe. Looking back over his shoulder as he worked, he said, "We need to leave this place soon. Some of these guys' friends may come looking for them."

  Standing up quickly, Hans looked levelly at Jenson and said, "I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving the life of my brother. What do you need of me?"

  Mike Jenson started to respond to him, but Lucy beat him to the punch. She walked up between Jenson and Hans, standing so closely to Hans her breasts almost touched his right arm, a move that didn't go unnoticed by Mike Jenson. Staring him directly in his gray-blue eyes, she said softly, "I need a sample of your body for my research."

  Hans gulped like a teenager being propositioned by an older, beautiful woman. He didn't need to understand English to be swayed by feminine wiles. He was quite simply speechless.

  Smiling at his reaction, Lucy held up the special swab for DNA sampling and twirled it around in her fingers. Moving a little closer to Hans, she said softly, "Open your mouth and let me rub this in your cheek."

  Mike Jenson couldn't believe his eyes or ears. He quickly translated her request into German. Hans looked mesmerized and eagerly complied with Lucy's requests.

  Hans and Manfred lifted Ernst and held him between them, his arms draped over their shoulders. Ernst was becoming more alert and although he was dizzy, he didn't need to be completely supported.

  Hans looked at Mike and said with a smile, "I will remember you, G.I. Joe Mike Jenson. If you ever need to find me again, do not hesitate to search. You probably won't find me, but that is your problem."

  He then looked over at Lucy with glint in his eyes and said to Mike, "Tell the lady I think she is very beautiful and if she ever returns to Wiesbaden, she is welcome in my home." With those words, he and Manfred turned around and slowly walked out of the graveled lot, Ernst balanced between them.

  Mike turned to Lucy and said, "Hans says you remind him of his sister."

  Turning away from her and walking toward the car, Mike tried his best to hide the smile on his face.

  Mike and Lucy drove directly back to the hotel. The look on the face of the supercilious concierge when he saw the big dent in the top of their car was hilarious. There was no telling what he now thought about the crazy Americans.

  Their spirits lightening by the successful result of their meeting with Hans, Mike and Lucy skipped up the entry stairs into the hotel lobby, big smiles on their faces. Without giving it conscious thought, Mike reached out and grasped Lucy's hand. She in turn drew herself to him and wrapping her arms around him, hugged him closely. After just a moment, she turned her face up to peer shyly into his blue eyes.

  Mike looked deeply into her dark, beautiful eyes and softly said, "It would be a shame to waste the rest of this gorgeous day with any more sightseeing trips."

  Lucy loved Mike's penchant for understatement. She boldly moved closer to him and pressing her lips close to his ear, whispered, "Let's do some sightseeing in my room."

  Chapter 9 - The Zealots

  Cpl. Richard Adams hadn't slept well for a good two weeks as he pondered how far he was willing to go to violate the oath of secrecy he had given to his government. Without that critical bit of information, most people would have attributed the purplish-blue discoloration under his dull brown eyes and the quivering of his weak chin as a sure sign of heavy illicit drug use. Adding to the appearance of drug use was his unshaven face, greasy hair, and the unkempt, dirty condition of the clothes he was wearing. Adams could easily have been mistaken for a bum ready to ask for a handout from every person he passed as he ambled down the sidewalk on 13th Street, in Washington, D.C. Most people moved far away from him as he made his way, trying their best to avoid coming into contact since they were sure he would beg them for money.


  It was shortly after dusk, and streetlights had just begun to come on, casting a wan, circular glow below them as he arrived at the concrete steps leading up to the double oaken doors of the church known as The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany. Looking furtively around him to make sure no one was paying any attention to him, Adams quickly climbed the stairs and entered the building. He found himself in a wide entry hall. Tables lined the side walls, each covered with a reddish-purple cloth table runner upon which some wide, shallow brass bowls were arranged between lit candles. Ahead were double doors of wood and frosted glass. Adams walked slowly across the stone floor to the double doors, pushed them open and entered the long sanctuary where wooden pews sat in silent rows before a raised Chancel. Once inside the sanctuary, Adams straightened to his full 5 foot, 4 inch height and strode with purpose down the center aisle and across the Chancel toward a door hidden behind the carved wooden altar. The door was solidly locked with two deadbolts, but he knew it would be. Raising his fist, he knocked on the door with the code, two raps, a pause of three seconds and then four raps. He heard movement from the room behind the door and in a matter of moments, both deadbolts clicked, and the door opened silently to admit him.

  The inner meeting room was about ten feet wide by fourteen feet long and contained a rectangular wooden table and six straight backed chairs. A dim light bulb hung by a single wire above the table, its light so weak the corners of the room remained in total darkness. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hovered in the air where the bulb hung. Three men sat around the end of the table, staring at Adams. Hearing a shuffle behind him and two clicks as the deadbolts were relocked, Adams turned to look back, but whoever had been there had moved out of the light and was hidden in the darkness of one of the back corners.

  The man at the head of the table spoke first, his voice low and gravelly from smoking too many cigarettes for too many years. "Sit down, Brother Adams."