Intervention

by Rob Mclean

  “Okay, okay. Don’t shoot.” She could hear the tremble in Zeke’s voice. “I’m outta here.”

  She listened to Zeke’s footsteps grow softer as he walked away. Soon she heard the steps creak as he made his way down the stairs.

  Angela opened the door and saw the dust and debris from the bullet hole in the passageway ceiling outside her room. She peered down the stairs and saw her mother looking quite proud of herself. She gave Angela a reassuring nod, letting her know that things were under control. She motioned for Angela to stay upstairs a bit longer. Angela complied, but couldn’t miss watching what was going on downstairs.

  Zeke had both his hands raised as he edged his way past her father towards the front door. She heard him say goodbye to her mother and apologize to her father. “Sorry about the door, Mr. White.”

  “Get out of here, you little shit,” she heard her father growl.

  Angela ventured further down the stairs. She saw her mother put her arm around Zeke’s shoulders and walk with him out the front door. Her other arm waved about as though she was explaining things to Zeke, but once they were out the front door, she couldn’t hear what was being said.

  After the front door closed, she went down to see her father. He was standing at the foot of the stairs. One hand gripped the banister for support, and the other held a gun that looked heavy and oversized in his frail, bony hands.

  She hugged him fiercely. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t you worry,” he said letting go of the banister to return her hug. He then put the safety on and with shaking hands, passed her the gun. “Won’t miss him next time.”

  She saw the smile in his eyes, but also that his lips were going blue. The way his health was fading, she knew that he would most likely not be there the next time she needed him. She pushed the thought from her mind.

  “Let’s get you back in your chair.” She ushered him over to his wheelchair and helped him into it. His breathing was fast and shallow. He pointed to the oxygen mask. She put the gun on his lap and fastened his oxygen mask over his face. His white knuckles gripped the armrests as he took deep, rasping breaths, but after a few moments the colour returned to his extremities.

  Angela hugged him again, more for her own reassurance than his, but it helped him relax and breathe properly. “I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered in his ear.

  He patted her softly on her back.

  Moments later, Clarice returned and found them like that. “Didn’t that go well?” she asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Angela stood and glared at her mother. “Didn’t you hear all the horrid things he said to me?”

  Clarice smiled at her daughter and gave her a light hug. “The reason he came over her today and why he said those things was because he was upset.”

  “I’m pretty upset too,” Angela said. “But I didn’t say bad things to him.”

  “You called him an idiot and a prick if my hearing hasn’t failed me,” her father gently reminded.

  “Oh, yes.” Angela momentarily looked guilty, but then smiled. “And you called him a little…”

  “And what were you thinking, waving that gun around like a crazy old fool?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Clarice interjected. “You should both be ashamed of yourselves.” She wagged a finger at both of them and then took her daughter’s face in her hands. “But the reason he was so upset was because he cares.”

  “But…”

  “And he cares so much because…?” Clarice asked expectantly.

  “Because he loves me?” Angela couldn’t fault her mother’s reasoning, but she felt sure there was a flaw in it somewhere.

  “Sure hate to see what he’d be like if he didn’t,” her father grumbled.

  Chapter 42

  From the conning tower of one of the navy’s newest ships, the Gerald R Ford-class aircraft carrier, Rear Admiral Schwartz surveyed the transfer of personnel between the ships of the US fifth fleet.

  Captain Jason Weslowski, recently reassigned from a Ticonderoga-class guided missile cruiser, was making himself busy trying to familiarize himself with the twenty billion dollar vessel he now captained. Under the Admiral’s orders, he directed the fleet as they made their way north, out of the Red Sea and into the lower southern reaches of the Gulf of Suez.

  The reassignment of personnel was a highly unconventional procedure and had caused a lot of unofficial grumblings, not only amongst the crew of this ship, the USS. John F Kennedy, but also amongst the crews of the rest of the fleet. These had been relayed to him informally through his personal assistant, Lieutenant Grey.

  He had conceded that while it did diminish the operational effectiveness within the individual ships, he justified it on the basis that it was good for the fleet as a whole. He argued that in a conflict situation, surviving crews would have to be able to operate on vessels that they weren’t normally stationed on.

  Besides, as Lieutenant Grey had helpfully pointed out, when working with unfamiliar crews, it was all the more important to ensure that correct procedures were being followed across the entire fleet and that no short cuts were taken on the basis of familiarity. With fresh sets of eyes, it soon showed when these procedures weren’t understood or properly implemented. It also might uncover any protocols that needed to be rewritten or modified. Overall, it helped to ensure that the whole fleet operated optimally. At least that was how he was selling it to the crews.

  Admittedly it was going to be a huge task to move entire crews around on the basis of their alleged faith. While he was happy to have his own 100,000 ton flag-ship manned with God-fearing Christians, what was he going to do with the Jewish, Muslim and sailors of other faiths?

  Although he would never admit it officially, he frankly didn’t like the idea of one of the ships in his fleet being crewed entirely by those of some misguided faith. For some reason it bothered him more than the many other ships run by those of no faith.

  To start with he had decided to move just the officers and leave the rest for the time-being. That would have to suffice for the moment. As long as he had reliable officers to carry out his orders, that was all that mattered. One headache at a time.

  Overlooking the serene, flat waters of the northern reaches of the Red Sea, with the Egyptian coast on his left and the Sinai Peninsula on his right, he was manoeuvring his fleet as close to the alien spaceship as he could. He planned to get to the southern outlet of the Suez Canal before unleashing his attack.

  The US fifth fleet was currently patrolling off the Nile delta, alongside the Mediterranean navies of many European countries and the Russian Black Sea Fleet. The concentration of human firepower was, in his mind at least, most impressive.

  Lieutenant Grey stood at his side, looking as desirable now, in full uniform, as she had in his cabin the other night. She caught him looking at her, and the most subtle curl of her soft lips told him that she too was remembering that night and the things they had done together.

  His cheeks flushed with guilt at the memory, but he hungered to be with her again, to lose himself within her sensual embrace and to forget world and all his responsibilities. As much as she filled most of his waking thoughts, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she saw in him. True, his was in great shape, for his age, but there no shortage of hard bodies on board that would yield to her slightest touch. Despite her age, there weren’t many who wouldn’t love to have her share their bunk.

  Perhaps she had encouraged the relationship simply to annoy her ex-husband. Having traded up from a fellow Lieutenant her own age to an older man, albeit a Rear-Admiral, must surely irritate the man on a daily basis. The Admiral had noted that the ex-husband was slated to be on one of the ‘faithful’ Aegis cruisers and had considered moving him to one of the ‘worldly’ vessels, but that might be seen by anyone who knew of their circumstances to be too vindictive. By losing his gorgeous wife, the Admiral conceded that the poor man had suffered enough.

  Th
e possibility that the Lieutenant was simply an ambitious woman and was trying the time-tested method of sleeping her way to the top had crossed his mind on several occasions, but he had dismissed it almost immediately. While his conscience would allow him to put in recommendations, he would never directly intervene on her behalf. As discreet as they had been, he had to assume that their affair must be general knowledge. Although he had made her his personal assistant, any other aid he was to give the Lieutenant’s career would be seen by the rest of the officers to be manifestly unfair and would only encourage similar behaviour. His fleet would soon descend into a collection of floating brothels.

  As much as he didn’t like the only other conceivable alternative, it was the one that weighed most heavily in his mind.

  He recalled with total clarity how she had been so receptive of his attention initially. Not that he had ever set out with the intention of having an affair, but it was as Pastor Greg had said, ‘the first look is free, but after that you pay.’

  He wondered if the Pastor had delivered that particular sermon solely for his benefit. He must surely have known how weak the flesh of this particular member of his flock was, that sinful weakness that constantly draws a man’s eyes to the curves of a woman. Because of his lust, the Admiral knew he was condemned to pay for it eternally with his soul.

  That second look, when their eyes had met and instead of looking away, she smiled, ever so slightly, with a hint of curiosity back at him. From then on, he seemed to be running into her more and more often. Laughing too much at a shared joke, a look that lingered too long, an occasional loitering touch…

  It all came to a head the day she had stopped him in the passageway. He had been on his way to a disciplinary meeting with one of the junior officers. No one was around. She had stopped him with a hand on his chest. Her eyes had taken on an almost metallic blue vibrancy that revealed to him a mixture of trepidation and hesitation, but were underlain with an urgency that commanded his attention.

  She leaned in close, uncomfortably close, but he hadn’t pulled away.

  “I want you,” she had whispered in his ear. She flashed him a guilty look, laced with a small, sly smile before dropping her gaze. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink that confirmed, in his mind, that her desire was genuine.

  Her hand dropped from his chest, and without a backward glance, he watched her as she continued on her way. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mind whirled as the erotic possibilities presented themselves. Like anti-aircraft missiles, his guilt shot down the scenarios, one by one. But, as he watched the Lieutenant’s form glide down the passageway, those images re-spawned and his defences were overwhelmed.

  Now as he recalled their sordid past, he could see that, without a doubt, she had pursued him. She had seduced him and she had led him astray. The reoccurring thought that Lieutenant Gray was a tool of Satan, acting under his malicious thrall to snare his soul, could no longer be dismissed.

  The Admiral broke eye contact with his seductress, his desirable nemesis. He hated her for her undeniable irresistibility and the way she had used it with military precision to single out the highest value target. But more, he hated himself for not resisting, for wanting her so badly that he was willing to risk everything that was important to him, just to be with her.

  He told himself that it didn’t matter now, as all his guilt would be expunged as soon as the alien AntiChrist was destroyed.

  With great effort and as a means of freeing himself from the insidious charms of Lieutenant Grey, he focused his mind on his plan of attack. He mentally worked through the options available to him: stealth bomber, F-35 attack fighter, Tomahawk cruise missiles, or a UCAV-unmanned combat aerial vehicle, along with the probable outcomes, none of which were conducive to his longevity. He had wanted to split the fleet before his attack, but changed his mind when he reasoned that whatever counter-attack the alien might launch, he would stand a better chance of surviving it with the full fleet supporting him.

  His gloomy reverie was disrupted as a warning alarm sounded.

  “Sir, satellites detect a launch,” a signals operator said. The admiral scanned the screens, but couldn’t see any activity on them as the information would have been relayed to them from Command, back in the States.

  “Iranian. A Shahab-6 they think at this stage. From the Alghadir base, three minutes ago.”

  “Dammit,” the admiral cursed. “What the hell are those rag-heads playing at?”

  “Target?” the Captain Weslowski demanded.

  They were all well aware that the entire fleet, confined within the narrower straits of the Gulf of Suez, were a prime target. It was what they had feared and trained for. The Admiral now saw ruefully, it may have been because of his plan to attack the alien space-ship, that by bringing the fleet together in such a tight location had made them a more accessible target.

  “Too early to tell, for certain, but it’s headed our way.”

  The Admiral had to admire how the signals operator kept a professional attitude, despite the danger. He tried to calm his mind and work out how much time they had. He knew that the Alghadir missile base was fifty kilometers west of Tehran, which put them about eighteen hundred klicks away. Probably less than half an hour to live.

  “Put the fleet at maximum alert.” The Admirals’ thoughts chased each other in diminishing circles. He’d be damned if the Iranians were going to deny him his chance of martyrdom. They were still more than three hundred kays from Cairo, and he wanted to get his attack underway before that Iranian nuke arrived. “Full ahead.”

  “Sir?” the Captain asked. His question mirrored the expressions on the faces of all those in the room, including Lieutenant Grey.

  “Captain, I am unaccustomed to explaining my orders, especially under combat conditions.” The Captain’s ears burned under the admonishment. “You should be aware that we have nothing that can intercept that nuke. It’ll be hitting us at over four thousand kilometers per hour.”

  “Sir,” the Captain said by way of acknowledgment.

  “Even though they can make mid-flight path alterations, if it’s got our name on it, we still improve our chances by being a moving target.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Captain stood rigidly, then added, “Sir, they must have had some observer on the shore that reported our movements back to Tehran. They just don’t have the intel capability otherwise.”

  “Yes, wouldn’t you love to put a Predator or two up to find them?” the Admiral asked rhetorically. “The political fallout, however…”

  He saw that Lieutenant Grey had been listening to the exchange with a waxen silence. Ever since the nuke had been announced, she hadn’t as much as blinked. He wondered if she were in shock. Was this her first combat situation?

  Suddenly, her features brightened. “Maybe,” she said with optimism in her voice, “there’s a chance that by moving closer to the alien spaceship, it may offer us some protection.” She looked hopefully to the Admiral for confirmation.

  A sardonic grin creased his face at the irony of expecting any help from that source. Didn’t she know that the evil one can’t be relied upon to protect those who serve it? She will die alongside him in the same nuclear inferno that those Satanically inspired Iranians launched to thwart him.

  He smiled again at the thought that they might not ever know when they actually died. The hell-fires they were both destined for would be indistinguishable from the nuclear furnace that would send them there.

  “Sir,” the signals operator intervened on his morbid thoughts. “Trajectory is confirmed. Cairo is the target.”

  “Cairo?” his head whirled. It didn’t make sense. Maybe it was the sixth fleet they were after? “Are you sure?”

  “Sir,” the signals operator affirmed.

  “They’re after the space-ship,” Lieutenant Grey said.

  “The crazy bastards,” the Captain exclaimed. The Admiral couldn’t miss the tone of admiration in his voice. “What the hell do they think they�
��re doing?”

  “I’d suggest that they believe they’re doing God’s work,” the Admiral said through gritted teeth. He struggled to hide his anger and tried to make his voice sound pious and professional, “or at least Allah’s work.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?” the Lieutenant asked.

  The Captain shook his head and grinned. “I guess it’s all in Allah’s hands.”

  The Admiral found no humour in that. He weighed up his options. He could do nothing and hope or pray that the mad Mullahs were successful and did the job for him. If they were, they would proclaim Allah’s greatness, but more importantly for him, his path of redemption would be lost.

  Besides, he doubted that they would succeed. He reasoned that if his people could see the nuke lumbering across the sky, then those damned godless aliens could too. But what were they doing about it?

  “Get me a fix on that alien ship,” he ordered. “What’s it doing?”

  “Sir, it doesn’t show up on the radars,” the signals operator said.

  “I know,” he snapped. “So get me something else. Satellite imagery, real time CNN feed, something. I need to know what it’s doing.”

  They waited a few tense moments, irritation growing with every passing second.

  After what seemed an eternity, the signals operator relayed live coverage from CNN, the BBC and Al-Jazeera on separate screens across the bridge. From slightly different angles, they all showed the same static spaceship hanging, via alien magic, over the ancient Pyramids. No activity could be seen.

  “They probably have some super-weapon that will negate the threat,” Lieutenant Gray said.

  “Or a force field of some sort,” Weslowski added.

  “They have said that they have come here without weapons,” the Admiral said with cynicism, “and we can’t see any evidence of a force field. Those Egyptian F-16s have been playing stunt pilots around that ship for weeks now.”