by Jerry Ahern
The drones continued to provide aerial recon zipping in and out of the tree tops; they saw nothing.
After 30 minutes, Reynolds keyed his comm. link to Rubenstein. “Sir, there’s nothing here.”
Paul replied, “Let’s give it a minute Captain.”
After another 15 minutes Reynolds keyed his comm. link to Rubenstein and said, “Sir, there’s nothing here. I’m going to stand the teams down.” Paul nodded.
Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw something. One of the drones swooped down lower past the tree tops through the tree branches unnoticed. Reynolds spoke into his helmet mike, stood up and waved his teams to congregate on him. That is when the drone smacked into something and scattered to the forest floor; but it hadn’t hit anything.
It was flying 20 feet above the ground in a clear space when it hit something that wasn’t there. Paul jerked Reynolds to the ground and hollered, “We’re under attack, take cover, return fire!”
Six of the men that had already gained their feet were cut down almost instantaneously. Their Exo-suits did not even deflect the attackers’ energy weapons. As the ADF returned fire at an unseen invisible enemy the scene of the little clearing was disrupted. Flashes and sparks popped and the picture of the quiet scene shimmered and faded; in its place were vehicles, fixed positions manned by figures in jet-black suits and helmets and carrying a type of weapon Paul had only seen pictures of. Even though the ADF troopers were firing accurate shots, they had no effect on the enemy troops. However, each time one of the bad guys hit an ADF, he died from a blast of energy that ripped a hole through his body.
Stunned by the carnage and its abruptness, Paul leveled his MP-40 on the closest target and squeezed the trigger. He could literally see his rounds bounce off his target’s helmet; adjusting his aim he sent a round under the chin of the helmet and above the chest plate his target wore. When the target fell back and was still, Paul thought, “Good, that works!” Just then one of the black garbed antagonists stood up to fire. Paul saw him and fired point-and-shoot, stitching three MP-40 rounds across his target’s chest dropping him like a sledge hammered steer.
“Well, well,” Paul thought. “Our smart weapons cannot penetrate those suits but good old fashion lead can.”
Reynolds keyed his comm. link and ordered the teams to begin their retreat. Those that had cover broke off their contact and started their evacuation from the kill zone. Those without cover were cut down by the scythe of energy blasts.
After fifteen minutes of evade and escape, Paul realized there was no pursuit. Thirty minutes later, the survivors reached the rally point. Reynolds was exhausted from the full-out retreat and out of breathe; his men in no better shape.
“What the hell were those things?” He asked between breaths. “Where did they come from? What the hell kind of weapons were those; they cut through our pulse armor like a hot knife through butter!” After a quick body count, Reynolds realized the ADF had lost almost a third of its troopers; all killed.
Paul said, “We have to get out of here now. We are completely out gunned with an enemy that must have some kind of camouflage we’ve never seen and weapons we’ve never heard of.”
Reynolds ordered the remaining men to make their way back to the vehicles by the predetermined routes. “Men, however many of you that can, make it back to the vehicles. Your orders are to return to base and sound the alert. That is your prime order! We have to get word back to headquarters—tell them what we have seen and dealt with here. Any man injured or that can no longer keep up is to be left behind. Is that under stood?”
Paul stressed, “We have to warn the authorities, or the first fight of this conflict just ended; and so may the hope for our country and possibly the world. That is your imperative and your only imperative, move out.”
Paul and Reynolds headed out together. The teams had broken down to one and two men teams, each escaping on their own. A half mile later, Reynolds held up his left hand in a clinched fist. Rubenstein stopped behind him and to his left. They both listened. Reynolds keyed his direct comm. link, “I heard something, but I don’t know what it was or where it was.”
Paul nodded and moved to his right, further off the trail. In next instant Reynolds disappeared in a fire ball. The concussion from the blast lifted Paul off his feet slamming him head-long into a tree before flipping him head over heels into a forty-foot deep ravine. He hit about half-way down, slid to the bottom and didn’t move.
Chapter Sixteen
For a long time he wasn’t aware of anything. He simply existed in a universal, swirling all-consuming darkness. Then, at some level of his consciousness, his soul, his brain or maybe his heart; he was vaguely aware of a tiny pin point of light. Each time he tried to focus on it; it eluded him only to reappear elsewhere in another part of his darkness. As his vision began returning, he kept his eye lids shut.
Something said to his returning consciousness, “anticipate.” His consciousness, responded, “That’s not right.”
Next, he crawled up through a muffled tunnel filled with cotton, climbing higher, and with each step his hearing became clearer, and he listened. He did not know for what he listened; he just knew he must listen. When consciousness came fully to him it came with a wave of pain and agony. He had just cracked open his left eye lid when the wave hit him and he slammed that eye lid shut and willed his face not to show the effort and his lungs to continue breathing at the same slow and shallow rate and with his body not to twitch with the shock.
When that wave passed, he slowly opened the eye lid again and scanned his surroundings. He did not know what he was looking for, but he knew looking could mean survival or death. As he listened, the word “anticipate” came again but he knew “That is not right.”
He slowly pulled his right hand from beneath his hip, flexing the fingers to start the blood flowing. Then he began inching it up the Mount Everest of his body. Cresting the peak of his hip, he moved it down even slower as he crossed his body and up his chest. “No wet spots of blood, that’s good,” he thought. “No protruding bones, that’s good. Having problems breathing, either broke a rib, cracked it—maybe I just bruised it; think positive.”
Shifting his weight, he found what he sought. It was hard and cold, but it felt good—really good! This meant life and he knew it even if he couldn’t cognite yet on exactly what it was. He just knew it was essential and it was his. “Anticipate.” His mind shouted, “That is just not right!”
He looked around searching for something important but he didn’t know what it was until he saw it. A foot from his hand was six inches of a dark strap; he smiled and pulled it to him. “My bag!” he thought with a smile.
Looking around he realized, “I’m at the bottom of a ravine. I either fell or was pushed. Must have fallen, had I been pushed who ever pushed me would have climbed down to make sure I was dead or finish me off. My bag must have been buried by the avalanche of leaves caused by my fall.” His hand finally recognized where it was resting, “My Schmeisser, this is my Schmeisser! My Schmeisser and my bag!” As he struggled to his feet he was staggered by waves of pain and nausea. Finally he stood with feet splayed covered in sweat and shaking with the effort.
“Let’s assess the situation,” he thought.
The word “anticipate” jumped again into his mind. He shook his head and whispered his first words out loud, “That is not right! I’m hurt, that’s bad. I’m not apparently hurt badly, so that’s good. What do I know? I know this is my Schmeisser and it is loaded. I know this is my bag and it has stuff in it. I know I’m at the bottom of a ravine. What don’t I know? I don’t know why I’m at the bottom of the ravine. I don’t know if it was an accident or not. I don’t for sure how I got here. I have no idea of where is.”
“What was that other thing I don’t know... oh, yeah—what the hell is my name?” Then his head began to spin and his consciousness swarmed. Just as he knees buckled, just before he collapsed in a pile at the bottom of the ravine again—it
came to him. “Not anticipate... plan ahead!”
Chapter Seventeen
The “blank” lay on the examination table, bright lights illuminating his head. Had he possessed sensory abilities, the lights would have hurt his eyes, but he didn’t; yet. That was the next step.
The technician’s large and opaque black eyes with no discernible iris or pupil appeared deep and soulful but as detached in this process as the rest of the face which had no noticeable outer ears or noses. There were also only small openings or orifices for ears and nostrils, all of which were located on an unusually large head disproportionate to his body. It was a gray-skinned diminutive humanoid being with reduced forms of, or completely lacking, external human organs such as nose, ears or sexual organs. Its body was elongated, with a small chest and lacking muscular definition and visible skeletal structure. His legs were shorter and jointed differently from what one would expect in a human.
In contrast, the body lying on the exam table was human; in fact an unusually fine specimen of a human male. Strong powerful limbs and musculature coupled with a high forehead indicated strength, power and intelligence but, there was no intelligence in that brain. Not yet, but soon. The body was an exact copy of its original, but without senses or a mind. Early in its development processes those components of what humans called a ‘mind’ had been downloaded into a matrix then “redesigned.” That redesigned matrix was about to be returned to the “blank.”
When the final connections were completed the process began; identified by the characteristic spasms resulting when sensory inputs connected to muscle and tissue fibers. After a few moments the spasms subsided and the lungs filled with air for the first time; the transfer complete. The human’s eye lids closed and its forehead furrowed, the lights were causing pain, a sign the transfer was now completed. Slowly the eyes opened again and the pupils adjusted. The human stared with a moment of non-comprehension, shook its head and began to sit up with the technician’s help and guidance. After several attempts at speech, with no words coming out, the technician offered a sip of a clear liquid which the human sipped, clearing his throat, the human’s voice box began to work.
After a few more attempts to speak, the human coughed twice and uttered, “Sir, Captain Dodd, present for duty. I understand my predecessor has been damaged and I must replace him.” The technician placed a device on the left side of the former blank’s chest mid-way between the collar bone and the nipple. Holding it still, touching the skin, the technician initiated the final step. The device glowed brightly for a few seconds and when the technician removed it there was an image, the device had imparted a design:
Chapter Eighteen
The pictures and video of Michael Rourke knocking Phillip Greene off the dais at the first Presidential Debate had gone viral; the Representative machine had pushed them both. Story after story of how Michael Rourke had “Struck a blow for truth and honesty,” were ringing out. Each attempt the Progressives made to redirect Phillip Greene’s candidacy ran into a brick wall. “Man on the street” interviews featured in “Michael Rourke for President” advertisements had developed into regular segments on national news outlets. They were even fodder for late night comedy shows on every network.
The Representative election committee continued to flood the more conservative media with the most innovative promotions they could find. Focusing on media outlets that tended to be more geared to the American political right in content, the campaign resembled guerrilla warfare because they knew the Progressives had control of what is said in the national media.
The internet, talk radio and the DOT (Dead on Target) News Channel had led to an explosion of popular conservative news sources. As the conservative media grew, Progressive outlets began to suffer from dwindling advertising, popularity and credibility. Prominent Progressives lamented the demise of a liberal media; and offered support for censorship through legislative means, a rebirth of the threat from centuries in the past, the Fairness Doctrine and financial assistance by means of taxpayer bailouts. It had not worked before and it was not working now.
One recent survey, conducted by the National Federation of Representative Women found that an over whelming majority of respondents feel the national news media has shown Representative candidates, particularly female candidates, in a negative light. The media was creating the perception that Representative women candidates were inferior to their male opponents.
According to the findings, 89.2 percent of 6,943 responding women (about 5,984 women total) accused the national Progressive media of bias. The rest of the approximately 960 votes were split between those who did not feel the media smeared female Representative candidates, and those who were not sure.
The survey, whose results were sent out to a list of subscribers on August 27th, reportedly asked a total of 8,500 Representative females from all the remaining states, as well as the two remaining American territories, a wide variety of questions meant to summarize the opinions of American women on a broad base of issues.
“Every day we hear the media and others perpetuate stereotypes about Representative candidates, particularly women, about who we are and what we believe,” the NFRW website said. “No comprehensive survey of Representative women had been taken to provide data for a substantive response. Thus, the National Federation of Representati ve Women’s Table Talk Survey was born, a survey created by Representative women for Representative men and women.”
An NFRW press release stated the data and the overall findings of the survey were, in a large part, economically-charged—indicating that the fiscal policies proposed by the Progressive movement will “fail our entire nation, but women would be disproportionately affected.” It stated, “It’s clear that we need dynamic and honest leadership right now to turn our country around, back to the direction real Americans want.”
Through it all, Michael had remained silent. Request for interviews were politely deflected by the Representative Party’s press team. It had taken a few weeks for the news hounds to finally stop parking in front of Michael and Natalia’s home in the hopes of a chance sighting of the couple. One lucky reporter had cornered the two one evening as they exited a restaurant; pestering Michael for a comment as they walked back to their vehicle. Michael finally said, “Okay, I will give you one comment.” The reporter, a little “Barbie Doll” blond gushed her thanks, turned to the cameraman and said, “Get this and don’t screw up.”
Turning back to Michael with microphone in hand, “We are here with the Representative Presidential Candidate Michael Rourke and his wife, Natalia. Mr. Rourke, you have been uncharacteristically absent from the campaign trail, are the rumors true that following the...” Michael couldn’t tell if she was searching for the right word or pausing for effect. “Following the unpleasant events of the debate, have you withdrawn your candidacy?”
“No Rachael, I have not. However, I see no reason to continue the political theater any longer. Those ‘unpleasant events,’ and I’m using your phrase, were not unpleasant in the least to me.”
“The allegations Mr. Greene asserted that evening were lies and distortions of the highest order. Not only were they untrue, they were insulting. I addressed those insults directly as a man with honor is required to do. While ‘politicians’ sometimes make their living making ‘compromises’ a man does not.”
“While ‘politicians’ try to hold on or obtain their offices by slander, deceit and dishonorable actions, a man does not. I believe the citizens of this country have the right to choose what kind of a man they will elect to lead the recovery of our great nation. While I may be involved in a political process... Rachael, I am a man first. I am an honorable man, a truthful man, a man who prefers negotiation when it is possible. But Rachael, some things cannot and should not be negotiated. Honor is one of those things and truth is another.”
Holding up his right hand, Michael continued, “This hand will always be opened and extended to people of honor, truthfulness and good will. However
this hand...” he closed it forming a tight fist. “This hand also stands ready when the defense of my wife, my family or my country is threatened by someone without honor, without truth; and with good will only when it furthers their own selfish and self-serving ambitions. Have a nice evening, Rachael.” With that he and Natalia got into the vehicle and left, it would be the last time for a long time they went out to eat.
Chapter Nineteen
Rourke had received the call from Annie and met her at the hospital. Paul had been found unconscious by a Quick Response Team; only three of the ADF had survived but they had sent out a warning. A two mile area surrounding the event had been cordoned off and a request for re-enforcements from Mid-Wake sent. The re-enforcements were expected within the hour, Rourke knew that time was short.
Paul had regained consciousness and briefed Rourke on what had happened. “John, we never had a chance. Their weapons cut through us like a knife. I saw one of them and they were a match to the weapon you recovered in the Mediterranean. The suits looked similar to what you showed us in the photos. You were right, lead works where the smart weapons didn’t but they had some type of camouflage I’ve never seen. It was like an invisibility cloak or a force field that assumed the colors and textures of the surroundings.”
At first, John thought his old friend was delusional from his injuries, and then he remembered just before the Night of the War, he had seen reports of work being done on something like what Paul reported. “Paul, I have heard of research from our old world on something called active or adaptive camouflage. It actually is present in nature. Several groups of animals, including reptiles on land as well as certain cephalopod mollusks and flatfish in the sea have it. They camouflage themselves by something called counter-illumination, but I’ve never heard of anyone perfecting the idea.”