Raptor Aces

by Brian Bakos

  “Quit yanking his chain!” I scold Katella. “He’s entitled to his opinion.”

  Katella starts to reply, then clamps his mouth shut. I turn toward Beltran.

  “And cut the ‘stupid’ comments, already. Katella’s as smart as any of us.”

  “Yes ... Commander,” Bel says.

  The standoff continues a bit longer. Katella disengages first.

  “Very well, Dytran,” he says. “Excuse me if I go inside. The air out here isn’t too good.”

  He stomps into the barracks and smacks the screen door closed behind him. The rest of us resume our seats.

  “You know, he’s right,” Beltran says. “The air out here is a lot better now.”

  Nobody laughs.

  “Come on, Bel,” I say. “Let’s just hang together for a while longer. This will all be over soon.”

  “You, too, huh?” Bel says. “Buying into the sugarplum vision?”

  He returns to his racial theory book, a little smirk creasing his face. Before long, the others find excuses to get out of their chairs and head inside, leaving the two of us in sole possession of the porch.

  I feel suddenly exhausted, as if all the woes of the universe are pressing down on me. I am sick of being out here on the ass end of the world; I’m tired of breaking up fights. I don’t want to lead anybody or be some goddam cinema hero. I want to be home again ... with Gyn.

  She is warm and beautiful, and she sees things clear, as I am finally starting to. Long ago she perceived the downward path we are on – beginning with the National Salvation Party and its fantastic, hate-filled philosophy that bears no relation to the real world. The crimes against the slobes, the unwinnable war, the ‘master race’ getting its head handed to it on a platter.

  All of this leading to the death of Stilikan and vast numbers of others. I’ve grown to hate the Party with its legion of parasites bloodsucking our people.

  And who is the Party, really? Aren’t we all taught that the Party is the Magleiter and the Magleiter is the nation? But I simply can’t believe that he is to blame for the mess we are in. Any time the thought tries to enter my mind it is blocked by an image of the Great Leader’s hypnotic eyes boring into me, keeping him above all reproach ... like God.

  Why am I feeling like this, anyway? A few minutes ago everything was fine. It’s Bel’s fault – him and his gloomy predictions. I wish Katella had shut him up!

  No, that is just an evasion. I actually share Bel’s misgivings, but his brutal frankness has destroyed the hope that lived alongside my doubts. Like everyone else, I yearn to believe in a favorable outcome. But where has such groupthink brought us? Groupthink has made our nation stupid.

  I look over at Bel sitting next to me. He is such an admirable person in so many ways. He is intelligent, brave, honorable, and highly competent – the best pilot in our squadron, if I am truthful about it. But there is something unsettling about him, too, as if a crucial element of his character is missing. I wonder what he’d be like if he’d been raised by a normal family instead of in a State institution with its constant drumbeat of hate and paranoia.

  Not that there wasn’t plenty of that in the Youth League, but at least I had Mama to keep me from going too far off the deep end. She and Stilikan presented a family bond stronger than any external force could possibly be.

  Bel turns my direction and says something so unexpected that I can scarcely reply.

  “You’d best give me all the fancy cigarettes you’ve got, Dytran.”

  “... W-why?” I say. “Did you take up smoking?”

  Bel shakes his head.

  “I think the less you know, the better, for now,” he says. “How many do you have left?”

  “Oh ... about five cartons.”

  “Good,” Bel says. “I’ll need whatever else you’ve got, too – anything that girlfriend of yours might have dropped off.”

  I think of the can of real coffee Ket left for me, and the box of chocolate bars. They are still waiting, unopened, in my locker. I’ve thought of breaking them out when our orders to return home arrive.

  “What’s all this about?” I say.

  “It’s about Athens and Sparta,” Bel replies. “Now, I said you could count on me, so why don’t you shut up and give me your stash? ... Sir.”

  Something about his gaze brooks no argument. Later that day, outside the view of the rest, I hand over my treasures. I feel as if I’m giving Bel a lot more than just material things.

  36. Creature in the Forest

  An uneasy calm maintains itself in our group, while underneath it the bad blood simmers. Why can’t Katella get along with Beltran, I wonder; why is he always egging for a fight? He is such a mild-mannered person otherwise. It must be clear by now that I’ve long since made peace with Bel, that I do not hold the slobe diving incident against him.

  But Katella can’t seem to let it go. Why?

  Come to think of it, Katella has always held something against Bel, in a quiet, sullen way that never got out in the open. But his attitude has hardened a great deal since the slobe dive. Is he jealous of me and Beltran; does he feel left out, somehow?

  Just thinking about these prospects exhausts me. I need to get out of here – go home and get on with my life, away from these guys. I am sick of this place and its stifling inactivity. Above all, I am tired of hanging around the barracks and want to get into the air again.

  But then the thought of a courier flight comes to mind and I settle down quick. Boredom is far preferable to another horror mission. I am almost grateful, therefore, when Bel approaches me the next day with a mysterious proposition.

  “Meet me outside,” he says quietly. “I want to show you something.”

  He leaves the barracks by himself. Shortly afterwards, I grab my jacket and follow.

  Autumn chill is in the air; the trees are turning to magnificent golds and reds. The scent of fallen leaves wafts from the nearby woods. For an instant, I almost feel like I’m back home.

  No, Dytran, you’re still in this lousy place.

  I glance around for Bel and spot him standing some distance off gazing out over the runway, just as he did this past spring at our home base before the air raid began. I walk up to him.

  “So, what’s all the mystery about?” I ask.

  By way of answer, Bel turns and starts walking briskly. I follow alongside. All right, if he doesn’t feel like talking, that’s fine with me. But where are we going?

  To the far end of the base, apparently, where the vehicles of the motorized infantry unit are still parked. The men haven’t returned from their leave yet, and their trucks, halftracks, and armored cars stand in neat rows as if their drivers have just stepped out for brunch at some tea room.

  “Bunch of clowns,” Bel mutters. “They don’t want to admit there’s still a war on.”

  It does seem to be an unprofessional display, a rather sad testimony to our lack of dedication. But who am I to criticize? I’ve had a bellyful of this war, like everybody else.

  A lone sentry stands guard over the vehicles. He and Bel exchange nods. Then Bel turns sharply and heads for a stand of trees.

  “Would you tell me what’s going on already?” I say with some exasperation.

  “Sure, I’ll do that,” Bel says.

  He quickens his pace and enters the little wood. I follow, unenlightened, in his wake. But my ignorance doesn’t last long.

  “There it is,” Bel says, “our ticket out of here.”

  He indicates an armored personnel carrier parked under the trees as innocently as a family sedan at a picnic ground.

  “W-what the hell are you talking about?” I say.

  “I’m talking about the enemy offensive,” Bel says. “When it gets rolling, we’d better look to our own escape; nobody else will.”

  To say I am caught off guard would be a rank understatement. I couldn’t be more astonished if my own dear Papa had returned to life and stood beneath the colorful trees.

  I
approach the APC cautiously, as if it is some terrible alien god emerged from the nether regions. It is as large as the one used by the commandos, enough for a dozen occupants, but this is a half track design with tank-like treads in back and conventional steering wheels in front. I lay my hand upon it, half expecting the machine to disappear like a mirage, but it remains before me, cold and lethal.

  “But ... you can’t just take off with this thing,” I say.

  “Why not?” Bel says. “I’ve learned how to drive it while the rest of you were sitting around reading letters.”

  “That’s theft of government property!”

  Bel gives a caustic laugh and gestures toward the vehicles parked outside the copse.

  “A lot of ‘government property’ is going to get blown sky high pretty soon,” he says. “If we’re lucky, the enemy won’t spot this one.”

  “But – ”

  “Face it, Dytran, we’re a non-priority. When the fighting begins, we’re on our own.”

  “That’s not true, I’m ...”

  I almost said: “I’m a hero back home,” but the absurdity of it sticks in my throat.

  “It is true,” Beltran says. “Nobody gives a damn about us, we’re not regular military.”

  Now that I am over my amazement a little, I have to admit that Bel is talking sense. I am not ready to give up my objections, though.

  “What about that sentry out there?” I say.

  “The relevant people have all been paid off,” Bel says.

  “How?”

  “With your stash,” Bel says, “and with my allowance, which I’ve been saving up for years.”

  He takes an aggressive step forward.

  “Look at me,” he says, “I’m no pretty boy. What did I have to spend money on, huh?”

  I wipe a hand over my face. It seems unnaturally cold.

  “Well, there it is,” Bel says, moving back a step. “You’ve got two choices, Dye: either go along with it or turn me in.”

  I don’t answer.

  “Three choices, actually,” Bel says. “You can just ignore the whole arrangement, but I don’t think you’ll want to do that once the shooting starts.”

  “You know I wouldn’t turn you in,” I say.

  Bel cocks an eyebrow, as if he doesn’t fully believe my statement.

  “All right, then,” he says, “let’s head back.”

  He leads the way out of the copse. I follow along dumbly, like the naive little kid I used to be.

  Neither of us talks for a long while. Bel’s plan is incredible, paranoiac. But it also makes a lot of sense. One thing you can say about Beltran, he doesn’t trifle with you. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never said or done anything frivolous.

  We are most of the way back to the barracks when Bel speaks.

  “Tonight, after supper, I’m going to start a row with Katella,” he says.

  “What the hell for?”

  Bel waits a moment for me to calm down, like an adult with a petulant child.

  “Because I need an excuse to leave the barracks,” he explains calmly. “I should stay near our transport.”

  “Well, in that case.” I fling up my arms. “Far be it from me to object!”

  “Just listen, please,” Bel says. “I’m serious.”

  “All right, go ahead.”

  “You break up the fight before it goes too far,” Bel says. “I’ll act all offended. ‘To hell with you guys!’ I’ll say and storm out with my blankets.”

  “You’re going to live out there in the woods?”

  “It won’t be for long,” Bel says. “It’s coming, Dytran, I can feel it.”

  He pauses and looks down at our feet.

  “It’s like an electric current running through the ground.”

  I don’t want to accept this idea, but, by heaven, there does seem to be a vibration under our feet.

  “When the hell breaks loose, your job is to get the others to the transport,” Bel says. “I’ll handle the rest.”

  ***

  That evening, as we sit around the barracks digesting our supper, Bel shoots me a meaningful glance. I understand what he wants. I get off my cot and saunter into the lavatory.

  I stand before my favorite sink examining my face in the mirror. Funny how you stake out ‘favorite’ things, even in a lowly barracks – favorite sink, favorite window, favorite spot to leave your boots. It’s just a way of keeping sane, I suppose.

  My face looks dry and pale, but at least the pimples that bothered me occasionally during the summer have not recurred.

  I turn my head from side to side. Which profile looks best, I wonder? Left, I think, but Ket prefers to photograph me from the right. Ket ... if only she was here now! Or, better still, if I could go where she is.

  Memories of our last encounter flood back in an erotic rush. I’m back in the darkened van with her.

  “Take me!” she cries.

  I tear off her clothes, she yanks me out of my flight suit with one sweeping motion ...

  Wafted away as I am by self-worship and sexual fantasy, I am unpleasantly surprised when the sounds of violence intrude. The fight must be on. I take another moment to preen my hair, then walk to the door.

  Out in the bunk room, a battle royal is going on. Bel and Katella grapple on the floor, punching and tearing. Neither one seems to have an advantage. The others cheer them on, except for Albers who stands off to the side.

  “Break it up!” I stride across the room and grab hold of Bel. “Help me you guys!”

  The others join the break-up effort. Soon we have the combatants separated, but they both continue to struggle and curse. Bel flings off his restrainers long enough to throw a wild, looping punch. It doesn’t reach Katella because my face is in the way. The blow catches me square on the cheekbone.

  “Ugh!”

  Bright lights explode in my head. I stumble back and sit down hard on a cot. Everyone gapes at me, stunned, including Bel. All becomes silence as I nurse my injured cheek. Then Bel wrenches himself away from the group and rages across the room to his own space.

  “To hell with you guys!” he shouts. “I’m out of here!”

  He flings a duffle on his cot and stuffs in some items from his locker. Then he tears the blankets off his bed. With these things in hand, he stomps out the door into the darkness.

  “Are you all right, Dye?” It’s Katella speaking.

  “Uh ... yes, I think.”

  I dab at my injury. The face I’d been admiring in the mirror is going to have a nasty bruise. I am going to look a lot worse than Katella, come to think of it.

  “Should we report him to the wing commander?” Albers asks.

  “No, just let him go,” I say. “It’s obvious he didn’t intend to strike me.”

  Actually, I’m not sure that’s true.

  “I hate that son of a bitch!” Katella snarls.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because he exists on the same planet with me, that’s why,” Katella says.

  37. A New Direction

  True to his plan, Bel does not return that night. I think of him out there nestled against the cold steel of the APC or lying on the ground with nothing but dry leaves for a mattress. Autumn is closing in with colder nights, and I do not envy his bravado.

  I thought it would be a relief to get rid of him for a while, but I rather miss his surly presence in the next cot. His glowing pen light has been oddly reassuring in the darkness. He is similar to a low-grade headache, something you’ve gotten used to and you feel a bit confused by its absence. I have difficulty sleeping that first night.

  Bel is just being an alarmist, though; anyone would agree with that. It won’t be long before he returns to the barracks, his scatter-brained plan forgotten. At least, that’s what I try to tell myself. In the back of my mind gnaws the suspicion that he could be right.

  My apprehension keeps growing throughout the next day, making me edgy and curt. Anyone who dares speak t
o me is at risk of getting snapped at.

  Nobody says a word about Bel, almost as if they’ve guessed that a method is behind his ‘spontaneous’ act. Beltran isn’t the type who does things on the spur of the moment. He’s the most controlled person I’ve ever known – along with Stilikan.

  When I walk outside, I feel the electric current throbbing under my feet. Or is it just my overactive mind vibrating? Without Bel to keep me grounded, my imagination is running wild. But isn’t he the one who first noticed the current?

  Until now, there has always been some rock solid person available to help me endure times of distress – Stilikan, Bel, Bekar – even the image of Ket leading me through the wilderness. But now I am alone and exposed to all sorts of eerie sensations. Katella is a great friend, of course, but I seem to have outgrown him. He just can’t offer the support I need.

  The fear of impending disaster grows heavier throughout the day, perching on my shoulder like a vulture grown fat on carrion. But then, late afternoon, a message arrives from Ket. I happen to be moping around HQ when it comes in. I am handed the transcript:

  Dytran – all is arranged. Orders coming soon.

  The band of tension crushing my skull abruptly relaxes, and the vulture fades away like smoke from burning leaves. I feel reborn. The ominous vibrations under my feet abruptly stop. The ground is soft and peaceful now, like a feather bed. I fairly drift across it toward the barracks.

  The unimaginable has happened. I am going home – as a hero no less! And no more courier flights, ever. I strut proud and strong through the glorious day, like some sky god who has deigned to visit the earth. Where the hell is that movie camera when I need it?

  When I get to the barracks, the lads are lounging on their bunks whiling away the time before dinner, except for Katella who is just slipping into a fresh pair of trousers. Everyone flinches when they see me come in. They must be wondering who will be the target of my foul mood this time.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen!” I say with a heartiness that surprises even me.

  The lads exchange confused glances.

  “What happened, Dye?” Katella says. “Did you take a whiff of laughing gas?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” I say. “I’m just delighted to see all your smiling faces.”

  Everyone chuckles, and the tense atmosphere begins to dissipate.

  “Well, if that’s the case,” Katella says, “let me drop my pants again so you can see my smiling rear end.”