Hell Fighters from Earth

by William C. Seigler

  “You’ll see.”

  When Fitz arrived with the alien in tow, it was something right out of late night TV. He was short as a petite, human female. His head was bulbous with no hair, slits where the nose should be, and a very thin, tiny mouth.

  “The honorable Ceo-lok-win-nok, may I introduce my team for this mission to discover what has happened to the lost-lings of The People?”

  The alien looked each of the men over and in turn, each shivered as if he had a sudden chill. Each could sense images but without context, they made no sense. He tried to speak the human words, but it proved too much.

  Fitz touched the headband he was wearing as if he had a headache. “He’s proud to be here and proffers whatever help he can. He would also like to examine our plans to this point.”

  Denver spoke up. “Do you mean the sim?”

  “Yes, follow me, but keep your distance.” He led the way to the sim lab. He turned to the alien and touched his headband. The alien moved over to where he could watch everything.”

  “Corporal, you may begin.”

  All eyes were on Smith. “Captain, if you will take the controls please,” he said to Lieutenant du Bois.

  To his gunnery team, he said, “Okay guys, this is what we have come up with.”

  Soon everyone was in position and ready. “Go.”

  By the third run, they were starting to get the hang of it. “Okay stop,” ordered Fitz.

  He walked over to the alien who seemed to Smith to be even paler than before. The gray was almost gone. The alien got up and followed Fitz. Everyone else just looked around at each other.

  “I’m getting a little green around the gills myself,” offered Willy.

  “Okay, guys take five. Got something for motion sickness Chief? Maybe we ought to take it before going into the fight.”

  The pilot said, “Yeah, not a bad idea, maybe we all should take some. What about our guest? He might need something.”

  “Not a bad idea either. I don’t know if they have anything like that. Chief, could you take a couple of minutes to show me those suits?”

  “Suits?” asked the ship’s captain. “Why?”

  “I don’t know sir, maybe we could lose pressure, maybe we’ll have to get out and fight, or maybe we’re just ‘groundlings.’ I just want to be as ready as we can get.”

  The pilot nodded at the crew chief. “Follow me.”

  They headed off to where the maintenance suits were kept. “How do you get around the problem that we are all different sizes?”

  “Here, just pull on these straps. If there is too great a size difference, the arms and legs can be changed out.”

  “Slick. They are not pretty, but will do the job. I wonder if you can hold a rifle and shoot wearing one of these.”

  “I don’t know. No one has ever tried.”

  He continued to look the suit over with chief pointing out its numerous advantages. “Tell me, what do you guys do in case of massive decompression?”

  “Different parts of the ship can be isolated by bulkheads. We can try to get into one with pressure and call for help. There are kits to repair small holes. Why?”

  “Well, the lizards won’t be too glad to see us and will probably start shooting. I’ll need you to brief my people on how to use the patch kits. How long has it been since one of your ships suffered a catastrophic decompression?”

  “Before the war, never. It has become a problem as of late. You hope they died fast.”

  “Not reassuring.”

  “Tell me how much control do you have over pressure and gas mix?”

  “How much control do you want?” asked Fitz coming up behind them.

  “Well sir, I’m just trying to game this thing out. In a perfect world, all our people would be in armored pressure suits, bulkheads closed, and the cabin would be at a fairly low pressure of nitrogen when we go in.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Chief.

  “I had a friend who went through a rapid decompression. He said it was something you had to see to believe. Everything in the cabin instantly became a missile.

  “Then if that doesn’t kill you, if you lose enough pressure, you fold over with the bends.”

  “Bends?” asked Chief.

  “The nitrogen in your blood comes out of solution and forms bubbles. Bad enough, you are completely incapacitated, or it will kill you. There is always the chance they could just knock a hole in the spacecraft without destroying it. If the crew is prepared, it might be survivable.

  “Do you have oxygen and masks?” added Smith.

  “Yes of course, for medical purposes.”

  He made an odd face at Fitz, which Denver thought was not appropriate. Probably means that Earthlings are stupid, in French. Make a note to talk to Fitz about it later.

  “Sir, I have a recommendation,” said Smith.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Before we get into the fight, have everyone pre-breathe oxygen for 30 minutes and wear an oxygen mask for the duration of the fight. It would be better if we used portable bottles.

  “Then we lower the pressure in the ship as much as possible and close all bulkhead doors to limit any damage we might sustain. Furthermore, I think we should have a couple of guys in these maintenance suits.”

  “Man, I wish we had brought our own weapons.”

  “What for?” asked Fitz.

  “It might be necessary to leave the ship, go over to the Grey ship, and drop off the nuke. I don’t know; we might have to do something unexpected. If the crew is alive, we might have to rescue them.”

  “How are you going to do that? Even if you are in a suit, there is still a vacuum out there,” responded Fitz.

  “Sir,” interrupted the crew chief, “we have the rescue spheres. I’ve never heard of them being used, but we have them.”

  “I don’t know Denver. You might be thinking this thing to death. Sure you didn’t see too many of your adventure movies back home?”

  “I don’t know sir. I just want to be as prepared as time and resources allow.”

  Fitz grimaced and grabbed his temple. “Yes? Great. We’ll be ready.”

  He saw the look on Denver’s face. He slipped the headband off. “I’m not losing my mind, but with this thing on I can get messages from our guest. I forgot to remove it, so he was eavesdropping. Apparently, he likes your thinking and is having some equipment brought over. Chief, I’ll let you know when it’s here so we can open up.”

  “What sort of stuff?” asked Smith.

  “I don’t exactly know. Let’s get back to the sim lab. We only have about six hours until we are at the drop off point. Let’s debrief and let your guys get some sleep.”

  * * * *

  Denver lay in his improvised bunk and tried to sleep. He was exhausted, but his mind would not slow down. I don’t think Fitz and I have a meeting of the minds on this. If we just go cruising around, we are liable to wind up missing too. How the heck do you slip up on a planet in space?

  Could they drop us off on the side of the star opposite the planet with the two tiny moons or would it be better to get dropped outside the solar system and try to slip in from the outside? I don’t know even what the star system looks like. How many planets, how much debris? Maybe I am overthinking this problem. We could just go in and find nothing at all going on, just a ship without communication.

  No, unlikely, he thought. They sent in a recon ship, and it disappeared in an area where the enemy is not supposed to be but is. The reasonable conclusion, the enemy has them, or they have destroyed the ship. If they captured the ship, then they should start showing up soon with vastly improved spacecraft for star system work, which would mean we are in even more trouble.

  This could quickly become just our fight. That would be stupid, considering how advanced our allies are. Captain


  Nemo and company are bankrupt in the idea department too. Okay, so …

  A long skinny, light gray hand on his shoulder interrupted his musings. He jumped and turned to face a very startled little gray guy with a big head and some really huge eyes.

  “Sorry, I didn’t expect company.” He felt the same shiver pass through his body as the alien activated his nervous system. “That feels weird,” he responded.

  The alien held out his hand with a headband in it like the one Fitz wears. Denver swung out, put his feet on the deck, and took the device. He fitted it as best he could and looked up.

  “Hi,” Smith said in a curiously high-pitched voice.

  “Come.” The alien turned and walked out.

  Denver quickly put on his flight suit and boots and followed. In a small storage area, which had been turned into the alien’s quarters, they stopped.

  “We will take tea.”

  The kit the alien used looked to be mostly wood and porcelain. What it really was, Denver did not know. Slowly he spooned a granular substance into the strainer and this he put into the heated water.

  “It will take a moment. Can you understand me adequately?” The thoughts filled Denver’s mind as if he had actually heard them, but the alien’s mouth scarcely moved. There was a singsong quality to the voice in his head.

  “I am getting into the practice of moving the lips as I make the words. My people think it odd, but some of us are learning to interface with humans, and some of your humans, such as Commander Fitzpatrick, are learning to interface with us.”

  “Will the Commander be joining us?”

  “I believe him to be asleep. Interesting dream state humans go into. Certain humans have permitted me to … um’ … eavesdrop. I must admit, at first, it was frightening. It has brought up certain ethical questions for The People.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say your name as well as Commander Fitzpatrick.”

  “It is, …” and he went on to say something Denver could not hope to catch. “I don’t suppose you can say it any better than our friend Commander Fitzpatrick.”

  “Probably not, mind if I call you Cee?”

  “Ah yes, third letter in your alphabet. Your alphabet has made an interesting study; so simple, yet so complete.”

  “It also means ‘see’ as in vision or ‘sea’ a large body of water where you might not see much at the surface, but there is much under that surface,” added Smith.

  “Ah, I see your parallels. Cee will suffice.”

  After a few moments, he added, “Ah … the tea is ready. We usually do not sweeten it preferring to allow the full bloom of the mix to slowly make itself known to us. However, I personally am developing a taste for the sweetener humans make from something they get from under your world’s oceans.”

  Carefully he poured the dark green liquid into two small stem-less mugs and brought one to Denver. As he did so, their fingers touched for the first time. Denver’s eyebrows shot up and the alien stiffened. He held the cup and the human’s fingers for what seemed a long time before releasing them. He then turned to pick up his own cup.

  The alien proceeded to allow the steam to coat his face with his eyes alternately opening and closing as if falling asleep. The heat began to soak through the cup, and he put it to his mouth. Denver followed suit wondering what Fitz is going to say. He had already been warned to be careful of the aliens, though it occurred to him that he was the alien.

  “It has taken The People a long time to find another intelligent species in the galaxy. Even then, we were slow to make ourselves known. Eventually, we established contact with the Separatist tribe who also had set out ‘to sail the empty sea,’as The People say.

  “Communication was difficult and slow with many false starts. However, it has proven fascinating for those of us who have devoted our lives to its study. It has not been without its detractors. We are constantly reminded, ‘The proper study of The People is The People’.”

  We have a similar saying, Denver thought effortlessly to himself.

  “Yes, I can see that you would. The communication comes easier if you just let it flow and not concentrate too hard. That was one of the many problems in the early days. Until you do, it will be easier to speak the words and don’t try too hard.”

  “Yes, I will.” He took another sip, not sure what to say.

  “Yes, it does make guile and subterfuge more difficult. Fortunately, it has made it easier for The People and the Separatist tribe. You are the first human I have met who is not of the Separatists.

  “I have been trying to follow you without the headband, but it was not possible. Under normal circumstances, this would take time, but time is not a luxury we have.”

  The alien moved his lips only slightly as he talked occasionally stopping to sip tea. The flavor and aroma, while pleasant, were unknown to Denver. He felt relaxed almost floating, but his mind was clear. He was not drowsy nor did he want to sleep.

  What’s in this stuff, he thought to himself?

  “It’s a mixture of native herbs my people cultivate, and no you have not been drugged. We find it helpful to deal with stressful situations if we can first relax and clear our minds.”

  “An excellent idea, especially if one can remain clearheaded.”

  “I understand you also have calming drinks, one of which Commander Fitzpatrick has a special fondness for, scotch it is called.”

  Denver smiled.

  “Ah …, I see you also have a fondness for this elixir. I hope to try it someday. However, while we understand the alcohol molecule, we do not understand the purpose.”

  “I’m not sure I understand it either. Under the current circumstances, it is better to have a clear head. How long till we reach our drop off point?”

  “There is so much I would like to learn from you, and if we live long enough, perhaps I will, if you are willing. But, down to business.

  “Another … let me see … four hours and a bit longer.”

  “I was wondering if your people are still alive, will you be able to tell?”

  “A fair question. Unfortunately, the answer is not so clear and direct. If he is wearing the band, is calm and focused, I should be able to communicate at a great distance. If not, I simply don’t know.”

  A great sadness or depression swept over Denver with a deep feeling of loss.

  “There are many who say we should never have met with the humans. They believe the culture of The People will be contaminated. For a very long time, this point of view held sway. If not for the Separatists, it might still be the case, and we would study you from a distance. Many blame our current difficulties on our work with the human Separatists.”

  “You would have eventually run into them, and you would not have had an ally,” assured Denver.

  “That has been our argument as well.”

  “As to our current situation, can you form the communication with the enemy?”

  “We call them Reptilians, after small animals native to your planet.” He assumed what might have been a faraway look; it’s hard to say. Nothing was said or rather thought for a while.

  Slowly, quietly, the alien’s thoughts came back into his consciousness. He repeated his question.

  “Have you ever communicated with them?”

  “They do not communicate, they only kill. They overran our worlds without warning, without quarter, and without prisoners. They are monsters beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “If they are simple brutes, then how did they develop spaceflight? There must be something more to them. How do they communicate with one another then?”

  “They use lasers, infrared, and radio similar to yourselves.”

  “I wonder how much of that we can jam,” Smith pondered.

  “Jam?” Jam and toast appeared in his mind, and he could smell and taste strawberry jam.<
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  “How much of their communication can we block?”

  “Block?” The picture of a child’s toy block appeared in his mind.

  “To stop laser and infrared, we can probably just get in the way of it. Radio is different in many cases. One transmits at a certain place in the electromagnetic spectrum.” He stopped and waited.

  “Yes, I see. You want to stop them from communicating. What will that accomplish?”

  “If we can keep them from talking to one another, it might disrupt their ability to defend against us.”

  Anxiety filled his mind. “We are not attacking.”

  “Perhaps, but I want to be prepared for everything.”

  “Is it your purpose to attack?”

  “That is a good question. I’m a little fuzzy on just what our mission is.”

  “We are to find out what happened to our ship of The People.” Smith could feel Cee’s anxiety growing.

  “Calm yourself. Stay focused. I am not in charge, Commander Fitzpatrick is.”

  The alien’s mind calmed down though Denver was getting a headache. “If The People Separated are alive, and there is any hope of rescuing them, I will recommend we take it,” said Denver.

  “You would risk your own life to save The People Separated, the lost-lings?”

  “Yes, that is what soldiers do.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “One of our wise war leaders, whose name was Churchill said, ‘There is only one thing worse than fighting with allies, and that is fighting without them.’ A bigger problem for the war effort, is does the enemy have more of your technology?”

  “Yes, that would be dangerous. Now they use nuclear rockets like your Separatists did before meeting The People. If they have this new technology, it will prove difficult for the war.

  “I have brought some items you might find useful. First is a pressure suit for me in case we lose pressure. Next is a weapon. It can be used to blow holes in things. It launches a small device like so.”

  The picture formed itself in Smith’s mind. “How do you hold it?”

  He could see it launch a projectile propelled by a simple field wave, a primitive version of their system drive. When the projectile hit its intended target, it exploded. The alien seemed pleased with himself.