by Lyn Gala
Lev whirled around toward her, while on the screen Byrne and Chow were double-teaming the alien avatar.
Hoffer had traded his handgun for a huge chunk of wood with an iron hinge on the end, and Holmes had his machete. Those two were alternating between taking shots at the alien, when Byrne wasn’t attacking like a whirling dervish, and hitting a smaller force field around Fischer and his hostage. Clyde gave Hoffer points for improvising weaponry in the field.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Lev demanded. “This might look like magic, but that doesn’t mean a spell out of a witch’s handbook can bring down an alien force field. You have a doctorate in science, for God’s sake.”
John provided the most logical answer—but then, he had the most experience with alien psychology. “The aliens want these guys to put their faith in magic. They want that guy holding the knife to the girl’s throat to believe that he’ll get power if he kills her,” John said. The whole table grew still.
Tankersley’s tactics were more unpredictable and more interesting. He held back, but not out of any cowardice that Clyde could see. Now that the picture was larger, it was clear that he was calling out instructions. Hoffer went down, and Tankersley rushed forward, waving his arms at the alien. Flailing and thrashing—not really a tactic Clyde would recommend, but it did give Holmes a chance to pull Hoffer to his feet.
“What’s the purpose of all this?” John asked.
“Wait for it,” Clyde recommended. Byrne continued her wild attack. What she lacked in tactics, she more than made up for in ferocity. When she got the avatar playing her father to retreat far enough, Zhu rushed into the fray and headed for the back of the burned-out main room. On screen, Fischer turned to say something, and Tankersley hurried to a spot just outside the force field protecting Fischer.
“This is where Tankersley’s guerrilla bomb-making techniques come into play. Apparently his plan all along was to use the wall as a weapon—something about making use of the battlefield and employing natural features to trap the enemy,” Clyde said. Just then, Tankersley darted to the side and started throwing bottles to his teammates. Zhu pulled out what looked like a flare gun and fired it right at the alien. It didn’t destroy the avatar, but it probably blinded all the sensors so the alien on the other end of the remote control was helpless. Byrne launched a series of kicks that pushed the alien back, and then Molotov cocktails were flying through the air.
Captain Black asked the obvious. “Whoever planned this knows their shit, so why didn’t they bring in heavier armaments?”
“The military guys had no idea this was going to happen until the last minute when Tankersley panicked and wanted more backup. This is all Tankersley’s strategy,” Clyde said. “And at the time, he was a seventeen-year-old kid who didn’t have heavier armaments. He did, however, steal a load of fertilizer, some diesel, and a very large commercial fireworks display.” Since Clyde had seen the video before, he timed his comment perfectly. Byrnes gave her so-called father one last kick, and she sent him flying off the main floor of the building and into a lower area where the subfloor had collapsed. It was only a three-or four-foot fall, but then Tankersley’s trap went off. The initial explosion from the fireworks overlit the entire inside of the building, and then the secondary explosion took out a big chunk of the heavy brick wall.
Clyde looked away because he didn’t want to see the last part—the way Roger Fischer slit Ellie Richmond’s neck, the falling chunks of old bricks as half the building collapsed, the flash of the alien shield failing, or Tankersley standing in the middle of it, holding a gun steadily before shooting his lover. He didn’t watch the structure of the building teeter unsteadily or the scramble to evacuate as beams and stones rained down. Hoffer had grabbed his phone before Tankersley went down under one of those falling pieces. Nope, Clyde didn’t need to see any of that horror for a second time. He focused on watching his team as they saw those events.
Lev’s hands were curled into fists, and his whole body was almost vibrating. John had his head tilted to the side as he watched everyone’s reactions. John often complained about the quality of Earth soldiers because he was used to gladiators—fighters who knew they had to win or die. These kids had more of the gladiator in them than Clyde wanted to admit. Captain Black turned ashen, and Washington’s jaw muscles were working so hard that he might crack a tooth. Cooper wasn’t reacting at all. He had every emotion on tight lockdown. The other two civilians, Van Agteren and Reed, couldn’t make it to the end. They both turned away. Clyde didn’t blame them.
When it was all over, John spoke. “Tankersley was distracting the alien. Good tactic, but the alien had already adapted to it. It would have worked in a match, and it would probably work against other aliens. He needs to make sure he has more fighting techniques so he can mix it up.”
Clyde could practically hear John mentally scheduling Tankersley for private tutoring, and the kid was masochistic enough to go along. However, there was a bigger problem. Clyde understood why Tankersley was so happy being a dishwasher.
Clyde remembered his first battle loss, and he had desperately wished to never have any position of authority again. It was a normal reaction, but not a healthy one. Unfortunately, Tankersley had withdrawn into himself. He’d hidden behind jokes and insisted he was nothing more than a dishwasher and never would be. When Lev decided to bring home a stray puppy, he always picked the one with the biggest teeth or the most fleas. Clyde wasn’t sure which of those applied to Tankersley. Maybe both.
“Sir, the psychological damage to those kids….” Sadler turned and looked first at Clyde and then the general.
“The damage to Tank,” Lev said. “He killed his friend.”
“Not much of a friend if he was sacrificing a human being to the aliens,” John said bluntly. As much as Clyde agreed, he didn’t think that would lessen the trauma for anyone involved.
“I assume we’re going to make sure that the experiment is shut down, sir?” Captain Black asked.
“That’s the mission,” General Zeller said. “You all have mission briefings on your tablets. Please review the intel and local maps and reconvene here tomorrow. By then we should have satellites in place and more accurate information out of Major Sadler’s unit.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “We are using a new cross-referencing system that will access physical newspapers to identify areas where statistics are being hidden.”
Clyde frowned. “Sadler, are you saying people have to physically read newspapers from all across the nation?” Clyde didn’t have the personnel for that sort of labor-intensive system.
“Colonel,” General Zeller said, “we’ll take care of that. After all, logistics is our end of the mission.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Colonel, can you stay back a moment? The rest of you, dismissed.” Zeller stood and nodded at the team as they all headed out. Lev paused, clearly fishing for an invitation to hang around, but Zeller didn’t offer, and he eventually followed the others.
“They did a damn good job bringing down an avatar, but that didn’t shut down the experiment,” Clyde said the second the others were out of the room.
“Agreed. Do you have any new insights on the objective?”
“Just what I said before—they’re testing people’s reactions to evil. Do they buy in and try to get some power for themselves, or do they risk their lives to stand up against it?” Clyde hated that twelve people had died for such an inane cause, but he couldn’t think of another reason for using the charade of demons.
“I agree that it’s likely,” the general said.
“Colonel, since Dr. Underwood has taken Private Tankersley under his wing, you’re going to have to figure out how to handle that young man. He acted honorably, but I think we can both recognize the problem.”
“Yes, sir.” Clyde saw the problem in the mirror once or twice a week, and Clyde had the training and background to know how to deal with leadership stress. He couldn�
��t imagine being a kid and carrying that sort of burden.
General Zeller continued, “Dr. Underwood wants him to work on reverse engineering this technology, a position that would fast-track Tankersley’s promotions simply because of the responsibility involved. But I think we both understand why he’s been so determined to stay in the kitchens.”
Clyde did understand. The kid was gun-shy and probably carrying more guilt than he should. “It isn’t healthy.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Clyde sighed. “I could point our shrink at him.”
“Do you think that’s the best solution?”
Clyde glared at the general.
“Talk to the boy,” Zeller said softly. “You know what he’s been through and where he is emotionally… where he’s been for over a year, if Captain Hoffer’s dates are correct.”
Clyde really didn’t feel good about Tankersley or his relationship with Lev, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that the man had the strength to put one foot in front of another day after day, even after having the sort of trauma he’d suffered. “Is that an order, sir?” Clyde asked wearily.
“Does it need to be?”
“No, sir, it doesn’t.”
“Go see if you can figure out where his head is, Colonel. Dismissed.”
Clyde offered the general a nod before heading out of the briefing in search of Private George Tankersley. What a mess.
Chapter Fourteen
TANK FINISHED drying his hands on his apron and considered the kitchen.
“Take off,” Corporal Sanders said. “There’s nothing left to clean.”
“I like to do a job right.” Tank felt a certain satisfaction in seeing every piece put back in place and every surface polished. However, he spotted Lev standing at the kitchen door and changed his mind. “But it looks right enough,” he said as he untied his apron strings. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You bet,” Sanders said as he wrestled the bread dough onto the floured counter of his workstation. Tank appreciated that this base understood the importance of quality food, especially for soldiers who wouldn’t get off-base passes for six months at a time.
However, it was strange that they had so much fresh food. The food on the supply plane Tank had ridden in was all canned and dried. Right now he was working on the theory that someone had a greenhouse somewhere in the ship, and they weren’t sharing it out of fear that dozens of soldiers would walk all over the strawberries. Lev probably knew where the greenhouse was—but Tank didn’t want to put his lover in a difficult position by asking about something off-limits, so he planned to find it on his own.
Tank smiled at Lev. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” Lev smiled back, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. There was a tension there that set off alarms in Tank’s head.
“So were you playing with any killer doohickeys today?” Tank tried to keep his question light as he followed Lev toward the alien-ship part of the base.
Lev shrugged. “Today was mostly paperwork.” Lev had many talents, but lying was not one. Tank had survived high school by listening to his gut, and his gut was screaming that there was danger. But his heart insisted this was Lev, and Lev wouldn’t hurt him. Unfortunately Tank knew for a fact that his gut was way smarter than his heart.
“Ah, the fun end of government work. I’m pretty sure someone has stock in a paper company and they just make us do all this to keep their retirement account healthy,” Tank joked automatically, his brain already spinning as he tried to figure out what would have Lev so upset and so unwilling to talk.
“Probably. What were you up to today?” Again, there was a forced ease in every word Lev said.
“Dishes. It’s refreshingly predictable around here. I always thought of black-ops secret conspiracies as being exciting, but I’ve been disappointed on that front. Not that I want excitement. I’m kinda okay with boredom.” A couple of soldiers passed them, offering polite nods to Lev. Since joining the support services, Tank had become invisible. That was an asset.
“Yeah.” Lev ducked his head in a boyish gesture that would have looked odd on a man in his forties—only there was still something boyish about Lev. Tank bet he’d never killed. “The soldiers complain about that.” Lev gave an exaggerated grimace. “But there’s really not much for them to do between missions. In the science department, we can amuse ourselves, but there’s usually a pretty strong underground fight club or poker night going by spring.”
And that was something else that had bothered Tank. Why would the headquarters for IF be in Alaska if the soldiers charged with defending Earth couldn’t get to the battlefield? It made sense to have scientists here, and even to have enough soldiers to mount a defense, but Colonel Aldrich and John weren’t exactly the second-string backup. Tank had put that in a corner of his mind labeled “things to figure out eventually.” With all the alarms in his head going off, “eventually” had become now. However, with a goofy grin, Tank supplied an answer. “Porn.”
“Excuse me?” That startled a real laugh out of Lev.
Tank shrugged. “Bored soldiers go for porn. Trust me, I’m a soldier. Besides that, when you share a barracks with a lot of other men, you find out how much porn they can smuggle. If I were a fan of boobies, I would have been set for life. Some of those guys were really into oversharing.”
“That actually sounds… disturbing.” Lev struggled to find that last word.
“If you’re gay, then yeah. It kinda was. I mean, women are fine, and I like lots of girls, but I really don’t want to look at close-ups of girl parts before going to bed.”
“I think women everywhere probably appreciate that you don’t objectify them.”
Tank waited until Lev was calling the first of the elevators before he added, “Now, close-ups of dicks? That I can get into.” Sure enough, he’d timed it so the unexpectedness made Lev really laugh. He let go of all the tension running through his body and simply laughed.
“Your enlightenment is rather limited.”
Tank decided to start poking around the edges of this new trouble. “Funny thing—Zhu used to say that exact thing to me. He tried to explain enlightenment once, and I pretty much decided I wasn’t into that.”
“Zhu, he was one of your friends, right? I mean, I don’t know all that much about you. I thought maybe we could spend a little time together, getting to know each other.” All the tension was back, and Lev had zeroed in on the mention of Zhu. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. And Tank had no idea what to do. So he went for blindly flailing and faking it until he could find something more productive than panic.
“In the biblical way? Because I could get behind that.”
Lev’s voice grew serious, and he put his hand on Tank’s arm. “I was hoping for more talking.” Even though the elevator platform had arrived, he made no move to step onto it.
“Okay, that’s fine. What did you want to talk about?” Tank made his voice as bright and cheerful as possible.
“Anything. What do you want to talk about?”
Tank blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Why do they call sex ‘knowing each other biblically’? Wouldn’t ‘biblically’ mean you’re praying together or something?”
“I assume you’re not a Bible reader.”
“No, not really.”
“Here’s a little secret. There’s a lot of sex in there.”
“Really? I always thought Bible people were sort of antisex.”
Lev shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
A sudden thought hit Tank. “You’re not religious, are you?” Sometimes when he blurted, he said the most offensive thing possible and then spent the rest of the day trying to explain how inoffensively he’d meant it, usually resulting in offending the person even more.
“Not at all,” Lev assured him. “I was raised going to Sunday school, but my uncle didn’t really push me to follow anything, and I lost interest in church. What do you do for fun?”
Th
e sudden change of topic threw Tank, and his mind went blank. “I don’t know.”
“Play any sports?”
Tank shrugged. “I play them. I don’t play them well, but I play them.”
“You know, I think I might have an old Dungeons & Dragons set in my quarters. We could go and look for it if you wanted to play.”
Holy awkward transitions into weird subjects. “It’s not really that much fun with only two people,” Tank said cautiously. Something was seriously wrong with this picture. Lev was acting weird, but there was no way he was one of those idiots who thought the game was some sort of gateway drug into Satanism. Tank had seen demonic worship, and it didn’t have much to do with rolling dice to try to take out your opponent’s orc.
“Yeah, I guess not. We could ask around the department and see if anyone else wanted in.” Lev was still standing next to the elevator, as though this conversation was so important that he’d forgotten to step onto it.
“I spent four years of high school advertising my geekiness. I’m not sure I want to start doing that here.” The last person Tank had played had been Brian, and Tank had pretty much used the game as a front for figuring out how to win against Marie’s father. It had worked, too, although Tank really didn’t want to think about the price they’d paid for that win. Zhu had called it a Pyrrhic victory, and once Tank had looked up the word, he agreed.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Lev nodded like a bobblehead. “Do you have other hobbies?”
Looking up spells, tracking down spell ingredients and collecting intel on the local demon population didn’t really fit with his cover as a normal American teen. “I love comic books,” Tank said. He immediately regretted it. If he was trying to get away from being cast as the geeky sidekick, that had not been the personal detail to share.
“I love Neil Gaiman!” Lev said. His boyish smile was back. “The Sandman is brilliant.” It was as if fannish love washed away all the weird.
“American Gods all the way,” Tank said, thrilled to have found something in common with Lev—something other than an inability to keep a secret.