Fable Hill

by Christopher Uremovich

  “Hands out please, sir,” Wen ordered Frank as she re-bound his wrists.

  The TV flickered to life with images of Chinese state news. Scenes of massive devastation were broadcast from pre-recorded video—homes flattened and skyscrapers demolished, wide open spaces of smoldering ruins, and burnt automobiles littering abandoned highways.

  Frank wasn't sure of what he was seeing at first. It wasn't until Han flipped the channel to the BBC that it became clear. The news anchor detailed the surprise nuclear attack on America and Japan and the subsequent annihilation of both nations. The total death toll was estimated to be in the hundreds of millions.

  The news anchor spoke on the first strike against military infrastructure, followed by economic targets. American retaliation had destroyed several Russian and Chinese bases and cities. The Chinese death toll was estimated 50 million, Russian 3 million, while American and Japanese deaths numbered over 200 million.

  Frank sat utterly speechless, his worst fears realized. Images of his wife and kids scrolled through his mind, his friends and all the people he cared for killed in a cowardly attack.

  Russian news showed their journalists interviewing American refugees as they received aid from United Nations peacekeepers. Russian and Chinese troops patrolled the streets of American cities and towns not destroyed during the conflict.

  Han turned off the television and casually sat back down. “We know this must be hard for you, but know our nation lost innocent civilians as well. We are just as hurt inside,” Han sympathized, holding onto his chest.

  Han continued on into a moral tirade, but Frank had already stopped listening. He fantasized about loosening his reins, snatching the AK from Wen’s hands, and letting loose on everyone and everything.

  “Our government is on their way to take possession of the Yamada,” Han said, recapturing Frank’s attention. “You will be handed over to the proper authorities, I cannot make that determination.”

  “What . . . what information did Alexei Pavlov give you? Frank asked, trying his best to maintain composure and stem his bitter rage. “Was he still loyal to Russia?” Frank asked with emphasis.

  Han consulted with his fellow astronauts. “We cannot comment on Mr. Pavlov.”

  Frank bowed his head in resignation. “What happens now?” Frank asked.

  “We will allow you to live and work with us here, until our military arrives in three weeks to take you both home. If you lash out in violence, you will be shot without question. Do you wish peace or violence?” All six Chinese astronauts in the room locked eyes with Frank as he deliberated.

  “I wish peace.”

  Chapter 34

  0430 hours, Sol 315

  Aureum Chaos

  Earth Date: March 16, 2046

  For the better part of three sols, Frank and Mia lived and worked with their captors in and around the Chinese base. Mornings were spent around the table eating freeze-dried foods, reheated to be palatable. In the afternoons, Frank gave a helping hand in the mine, or by fixing faulty equipment.

  Frank enjoyed welding. It was his favorite thing to do and he always volunteered to weld when he could. This solitary activity gave him time to plan an escape. Escaping consumed his thoughts.

  In secret, Frank would discuss different ways they could slip away undetected, steal a capsule, and make it to the Yamada. Mia would listen intently and offer passive advice; she was not thrilled about leaving. Even though she felt great remorse for the destruction of his homeland, Mia was South African, after all. Her nation had not been destroyed.

  “Why would I want to leave?” Mia would often ask. “I have everything I need here and the doctor wants to do surgery on my eyes.”

  Every night since their crash landing, Frank would dream of his arrival on American soil, of his handing over to the Chinese military. He envisioned an execution without trial, without due process. He envisioned himself not being there, in the cockpit of his F-35 when the bombs dropped. Not being there to protect his country. He dreamed of his family burning alive in a nuclear inferno.

  At 0430 hours on sol 315, Frank woke in a pool of sweat. He panted heavily and watched as Mia slept soundly on her cot. I leave now, with or without her, Frank convinced himself.

  Frank got out of bed and shook Mia vigorously. “What is it?” Mia whispered sheepishly.

  “We're leaving now, are you coming or not?” Frank asked.

  Mia turned back around in her bed and said nothing. Frank shook her again, this time grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her semi-upright. “Snap out of it, Mia! Where is the woman with the demeanor of a lion? The one I met a year ago?” Frank attempted persuasion.

  “I'm blind, I'm tired, this is the first time I've been full in weeks, the first time I haven't been constantly thirsty. The people here are nice, they helped us. I'm blind, Frank . . . can't you see that?”

  “I helped us, Mia. Alexei sold us out, all of us, to these people. Think of Roland, Keiko, and Renee—they all died so you could sit here and do nothing, sit here and give up,” Frank whispered, being careful not to speak too loud.

  “How do you expect to leave? Huh? They have one emergency rocket. It's pre-programmed to take them to their ship and everything is in Mandarin. You aren't this uber-pilot who can just hop into anything and fly it,” Mia scorned.

  “Then we take their ship,” Frank responded.

  “Then what? How do we land back on Earth? Who do we coordinate with? Who is our friend, who is our enemy?” Mia brought up valid points but failed to sway Frank.

  “I'm sorry, Mia . . .” Frank got up from his bunk and began to quietly prepare his meager belongings.

  Like a shadow, Frank moved swiftly through the dark, claustrophobic corridors of the base. Through three days of gathering intel, Frank knew the station had no AI. The only alarm system was controlled by a single keypad near the airlock. Frank memorized the Chinese characters and pattern the astronauts used to disengage the airlock locking mechanism.

  Frank snuck inside Wen's living module. He knew she was a light sleeper, so took extra precaution and time to avoid waking her. Fit securely inside a generic leather holster was Frank's 1911 pistol. He grabbed the entire holster, slowly lifting it from a hook on the wall, then made a silent dash for the door.

  Alexei's other quartz drive was somewhere inside the sounding rocket’s payload outside. Frank deduced he would have only minutes to grab the drive and be inside the Chinese rocket, ready to make a hasty departure into space.

  While doing odd welding jobs around the site, Frank spent a lot of time watching Chinese astronauts access the rocket’s payload but never actually taking anything out of it. Whatever it is, it can't be moved very easily, Frank thought.

  Frank rallied near the airlock. He quietly put on his suit and helmet. Outside, the sky began to glow from the dawn, only minutes until sunrise. “I gotta go now,” Frank whispered.

  The first door of the airlock opened with a terribly loud, grinding metal noise. Frank cringed and quickly shut it behind him. With a delicate rhythm, he deactivated the airlock, waited for depressurization, and sprinted outside.

  “Payload first, payload first,” Frank motivated himself onward.

  A spinning red light illuminated the grounds of the base. The interior of the inflatable modules lit up like a Christmas tree—the ruse was up.

  Reaching the exterior shell of the payload, Frank fumbled with the locked handle. He screamed as he yanked on it with all his might but the handle wouldn't budge. Out of pure muscle memory, Frank unholstered his gun and fired into the payload housing, releasing the handle as it disintegrated.

  Frank raised the hatch and peered inside. It was empty. “What? How?” Frank complained.

  Bullets pierced and ricocheted off the aluminum rocket body, only feet from where Frank stood. Wen and the other Chinese astronauts had barely breached the airlock before opening up with volleys of 7.62 fire.

  Frank hit the ground and returned fire with his

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bsp; .45 caliber, striking Wen above the shoulder. Her suit decompressed and she was carted back inside the airlock. Finding cover and concealment behind the rocket body, Frank reloaded with his second and final magazine.

  Return fire waned a bit as the Chinese astronauts attempted to flank the American pilot. Frank took aim from behind the craft and struck another enemy in the hand. A hailstorm of lead riddled the side of the rocket body in response.

  Frank waited for the enemy fire to stop before running in the direction of the emergency return rocket, using the downed Nagoya rocket to cover his six. The Chinese emergency rocket was twice the size of a Sakura capsule and had extended boosters for additional fuel capacity.

  With no cover or concealment, Frank ascended the main ladder, which led to a cupola-like hatch. Han and five others were now sprinting towards their rocket, the only way off the planet. Frank struggled to open the hatch. It was locked and he had no way of opening it.

  Fearing destroying their own lifeline to space, Han planned to snipe from cover. Frank foiled the plan by engaging with the remainder of his ammo, saving only one or two rounds. He slid down the ladder and awaited his fate.

  Suddenly, with deadly precision, two of the five astronauts’ helmets imploded in a storm of glass and ruddy brain matter. More precise, concentrated fire came from a nearby rocky outcrop, striking another enemy astronaut, decompressing his suit from multiple entry wounds.

  Han and one other returned fire in the direction they thought the attack was coming from. Frank watched in disbelief as muzzle flashes and tracer fire sprung up all around him. A forty millimeter grenade landed in between Han and his comrade, shredding them to pieces in a brilliant display of fire, dust, and gaseous blood.

  The firefight was over. A squad of shadowy figures revealed themselves from behind the rocky outcrop. They ran towards the main habitat against the backdrop of the rising sun.

  Frank remained prone, pistol in hand. He was unsure of what to do next. He watched as the unknown fire team breached the main airlock with explosives and charged inside. Flashes of light and terror filled the habitat for a brief minute, and then nothing.

  A fury of blinding dust surprised Frank from the rear. It came in fast and was followed by a flaming arc. Frank ran from his position until he was free from the silicate swarm. An unfamiliar capsule had landed not far from where the Chinese rocket sat.

  The doors opened and a crew of black-spacesuit-clad persons poured out, automatic weapons in hand. They secured a perimeter around the Chinese spacecraft.

  “Colonel Nash?” Frank’s comm-link crackled to life as he was addressed by an approaching man.

  “Yes?” Frank responded, baffled at what was happening around him. High up and in the distance, more capsules descended from space, landing in the canyon.

  With an outstretched hand, the mystery man held up an American flag patch. “Master Sergeant Schmidt, 23rd Special Tactics Squadron.”

  Frank received the small patch in his hand, tears of pure joy welling up from within. The men from the capsule fanned out and searched the dead Chinese, sprawled around the dirt.

  “How is this p-possible?” Frank choked up.

  “I’ll explain inside, I’ll explain everything,” Master Sergeant Schmidt replied in earnest. He wrapped his arm around Frank and the two walked towards the now-captured enemy base.

  Stepping inside, the floor was trashed from forced entry and rapid depressurization. The initial fire team was in the midst of conducting a search of the small base. On their knees in the center of the main module were Mia and Wen, with Wen’s suit bloodstained and hastily patched. A single dead astronaut lay on the ground, a rifle still clutched in his hand.

  Frank grabbed Mia by the hand and guided her to her feet. He reassured her and explained who she was to the accompanying military personnel.

  “I bet this is all rather overwhelming for you,” Schmidt said.

  “It definitely is.”

  “I imagine you know about the attack on our country?” Schmidt asked to a solemn nod from Frank. “We are the resistance, the remnants of four different militaries and scientific communities that went underground after the massacre,” he explained.

  “How did you get to Mars?” Frank asked.

  “Eight ships, one we stole from the Chinese . . . check that, two we stole from the Chinese actually, because now we have the Cheng Xi in our possession.”

  “Yamada and Shintaro?”

  “We have both of them now. The Enduring Freedom is our flag ship. It was finished by Radeon right before we left Earth.”

  “That’s crazy . . . how many people?” Frank asked.

  “Hundreds. Most are still in orbit, awaiting phase two.”

  “Phase two?” Frank asked.

  “The colonization of Mars. We have enough equipment and supplies to last us years, with lifelines to Earth created in secret with different entities,” Schmidt said with pride.

  “Sir, we are being hailed by the Shintaro,” another military member informed the combat controller.

  “Master Sergeant Schmidt, what’s your status?” the familiar voice of Dr. Hyuk crackled over radio for all to hear.

  “All secure, doctor. We have Frank Nash and Mia Beckham safely in our possession.”

  “Good to hear. The Cheng Xi and the Yamada are under our control. I am initiating phase two of the operation,” Dr. Hyuk bellowed.

  “Roger that, out.”

  Frank and Mia walked outside into the bright, morning sun, their hands clutched firmly together. God rays peered through high altitude ice clouds, giving an uncanny resemblance to Earth.

  “I wish you could see this,” Frank said.

  “I’m sorry for doubting you,” Mia replied.

  Frank chuckled, still in complete disbelief. “We both would have died, you were the smart one.”

  “What now?” Mia asked.

  “Don’t you want to return to Earth?” Frank answered with a question.

  “Someday . . . I hope,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

  As the two shared an intimate embrace, dozens of white rocket trails descended through the atmosphere from the edges of space. The great landing had commenced.

  “Hey, Frank!” Master Sergeant Schmidt called out, exiting the habitat with a small, clear piece of glass. “Any idea what’s on this quartz drive?”

  Frank handled the quartz drive in his hand.“The future of humanity . . .”