by JE Gurley
They found no fuel at Selinunte. The fishing fleet had emptied the marina’s tanks as they fled the island. Wishing to avoid large ports such as Marsala and Palermo, they had followed the southern coast to Licata, where they had purchased five-hundred gallons of diesel at four times the normal price. The captain had at first refused to pay such an exorbitant price, but O’Bannon produced a large wad of cash from his jacket pocket and gave it to the captain. Seeing Johan’s astonished expression, he had explained, “The Vatican bursar always keeps large sums of money in the safe for such emergencies. I took five thousand U.S. dollars for our journey. This is the last of it.”
From Licata, they continued to Gela, where they had finally topped off the 30,000-gallon fuel tanks. These tasks took another full day and a half. Though Malta lay only 300 kilometers away, the captain would not continue without full tanks. Once he had delivered his human cargo to Malta, he and the Doria’s crew would remain at sea, where they hoped to avoid contact with Kaiju or their attendant host of alien creatures. At Gela, two families left them, hoping to find relatives in Sicily. Johan wished them luck and prayed for them.
On the morning of their fifth day at sea, while drinking coffee with Peter O’Bannon on the flying bridge, Johan finally spotted the coast of Gozo, Malta’s northern island. A sense of relief washed over him, tempered by a deep sadness that he had abandoned the Vatican, his home for four years. Its loss would haunt him all his life. So much was lost, not just in irreplaceable treasures or the vaunted Vatican archives, but as a symbol of the Catholic Church; two millennia of tradition destroyed by an alien creature. Upon his shoulders rested the responsibility of rebuilding. He hoped to make it a better church.
He studied the craggy coast of Gozo. “Upon this rock, I will build my church.” He found new meaning in the pronouncement of Jesus to Peter.
O’Bannon overheard him, amused. “Better it than me. The original inhabitants built a megalithic structure on Gozo a few thousand years ago, Ggantija Temple. You will have to visit it someday.”
O’Bannon knew of Johan’s love of ancient buildings. It was why the loss of Rome struck him so hard. “Have you been there?”
“Yes. I spent an entire day exploring the countryside around the temple. Very beautiful.”
Johan spotted a gunmetal gray ship approaching from the strait between Gozo and Commotto Island. Machineguns bristled from her foredeck and amidships. “Who is that?”
“That is an Armed Forces of Malta Protector-Class patrol boat. The AFM patrol the territorial waters. They have intercepted many refugee boats and rafts from Africa, mostly bound for Italy. I assume they are very active nowadays.”
By O’Bannon’s dark tone, Johan assumed the AFM had repatriated anyone they intercepted, or worse. The patrol boat veered in their direction and increased speed, throwing up a plume of water behind it. “Will they stop us?” Johan wanted no more delays. During the passage, he had learned he did not like ships. The weather had been mild and the seas calm, but the constant rolling motion took its toll on him. He was eager to plant his feet on firm ground.
“No, we fly the Papal flag. They are merely curious.” Even as he spoke, the patrol boat made a lazy turn and headed out to sea. “However, assuredly they will search the ship at Valletta. Our passengers might have a difficult time seeking asylum, as would any refugees these days. Malta is a small island.”
“We will give them sanctuary in the church if necessary.”
“It may become so. The people of Malta have long memories. German and Italian aircraft bombed the island daily during WWII. Many people died. Italian refugees will not be welcomed with open arms.” He looked at Johan. “Some might resent even a Pope.”
“It was a dark time in our country’s history. I will address the problem as quickly as possible. Besides,” he added with a smile, “I will remind them I am Dutch.”
“Malta barely supports herself. They import much of their food and water. Perhaps you could direct some of the Church’s resources here. It might smooth the way.”
Johan smiled at O’Bannon’s candor. The Church had lost much, but its resources spanned the globe. “You still love this island, don’t you, Peter? Very well, your task will be to divert what funds you deem appropriate to the Church in Malta and to whatever Maltese organizations you think best serve the people.” He wagged a finger at O’Bannon. “Keep in mind there are millions of people suffering throughout the world.”
As practical as ever, O’Bannon replied, “We must start somewhere.”
“Agreed.” Johan set his coffee cup on a table. “I must go comfort the children. I can offer them so little else but comfort.”
O’Bannon reached into his pocket and withdrew a small brown paper bag. The bag was crinkled and worn through much handling. He clutched it by the twisted top. “These sweet treats might help.”
Johan arched an eyebrow. “Is that your much-hoarded stash of peppermints, Peter?”
“Alas, I must give them up sometime. Now, seems appropriate.” He offered the bag to Johan.
“God will bless you for this gesture.”
“Perhaps he already has. He has sent me back to an island I love.”
“Malta. May it persevere as it has through all other invasions.”
A scowl creased O’Bannon’s face. “This is not Napoleon, the Spanish, or Hitler’s Nazis. They were merely evil tyrants bent on conquest. The Nazir are godless alien monsters who wish to wipe us from the face of the Earth.”
Hearing the vehemence and hatred in O’Bannon’s voice, Johan searched his own soul. He did not know if the Nazir were godless, as O’Bannon asserted. Men proclaiming God’s name had spread much death and destruction in the past. God took no sides, but one could take God’s side. God had a plan, he was certain. He only wished he were wise enough to understand it.
21
August 23, Atlanta, GA –
LaBonner languished in a hospital bed for eight days, this time the medical center at Dobbins. It was not by choice. The battle with the Spiders had torn open his stitches, and the gash from the Spider mandible had become infected. Colonel Eckhart had insisted he tend to his wounds before joining any fire teams and brooked no argument otherwise. LaBonner didn’t mind the confinement as much as he thought he would. His anger at the aliens and his guilt over surviving when his team didn’t had driven him to push himself beyond his limits in the fight with the Spiders, and his body had rebelled. Now, every ache, each sharp spasm of pain reminded him that he was only human. If he continued pressing, his body would fail, and more people depending on him would die. He could not always avoid making bad decisions or becoming mired in untenable situations, but he could eliminate his physical weakness as a liability to others.
Therefore, he rested and healed, reluctantly but quiescently. He ate the food the attendant brought to him without complaint, he swallowed the pills the nurse handed him without argument, and he willingly submitted to the battery of tests the doctor requested. He became the model patient. The infection abated, and his wounds slowly healed. He felt he was fit. He was eager for the doctor to discharge him.
On his eighth day in the hospital, his physician dropped by. When he pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, LaBonner knew this time something was different. He hoped he was getting his walking papers.
“You received an unhealthy dose of radiation in Paris, but not a fatal one,” the doctor said.
The doctor delivered the test results without emotion, but LaBonner listened as a fog slowly enveloped his mind. He watched the man’s mouth as he spoke, noting the thin, almost bloodless lips and the equally thin mustache not quite touching the upper lip. He stared at the lips, trying to read them to determine if the spoken words matched the lip movements. The words made no sense to him. He wondered if his mind was conjuring what he wanted to hear.
“I … I don’t understand,” he stammered.
“Monitoring of the blast area in Paris indicated radiation levels at half a mile radius fro
m the blast zone ranged between 400 and 600 millisieverts. Tests suggest you received a higher initial dosage, perhaps 1,000 m/Sv. Without a blood sample from your initial hospital stay, I’m guessing. At your age, and with the proper anti-radiation regime, such as DBIBB, a lysophosphatidic acid, your chance of dying from a radiation-induced cancer is less than 5%.”
LaBonner stared at the doctor in disbelief. “But the burns, my aching muscles, the migraines, my … my mind.” He could feel the radiation worming its way through his body, like a parasite leeching away his life. The doctor was wrong. He knew it.
“The burns are from the heat flash and consist mostly of minor first-degree and some second-degree partial-thickness burns. Your skin will heal with some minor scarring. The wounds in your side and your chest are healing nicely, as is your infection. As to your aching muscles – my God, man, they found you in a collapsed church. Of course you would be sore.” He hesitated before continuing. LaBonner read more in the man’s shifting eyes than in his words. “As to your mind, what human could endure what you have and not come away confused? Perhaps some counseling might help, but I found no organic causes for your anxiety.”
Could the doctor be right? If he were … “I thought … I knew …”
“You were lucky, Captain. The ancient brick of the church might have shielded you from the blast.” He shrugged bony shoulders. “Maybe it just wasn’t your day to die. I’ll get you started on the anti-radiance drugs today.” He rose and loomed over LaBonner. “I’ll release you later today if you promise to remain in your barracks and continue to mend. We need the rooms for the severely injured.”
After the doctor left, LaBonner tried to piece his world back together, but the pieces did not quite mesh. He wasn’t dying. It took a while to digest that information. He had been so certain. He had given up on life, had tried to throw it away in the battle with the Spiders. Now, his world was in disarray. It meant he could get back into the fight. He had to get back in the fight. While he lay on his back in bed, the men and women of the 69th Armor and 29th Infantry from Ft. Benning had hunted down and eliminated the remaining Spiders and Wasps. Atlanta was safe for the moment, but the rest of the world was not. Twenty more pods had arrived, four in the U.S. The battle must continue. Quitting was not an option.
The doctor was true to his word and released LaBonner later that afternoon. However, LaBonner did not complete his part of the bargain. He had no time to rest. Given his new lease on life by his doctor, he no longer desired a quick death. As long as he had any fight left in him, he would expend his remaining energy against the Nazir.
When he met with Colonel Eckhart, the colonel looked haggard and older. LaBonner suspected things weren’t going as well as the official news reports indicated. He eyed LaBonner standing across from him trying to look the picture of perfect health.
“I suppose you want to get back in the fight, Captain.”
“Yes, sir. It’s been a week. The doc says I can.”
Eckhart didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a deep sigh and sagged back into his chair. To LaBonner, it looked as if he deflated, leaving skin and a uniform. “Well, we can use you. I guess you know about the recent incursion.”
“Yes, sir, at least what the news channels report, which is pretty skimpy, but it looks bad.”
Eckhart nodded. “The aliens caught us flatfooted. Because of the pod that landed here, we assumed the next twenty would be similar, just larger. We deployed our forces around the world accordingly. Three pods landed in Canada, two in Australia, one in India, three in northern Africa, and two in the Middle East. Russia nuked two of the three pods in its territory – one in the city of Perm, just west of the Ural Mountains, and another in Khabarovsk at the edge of China’s northeastern border. The third landed near Petersburg. Instead of only Spiders and Wasps, the pods contained two giant Kaiju, as well as hundreds of Spiders and Wasps. They swept through the city within hours, killing tens of thousands.
“China fired several land-based Dong Feng-11 short-range ballistic missiles at the pod in Xi’an, simultaneously vaporizing it and the tomb of China’s first emperor, Qin Shi Huang, and his terracotta army. A second pod landed just outside Beijing. One of the missiles destined to destroy it went astray, landing in the heart of the city, killing an estimated 11 million people. Alarmed by Russia and China’s indiscriminate launches, the nuclear member nations of the United Nations have readied their nuclear arsenals. Son, the world’s going bat-shit crazy.”
The news was dire, but LaBonner’s concern was the U.S. “What about the four that landed here? The news is kind of sketchy.”
Eckhart grimaced. “That’s because almost everybody in the vicinity of a pod landing is dead, and any forces we send in to stop the Kaiju are quickly destroyed. The four pods landed along a roughly north-south line in the center of the country, from the Texas Gulf to Iowa. One pod crashed eight blocks from the center of Sioux City, Iowa, instantly vaporizing the city and killing 85,000 people. Hundreds of Spiders and Wasps spilled from the pod almost immediately after impact, spreading across the countryside. Thank the Almighty the President decided against using nuclear weapons. Nukes would have been ineffective anyway and would have irradiated thousands of acres of valuable cropland for decades. Troops moved in to surround them to prevent the Spiders from dispersing further. The cornfields of Iowa are now a hot battle zone.
“Something is different about this attack. The two Kaiju from each remained on station beside the pod. They haven’t moved. We don’t know why, but you can bet your ass it isn’t good.”
LaBonner now understood Eckhart’s haggard appearance. If the Nazir had changed their tactics, the military would be playing catch up, as they had in Atlanta.
“A fleet of B1 bombers saturated the entire area around Sioux City with 1,000-pound CBU-89/B bombs, dispersing thousands of antitank and antipersonnel mines using the GATOR mine deployment system. The mines will remain active for forty days before their batteries deplete. If we haven’t stopped the Spiders by then, it won’t matter. They will spread across the country like a plague of locusts.
“A second pod crashed halfway between Topeka and Kansas City, Kansas. We fought a bitter battle to bottle up the alien creatures while authorities evacuated the cities, but hundreds broke through the lines and destroyed large sections of Kansas City. We’re in the process of pulling back and regrouping. A third pod struck just outside Norman, Oklahoma, and overwhelmed the National Guard defenders in less than an hour. We haven’t heard from the area commander in four hours.”
The colonel let that bit of bad news hang there a moment before continuing, “The fourth pod landed in Texas City, Texas, just outside Houston. Because of Houston’s prominence as a port city and the vital refineries, the President ordered a significant portion of available forces deployed to the area. The lines are still holding, allowing Houston time to evacuate, but Spiders are ravaging towns and communities along the coast from Port Lavaca to Port Arthur. Troops deployed on the I-45 bridge across Galveston Bay into Galveston prevent Spiders from overrunning the city, but bays and lakes don’t stop Wasps. The death toll in the city of 50,000 has risen to 12,000, almost as many as were killed during the devastating 1900 hurricane.”
The colonel’s report stunned LaBonner. 24-hour news channels, unable to enter the affected areas, relied on official reports and detailed a valiant effort to stem the alien tide. Uploaded cell phone videos hinted at a darker outcome, but even they fell short of the full scope of the disaster.
“Are we going to win?” The words slipped out unbidden. He had not wanted to voice his personal doubts.
Eckhart shook his head. “I don’t know. If we can’t beat them by conventional means, the President will consider a nuclear option.”
“I want to be there, sir, with a Kaiju Killer team.”
Eckhart nodded. “Assuredly, Captain. We have no experienced personnel available. You’ll have to train them on the job.”
“Is Corporal Vance still here?�
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Colonel Eckhart nodded. “He is. I promoted Vance to sergeant. Take him. Take what supplies you need. Get the job done, Captain.”
LaBonner saluted. “Yes, sir.”
As he left, LaBonner knew he had no time to spare. He found Vance in the barracks, along with half a dozen other men he did not know. Vance smiled when he saw LaBonner enter.
“I thought you had decided to stay.”
“The chow sucked. We’ve got a mission.”
Vance clapped his hands. “About damned time! I’ve been sitting here on my ass waiting for someone to do something.”
“Get everyone armed, equipped, and loaded on the transport in thirty minutes. We’re going to Louisiana.”
Twenty-eight minutes later, Vance herded the squad onto a C-135 bound for Lafayette, Louisiana, where the army had established a Forward Operating Base to deal with the Texas City threat. 6,000 troops, 200 tanks and armored vehicles, 300 pieces or artillery, and 125 helicopters poised for an all-out offensive against the Kaiju.
When the C-135 landed at its destination and opened its rear hatch, the familiar bayou air hit him in the face like a wet homecoming kiss. LaBonner hadn’t been home in four years, but it was as if he had never left. All the memories of his childhood came flooding back. A drizzle of rain fell as he marched down the ramp, and layers of gray clouds laden with moisture heralded the approach of Tropical Storm Deidre working its way up the Gulf of Mexico. If they did not move fast, weather would ground the aircraft and helicopters, leaving the troops in the field without air support.