by Lundy, W. J.
Jumping ahead with his hands up, Rogers announced, “Calm down, Buck, it’s just us.”
The silver-haired man relaxed, falling exhausted against the building, taking deep breaths while holding a hand over his heart and wiping sweat off his forehead with the other. “Dang, guys, I nearly killed all of ya. Ya can’t go sneaking up on me like that.”
“Wasn’t much sneaking up. What the hell are you doing sleeping out here in the open, you old fool?” Rogers said.
The old man fanned his face with the hat. “Shoot, ain’t nothing going on up here.”
“You don’t know about the attack, do you?” Rogers asked.
“What, on the fences? That’s old news—”
“No, you old fool, the bomb drop. They bombed the base, blew it to hell.”
Buck’s arms went slack as his eyes focused on Rogers. “You mean,” —he stopped and shook his head— “No… I heard an explosion last night; hell, it shook the cabin. But… no, that was just the zoomies on a run… it couldn’t have come from that far away. Would have to be a nuke to feel a bomb’s blast from that far away.”
“Buck, something hit us. The globes—or whatever they are—they dropped something on the base. Something big.” Rogers paused to look back at Jacob. “We barely escaped the blasts ourselves.”
“No, that can’t be,” Buck said, moving back to the chair and dropping into the seat. He reached forward, searched between the bits of stacked wood, and retrieved a corked bottle. He removed the cap and took a long sip. “How bad was it?”
“We didn’t go back to see,” Rogers said. Changing the subject, he pointed at the helicopter. “Is it ready to go?”
Buck rolled his shoulders and focused his eyes on the single Blackhawk. “It’s topped off if you need to go for a spin, but… the other birds haven’t returned. I don’t have a left-seater, and no gunships. They recalled the chinook back to the base for maintenance yesterday… guess you explained why they haven’t—”
Cutting him off, James stepped away from the porch and looked up the trail in the direction of the hilltop. “We need to keep moving if we want to get back before sundown.”
Rogers nodded in agreement and turned back to Buck. “Get sobered up; we’re patrolling up to the ridge. I need to check out the arms cache. Oh, and we saw fire in the village on the way in. You know anything about it?”
Buck shook his head no, removing his hat and dragging an arm over his forehead.
“Well, I want to know why it’s burning.”
“Well, hell, I’m sober now; maybe I’ll tag along and have a look myself.”
“Buck, I don’t have time to argue with you. Get the bird ready to go, okay?”
Buck pulled his head back and nodded. “Can do.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The trip to the top of the hill went without incident. They found the tower and cave entrance unguarded and unoccupied. Partially concealed by tall grass, the cave doors were sealed tight by steel bars going deep into the rock, broad hinges welded to the plate steel, and a cipher lock dead center. The cave wasn’t well hidden; most of the structure protruded from the rock at the base of the hill, and fresh earth had been piled at the sides where it met with roughly poured concrete. Jacob walked past the doors and saw a large stack of discarded steel shelving, as well as other equipment cabinets.
“What is this place?” Jacob said.
Rogers stepped to the cipher lock and opened a plastic cover, revealing the face of the keys. “Used to be a maintenance locker for the radio and the phone company's use. They kept their computers and cell stuff in here. Some of it still is here. When the Army took ownership, they gutted most of the old, unusable stuff and reclaimed the floor space. There’s a generator in the back, and most of the batteries are still good.”
Jacob looked at the entrance; he could see the welds were new. He pounded on the door, feeling the heavy plates thump without an echo. “Why so much security up here, out of the way?”
James skirted past them with Duke at his side, stopping near a large boulder and dropping to his rear. “The bean counters at the base insisted on it; guess they were worried if the militias knew about this cache, they might try and grab some. We have people defecting from the units every day, so secrets are hard to keep,” James said. He turned and looked at Rogers. “How we gonna get inside?”
Jacob stopped and glanced back at the lock. “You don’t know the combination?” he asked incredulously.
Rogers sighed and dropped the plastic cover, letting it fall over the key pad. “Only officers had it. Marks had it, but…” Rogers paused and shoved a hand into his pocket before looking back at the worried face of Jacob, “now I have it.”
They grew quiet, remembering their fallen commander. A gunshot echoed from over the hill. Rogers’ head lifted as he looked toward the summit. He stepped around the cave’s bunker-like door and climbed up the steep face to the top of the hill. Pausing at the top, he crouched low so that he wouldn’t skyline himself against the sun. He turned and looked out along the far side. He crept ahead, focusing on something far in the distance, and then moved away. Jacob scrambled up behind him.
A cool breeze hit him in the face. He looked down into a long, green valley covered in thin trees. At the end of the valley, Jacob could barely make out the shapes of homes and other structures. Focusing on the center and far side of the village, he spotted a thin stream of black smoke.
“That the same village we passed on our way here?” Jacob asked, although knowing the answer.
Before Rogers could reply, they heard more sounds of gunfire—not just random shots, but open combat, automatic weapons fire joined by the thumps of distant explosions. Duke edged past them and stretched forward, his tail tucked and ears going ridged. He let out a subtle whine as James lifted his rifle and used the scope to look into the distance.
Joining the sounds of combat, an unfamiliar metallic clang echoed—like the smashing of metal drums—followed by a high-pitched voomp, voomp, voomp. Finally, a bright flash of light and a deafening explosion caused the ground to shudder. There was no shockwave, but the men could feel the heat of the light on their faces. The gunfire slowly diminished, and more smoke filled the distant skyline.
The village was in flames now, the black smoke being defused by a thicker cloud of gray that hung heavy on the ground, obscuring their view of the village.
Backing away, James shook his head side to side. He lowered his rifle. “That didn’t sound like… like any weapon… anything I know.”
“Maybe a plane crash?” Jacob suggested.
“No,” Rogers said. “Don’t be stupid, you know what that was. They’re under attack.”
Waving for the others to follow, he moved back down the hill away from the smoke before stopping at the bunker door.
“They had a light garrison in that village, just enough to keep the Deltas away.” Rogers lifted the plastic cover and keyed in the door’s code. He moved his hand to the latch and pushed down, releasing the lock. The door swung out with a screech of metal on metal.
Jacob descended the hill and looked into the cavern. Shaped like the back of a semi-truck trailer, the space was no more than twelve feet wide but led into the rock farther than Jacob could see.
“Whatever just happened down there, that wasn’t Deltas,” James said.
Green weapons racks lined the walls and were filled with all sorts of small arms. Deeper in the corridor, beyond the racks, sat stacked cardboard boxes, lockers, and wooden crates painted in olive drab. Rogers hit a switch on the wall and paused as lights slowly flickered to life down the length of the bunker’s ceiling. The farthest light revealed a small workstation on the back wall. Rogers didn’t wait for the others and stomped directly to it. He tugged at a metal lock box and removed a ring filled with keys.
Rogers’ normally calm demeanor was gone, and he now moved with a rigid purpose. He spun around and put the key to a lock on the nearest crate. He flipped open the lid and reache
d inside, removing a three-foot-long green cylinder. Rogers passed the first to Jacob then took a second in his hand before walking to the weapons racks. “What do you think, James? The M82?”
James moved in behind them and shrugged. “Yeah, that ought to do it.”
“Wait,” Jacob said. “What the hell is going on?”
Rogers ignored the question and opened a long, metal box, removing a large canvas bag. He turned and pointed at James. “Make sure it’s good to go, no time to waste.” The big man then turned back to Jacob and snatched the tube from his hands. He pulled at the side and adjusted the shoulder strap before handing it back. “This is an anti-tank rocket, AT4. Make sure you hold on to it.”
Jacob put his hands up, refusing the rocket. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
“We’re going down to the village; we need to take a look.”
Jacob shook his head. “With all of this,” he said, pointing to the rocket. “Looks like more than taking a look.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Jacob. If we get the opportunity, I’ll kill whatever made that sound.”
“Shouldn’t we go back and warn the others first? Why not just leave?”
“I’ll call on the field phone and let them know we won’t be home for dinner. As of now though, what would we warn them about? We don’t know what’s going on.” He paused and shook his head, looking down at the ground before turning back. “I know running seems like the smart bet, but… Hell, just strap this to your pack; we’re not leaving without answers,” Rogers said, pushing the rocket into Jacob’s chest. He then moved to the rear of the bunker, where he grabbed a green telephone handset from a cradle.
Jacob held the rocket loosely in front of him, watching as James lifted the heavy canvas bag to his back and adjusted shoulder straps, Duke waiting patiently at his heels. “Let’s go,” he said, winking at Jacob as he moved away and exited the space.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Dropping down the sloping walls of the valley, the acrid odor of the smoke grew stronger. The sun fell into the clouds, and the temperatures dropped. Rogers moved them cautiously, avoiding open spaces, leading them through thick grass, and copses of tall trees. The terrain became marshy and sponge-like. Even in the cold air, Jacob felt himself sweating, the pools of moisture forming at the back of his neck and running down his back beneath the small pack he was covered by.
The ground was wet here; he felt it squish under his boots with every step. Jacob took a short leap over standing water and felt his boot sink into the mud. He pulled it out, fighting the suction, and whispered, “Isn’t there a better route?”
James looked back at him and grinned. “This is good; it’ll make it hard for vehicles to maneuver against us.”
“What vehicles?”
Rogers shot up a flat hand and crouched low in the grass. He looked back at the other two with wide eyes and put a finger to his ear. Duke’s ears were pointed, the dog’s lip quivering, letting the others know that he’d heard it too.
A low vibration, subtle like a subwoofer lying face down in shag carpet, was just enough to be picked up if they held their breath. Jacob found his own spot in the grass and dropped low, holding his rifle to his chest. He sat listening, feeling the moisture from the ground seep into his clothing. The rumble grew louder. Duke’s posture became rigid, causing James to instinctively put an arm out for the dog and pull him close.
“Vehicles?” Jacob said.
“No, can’t be. They’d get bogged down in the mud here,” James whispered back.
With the thumping sound, the grass began to sway, slightly at first, then faster and more rhythmically. Rogers gazed back again, his eyes wide. He pointed two fingers at himself, and then stuck an index finger to the center of the valley, away from them on the opposite side just before the ground sloped up. Jacob pivoted then rose up on his knees to see. The rumble tickled at his ear drums, the vibration making the hair on the back of his neck buzz. Straining against the fading light, he saw them.
A column of… he didn’t know what to call them. They were shoebox shaped and void of any solid color. The sides of the vehicles gave the impression of liquid metal that bent light and reflected the ground they traveled on. There were three in total, each identical, smoothly moving in a straight line, not hindered by the rough terrain. Behind the vehicles, a parade of Deltas followed in two disciplined columns. No longer armed, the black-eyed monsters marched standing straight up, evenly spaced apart.
“So that’s how they do it,” James whispered. “Hovercraft.”
The vehicles appeared to float over the surface, the ground at the edges of the vehicles blowing outward with the beat of the rumbling subwoofer. Using a type of air displacement rather than conventional fans, they moved closer to the team on a course that would intersect with the small patrol.
From the top of the lead vehicle Jacob could clearly make out the body of an elongated man. The torso of the creature was long and narrow and wrapped in fabric that resembled blued steel. Its shoulders were padded in red, ridged material, and the head covered in a helmet matching the shoulder pads. The creature was facing forward, its head swiveling from side to side.
Jacob, now fighting back fear, consciously struggled to control his shaking hands. He turned to look at James for an answer, surprised to see his friend hunched over the now unzipped canvas bag. Inside was a large scoped rifle. James went to work, quickly deploying the bipod and readying the scope while Rogers pushed rounds into a box magazine.
“What are you doing?” Jacob whispered, his voice breaking.
“Get the rocket off your back. The instructions are on the side; get familiar with them,” Rogers answered in a tone letting Jacob know that now wasn’t a time to hesitate.
James finished with the rifle and plucked the magazine from Rogers. Locking it in place, he put the stock in the ground, balancing the rifle while he dropped his pack and settled the bi-pod into it. Dropping low in a prone position, he tried to focus through the blowing grass.
“This won’t be an easy shot, boss,” he whispered, trying to hold the weight of the rifle as he racked a round into the chamber. Duke nudged close to him and rested by James’ side.
Rogers prepared his own AT4 for firing. “The one in the hatch is yours, James. Jacob, you have the middle vehicle. I’ll take the trail vehicle and block them in,” he said. “Shoot and scoot, easy money, that’s all I’m asking. Anything we don’t kill, James, you finish.”
Rogers shifted away farther to the right then looked back at Jacob, who was looking down at the tube in his hands. “You having a problem?”
“What if the rockets don’t work against them?”
“Only one way to find that out,” Rogers said with a sly grin. “Just aim for the front of the vehicle; let the warhead do the worrying.”
Jacob rested on his knees, his mind lulling behind in the action. He held the green tube in his hands, looking at the instructions but not comprehending any of it, the impending fight clouding and shocking his thoughts at the same time. Rogers crawled back beside him, moving behind James, who was already locked onto the creature exposed in the lead vehicle. Rogers handed Jacob the rocket he’d already prepped. Rogers put the rocket to Jacob’s shoulder and pointed at the sight. “Too easy—look through the peep sight and squeeze this.”
Jacob looked the weapon over and nodded, taking the full weight of the rocket in his hands while Rogers readied the next.
“I’m ready when you are,” James whispered in their direction.
Rogers reached his left hand out and put up a thumb up to Jacob. “You start us off, Jake. Just give it a solid squeeze and hold steady; we’re only a couple hundred yards out and they’re at a crawl. Too easy.”
Jacob held the tube on his right shoulder, steadying the AT4 with his left hand while his right thumb rested lightly on the trigger. He looked through the small peephole sight. The shoebox seemed to glow a phosphorous green, the shades of light shifting in browns and yello
ws as it moved over the uneven ground and vegetation. Focusing through the peep sight, he could now make out more detail within the active camouflage—the edges and contoured lines of the vehicle, hatches, and exhaust ports. The grass moved with the beat of whatever kept the vehicles in the air.
“Any time now,” Rogers whispered.
Jacob swallowed hard and put the sight just to the front edge of the vehicle; he squeezed the safety and pushed the trigger. The blast of the rocket shattered his ears. He looked away just as he saw the shoebox erupt into flames. Rogers fired next to him, and James released a salvo from the heavy rifle in steady beats.
The large rifle roared, pushing grass away in the wake of every round. Jacob saw Rogers flip his expended rocket tube forward into the grass and raise up his rifle. Jacob shook off the shock and did the same. Looking through the sights of the M14, he could see the vehicles were different now. Burning hulks of dark brown, the luminescence died with whatever made it. Both vehicles hit by rockets were engulfed in flames. The alien convoy never had a chance.
The air was still, the rumbling vibrations now gone. The second vehicle was sitting idle, the mirrored image of the terrain flickering on its sides as James pumped armor-piercing rounds into it. The creature once exposed in the hatch was nearly gone, only a portion of its decapitated body still partially visible. Panning to the left he saw the Deltas still standing in their disciplined formation seemingly unaffected by the violence.
James fired the last round and quickly packaged the M82, shouting “up” as he finished to let Rogers know he was ready to move.
Rogers turned and pulled Jacob to his feet saying, “Let’s move. We need to get clear of here.” Jacob stumbled up and lunged forward. He looked back over his shoulder to the burning vehicles, the billowing smoke filling the sky.