Wrath of the Carnelians (Europa)

by Jason Gehlert

  “Hold on,” Kaspar said. His thoughts were racing like a pack of NASCAR drivers. “Are you near the landing gear?”

  “I don’t know,” Bud said, spitting up a steady stream of blood. “I’ll check the board.” Bud attempted to free himself from underneath the metal debris. After a furious fight with pure adrenaline, he had finally freed his pinned legs from the debris. The cockpit pivoted and slid further off the ledge.

  “Stay still!” Kaspar yelled. “What I need for you to do is activate the landing gear.”

  “I really don’t think it will work with half of the glider missing,” Bud shouted back while he frantically attempted to locate the landing gear’s mechanism.

  “Trust me,” Kaspar ordered, “the cockpit has a secondary safety measure, on separation from the glider. A virtual safety net will activate to prevent further damage.”

  “I’m not getting out of here alive, am I?” Bud inquired. He eventually found the landing gear’s green thermal palm keypad.

  “Did you find it?”

  “Yeah, but it’s a palm keypad,” Bud said.

  “Oh shit, only Adrian and the pilot have access to that.”

  “And who was the pilot of the ship?” Bud asked, before realizing the answer.

  “Page!” Both men cried together as they looked up at the Captain.

  “He’s our only chance for your survival,” Kaspar said. “He’s the only one that can activate the keypad.”

  “We don’t have enough time,” Bud reached around for his belt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll smash the control board and the scanner,” Bud reacted out of desperation. “That ought do the trick.”

  “Page,” Kaspar called, holding the walkie-talkie firm in his hand. “Page, are you there? Do you copy?”

  Kaspar could hear Page’s voice crackling over the poor reception.

  “What I need from you is your thumb print,” Kaspar echoed. “And, when I mean I need your thumb print,” Kaspar paused. He had hoped this would as far as the conversation would lead, leaving the Captain to figure out the rest of the plan.

  After a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, Page’s voice snapped over the device. “You want me to cut off my thumb, in order to save my best friend?”

  “We could argue that point, yes,” Kaspar added the extra encouragement. “I prefer to have Stephens correctly initiate the cockpit’s ejection sequence the right way, rather than smashing it to hell with the butt of his gun.”

  “I don’t know about this,” Page stalled for time. “Would you do it for your team?”

  “Am I not the one who just leapt from seventy feet in the air to save a guy I don’t know?”

  “True,” Page stammered. “Okay, hold on. I’ll do it, and then I’m gonna wrap it up in my shirt and toss it down to you.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a real solid plan,” Bud echoed from inside the cockpit.

  “It’s our only shot at saving you,” Kaspar added while he pivoted, facing the top of the cliff. The draining sun descended over the idle horizon leaving a faint pinkish hue in its wake.

  Captain Page withdrew his small hunting knife from his belt and brought it forward to his right hand. “Kaspar?” He addressed the Commander.

  “Yeah?”

  “Does it matter which thumb I’m going to lop off?” Page looked down at the sharpened, serrated knife.

  “No. Just hurry up, the glider’s cockpit is in danger of falling off the ledge,” Kaspar urgently pressured the Captain into making a decision.

  “I’m preferential to my left thumb,” Page said, “I don’t think I can do this.” His left hand trembled, violently shaking the knife. Page brought the knife up to his sleeve [right above the shoulder] and cut out a large patch of clothing. Sweating, and his testicles tightening up, Page inserted the knife right below bone of his right thumb, drawing blood from the razor’s edge. His thumb felt dizzy as the knife cut through the skin, spilling blood down the blade, twisting its path down his right wrist.

  Kaspar’s ears throbbed from the Captain’s insane screaming through the walkie-talkie.

  A short burst of heavy breathing emanated from the communication device.

  Those cunning eyes of the Commander watched religiously as the Captain dropped the severed thumb from atop the cliff. Stretching out his grimy hands, Kaspar caught the bloodied patch of clothing, and immediately unwrapped the fabric, exposing the thumb. Page had cleanly cut through the digit, leaving behind a small fragment of bone underneath the thumb’s base.

  Bud’s eyes widened, unable to process what the Captain had done. “Did he actually cut off his thumb to save my life?”

  “Yeah, heroic don’t you think?” Kaspar tossed Bud the thumb. “Use it on the keypad and it will activate the landing balloon.”

  “Balloon?” Bud repeated.

  “This glider’s cockpit is equipped with a safety device that allows the cockpit to land safely if it becomes detached from the glider’s chassis.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Activate the balloon, which is made out of titanium alloys, allowing for ultimate flexibility and strength.”

  “Like Batman’s body armor?” Bud ran the thumb over the keypad. Within seconds, the keypad lit up in a variety of colors and the cracked windshield became the computer screen.

  “Look for landing gear on the far-right hand corner,” Kaspar instructed Bud to follow his orders.

  “Yeah, I found it.”

  “Can you reach the windshield?” Kaspar asked.

  “It’s gonna leave a mark, but I think I can do this,” Bud said, squirming about underneath the debris. Reaching out his left hand he grazed over the landing gear button, activating the process.

  “How’s he doing?” Page’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie.

  “He’s about to activate the landing gear,” Kaspar voiced back trying to pay close attention to Bud’s situation. “How are you doing up there?”

  “It’s throbbing, and it’s really hard trying to hold the walkie-talkie without a thumb.”

  “So, hold it in the other hand,” Kaspar added, shaking his head.

  Bud’s hand finally pressed against the cracked screen, expanding the landing gear, revealing an inverted umbrella underneath the cockpit. Bud’s balance was mysteriously thrown off, rocking the glider’s cockpit on the perilous ledge.

  “Okay,” Kaspar said with concern, “you’re going to need to climb out of the cockpit and jump down to the umbrella’s safety net.”

  “Is that all?” Bud mocked him. “You’re standing safely on the ledge, and my ass is stuck inside this scrap heap.”

  “It’s all in your head Marine,” Kaspar attempted a different approach.

  “I’m in my friggin’ sixties,” Bud continued to complain, “and you really think I can make that jump?” Bud stared out of the window. “It’s gotta be thirty or more feet to the water.”

  “And, if you don’t jump now, you’re going to careen into the water, and it won’t be a pretty sight Marine.” Kaspar throttled the situation. “And anyway, the sixty is the new forty,” he chummed up to Bud.

  “My bones tell me otherwise.”

  “Listen to me, Marine,” Kaspar said, “once you jump, you’ll slide off and land safely in the water below.”

  “And what about the careening cockpit hurtling at me after I jump?”

  “Just think of it as an occupational hazard,” Kaspar said with a quick grin. “Just get out of the way.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want Black to win Marine?” Kaspar’s voice dropped to a firm, steady tone. “‘Cause that’s what will happen if you give up.”

  “I can’t let that bastard win,” Bud growled, “he has my family.” Bud’s willpower returned, and he sifted his way through the debris and climbed on top of the damaged control board. He reached around and withdrew his gun and aimed at the fractured glass. “He has my family,” Bud replied, letting the t
rigger retract, sending the spiraling bullet through the windshield. The impact exploded the tinted glass all over the cockpit and the jungle.

  “That’s it, now jump.” Kaspar watched as Bud leaned forward. “I’ll be down by the river’s edge to get you Marine.” Kaspar latched himself to the rope and began the shimmy back down to the water’s fringe.

  “All or nothing,” Bud talked himself up, thrusting his feet at the remaining piece of glass, launching himself through the hole. His feet landed awkwardly on the umbrella and sent him rolling along the umbrella. Bud managed to steer himself clear and slid off the end of the umbrella and hurtled down to the water below. After his heroic launch from the landing umbrella, the entire cockpit fell from the ledge and plummeted towards the water below, screaming through the air, heading right for Bud’s descending body. “Oh man,” he said while he looked back at the mammoth piece of metal. “This is gonna hurt.” He brought his knees tight to his face, preparing for the cannonball into the tormenting river below.

  Perrine Malnoir

  The treacherous, winding path left Lieutenant Matthew Shaw thirsting for water, and for a fresh inhalation of air. Gillian, not too far behind, had also fantasized about a quick fifteen minute breather. Shaw’s abrupt plan had seemed to crash Black’s party, but for how long? Shaw’s expertise with explosives would soon run dry inside these dark caves. And where could they go? The alien landscape was just that to the two heroes: alien.

  “We need a breather Matt,” Gillian insisted Shaw stop for a minute. She had never called him by his first name, so Shaw immediately slowed down his brisk walk.

  “You called by my first name,” he chided back, “it’s a bit awkward, almost like being scolded by my mother.”

  “I need a rest,” Gillian said, “I think we’re safe for now.”

  “Never count out that stubborn son-of-a-bitch,” Shaw said referring to Black’s wily nature.

  “In any case,” Gillian replied, sitting down on a rock, “my friggin’ feet are killing me.”

  “Well, I told you that high heels and a space suit don’t mix,” Shaw prodded her with his dry sarcasm.

  “Yeah, okay,” Gillian rebuked, “like you are the king of fashion.”

  “I have my moments.” Shaw looked around the cave, noticing the candles flickering inside a brisk breeze.

  “You can say that again,” she muttered, picking small pebbles and stones from the soles of her feet.

  “There has to be a way out of here somewhere.” Shaw couldn’t find any trace of an escape route.

  “We’ll find it, don’t sweat the small stuff,” said Gillian.

  “Yeah, don’t sweat the small stuff,” a foreign voice echoed from the other side of the cave.

  “Who’s there?” Shaw twirled around staring at the dark mouth of the cave.

  Emerging from the shadows, a French woman, well in her late thirties, with short black hair, and a slim frame, confronted Shaw and Gillian.

  “And, who are you?” Shaw addressed the woman.

  Her pack of hunter green eyes followed Shaw like a hawk. “Someone,” she paused, “you don’t want to fuck with.”

  Shaw could hear the faint barking of dogs approaching from Black’s direction. “Are you part of this charade as well?”

  “I think the two of you will make very excellent subjects,” the woman said with a stern laugh. She flexed her hands, as if she were about to crack a whip, or sucker punch a bully.

  “You know,” Shaw said, approaching the mysterious woman. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself to the rest of the class.”

  “Where are my manners?” The woman mocked him, shrugging her shoulders. Her eyes remained focused on Shaw, refusing to withdraw their attention.

  “My name’s Smokey,” he said, “and this is Bandit.”

  Gillian rolled her eyes. Shaw was being such a dork with his blatant lack of respect for the bad guys.

  “Smokey and the Bandit,” Shaw concluded. “I missed your name.”

  “Perrine. Perrine Malnoir,” her voice circled the perimeter of sinister.

  “Oh, I like a good French woman,” Shaw responded.

  “Well, then you’ll like me,” she coyly replied, closing the distance between the two.

  “Now is not the time to flirt,” Gillian warned Shaw.

  “Oh come on,” Shaw said, “I have a thing for the whole French maid thing.”

  “You’re not my type.” Perrine smirked. “Yet.” She tightly balled her small, womanly fists, and she swung hard at Shaw, knocking the stunned Lieutenant to the ground.

  “Hey!” Gillian rose from her rock, only to be met by the pair of roaring Doberman’s.

  Perrine bent her curvy body over and lifted Shaw from the ground. “When I get done with you,” she seethed, “you’ll beg me for mercy.”

  “I’m begging now,” Shaw pleaded for his release, but Perrine held firm, and threw Shaw across the cave.

  Shaw’s body felt the immediate impact of the craggy wall, winding up in a crumpled mess on the dirt floor. “Have you ever thought about sports?” He asked, rising and brushing off them remaining dirt. “I mean, seriously, baseball, or softball,” he paused and stared at her curvy frame. “Volleyball. Yeah, you would make a killer server.” Shaw prepared his own offensive, charging straight at the woman.

  Gillian meanwhile, was pinned against the wall by the pair of snapping Doberman’s.

  Shaw managed to sidestep Perrine’s flurry of fists, and slammed his left fist against her rib cage, sending the spry woman sprawling backwards.

  “Shaw,” the manly voice commanded from the corridor. “That’s no way to treat a woman,” the voice was recognizable and Shaw cringed once he figured out the person was.

  “Black,” Shaw said, “you have more fucking lives than a cat.”

  “Perrine.” Black walked over her. “Did you go easy on him?”

  “The two of you know each other?” Shaw waved his finger back and forth.

  “Yeah, you can say that,” Black replied. “We’re sort of mating.”

  “Mating?” Shaw said with a puzzled look. “Like a couple?”

  “As I see it Mr. Shaw, you have two choices here,” Black offered.

  “Which are?” Shaw glanced over at Gillian. “Gillian, when you get the chance, kick those mutts in the balls.” Shaw looked back at Black. “Oh, wait. They don’t have any, just like their master.”

  “You really enjoy ruffling my feathers don’t you Shaw?”

  “Yeah, it’s a hobby of mine.”

  “It’s time to find another hobby.” Black walked over to his dogs.

  Perrine circled around Shaw, approaching him from behind.

  “Two choices you say?” Shaw asked.

  Black shook his head and raised his hand, extending two fingers.

  “I take it they aren’t the hotel with an in-ground pool and a 1967 Corvette Stingray.”

  “No,” Perrine whispered, filling Shaw’s ears with her inhumane tone.

  “Do what we say, and your friend here lives,” Black stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a collection of severed fingers. Crazily, he dangled them over his dog’s snapping jaws. “And my boys get their dinner.”

  “Or?”

  “Or?” Black repeated. “The two of you come with us, and stay at our hotel with the in-ground pool, and mingle with the other tenants,” Black said while he continued to dangle the fingers above the Doberman’s. “Your choice hero.”

  “What’s going to happen to us if we come with you?”

  “Your running out of time,” Black urged Shaw to make a decision. “One way or another, my boys are going to eat. Which meal? Well, only you can decide that fate.”

  “We just want to talk with you, get to know you,” Perrine continued to whisper in Shaw’s ear.

  Gillian prepared herself. “Don’t do it Matthew Shaw.”

  “Shit Jilly,” Shaw said, “you know the Commander would have my ass if you died on my watch.”

&n
bsp; “So, you have made your decision?” Black asked.

  “Yeah, we’ll go with you,” Shaw said.

  “Are you sure?” Black again asked.

  “If I don’t, then I’m spinning the French maid around and taking her from behind,” Shaw eagerly stated. “I can’t take much more of her erotic whisperings in my ear,” Shaw said, turning around and faced Perrine. “You do have a sexy voice.” He winked at her.

  “Thank you,” she quietly whispered before she slammed her knee, bruising Shaw’s groin. Bent over, she finished off the job with a roundhouse kick to Shaw’s face.

  Black dropped the fingers into the dogs’ mouths, and turned his attention to Gillian. He wrapped his fingers around her hair and pulled her across the cave. “Your friend’s very loyal, but, very stupid when it comes to negotiating.”

  “Go piss on yourself Snake.” Gillian struggled to break free.

  “A feisty one,” Perrine surveyed Gillian’s attributes. “She’ll make a fine specimen.”

  “Specimen?” Gillian broke loose of Black’s grasp. “The two of you are supremely fucked in the head.” Gillian spun around and head-butted Black, opening up his nose, spilling blood all over his face. Running from Black, Gillian extended out her arm and performed the infamous clothesline move on Perrine, sending her to the floor.

  A loud gunshot shattered the silence, and dropped Gillian dead in her tracks.

  Commander Kaspar watched in horror as the distorted remains of the cockpit fractured the river’s surface, eventually sinking to its watery grave. “Stephens!” Kaspar cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the Marine. “Stephens!” He turned his head left, then right, then back to the left. There was no sign of the Marine. Kaspar strained to focus on a small collection of rocks and algae growing alongside the western bank of the river. Without hesitation, Kaspar entered the chilly water and frantically swam out to the rocks.

  A collection of bloody, torn fingers grabbed hold of the wet, brown rocks. Bud Stephens, mystically pulled himself from the water and found Kaspar waiting for him. Bud laid his head down on the rocks, letting the water drain from his face. “Let’s not do that again,” he insisted the heroics were all done for the day.

  “I agree.” Kaspar slapped Bud gingerly on the shoulder blade. “Are you up for some walking?”