by Bill Roberts
After about fifteen seconds the Grotokai begin to return fire. It is sporadic and largely ineffective. My Marines use the incoming fire to identify targets and continue to pound away. But now that the enemy is shooting back they begin doing ‘berm drills.’ After firing a projectile or two they back down completely out of sight then move over and pop up at a different location. The enemy fire slackens and becomes even more sporadic. After thirty seconds I decide I have seen enough.
I back down the ridge a ways and contact Colonel Rainer: “Tarawa Six this is Iron Six our support by fire is set and we have achieved dominant fire over the enemy. You can begin your assault at any time.”
“Roger Iron Six. We are already moving. Watch for the markers.”
“Roger, sir.” The markers would keep us from accidentally shooting our own Marines as they crossed in front of us. As Murphy once said: Friendly fire isn’t.
I pass along to the company commanders that the infantry have begun their assault. I have assumed something of a sideways crouch facing southeast watching my Marines bang away at the Grotokai in my tactical display. Larry is crouched behind me. As the battalion commander’s wingman his sole purpose is to make sure he kills anything that might kill me.
Luck. Napoleon once said: I know he is a good general, but is he lucky? Sometimes you get lucky in a fight. Sometimes you take a hit that misses your cockpit by centimeters. Sometimes you take a wrong turn that puts you in a perfect spot. And sometimes you just happen to be at the right place at the right time. No reason, you just are. Luck has saved my life many times. Maybe, it is because I have been unlucky in other ways and balance has to be restored. Maybe it is just because Murphy is an equal opportunity asshole. For whatever reason, I get lucky again as I just happen to be in a position to observe a horde of Grotokai erupt from the ground about two klicks behind my battalion.
Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! I punch TACNET as I spin south and go into a run directly at them. “Contact rear!” The Grotokai have executed a perfect ambush. The best way to defeat an ambush is instant reaction and violence. My targeting system begins marking the Grotokai with red diamonds. I smash the missile launch button for a full salvo and the forty missiles stored on either side of the cockpit shriek out towards the mass of enemy troops as they begin to take firing positions. I have two targeting crosshairs in my display, one for each arm. I sweep them along the enemy and fire each arm as soon as they come to bear on a target. I smash a couple of the Grotokai with my guns before the missile salvo arrives and the warheads begin exploding, tossing the massive Grotokai about like dolls. To my right Larry’s missile salvo flies by. A part of me notices that I am quicker on the trigger than Larry. If I survive this I am definitely going to give the grumpy bastard grief about it. The rest of me is in a pure killing frenzy. I shift and fire as fast as I can, savaging the Grotokai with my guns as Larry’s salvo explodes. Many Grotokai are dying now, but there are so many more.
Fortunately, the survivors all seem to be firing at me. Fortunately, because a Kodiak is much better armored in the front than it is in the back, better they all shoot at me than the backs of my exposed Marines on the ridge. The Grotokai fire feels and sounds like a hailstorm from hell. The Kodiak’s tough armor shrugs the enemy’s fire off at first. But, as I keep running at them, some shots start to get through. Warning alarms and messages start shrieking at me. I hit the battle override to shut them up. One of the shots takes off the Kodiak’s left leg causing me to crash head long into the ground. With the adrenaline from my battle rage coursing through me I do not even feel the shock of the impact. I lever myself up with my Kodiak’s right arm and keep firing with the left. There are so many of them. Despair tries to choke me even through my rage. Despair is not an option. I must keep firing. I must give the rest of my Marines time to react. I slam another main gun round into a Grotokai and then the enemy fire gets through to the Kodiak’s power core. The Kodiak immediately shuts down and vents as it collapses face down.
CHAPTER 4
Wonderland
It seems like the whole mountain has been carved out. I cannot even make out the dimensions of the cavern we have just entered. The light comes from brilliant globes atop poles spread about the polished rock floor as far as I can see. About a hundred meters ahead of the Humvee I see a line of a dozen towering humanoid looking machines. To the left of those are a dozen similar looking but smaller machines. Further to the left I see a large multi-story, windowless H-shaped building. A typically military blue sign with white lettering sits out front of the building. To my right, about two hundred meters away, I see a battalion’s worth of Abrams Main Battle Tanks. To their right I see battalion’s worth of Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicles. To their right, several hundred meters away, I can make out another large H-shaped building. The Abrams and Bradleys hold no interest for me. Like familiar women at a cocktail party. Who cares when there is a knockout in clingy red dress you have never seen before?
My gaze returns to the massive humanoid shapes to my front. Lance beats me to it again. “What are those … “ he gropes for the word.
“Kodiaks.” Langsdorf answers. “The smaller ones to the left are Cougars.”
Before we can ask any more questions he puts the Humvee in motion. He drives us towards the Kodiaks. I scrutinize them as we approach. I start to pick out what are obvious but unfamiliar looking weapons. The left arm is humanoid to the elbow, but instead of a forearm and a hand a massive cannon-like weapon hangs from the upper arm. The right arm looks like an arm, but mounted atop the forearm I see something that sports a couple of barrels. The torso is vaguely shaped like an upside down egg. No real head. I spot long panels covering something along the left and right front of the torso. The legs are thick with heavy, vaguely birdlike feet. They are painted a dark familiar shade of green. Olive drab. Clearly they are military. Clearly these machines are weapon systems. A nebulous suspicion starts forming in the back of my mind.
Langsdorf pulls up in front of one of them and gets out of the Humvee. I exit the Humvee slowly, my eyes never leaving the fascinating machine in front of me. The Kodiak towers over us. I feel like Gulliver in Brobdingnag. It must be something like ten meters tall. The leg alone dwarfs me. It smells different than any other combat vehicle I have ever been around. Most of them have this mélange of odors consisting of fuel, lubricants, gunpowder, metal and rubber. It combines to form an unmistakable smell that I could pinpoint anywhere. This Kodiak smelled a little of this, some of it is missing. There is also another smell, a smell more like a computer lab than anything else I could place. I place a hand on the leg next to me. That, at least, feels familiar. It had that solid metal feel all heavy armored vehicles have. When you put your hand on a car, no matter how well made, there is a bit of give. A heavy armored vehicle feels nothing like that. It just feels like you are putting your hand on a huge slab of granite.
Langsdorf intrudes on my thoughts: “This is the M5 Kodiak Main Battle System. It has a crew of one. It carries forty missiles and three electromagnetic direct fire weapons. It has jump jets, can run at over a hundred kilometers per hour, and go just about anywhere. It …”
“It’s the reason why you needed me and Lance isn’t it?” I say. My mouth has beaten my brain to it. Suddenly the whole day makes sense. Assistant Commandants, secrets, plane rides to the middle of nowhere. Rabbit Holes, Wonderland, and tankers. It has all come together in my mind like puzzle pieces snapping in to place. I look over at Langsdorf. “Isn’t it?”
He laughs loudly. “When I told the Commandant I wanted you two specifically he asked me, point blank, why I wanted a major who refused lieutenant colonel and a major who is still wearing the shine off his first set of rank insignia. I told him, point blank, I needed smart, creative people. People who wouldn’t just learn how to operate these things, but who could see all the possibilities. People who wouldn’t need constant supervision, but figure shit out on their own. I needed people who wouldn’t
just make this work, but make this awesome. For some reason I thought of you two knuckleheads.”
The last sentence was just typical Langsdorf mockery. He had just paid me one of the greatest compliments of my life. I think of all the times I never really fit in the Marine Corps. I think of all the superiors who were just those silly six-foot-tall cardboard cutouts. I think of the frustration and bitterness those things had created. The frustration and bitterness that had caused me to refuse promotion. Refusing promotion is a bad thing. It had blacklisted me in the Corps. The Corps could not fire me for it, but it did make sure I did useless things after that. I look over at the man who had seen through all of that. The man who understood my frustration and respected me for it. The man who refused to be a cardboard cutout. I look over at Lance and see similar emotions running across his face. “We won’t let you down sir.” I say it like an oath.
Lance swears his oath next “We will make this awesome.”
Another rare look of seriousness settles on Langsdorf’s face. “No you won’t, and yes you will.” The mischievous smile returns. “Come on let’s go to the briefing room.”
I take a quick look at the Kodiak before we pile back in to the Humvee and Langsdorf puts it into motion. He cranks the wheel hard to the left and heads for the H-shaped building a couple hundred meters away. Now that the mystery of why I am here has been solved my head begins to deal with other unanswered questions. Why does Langsdorf look like he is in his early twenties? What are those odd looking weapons? What is powering the Humvee I am riding in? Things like those Kodiaks could not possibly exist with any technology I have ever heard of. How are they built? Question piles on top of question. Langsdorf had said ‘briefing room.’ Hopefully some of these questions will get answered soon.
We reach the building and park next to a row of other armored Humvees running along the edge of it. On the building in front of our Humvee I see a red sign with gold letters saying Project Manager. We get out of the Humvee and head for a set of double doors just to the left of the parking spot. Parking spots tell you a lot. The sign reserving it, plus its proximity to the door, means that Colonel Langsdorf is in charge here. Further to the left I can now read the blue sign in front of the building. The white block letters say ‘Heavy Combat Systems.’ So Langsdorf is the Program Manager of Heavy Combat Systems. The words make sense, but here under a mountain with bizarre machines and too young colonels it just creates more questions.
As we pass through the doors we enter a vestibule with a desk. The bland beige paint and boring linoleum tell me I am in a government building as surely as the signs outside. A heavily armed and armored U.S. Air Force Technical Sergeant stands up and salutes. “Good Evening Colonel.” Langsdorf returns the salute. The Technical Sergeant continues: “The briefing room is ready sir.”
“Thanks Jimmy,” Langsdorf replies.
The Technical Sergeant turns to us. He too looks to be college age and his young face smiles. “Welcome to Wonderland Gentlemen.” He reaches under the desk and presses a button. I hear the familiar buzzing sound of an electrical lock on the door leading out of the vestibule.
Langsdorf yanks open the door with his usual energy and barrels through. Lance and I thank the Tech Sergeant and follow Langsdorf through the door. We enter a hallway, also government beige. Seriously, does the federal government not realize that other colors exist? The hallway stretches far to our right. The hallway smells like every other military building I have ever been in, a mixture of Pine Sol and burnt coffee. I see many doors with little placards next to them. Langsdorf leads us purposefully down the hallway. As we walk my mind turns the unanswered questions over and over. I feel a growing fear. It is not like the fear of being shot at or a fear of failure. It is a deeper fear. A fear of everything you have taken for granted being shattered. My questions are leading somewhere unbelievable. After about fifty meters Langsdorf opens a door marked ‘Briefing Room’ in a white on blue placard. After we enter the room he locks the door and ushers us into some seats at the front of an amphitheater style room. There is nobody else here.
Langsdorf crosses his arms and leans backward against a lectern directly in front of where Lance and I sit. “Before I begin there are a couple of things you need to understand.” His face is serious again and his tenor sounds almost somber. “Obviously everything going on here is Compartmentalized Top Secret. But there are compartments within the compartments. Secrets within secrets. Everyone here knows this is a Top Secret development project. But not everyone knows what all of the sub-projects are. That’s no big deal really. Knowing all of the projects is just a way for some of the idiots around here to feel important. The secret that almost nobody knows is how this project actually got started.” I feel a great abyss open before me. The last statement is like a door opening. A door opening to the place my unanswered questions have been leading me. A place outrageous and terrifying.
Langsdorf continues “The only person at Heavy Combat Systems that knows is me. I am sure many of them suspect, hell one or two of them might be close to right, but they don’t know. That must. Not. Change.” He stares at us intently then asks: “Is that clear?”
Lance answers with a quiet but clear, “Yes Sir.”
I do not answer right away. I lock eyes with Langsdorf. I have no problem with the question he just asked. That answer is an easy yes. But part of me rebels at what I now know is coming. Intellectually I know I had the chance to say no before I got here. Intellectually I knowif the whole thing had been laid out before me in the vault in Pendleton I still would have wanted to know instead of remaining ignorant. But, as with most secrets, knowing them brings a heavy price. I am willing to pay that price. But I know, down to the marrow of my bones, that a big part of me is going to wish I had never gotten on that fucking Gulfstream.
I sigh heavily and respond: “Yes Sir.”
Langsdorf relaxes slightly and replies: “Good. Now the secret almost nobody knows is that we didn’t start this project. It was given to us.”
Lance is a very bright guy. From the day he joined my tank company so many years ago I knew this. But he is very straightforward. So he asks a very straightforward question: “How was it given to us? “
Langsdorf replies: “How is pretty easy to explain. Just over five years ago somebody hacked into the NSA and sent them a message.”
Lance interrupts: “Somebody hacked into the NSA? How the hell did they do that? Those computers have more security than God.”
Langsdorf looks at Lance sideways. “Let me finish Benson. The message simply gave the coordinates to the Rabbit Hole, and told them if they wanted to learn how they hacked the most secure computer system in the world they would have to go to the coordinates to find out. The NSA sent a team with some FBI Special Agents to arrest whoever did it. When they got to the Rabbit Hole it opened right up for them. Inside they found the cavern we’re working in.”
“You mean we didn’t make this place?” Lance asks. Before Langsdorf can answer he asks more questions. “How did somebody carve out a mountain with nobody noticing?”
Langsdorf’s face and posture becomes a bit hostile. “No we didn’t make this place. As to how I have no idea and neither does anybody else. May I continue?” The last sentence drips scorn.
Lance looks slightly abashed and says “Sorry Sir.”
Langsdorf continues his tale. “In the back of the cavern they found several dozen machines that looked like computers. They plugged into one and it politely explained how they were hacked. Then it started showing them things. Technical things, scientific things, things that were far beyond our most advanced discoveries. Obviously, that led to the machines that you saw outside.” Langsdorf pauses and looks at us as if to invite questions.
Lance rises to the silence. “Do we have any idea who did all this?”
Langsdorf looks a little pensive as he replies. “Who is a little more difficult to explain. The fact
is we don’t really know who. The computers have all stated that they are a ‘gift from the Watchers.’ Based on how the computers communicate and what they tell us, we think the watchers aren’t from around here. And by here I mean Earth.”
“Aliens? You got to be fucking with me.” Lance seems almost angry.
Langsdorf shrugs. “I admit it sounds crazy, but tell me genius, you gotta better explanation?”
Only a part of my mind even notices the conversation. I am not a straightforward person in many ways. To me the who and how, while interesting, is not really that important. Those are always the simplest questions to answer. Actually that is one of the things that drives me nuts about the Marine Corps. We are excellent at asking the who and how questions. And we are excellent at finding those answers. What we are woefully inadequate at is the why. Sadly, why is always the most important question. But we so often forget to ask it. And when we do ask the question it is always so difficult to answer. Actually I should not be so hard on the Corps. Most people and institutions suck at the why. This is not the time to leave it out. So before Langsdorf and Lance start arguing further I ask: “Why?”
Langsdorf breaks off scowling at Lance and looks over at me. He face falls and his crossed arms drop from his chest. He looks almost … sad. “Ahhh Shawn. Of course you would ask wouldn’t you? I was almost hoping you wouldn’t. I was going to tell you both soon enough. But I hoped to not have to do it this soon.” The abyss grows before me. The fear I had begun to feel in the hallway becomes an icy ball in the pit of my stomach. Langsdorf’s face grows grim. “That is the most important secret of all. The one only a couple hundred people in the world know. The Watchers left us one other message.” The icy ball freezes me to my core. “The message was: ‘The Watchers are decided. A third darkness will not be allowed. The Synti are coming. You must be prepared.’”