Jubilee Year: A Science Fiction Thriller (Erelong Book 1)

by Gerard O'Neill

  The two friends stood before the recruiters, taking in the neat stacks of glossy pamphlets and brochures that covered the top of the trestle table. Behind the recruitment paraphernalia stood a tall man in his mid-twenties. The soldier reached a long arm across the tabletop and pumped the hands of each of the boys in turn.

  “I’m Staff Sergeant Jamie Young. This is Sergeant Ryan Hostler. Ah—that’s Hostler, mind you. Not hustler.”

  Hostler, the other recruiter sitting beside him winced at the bad joke.

  “Oh, ha-ha-ha,” he said. “Ignore all that.”

  Young leaned across the table, all conspiratorial and staged whispered to the Storm and Ben.

  “He would like to ignore me, but he can’t because I outrank him! Call me Jamie if you want.”

  The recruiter’s smile was practiced. The routine had grown old and tired a long time ago. They rehashed it for each new batch of kids that showed up. The banter would never change much, and neither would the kids. The kids, the targets were bored lads in the main. Sometimes a girl or two would show up. All of them were looking for excitement and a steady paying job. All of them, in the end, were really just so much grain to be harvested.

  Storm and Ben grinned at each other. They were ready for the thrills awaiting them inside the van.

  “I didn’t know the ADF did this kind of thing,” Ben said.

  “Our van you mean?” Young asked.

  Storm noticed the blonde recruiter had overdosed on the sunshine. Lately, it wasn’t so easy to do. That meant they had been sitting outside the van for most of the day. This being what was becoming an increasingly rare commodity—a sunny day.

  Hostler’s nose had peeled to the red and it was sore. Every so often the soldier touched it with a fingertip as if to reassure himself there was still a nose on his face.

  “Well, yeah,” Ben replied, impressed by the uniforms in front of him.

  They did look nice and crisp despite the heat.

  “We’ve been at this for a while. Doing visits to schools in the main centers, and even a few campuses. We haven’t been specifically targeting the rural areas until the past few months. This must be your lucky day, I guess.”

  “Have you got many sign-ups from Coona?”

  Hostler picked up the book next to him and flicked through the pages. “We’ve got call backs to make. You can write your phone number or email next to your name, then your full address and your age. We contact you in a couple of days. That’s all there is to it.”

  Storm glanced down at the book and saw indeed that many pages were already filled. He recognized the names of the country towns. Some of them were places he visited, and some he never would.

  “Are you doing this?” Storm asked Ben.

  “Yeah,” his friend nodded with enthusiasm. “Why not?”

  “Why not indeed,” Young grinned at the two boys. “Fill in all the boxes and you will be taking your first step into a world of excitement and adventure.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Ben said as he waited for Storm to finish with the pen.

  “You boys going to give the games a tryout?” Young said, giving a wide grin. His teeth were a startling white. “It’s all good fun.”

  “So what have you got inside?” Storm asked.

  “Shooting games mostly,” Young told him. The recruiters grinned at the boys as if they sharing an in-joke with them. “Plenty of those,” Hostler added with a chuckle.

  “Do you have a Tank Simulator?” Ben asked.

  “Hell, yeah!” Young said slapping the tabletop.

  “Come on,” Ben nudged Storm. “Let’s take a look inside.”

  “What about a Super Hornet Sim?” Storm asked.

  “Nah, mate,” the soldier said with a shake of his head. “But we do have a very cool Black Hawk Icosahedron Flight Sim. You can actually loop the loop—that’s if you think you have the stomach for it.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Storm said. “I’ll give it a go.”

  “Come on in and take a look,” the recruiter said closing the book with a snap.

  “I’ve clocked up a few hours already on a fixed wing,” Storm told Young. “In a fixed wing.”

  “No kidding,” Young gazed at him with genuine admiration. “You could try out as a rotary wing pilot. That might be you one day, right? A future helicopter instructor! How’s that sound? Bright lads like you often train as an officer. Do you think you have what it takes to be a leader?”

  “You mean him?” He asked the recruiter with a snigger, glancing across at Storm who had sat behind the next console.

  “I mean it,” Young said to Storm.

  There was something about the boy that he could not put his finger on. A quiet self-confidence Young had noticed right away. The boy seemed more tuned into his surroundings than the average type of kid they saw on their rounds of the country towns.

  Their time in the van did not last long. The hour was late, and the recruiters were eager to be back at base camp in time for the evening meal. Young came through and told them sadly their gaming was over for the day. As they walked outside, the warm afternoon breeze quickly evaporated their disappointment along with the sweat on their faces after sitting inside the stifling interior.

  As they squinted in the shockingly bright afternoon Sun, Young shoved a pamphlet in their hands.

  “Well, are we going to be talking to you soon?” The recruiter asked the two boys.

  Ben gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  “Awesome!” The recruiter nodded his head enthusiastically. “And I noticed both of you chalked up excellent kill numbers!”

  “Mate, your beak is a mess,” Young said, peering at Hostler’s burned nose. “Don’t you have any sunblock left?”

  Hostler touched his fingers against the damaged skin. He pulled the brim of his hat down to get a little more shadow.

  “They did alright, then?”

  “Yeah, but who gives a shit,” Young replied as he reached into a backpack below the table and tossed Hostler a tube. “We just want their signatures, and the rest they will learn later—or not at all.”

  The last three lads walked out of the van, calling out their goodbyes to the recruiters.

  “Heading home for dinner, eh?” Young laughed good-naturedly. “Must be time for us to do the same.”

  The two soldiers watched as the boys got on their bicycles and peddled off down the street.

  “How old did they say they were?” Young asked.

  “I didn’t, but probably seventeen—ish,” Hostler replied.

  He squirted the content of the tube into his hand and painted it on his nose and slapped it around his neck.

  “What do you think happened in Guam?” Hostler asked.

  Young pulled the other chair out from under the table and sat down so close to the other man the two knocked shoulders.

  “I heard that giant cracks opened up in the runways,” he said.

  He spoke quietly as if worried someone might overhear his words.

  “The reports coming in say the docks and the marina were smashed. Rendered unusable. They look like piecrust after it’s dropped on the ground. The word is, it all happened in an instant. There were no quakes beforehand to warn them.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a natural disaster, does it? That might explain why they don’t show images of the damage.”

  “That’s why they are keeping quiet for the time being. It wasn’t an earthquake. China has given us a taste of one of their new toys.”

  “You think so?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m telling you. It was an attack.”

  “So, who told you?”

  “My cousin. He’s working at Joint Operations Command. He said they intercepted communications at Pine Gap.” Young folded his arms across his chest. “He told me in confidence, so best I say no more.”

  “Awl, go on, mate! You can’t leave me hanging here!”

  “No, really. I can’t say anything more.”

  “Okay. So
don’t give me any details. What about a general picture? What are we up against?”

  The two men had been close friends for over two years and had been through a lot together, including a tour in the Pacific. In all that time, Hostler had never heard anything as sensational coming out of Young’s mouth. The man was as down to earth as any Hostler had known in his short life.

  “But this is different!” Young said. “Knowing this kind of info a man could get you in serious shit. Especially if the media got their teeth into it. If that happened, and they found out it was me, then my cousin would be looking at a court-martial.”

  He glanced at Hostler.

  “And that’s you and me also! It’s stuff he wasn’t supposed to talk about.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Hostler grinned. “Like secret technologies?”

  “I mean like shit we’re not supposed to know!” Young said, suddenly bewildered at himself for opening his mouth in the first place.

  “We’re not talking tactical nukes then?” Hostler asked with raised eyebrows.

  Young shook his head. “No, mate. They all have other toys they’d prefer to use first.” Young bit his lip. What the hell, he thought. Hostler can keep a secret. “China’s got a ray weapon,” he said. “Might be what they used to attack Guam.”

  Young almost stopped himself, right there, but he couldn’t stop himself now. It actually felt good getting it off his chest. The dirty, rotten shit he didn’t want to hold onto any longer. He knew with his mate Ryan, it would go no further.

  “Like an actual ray?” Hostler asked leaning forward in his chair.

  “Not sure how it works, exactly. My cousin told me they crack the ground open like you might a watermelon.” Young swept aside the neat stacks of pamphlets set out in front of him. “The Yanks have plasma cannons that fire bursts of pure energy, almost like throwing bombs—you know? I mean without the need to carry them on planes or rockets. They developed a thing that focuses a beam of particles that surrounds a vehicle—ah, better not go there.”

  What a blabbermouth I am, he thought. He almost went and told Ryan the freakiest intel of all. He still couldn’t believe the Yanks hid the things around their three major rivers. His cousin had told him they had the installations where no one would think to look. Military hardware that blasted out tractor beams able take control of a frigate-sized object should a frigate fly by. Even an aircraft as large as Russia’s giant Antonov AN-124-100 Ruslan could be plucked from the air, he thought. They would have to be for defensive purposes.

  But what could they be expecting? No enemy would cross the American coastline, and certainly not with a craft as big as Russia’s biggest plane. And what enemy would attempt to travel up America’s major waterways. That would be suicidal. It didn’t make sense.

  Maybe his cousin was full of shit, after all. Or maybe he was just delusional. If that was the case, then it didn’t matter much what he told of his cousin’s story.

  “My cousin said the Russkie’s got this thing they call Fat Cat. But officially it’s codenamed the Flying Rose. It’s a land-based weapon able to direct energy at a huge area and at a good distance from the target. It’s able to take out conventional defense systems. And—ah—he said they were working on manufacturing life forms as well.”

  “Biological weapons?” Hostler asked. “Like creature-soldiers, right? Almost everyone seems to be developing that shit.”

  “He didn’t break it down—but he did say the UK was also heavily invested in experimenting with artificial life forms for front line deployment,” Young said. “He said the Brit’s project stalled when their experiments became uncontrollable and did random stuff. Like killing the observers. Now they are focusing on artificial intelligence.”

  “And we aren’t told jack shit about any of it!” Hostler said with a grim laugh.

  “Barely a whisper, mate,” Young replied. “Even while they test their toys here in Australia. Maybe you heard about Japan’s weapon code named Shuriken. It’s a spinning metallic monster that clears everything on the ground. I mean—ev-e-ry-thing! We’re talking huge areas! No need for an airburst! He told me they tested it in the Northern Territories during the last joint exercise. It was done completely separate from the war game.”

  “Well, we don’t really get to lead those exercises anymore, do we?”

  “Nah, mate,” Young nodded in agreement. “The big boys are in control, and it looks like we ain’t them.”

  Hostler rubbed his sore neck and looked up with a wide grin.

  “Fucking Fat Cat?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “What a name.”

  “Yeah,” Young sighed.

  “You got more for me yet, haven’t you?” Hostler asked. “You are not finished, brother. Go on!”

  “Well, every major military research facility around the globe has secret weapons ready to use and more being cooked up.” Young felt an uncomfortable mix of guilt and relief sweep over him. He had finally let the monkey off his shoulder. “The French have built a system that delivers a massive torque effect from the sky. It wrenches the ground up and moves it horizontally, like a giant wave, or vortex and just to be sure it pummels the target with metallic ball-like projectiles. It’s total overkill.

  “The Germans have what they are calling Thor’s Hammer. It fires rods with enough kinetic energy to wipe out entire city blocks with dead-on accuracy. The Yanks spent years developing something similar, but Germany got there first with a workable delivery system.”

  Young was done. He felt exhausted. He understood why his cousin wanted to unburden himself with the horrible details. There was no place for the Army with the kinds of weaponry he had described. No place for soldiering.

  “Don’t stop there,” Hostler pleaded. “You gotta tell me more.”

  “That’s it. That’s all I have.”

  Hostler stared at him. “Oh, c’mon, mate! Don’t hold back on me.”

  And Young couldn’t help himself. It was too late not to go the whole nine yards.

  “Well—the most powerful weapons they would use if we do get ourselves into an all-out stoush are scalar,” he said. “That’s badass shit that doesn’t require the support of regular units. It can all be controlled from the other side of the globe.”

  “Badass shit!” Hostler muttered like an echo.

  He shook his head as if in disbelief. Only he did believe it. Young wouldn’t make up any of this.

  “An entire troop can be taken out and they never see it coming. It creeps me out. I’ve been having nightmares ever since he told me. I wish he never told me any of this stuff, Ryan.”

  “So what about nukes?” Hostler persisted.

  Young drew a hand down his face. Even the last rays of the Sun seemed to burn. He felt as if his skin was frying, and this was close to sunset.

  “Tactical nukes are nothing new,” Young said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Most of us already know we used mini versions of the neutron bomb in Iraq, Ukraine, and Yemen. Anyone in the forces with half a brain knows the evidence is out there.”

  “But it’s not for civvies to get their knickers in a twist over,” he said with a shrug.

  “I don’t mean the small shit,” Hostler protested. “What about inter-continentals?”

  “Maybe they plan to use new technology instead,” Young replied. “It’s better than destroying the entire frigging surface of the globe. It gets them past the obstacle of mutually assured destruction. The enemy expects missiles and bombers to be launched in an attack—that’s what satellites and surface radar scan for, right? They won’t see the other stuff coming at them until it’s too late. The secret weapons I’ve been telling you about are the real game-changers. Just look at what happened in Guam the other day.”

  “Sounds like they don’t need us at all,” Hostler frowned. “They might as well be using us as decoys.”

  “Ryan, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Hey, you don’t think the aliens are stopping them using those inter-cont
inentals, do you?” Hostler, said, making wavy motions in the air with the palms of his hands. “Flying saucers hovering over the silos. Pee-po-pee-po.”

  “Mate, I’ve not been telling you all this for shits and giggles, ya know?”

  But Young didn’t really feel angry with Hostler. The grin he saw on his friend’s face was familiar and reassuring. He knew Ryan was doing his best to lift his spirits.

  “Yeah,” Hostler said, slapping his friend on the arm. “I know. You’re troubled by what he said and you want to share the burden with me.”

  “Since you put it like that, yes,” Young said nodding his head in agreement. “Just don’t you tell a soul about any of it. Not a word. Got it?”

  “Mate. It stays right here. Right between you, me, and your cousin.”

  “You don’t have to worry. We’re good. You haven’t mentioned any details.”

  Hostler saw Young’s troubled face and pretended to be searching for something he dropped. “Tell you one thing. They got this weather shit sorted.”

  “That they have, brother.”

  “It’s bloody hot today. D’ya think someone might have punched a clear sky into the computer to help us out with our campaign?”

  Hostler chuckled at the thought. Manipulating the weather seemed pretty mild compared to the scary shit James had told him about. But then, why not turn the skies into a weapon as well? It was above everyone and everything after all.

  “You could be right,” Young said, squinting up at the bright sunset. This was the first blue-sky day we’ve had in weeks.

  “Right,” Hostler got to his feet. “I say we pack up.”

  He swept the pamphlets into a box.

  “Did I tell you how much I hate this job?”

  “Many times,” Young replied as he stood up and stretched. “I think we best enjoy our holiday.”

  “Ye-up,” Hostler said. “Everything points to our orders coming through any day. Fuck knows in what hell hole they’ll be dropping us soon enough.”

  “Could be Eastern Europe, Southern Europe, the ME, Asia… the China Sea,” Young muttered as he pulled back his chair to begin compacting the table. “Even the North Pole! Shit. Take your pick. It’s all one giant clusterfuck!”