Earthlings (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 2)

by Daniel Arenson

  A hearse drove down the road. A military funeral. Kaelyn stood, watching it go by, and saluted the fallen soldier.

  Do they have funerals on Bahay? Kaelyn wondered. Or are there too many dead?

  A hundred thousand Earthlings had fallen in the jungles of Bahay. But Kaelyn had heard that millions of Bahayans had died. She wondered if they had cemeteries like the one here. Whether mourners sang for the dead. Or whether the millions rotted in pits or burned in great fires. She wondered if the Bahayans had stars on the windows of their homes. Whether they had homes at all, or whether they lived in shanties like in the propaganda reels.

  Bahayans were short, twisted, ugly things, barely human at all. Kaelyn had seen the reels. She had heard President Hale's speeches. Yes, the Bahayans were primitive, closer to monkeys than men. But Kaelyn still felt sorry for them. Even if they were primitive, even if they were monsters, it seemed wrong to fight them, to kill so many of them, to lose so many soldiers on such a distant world.

  Kaelyn passed her house. It was smaller than many houses in Lindenville. It was a humble bungalow, painted white, nestled among elms. Once this had been a house of such joy. When Kaelyn looked at it, she could still see herself running through the yard, playing with her brother George, or looking out her bedroom window, waiting for Paul to visit.

  But now her beloved Paul was dead. And George was fighting on Bahay. And this house seemed so empty. So cold. It had become a place of sadness, a golden star in the window. A star for George, a son at war.

  Kaelyn could not bear it. She turned away. She could not enter that home now, deal with her mother's fear, with her father's hopeless eyes. With that ever-present, silent horror. The house was still beautiful, but it was no longer a home.

  She walked away.

  She walked along Main Street, passing cafes, antique shops, barbershops, the little businesses of this once-thriving town. The war was everywhere. A man rolled down the street in his wheelchair, both his legs gone. He wore his medals pinned to his ratty coat. A young man sat on a bench, talking to a woman. A burn mask covered his face, translucent, revealing smudged hints of horrible scars. A group of soldiers in dusty uniforms lined up at a bus station, the insignia of corporals and sergeants on their sleeves. They had fought a tour in Bahay already. Their short leave on Earth, earned after so long at war, was over. Their eyes were dark as they began their journey back into the fire.

  Posters hung in the windows of shops and cafes. She read some of them.

  SMACK 'EM DOWN! Join the mechanized infantry today!

  STICK IT TO THE SLITS! Become an artilleryman!

  LOOSE LIPS BLAST STARSHIPS! Spies are among you!

  Ensign Earth wants YOU for the Human Defense Force!

  WE'LL GIVE 'EM HELL! Earth tanks will win the war!

  THE HOME FRONT FIGHTS! Buy WAR BONDS to arm our boys on Bahay!

  You can SLAP A SLIT with WAR BONDS!

  The posters all featured drawings of Bahayans. The enemy was hunched over, wily. They had buck teeth, eyes so narrowed they were merely slits, sickly yellow skin, and Fu Manchu mustaches. In one poster, Bahayans were depicted clutching the Statue of Liberty with their claws, making her bleed. In another poster, a Bahayan was gripping all of Earth, sinking his fangs into the planet and drinking the blood. A third poster showed Bahayans cowering and sniveling around the heels of Ensign Earth, who was smiting them with his mighty shield.

  Kaelyn had never seen a Bahayan in real life. But she knew they were descended from Filipino colonists who had moved to Bahay centuries ago. There were no more Filipinos in Lindenville, of course. Once there had been many Lindenvillians of Filipino heritage. President Hale had ordered them all imprisoned years ago, accusing them of loyalty to Bahay.

  Kaelyn still remembered her schoolfriend Carlo, a gentle boy of Filipino ancestry. She had visited his family for dinner many times. That family had not looked anything like the goblins in the posters.

  One time, Kaelyn had asked her teacher about that. "Aren't the Bahayans just like my friend Carlo?"

  "No," her teacher had told her. "Not at all. See, young Kaelyn Williams, on the planet Bahay, the original Filipino colonists interbred with aliens. They became monsters. Nothing like little Carlo at all, you see. They're goblins now. And we must fight them."

  "Then why were Carlo and his family sent to prison?" the young girl had asked.

  Her teacher had laughed. "They're not in prison, silly girl! They're merely in a monitoring camp. A pleasant place full of trees and butterflies. A place to wait out the war in safety. Just to be safe. Just to make sure no spies betray our planet."

  Twenty-three schoolchildren had disappeared that year across Lindenville. Along with their families. All of Filipino heritage. As did her grandfather's nurse. And the kindly old man who had once driven an ice cream truck. And the local pharmacist who sometimes gave Kaelyn a free lollipop. All of them—off to the peaceful camps with trees and butterflies. Their houses given to widows of war.

  As Kaelyn stood here, years later, looking at the posters, she was filled with new questions. And she had nobody to ask.

  "War no more! War no more!"

  The chant rolled across the street.

  Kaelyn turned to see protesters marching down Main Street. This was not unusual. They marched often these days. She had sat several times in Bagshot Coffeehouse, her favorite haunt on the sunny side of Main, watching them march. Usually she just let them march on by.

  But something was different today. Today the protesters were holding v-signs. Videos were playing on the electronic placards.

  Kaelyn stood on the sidewalk, watching with wide eyes. The protesters were all chanting. "War no more! War no more!" But Kaelyn barely heard them. She focused on the videos playing on the placards.

  They were just short clips. A few seconds long, looping over and over. There were dozens of clips here, a different one on every placard.

  One clip showed a beautiful young Asian woman. She was speaking. The placard's speakers were grainy, the words weren't in English, and it was hard to hear anyway over the chanting. But subtitles appeared on the screen.

  "The Earthling planes flew over my village. They dropped fire. My brothers, my sisters, my parents—they all died." The woman lifted her arm, which was badly scarred. The fingers had been burnt off. "They left me this memory."

  Kaelyn frowned. Why were planes bombing Asia?

  As the protesters walked by, Kaelyn looked at another placard. This one featured a young HDF corporal. He sat in a dusty bar, head lowered, then looked up at the camera with haunted blue eyes.

  "We entered their village. We killed the men. We found a girl we liked. Everyone in the platoon agreed she was the prettiest. We tied her down, and… we all took turns." He sobbed. "I did too. I'm so sorry. I have sisters. I'm so sorry."

  Another protester marched by, holding another placard. An Asian boy appeared in this video, disturbingly skinny, maybe starving. He held a baby in his arms. The baby looked even thinner, close to death.

  "The Earthlings bombed my family farm," the boy said. "All our fields—gone. I watched my parents burn. Do you have food, Holy Maria? Please some food for my sister."

  Kaelyn tilted her head. Since when were fields burning in Asia? What was going on? The Alien Wars had ended years ago! Why was there such despair on Earth?

  And then she understood.

  It suddenly snapped into place.

  No, it couldn't be. Impossible! And yet…

  "They're Bahayans," she whispered. Trembling seized her. "Bahayans aren't monsters. They're human."

  She looked at the posters on the walls, depicting bucktoothed, slanty-eyed goblins. Then at the true Bahayans in the videos. Speaking of their loss. Of a tragedy beyond anything Kaelyn had ever envisioned. She had heard generals brag about killing millions of slits, and she had imagined monsters exterminated.

  "But we are the monsters," Kaelyn whispered.

  "I know what I saw on Bahay!" rose a voice. "I s
aw slaughter! I saw soldiers murder babies! War no more, war no more!"

  Kaelyn looked toward the source of the voice. A woman in a wheelchair was holding a megaphone. She wore a military uniform. It was shabby and battle-worn, but medals jangled across it. One of her hands was a metal prosthetic, and her shirt was unbuttoned, revealing bandages on her chest. She wore her golden hair in a braid.

  "I am Sergeant Lizzy Pascal!" the woman said into her megaphone. "I fought in Bahay. I was captured. Tortured. Burned. Shot. I sacrificed everything for my planet. And I tell you: this war is pointless! Meaningless! Senseless!" Tears flowed down her cheeks. "We cannot win in Bahay. We can only burn, bomb, destroy. Kill and die. Year after year. Enough have died! War no more!"

  "War no more!" the others chanted. "War no more!"

  Kaelyn inhaled sharply.

  Sergeant Lizzy Pascal?

  The name tickled something in her memory… Of course!

  George had called her after graduating basic training. Just before blasting off to Bahay. He had mentioned Lizzy.

  Kaelyn ran toward the demonstration.

  "Sergeant Pascal! Sergeant Pascal!"

  The sergeant halted her wheelchair, and her medals clinked. Her body tensed. Her hand reached toward her waist, instinctively reaching for a gun, but she found no weapon. Her lips peeled back in a snarl. But then she noticed Kaelyn, her body relaxed, and she took a deep breath.

  A soldier's instincts, Kaelyn knew. She told herself not to run shouting toward any veterans again.

  "Sergeant Pascal," she said again, voice softer now. "My name is Kaelyn Williams."

  The protest was continuing. People were still marching down Main Street, chanting and raising their placards. Caught in the flow, the sergeant had no choice. She propelled her wheelchair along with the crowd.

  "Well, for fuck's sake, make yourself useful, Kaelyn Williams," the sergeant said. "Push me so I can hold my megaphone properly. And call me Lizzy. You're not one of my soldiers."

  "Yes, Lizzy!"

  Kaelyn almost saluted. She caught herself and began to push the wheelchair. It was amazing how commanding this sergeant could be, even wounded and wheelchair-bound. No wonder George had spoken of her with such awe.

  The protest kept moving down the boulevard. People were emerging from their shops to stare. A few spat.

  "Traitors!" a barber called.

  "Slit-lovers!" shouted the baker, a veteran with one leg.

  But many were watching the video-placards. The townsfolk were, perhaps, seeing Bahayans for the first time.

  "Lizzy." Kaelyn licked her dry lips, afraid to ask, but she forced the words out. "Do you know my brother? Private George Williams?"

  Lizzy twisted around in her wheelchair. She stared at Kaelyn, eyes narrowed.

  "A big fucker? Seven feet tall? Ginger?"

  Kaelyn couldn't help but grin. "That's him!" Her smile faded, and her heart galloped with fear. "Is he okay? Is he…?"

  Dead? she wanted to ask. Wounded? In a wheelchair too?

  But she could speak no more, overwhelmed.

  "He's fine." Lizzy patted Kaelyn's hand. "At least when I left Bahay a few weeks ago, he was fine. He has a good friend watching over him."

  "Jon Taylor," Kaelyn said.

  Lizzy smiled. "You know them both. Yes, I had several soldiers from Lindenville in my platoon. Clay Hagen is from here. And Etty Ettinger lived in the next town over. It's why I chose this place to protest." She shook her head in wonder. "Kaelyn Williams. I never imagined that giant ginger could have a sister who's so small."

  Kaelyn laughed. "I'm five-foot-five. Average height. I only seem small next to George. He had a brain tumor, do you know? It's why he grew so big. It was pressing on his pituitary gland. If the doctors hadn't removed it, he'd be even bigger. Oh gosh, Lizzy, thank you for the update. And thank you for…" She looked at the video placards that rose all around. "For this."

  "Earth has to know," Lizzy said.

  "How did you get this past military censorship?" Kaelyn asked. "My grandfather was an officer in military intelligence. The stories in these videos… they must be more classified than a presidential sex tape. My God, the army must be pissed at you, Lizzy."

  The sergeant smiled thinly. "Actually, I didn't smuggle these videos from Bahay. A young Bahayan girl did. They call her Holy Maria, and—"

  Hundreds of thudding boots interrupted her.

  Kaelyn stared between the placards, and her heart sank.

  An army of policemen were marching down the road toward the protesters, clad in riot gear.

  Sirens blared. Several police cars raced onto the street, surrounded the protesters, and blocked all exits.

  One policeman rode a heavy black horse, and protesters recoiled from the thundering hoofs.

  "All protesters, you are under arrest!" announced the mounted policeman, speaking into a megaphone.

  Kaelyn gasped. "What? No! On what charges?"

  Nobody heard her. The protesters all began to boo, to shout. A chant began to rise.

  "Pigs get lost! Pigs get lost!"

  They waved their placards. But nobody was looking anymore. Everyone in town was retreating into the shops.

  The police marched closer. There must have been a hundred policemen here, all in riot gear, faces hidden inside their helmets, their shields tall. They carried mean batons. The mounted policeman led the officers like some medieval knight leading his infantry.

  "This is bullshit!" Lizzy shouted into her megaphone. "We have a right to assemble!"

  The mounted policeman spoke into his megaphone. "You are broadcasting classified material. You are all under arrest. Raise your hands and offer no resistance."

  "Fuck you, pigs!" somebody shouted.

  "Pigs get lost!" A protester hurled a can at the police. It splattered beer against a shield.

  And the police swarmed.

  The horse charged through the protesters. They fell back, shouting. Electronic placards fell and shattered. The faces of the Bahayans, telling their stories, vanished in showers of sparks and smoke and twisted metal.

  "We refuse to be silenced!" Lizzy said into her megaphone. "War no more, war no mo—"

  The mounted policeman leaned down, reached toward the wheelchair, and grabbed Lizzy's megaphone.

  Kaelyn rushed toward the rider. "Hey, let her speak!"

  The policeman swung his fist.

  Pain exploded across Kaelyn's face.

  She fell. The policeman had struck her! She could barely register it. Surely it was a mistake. She tasted blood.

  Rough hands grabbed her, lifted her.

  "Let me go!" Kaelyn screamed, spat, and kicked. She managed to free herself and scampered back, pulling Lizzy with her.

  All around, protesters clashed with police. Shields plowed forward, bloodying faces. Batons swung, crushing bones. A protester fell beside Kaelyn. A loose tooth clattered over the pavement.

  Kaelyn froze.

  She stared around in horror.

  No. Oh God, no.

  Everywhere around her—violence. Blood. A baton cracked a man's head, and he fell, blood matting his hair. One protester was throwing rocks. They bounced off shields and visors. Another protester managed to grab a baton from a policeman, to swing it, to shatter the officer's leg.

  Here in Lindenville—a war zone.

  "I… I'm not a part of this," Kaelyn whispered. "I…"

  "Burn the pigs down!" a protester cried, lit a Molotov cocktail, and hurled it at the police.

  The bottle landed among the policemen.

  Fire blazed. One policeman screamed and fell, fire sweeping over his uniform.

  Another Molotov cocktail flew. Another policeman burned.

  A tree caught fire. Then a shop awning. Smoke filled the air.

  A policeman managed to reach Kaelyn, to grab her arm. Another policeman grabbed Lizzy and pulled her from the wheelchair.

  "Leave us alone!" Kaelyn shouted, kicking and screaming.

  "Don't touch h
er!" Lizzy cried. "The girl's not part of this. She just came off the street! Don't fucking touch her!"

  Wounded as she was, Lizzy struggled hard. It took three policemen to twist her arms back, to handcuff her.

  Kaelyn retreated into the smoke, coughing. The town was burning around her. She could barely see anything but fire and smoke.

  But on the ground, she found one vid-screen. It had not shattered. A video was still playing across it.

  The young Bahayan girl with the burnt arm. Speaking of Earth bombing her village.

  Kaelyn lifted the sign.

  She raised it overhead.

  She began to chant. "War no more! War no more!"

  Across the street, people joined her. Protesters, some still fighting, others handcuffed. And city people too! Shop owners. Students. Regular townsfolk. They chanted with her.

  "War no more! War no more!"

  As the fire spread, so did the chant.

  Kaelyn looked through the smoke, and she saw the policeman on the horse. Their leader.

  He had raised his visor. And she saw fear in his eyes.

  She looked into those eyes, and she raised her chin, and she spoke directly to him.

  "War no more!"

  The rider snarled, raised his rifle, and opened fire.

  * * * * *

  The bullets flew.

  Kaelyn screamed and ducked for cover.

  A bullet slammed into the pavement beside her, ricocheted, and scraped across her leg with searing agony.

  A bullet slammed into a protester beside her.

  Another man fell.

  "They're shooting us!" somebody shouted. "They're killing us!"

  Another policeman opened fire. Then a third. Bullets flew and protesters fell.