by Mark Tufo
“My son,” the Commander said as he noticed where my gaze rested. “I suppose it’s his way of showing appreciation for what I do while I’m away. And probably the only way he feels connected to me on my long absences,” he said as his chiseled features dropped a little, no doubt at the thought of being away from his family.
“Where is he, sir? If you don’t mind my asking,” I said
“Safe, for now,” he added. I sent him and his mother back to her home, in a small province outside of Alberta. The aliens have thus far only been targeting larger metropolitan areas.” He left the rest unanswered. We both knew relatively soon, ‘safe’ would not be a word used casually.
“Sit-sit, Captain,” the Commander said as he motioned to a small leather chair off to the side. I gratefully accepted. I was dog-tired and sore to say the least.
“I’ve been reading your bio since we started on this mission,” he started.
I have a bio? But I let him continue.
“Pretty impressive stuff, I might add. Too bad the Navy didn’t get a hold of you first, I would have commissioned you myself.”
“With all due respect, sir, my father was a Marine, I don’t think he would have approved.”
“Quite,” he mused.
“Sir, I only did what I had to do. Everyone keeps thinking I’m some sort of hero. But a hero makes a conscious decision and strikes out to do just that against overwhelming odds. I did what I did because I had no choices.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Michael,” the commander stated. “A true hero does not set out to become a hero, those are usually the idiots that get themselves or their troops killed. You sacrificed of your self for the well being of others against odds no one would touch. So yes that qualifies you as a hero in my book and a lot of other books.”
“Not everyone’s books, sir, not by a long shot.”
He looked over quizzically at me, but I didn’t feel the need or the desire to elaborate.
The yeoman returned with two cups of coffee and hastily retreated, probably to the sick bay to get another look at Drababan.
“And so what is the relationship between you and the alien?” the commander asked.
“Drababan,” I interjected
The commander’s pleasantries stopped with me, he wasn’t quite ready to start referring to the enemy by name. He was waiting for my response, I think anything less than a kinship to Drababan might have his head on the executioners block tomorrow.
“Sir,” I started and hesitated. “I guess he’s sort of my friend.”
This startled the commander, his tongue and the roof of his mouth took the brunt of the splashing hot liquid, as he placed his coffee mug down. “Sir, we talked for hours while I was captive on that ship. About everything—our home worlds, religion, friends.”
“Talking about such matters does not make one friends,” the commander added.
“Sir, he saved my life,” I threw in on Drababan’s defense.
“Yes, there is that.”
“Sir, he was as much a prisoner on that ship as I was and when he had the opportunity to escape, he took it and me with him,” I said.
“Would he have killed you?” the commander asked.
No need to hesitate this time. “Without a doubt.”
The commander raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah, well, there is that,” I said dejectedly.
The yeoman who had previously brought us coffee burst into the commander’s quarters. “Sir—sir! The alien is awake and he’s tearing stuff up.” The yeoman didn’t wait for a response. The commander and I tried to keep up with him.
I heard the din long before I got there, four Marines were at the door, M-16s at the ready, and about a dozen or so sailors were behind them trying to get a better look. I barged my way through the sailors but that same tactic wasn’t going to work with the Marines. Sergeant Yarborough barred my way with her weapon.
“And where do you think you’re going, mister?”
I was through with this crap, she had been treating me like a punished third grader for the last time.
“Listen, Sergeant I am a captain in the United States Marines and if I want to go into that room, I damned well will,” I barked. Well orders, were orders even if she didn’t like them.
“Stand down, men,” she ordered.
I walked in. Drababan was against the far wall, his snarl making him look the meanest croc that ever walked the planet.
“Drababan,” I said with my hands chest high. “What’s going on? What’s the matter?”
“You tell these hu-mans,” he spat, “if they don’t stop poking me with their needles I’m going to start launching fireballs through my nose!” Everyone at the door took a step back. I unfortunately kept approaching.
“Can you do that?” I asked softly.
“No, but I knew it would scare the hell out of them,” he snorted.
I almost broke down laughing. At least some of the aliens had a sense of humor.
“Damn, Drababan, I almost lost it,” I said still approaching. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Talbot, but every time I try to go into deep meditation, these little scurrying furballs keep taking my blood,” he yelled the final part for dramatic effect, was my guess. I again had to suppress a smile.
“Drababan, if I get them to stop,” I said as I turned to look at the doctors who seemed a little depressed about not being able to do any more lab work on their new favorite project. “Will you go lie down?”
“And I’ll want him restrained” Sergeant Yarborough added.
“Sergeant!” I snapped. “Don’t you have some boots to polish?” Her eyes shot lasers at me as she turned and pushed her way through the growing throng of spectators. “All of you!” I yelled. “If you are not essential personnel, go back to your business.” The crowd began to reluctantly disperse.
Commander Denton stepped forward through the crowd. “Captain, would I be considered ‘essential personnel’?” he asked.
I had to hand it to the commander, he didn’t hesitate for a millisecond as he approached Drababan. No, matter what the commander was feeling, it didn’t show.
“Drababan, is it? I would appreciate it greatly if you would no longer attempt to dismantle my ship, rivet by rivet.”
I looked up at Dee, I couldn’t tell whether he wanted to eat Denton or salute him. And then the tension was finally broken as Dee acquiesced.
“Yes, sir,” Drababan responded. “I will not dismantle your ship, rivet by rivet.”
The commander seemed appeased with that answer, I personally thought that left a lot of room for maneuverability.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sammie died half way to Worcester, his breath rattled once and then he was still. Beth had pulled over five minutes earlier, realizing he had taken a turn for the worst. She had placed his head on her lap and caressed his face hoping his last few moments on Earth would be gentle. He never regained consciousness which Beth guessed made him better off. She placed his body in the back seat and covered him up with a spare blanket. She hoped to properly bury him when they reached Walpole and Mike, she let out a small cry. “Now’s not the time, Beth. Keep it moving,” she said to herself.
Sixty… fifty… forty… thirty—Beth’s car was rapidly losing speed.
“I guess that’s what happens when you run out of gas,” Beth said as she slammed her hands down on the steering wheel. “Isn’t there some sort of patron saint of fuel stops?” she asked the heavens.
Beth had finally left the desolate Mass pike and had started south on Interstate 495, which made the Pike look like Times Square on New Year’s. The smell of Smoke was everywhere and it was acrid. This was no forest fire, she surmised.
“Shit!” she whispered vehemently as the car came to a complete stop. Two miles outside of Natick she began her trek anew on foot, this time she grabbed the gun.
“I’m sorry.” she said into the back window. “I’ll get someone here to give you a p
roper burial.” That was two promises she had made to come back, she desperately yearned to be able to keep them, but she didn’t like the odds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The absence of traffic on the highway worked to his advantage. Boady was his given name but Pegged, was how he was known to everyone outside of his family, because his anger was always at full throttle, had no idea where the bitch who killed his brother was going. After he had ‘borrowed’ a motorcycle he headed due east, not knowing if he was losing or gaining ground on her. And then his luck changed. A fine mist of dust, which was making driving a bike a little more difficult, was also leaving him a trail to follow almost as good as the Yellow Brick Road. Two miles before, The Bitch had exited the highway she was leaving tell tale tire marks in the dust. Pegged could only reason that God was on his side, how else could it be possible she had left a trail moments before she left the Mass Pike. Ten minutes after he turned off the highway he spotted the car on the side of the road. He ditched the bike and headed into the woods so he could come up on the car quietly. He was quivering with excitement, he hoped beyond hope she was sleeping and he would be her last waking image. He couldn’t have imagined it any better than that, he might be nicknamed Pegged, but he wasn’t crazy, he knew there was at least one gun in that car and he’d be even more damned if he let her get off a lucky shot that would end his ‘crusade’.
For ten minutes he had laid in the trees watching the car, yet to see any movement. He crept closer in the standard military advancement technique, arm over arm and pushing along with his legs, like some malformed crab. If she had been lying in wait he would be a goner by the time he reached the door. But what would she be lying in wait for? There was no reason in the world for her to think she hadn’t completely and utterly lost him once and for all. What she didn’t realize was that God was on his side and he wanted her dead even more than Pegged did. He stopped to revel for a moment and then continued on once again realizing where he was and what he was doing. He rapidly closed in on the car, not liking the feeling of being completely exposed. He slowly peered up and over the lip of the window and saw the blanket. He almost wanted to clap for joy at his good fortune. He stood up slowly and quickly opened the car door, making sure to firmly press the barrel of his gun against her head. It didn’t work out quite as he had planned. She didn’t wake up screaming and begging for mercy, she didn’t move at all. Maddened, he yanked the blanket off to reveal a completely blue, young dead boy, who wouldn’t be getting any older at least not on this plane of existence.
“Fuck!” he screamed, and then his frustration turned to fruition as he spotted Beth’s footsteps heading off onto the roadway.
“Thank you Jesus!” he said as he started off on a slow trot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Colonel Ginson we have reports coming in of alien ground troops making their way into Dedham.” Major Salazar tried his best to act nonchalant about the news when the Private had finished, but Paul knew better, Frank had nearly spilled his drink all over the front of his uniform, had the private not been so fixated on the report he also would have noticed.
“Thank you, private. Let me know if you hear any reports of their movements,” Paul was as matter of fact as possible taking into consideration his pounding heart.
“Aye-aye, sir!” The private said a little too enthusiastically. Paul wondered if he would sound that thrilled when the aliens were marching down Main Street in Walpole. Probably not, Paul reasoned.
“Damn, I really wish they had positioned themselves north of Boston, not South,” Paul said as he turned to Frank.
“Well, we knew this day was coming, Paul. What difference does it matter where they are?” Frank asked.
“You’re right, Frank, just having them that close is a little unsettling,” Paul responded. “It will, however, make raids a lot more logistically easy.”
“Speaking of which, when should we begin?” Frank asked.
“I’d really like to have Mike back here first, but I’m concerned the three or four days we wait for him will give the aliens that much more time to make a foothold.”
Frank looked at him sideways.
“Okay, a stranglehold,” Paul retorted. “I’d like to have an assault slated for tonight. I don’t want a full on engagement yet, I would like to have something set up to test their strength and tactics. I don’t want to commit fully to something when I don’t have a complete understanding of what we are up against.”
“Understood, sir. I can have Charlie team fully operational and equipped by 1600 tonight,” Frank said.
“That’s Dennis’ team, right?” Paul asked.
“Is there a problem, Paul?” Paul shook his head. “Since his team almost lost the grocery store, he has been working them non-stop to get them prepared for this invasion. His team is the most physically fit and well trained platoon we have,” Frank added.
“Old allegiances die hard, Frank, it’s difficult to send a friend out into what truly amounts to an unknown quantity,” Paul replied.
“I understand, Paul, and that’s why I want to send the best, anything less could be disastrous.”
“Get it done, Frank,” Paul said as he sat down at his table and began writing into his log. This was Frank’s cue to dismiss himself. Paul still surprised the hell out of Frank at times, but this was one mannerism Frank had down cold.
“Dennis, can I come in?” Frank said as he knocked on the pole that held up Dennis’ tarp.
“Yeah, come on in Frank,” Dennis said as he sat up on his bed putting down the old copy of Sports Illustrated.
“Sports Illustrated?” Frank asked.
"Yeah, it’s kind of nice to catch up on them. Had a subscription for three years and never really read any of them. And now I know how everything turned out,” Dennis answered with a wry smile. “What brings you down to this end of the barracks, Major?” Dennis asked. “I know this isn’t a social call or you would have brought down some beers with you.”
“Right now Dennis, I’d love to have a beer with you,” Frank responded.
“This sounds serious, should I be taking notes?” Dennis asked, half-jokingly.
“It is serious,” Frank said as Dennis scooted on to the edge of the bed. “As you already know the aliens have landed and have begun to set-up station in Dedham. Colonel Gin… Paul wants to assess troop strength, weaponry, and tactics.”
“And he needs guinea pigs to find this out?” Dennis answered.
“It’s a recon mission, Dennis. We have got to find out what we are up against and your men have proved themselves to be a well-trained unit,” Frank said. “This isn’t a full on engagement, Paul just wants you to gather as much intell as possible and get your asses back here.”
“Frank, you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I knew what I was getting into the day I started working for Paul,” Dennis answered. “This is why I have been pushing my men so hard—I wouldn’t have it any other way. I couldn’t live with myself if another unit went out there in my stead and got cut to ribbons. Since the store incident—” Dennis began looking up at Frank, whose expression didn’t change in the least—“I’ve been chomping at the bit to prove I’ve got the right stuff to get us out of this jam.” Frank’s expression did change this time, luckily, though, Dennis wasn’t looking.
If he considers this merely a jam, I’d hate to think what a real mess constitutes, Frank thought.
“And I just want to get out there and pull my weight. Paul runs the show here, Mike has been through more than any of us combined, and I sit here and read old magazines. I can’t friggin’ take it anymore—what am I going to tell my grandkids when they ask about the Rebellion! Oh yeah, kiddies,” Dennis said with his best old man voice. “I watched some of the biggest heroes of our time take on the invasion force and kick their asses. Me? What did I do? Well, I learned the ‘83 swimsuit edition was arguably the best of all time. Come on, Frank, you know I have to do this thing. I’m honor bound.”
“Be ready by 1600. I’ll have the beer on ice when you get back.”
“Always a pleasure,” Dennis answered as he moved off of his cot and out the makeshift tent to round up his men for the briefing.
Frank stood there a few moments longer, wondering if he had just spoken his last words to a man he now considered one of his friends.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - Mike Journal Entry 7
We were making excellent time across ‘the pond’ as they liked to call it, and I couldn’t have been happier. Number one, to get back to Indian Hill and two to get out of the friggin’ tin can. I never considered myself a claustrophobic but the sub was making a strong case for it. I relished the thought of getting hope back, of being able to stand up and fight the true enemy for once. I was done just trying to survive, it was time to make them ‘just try to survive.’ I can’t say I was completely confident we could pull it off, but I’d rather die trying than not.
Three days into the trip and I was going stir crazy, I had had enough time to teach Drababan, who was recovering nicely, how to play chess. And after our third game he beat me, from there on, it was a fifty /fifty struggle. His mastery of strategy left me hoping he was more the exception than the rule. If his brethren could adapt this fast, what little fight we had left was not going to make much of an intergalactic splash.
“Ah, Miiike, I must say I most enjoy this game of chess. It is much like our game of, he stopped to use the alien word, which sounded like a bunch of grunts and snarls, but not quite as difficult.”
“You’ll have to teach me, er… that game (I wasn’t going to even begin trying to mimic his words) when we have a chance.”
That would be nice, his eyes said, but both of us knew the chances of that were pretty slim. It was tough to tell his meaning as I was too busy backpedaling from his aggressive, queen’s pawn opening.