Maneuvers

by Bernard Wilkerson

Stanley watched around him as the Hrwang readied for departure. They went through the usual pre-flight routines most pilots did. One of the Grenadiers even checked that Stanley and Irina were properly buckled in.

  Stanley felt engines rev up, but didn’t feel a take off. It just seemed like they were floating in the sky and then setting down.

  Touchdown confirmed a landing.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “We land on top of UN building,” the Second Colonel Grenadier replied.

  “Why on top” Irina asked.

  The Colonel shrugged. “Danger?”

  The engines spun down and everyone unbuckled. Two of the Hrwang soldiers retrieved firearms; small, hand held weapons that looked like slightly oversized brass knuckles, and went to the hatch.

  It opened and they peeked out, weapons first. They stepped out, one staying by the hatch, the other moving away. The one that moved away raised his hand, and the third soldier went out of the hatch leaving Stanley, Irina, the Colonel, and the two pilots behind. No one spoke.

  Stanley wanted to ask what was going on, but fear bound his tongue. If the Hrwang were taking things seriously, there must be danger. But weren’t they on top of a building? What could touch them up there?

  Former Staff Sergeant John Cathey watched out of the corner of the window of the apartment he occupied, his binoculars placed to make them as minimally visible from the outside as possible. He’d watched for days, food boxes, potato chip bags, water and beer bottles scattered all around him attesting to that. At least five days of beard growth, five days of sweaty clothes, and five days of unchanged underwear and socks added to the stench. He didn’t care. He watched.

  He finally saw what he had been watching for.

  Once he had confirmation with a quick pic snapped with his phone, he knew where to go to get what he needed. He crawled away from the window and the mess he’d created, and sneaked out of the room and the apartment.

  The Hrwang soldier by the door finally raised his arm and the Colonel said, “Let’s go. Move fast. Keep head low. Like this.” He demonstrated ducking.

  Stanley remembered the ticker tape parade Boston Wright got in New York City when he returned home from Mars. Stanley’s was the sixth mission. Who remembered the sixth pair of astronauts that walked on the Moon, anyway? No one would remember his mission either, so he hadn’t expected parades, but sneaking into the UN building, hiding from someone or something? And spending his first night on Earth hiding in the desert? This wasn’t what he’d expected. His return to Earth should have been better than this.

  The Colonel led, dutifully ducking his head, running crouched across the roof to an open door. Stanley followed, Irina behind him.

  They ran towards the door but Stanley slowed to look around him. He’d been on top of taller buildings, like the Empire State Building, but the view from the United Nations Headquarters was impressive. The East River and Queens on one side, the skyline of Manhattan on the other, and Stanley tried to take it in as he moved.

  Irina passed him and yelled at him from the doorway that led inside.

  “Hurry up, sir.”

  Stanley got to the doorway but stopped, a soldier impatiently waiting for him to enter. He didn’t care. He was back on Earth. He wanted to look at New York.

  Then he heard shots. Somewhere on the ground. Maybe it wasn’t safe, after all. He went inside.

  The Hrwang seemed to know where to go, winding down stairs and through corridors until they got to a set of closed double doors with two guards. The men didn’t seem surprised to see Stanley’s group, but didn’t move away from the doors they guarded either. The Hrwang stopped.

  The guards and the Hrwang soldiers stared at each other, weapons ready but not pointing at each other, and no one spoke until the Colonel broke the silence.

  “Ambassador, you must speak to them.”

  “Okay.”

  Stanley moved nervously through the group of Hrwang, getting in front of the lead soldier and walking towards the two guards. They stiffened but otherwise didn’t react. He stopped about ten feet in front of them.

  “Hi. I’m Captain Stanley Russell from the Beagle. We were orbiting Mars when the war broke out.”

  One of the guards, a thickset, muscular behemoth, glanced at his partner, an equally muscular type, but of a smaller build. The second guard didn’t move his eyes away from the Hrwang soldiers behind Stanley, but made a brief call on a small phone or radio. He whispered, and Stanley didn’t catch anything he said.

  The person on the other end said something and the guard suddenly moved the communication device towards Stanley. At first, Stanley thought the guard wanted him to speak to the person on the other end, but instead the man took a picture of him. At the sound of the click the device made, the Hrwang readied weapons. One of the guards brought his rifle into firing position also.

  “I’m American,” Stanley said. “Put down your weapons.”

  No one moved.

  Stanley turned around to the Hrwang and motioned downwards with his hands. “It’s okay,” he said. “Lower your weapons.”

  The Hrwang didn’t move until the Colonel confirmed Stanley’s instructions. They lowered their weapons. The guards in front of him did also, but they didn’t relax.

  Stanley heard more voices on the phone but still couldn’t make out what they were saying. The guard finally lowered his phone and spoke.

  “You can stay here until someone shows up. Everyone else needs to go back on the roof.”

  “Not safe,” the Colonel said.

  “Then up the stairwell by the roof. You can’t stay here.”

  “For how long?” Stanley asked.

  “Not my call,” the guard replied in a deep, bass voice.

  Stanley turned to look at Irina and the Hrwang and shrugged. “Hopefully not too long,” he said apologetically, wanting to figure out who the guard was talking to, wanting to make some progress here, to fulfill the mission the Lord Admiral had given him, yet at the same time not wanting his group to abandon him.

  He knew he needed to be brave. The guards in front of him weren’t going to hurt him as soon as everyone realized who he was. Despite the black coverall uniform he wore now, he wasn’t Hrwang.

  “I’ll be okay,” he said. The Colonel nodded to him and he nodded back. Irina’s glare returned. He decided not to say anything to her.

  The two guards relaxed a little when the group left. Stanley felt more nervous.

  “Who are we waiting for?” he asked. The guards didn’t even acknowledge that he had spoken. Fine, he thought. He needed to wait for someone more important.

  A short, African-American woman finally arrived, coming through the double doors in the midst of four ferocious looking men, all armed with submachine guns.

  “Who are you?” she demanded of Stanley.

  “Captain Stanley Russell of the Beagle. And you are?”

  “The Beagle shouldn’t have returned for at least another year.”

  “The Hrwang brought us back early.”

  “Who’s your second-in-command?”

  “Commander Irina Samovitch, UN Navy.”

  “What’s her nationality?”

  “Her mother is Nigerian, her father Russian, but she was raised in the United States. She’s now a U.S. citizen.”

  “That’s too easy. Umm,” she hesitated. “Who’s your atmospheric chemist?”

  “What is this?”

  “I’m just trying to establish who you are.”

  “I’m Captain Stanley Russell. I don’t have any ID on me. Sorry. I didn’t need ID in orbit around Mars.”

  “Yes, but you’re not in orbit around Mars like you’re supposed to be, are you?”

  “Things have been moving fast. I forgot to bring it with me.”

  “Who’s your atmospher
ic chemist?” the woman repeated.

  “Sherry Pennacott.”

  “Pennacott. That’s right. I’d forgotten her last name. Why is she on your crew?”

  “She’s the best atmospheric chemist in the world.”

  “Yeah, but why did she agree to join your crew?”

  “She didn’t. Until I went to her house and convinced her.”

  “I wish I could think of more questions that only Stanley Russell would know. We’re going to do a DNA test, but we won’t have results until tomorrow.”

  “I am Captain Russell.”

  “Then you won’t mind a DNA test.”

  One of her security people whispered something to her.

  “They haven’t had time for that, have they?” she said aloud.

  “Haven’t had time for what?” Stanley asked.

  “To grow a clone of you. I don’t think even if they had that technology, they could grow a clone that fast. Still, I wished I remembered more things about you. Stuff that isn’t on an official bio.”

  “How do you know anything about me? Or about my crew?”

  “You’re not a celebrity. But you aren’t not famous either. However, I used to be the Undersecretary of Space for the U.S. government.”

  “Used to be?”

  “That’s a long story. But I know about Beagle and her mission and crew. At least, what I learned from press briefings. I was over unmanned flight.” She slumped a little. “I’ve had a long day already. Can we sit down somewhere?”

  “Sure. I’d like some water, too. The, uh, the aliens with me, and my second-in-command, would probably like some water also.” Stanley felt leaderly, watching out for his troops.

  “Let’s talk.”

  They moved into a conference room down the corridor behind the double doors. The United Nations had certainly spared no expense. Stanley sat in the most elegant conference room he had ever seen, full leather chairs, a mahogany table, wood paneling, a silver coffee service in the corner, full length windows with a view across the river and over the city, glittering chandeliers, and some fairly expensive art work, including what could have been a Picasso, Stanley wasn’t sure, and a statue that looked ancient Mayan. Probably priceless. His military crew always said rank had its privileges and those at the UN certainly seemed to have a lot of rank.

  Water was provided, and the former Undersecretary of Space began.

  “I’m Rihanna Hollis. I may be the Acting President of the United States.”

  Stanley didn’t know what to say to her. He just looked at her, dumbfounded.

  “We haven’t found any higher ranking officials yet, although we’re still hopeful. The Hrwang pretty thoroughly devastated the leadership of our nation and that of many other nations. We’ve been trying to keep my assumption a secret for that and several other reasons.”

  “Then why tell me?”

  “Because I think you are Captain Russell. I was bluffing about the DNA test, but it didn’t bother you. We have no way to check your DNA, and even if we did, we no longer have access to any databases that we could compare the results to. But you didn’t know that and were willing to submit. I think you’re legit.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, now, tell me. Why are you here, and why are you with those murderers?”

  The Lord Admiral walked into the command center of his ship, the only room large enough for a conference with all of his department heads. Operations moved to the backup center and the Lieutenant Grenadier stood guard at the door. White noise generators and listening device sniffers ensured privacy. The Lord Admiral noted his Adjutant was present.

  He looked at the Fifth Over Colonel Grenadier. The man didn’t delay but launched immediately into his report.

  “Three reported science satellites are being tracked down in the vicinity of the sixth and seventh planets, out past the asteroid ring. Two more reported vessels have left the solar system and are no longer transmitting. They have been deemed no threat. Forty-seven drones continue to scan for unreported vessels.”

  Succinct and thorough, the way the Lord Admiral liked it. The man was well known to be on track for Admiral.

  “Would you guarantee, on your life, that we have supremacy in space now?”

  The man paused. Good, the Lord Admiral thought. He’s taking it seriously. Many a commander failed for not taking little things seriously.

  “There are no longer any active satellites or vessels around or in transit between the third and fourth planets, but there is a significant amount of debris. It is possible there are sleeper vessels, unpowered and inactive, that could be remotely activated. Twelve drones are patrolling for this eventuality. That would be my only caveat before I could guarantee complete space supremacy.”

  “Do you think this people have the capability to create such devices?” the Lord Admiral asked. There was caution, and there was overcautiousness.

  “They’ve proven to be a warlike people. Who else would start an aggression against a superior force?”

  There were nods of agreement. The Lord Admiral would give this to the man.

  “Of the forty seven drones searching for unreported vessels among the outer planets, how many could be spared without seriously compromising the mission.”

  It was clear the man wanted to say none, but he also understood priorities. “Perhaps fifteen to twenty, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  The accounting continued around the table. Medical reported seven fatalities among sleepers, but no other casualties and no alien diseases contracted. The vaccinations were working both directions. Air supremacy couldn’t be declared, most of the alien aircraft had gone to ground, and occasionally they had found and destroyed hidden hangars, but no airborne attacks had been launched against any Hrwang vehicle in over twenty hours.

  A major concern for ground operations was the large radioactive cloud drifting eastward over the main landmass.

  “If it spreads over the ocean, it will be harder to neutralize,” the Third Under Colonel reported.

  “Could we use every available AI for a precipitation operation? Catch most of it before it leaves the landmass?” the Lord Admiral asked.

  “We have about a thousand drones that could be used for that purpose,” the Fifth Over Colonel interjected.

  The Lord Admiral gauged his men. They all seemed to agree.

  “Do it,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What about the people on the land mass where the radiation precipitates out?” the Third Under Colonel asked.

  The Lord Admiral didn’t like the man. But he’d already found a way to get rid of the Second Colonel by assigning him to command the Ambassador’s security detachment. The Second Colonel should have commanded ground operations, but the Lord Admiral had been unhappy about his appointment even before they left Hrwang. After an interview with the man upon his waking, he found him completely incompetent. Commanding a security detachment was a significant demotion, but the Lord Admiral had softened the blow by emphasizing the importance of being a liaison to the Ambassador. The Second Colonel had taken it as well as could be expected.

  The Lord Admiral couldn’t, at least not at this point, get rid of a second department head. He’d have to wait for the right opportunity.

  “Remember, all of you, we didn’t start this conflict,” he answered. “We certainly didn’t unleash atomic devices on land masses. Those guilty of these atrocities bear the responsibility of the consequences. None other.”

  The Third Under Colonel didn’t look convinced, but the rest did. The Lord Admiral noted his reluctance, adding to his desire to dispose of the man.

  The reports continued. When they were finished, the Lord Admiral made his announcement.

  “It’s time for ground operations to begin. I will descend to the planet and take command
at a location already determined and being prepared. Fifth Over Colonel will assume the designation Acting Fleet Admiral and will be supreme commander of all forces in space.”

  Some surprise registered on the faces of his men. They had probably assumed the Admiral Commander would resume his command when the Lord Admiral went planetside. The Fifth Over Colonel didn’t react, keeping a calm demeanor as befitting a flag officer. The Lord Admiral felt his choice confirmed. The newly promoted Admiral could celebrate later.

  “Troops will either be attached to combat craft or deployed to secure locations, of which there is now only one. Further troop wakening requirements will be transmitted by ferry craft. The same ferry craft will also, hopefully, return with some fresh food.” He grinned, and his men grinned with him. Although they’d slept most of the two and a half years it took to travel from Hrwang, they still missed fresh food. Upon awakening, they’d been fed what the cargo ships had held in storage during that time. Powdered eggs, canned goods, dried meat. The Lord Admiral could almost taste fresh fruit on his tongue as he thought of descending to the local planet.

  “I leave at once,” he added.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The meeting ended with a review of some operational details, a few pleasantries among the soldiers, then everyone filing out to fulfill assignments they’d received. The newly appointed Acting Fleet Admiral remained behind. The Lord Admiral’s Adjutant slouched in the corner.

  The Acting Fleet Admiral nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  The Lord Admiral returned the nod. “You’ve earned it.”

  The man hesitated. He clearly considered his next question to be a delicate one. He finally decided to go with direct and simple.

  “The Admiral Commander?”

  “The Admiral Commander has been temporarily suspended of duties pending the investigations on the planet. He is to be given freedom of movement but is otherwise not to leave this vessel. No restrictions other than no command. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  They nodded again, and the newly appointed Acting Fleet Admiral departed. The Lord Admiral looked over at his Adjutant, the signal for the man to join him in discussion.

  He did.

  The Lord Admiral nodded at the Lieutenant Grenadier, who returned his nod and left, following the Fleet Admiral out.

  “He’s a good man, that one. Your new Admiral.” the Adjutant commented after the security officer was gone.

  “Too good.”

  The men exchanged grins.

  “As we planned then, sir?”

  “As we planned.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Adjutant started to leave.

  “One more thing,” the Lord Admiral said. The Adjutant turned to face him. “The Third Under Colonel.”

  The Adjutant sneered.

  “Terrible accidents happen sometimes,” the Lord Admiral suggested. His man grinned again.

  John Cathey sprinted from the apartment building to the nearest subway station, leaving himself in view of the United Nations Headquarters for as little a time as possible. A hundred or so protesters still chanted and marched around the provisional fence that had been erected, chain link and concrete barriers, behind which stood another hundred or so police. He hoped nobody would notice him.

  Without knowing when rocks would start falling from the sky again, the subways became the safest way to get around. The dark sections between stations were often lit with battery lamps. John didn’t know where all the trains were.

  He made his way to the station he’d been to a several days earlier, a place off the main line where vendors had set up shop. Their prices for survival gear were exorbitant. But he’d seen something he wanted, something he needed now, and although he had no money to buy it, he was going to sweet talk the seller out of it.

  He found the vendor. It was clear the man was selling remnants of the looting of a National Guard armory.

  “That case,” John said and pointed.

  The man didn’t even look at it. “Ten thousand. Non negotiable.”

  John didn’t even have a hundred dollars. He scratched his beard.

  “I need it. It’s important.”

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  John leaned over on the man’s makeshift table covered with hand guns, ammunition, even a few grenades.

  “I. Need. It.”

  “I. Don’t. Care.”

  “It’s for national security.”

  “Then the nation can afford ten grand.”

  How much did John need to give away? He wondered how long his opportunity would last. Minutes? Hours? It could be gone already.

  “Look. I’ve acquired a target.” He pulled out his phone, bringing up the picture. He showed it to the vendor.

  The vendor didn’t even look at the picture.

  “Then I hope it’s worth ten grand to you,” he said. He casually undid the holster clasp over his sidearm.

  John had never been eloquent. He knew that. He also sensed time was running out. He needed what was in the case.

  He knew exactly what it was. He’d even fired them before, in training. An FIM-22E Stinger II ground to air missile. They were old, but were rated for twenty or thirty years of service. He didn’t consider that propellants aged and missiles that were too old could just explode. He just knew he wanted that Stinger.

  “No one else is going to need it,” he said.

  “Then I’ll use it for target practice. Now get lost.”

  “You didn’t pay for it.”

  The vendor put his hand on his pistol. “I said, get lost.”

  John looked around. There were five or six other vendors and about twenty shoppers. No one paid him any attention. Too absorbed on figuring out what they needed to survive.

  He spoke loudly.

  “I know where there’s an alien aircraft. It’s parked right now. I need to destroy it.” Heads turned at that. “I can use that Stinger right there to do it. The one this man stole from the government.”

  The vendor drew his pistol. “That’s enough out of you.”

  John turned to stare at the man, focused on the weapon pointed at him. He watched with surprise as the vendor slowly put his pistol down, then back into its holster. He sensed others now behind him and glanced around, seeing two men with guns drawn, pointed at the vendor. Another vendor stood to the side of them.

  “Look, Mac. Let him have the Stinger,” the second vendor said.

  “He’s just gonna waste it,” the first vendor yelled.

  “Hey, buddy. You know what you’re doing?” the second vendor asked.

  “Staff Sergeant John Cathey, retired,” John replied.

  The second vendor, backed now by four or five armed customers, said, “My name’s not important, but I was a Marine Gunnery Sergeant. I’d love to see one of those buggers go up in flames. You really know how to fire that thing?”

  John nodded.

  “Give it to him.”

  The first vendor protested and even reached for his pistol again. The other customers discouraged him.

  “Can I watch?” the former Gunnery Sergeant asked.

  Safely back in the lobby of the apartment building, the Stinger, in it’s case, slung on his back, about twenty hangers-on wanting to watch the fireworks, and John knew the hardest part lay ahead. No power, no elevators. He had to climb fifty flights of stairs to get back to his vantage point.

  A few of the hangers-on groaned when he told them that and said they would watch from the street.

  “Don’t give yourself away. You’ll tip them off.”

  They understood.

  He felt his first wave of light-headedness at the tenth floor, but the desire to take some aliens out pushed him, and he kept going, using the handrail to pull himself.

  The noise of the
crowd thinned out behind him by the twentieth floor and by the thirtieth, when he threw up all the beer and cheese crackers he’d had for breakfast, only five followers remained.

  They encouraged each other when they could breathe. John had done these stairs before, but had ascended a floor at a time, looking for food, liquid, and supplies. It had taken a few days to get to the fiftieth. Now he needed to do it as quickly as possible. He didn’t realize how hard it would be.

  At thirty-five he had to stop, collapsing onto the stairs. He gasped, his heart pounded, his vision tunneled and he thought he might pass out.

  “Breathe slowly,” a woman said. She put her hand on John’s shoulder. “Breathe slowly,” she repeated.

  John tried.

  He wished he were still in shape. The day after he retired, he went for his morning run and about a mile from his home, he realized he wasn’t in the military anymore, and he walked home. All exercise ended at that point.

  Today he wished he’d been smarter.

  “Don’t stop too long,” the woman said. “One step at a time.”

  She wore camo pants and boots, but a yoga shirt. She seemed the least winded out of the remaining group.

  John stood slowly and daggers pierced his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut and held the railing.

  “One step at a time,” the woman said, and they started upwards.

  The six, John and the five who made it to the top with him, all collapsed on the landing of the fiftieth floor. Even the woman in the yoga shirt lay on her back, gasping. John had no idea how hard going up all fifty floors at once would be.

  He didn’t know how much time he had. He couldn’t stand, his legs felt like rubber, his brain like mush, but he had to keep moving. He started crawling for the stairwell door.