Greenflies Read online

  Those manning the heavy machine gun turrets waved at him, and he could hear bellows of encouragement from those beyond the armored trucks. To them, he must have appeared a battle-scarred soldier limping home, leaning on a fence. No one would know that he had abandoned fellow soldiers not once, but twice in five minutes. He waved with his free hand, still propping himself up against the fence.

  He never saw the alien bomb.

  A gust of wind pulled him forward, and there was a thunderclap louder than anything in nature. For just a moment, he dangled from the fence, his feet pointed towards the parking lot as if gravity had shifted. In truth, it was just the wind, blowing towards the sudden vacuum created by the alien weapon. Once the wind died out, John was dropped bodily to the ground. At this point, he wasn’t even sure he could get up again. He just surveyed the damage from where he was, his vision blurry and nothing but a constant ringing in his ears.

  The parking lot was now a crater unlike any John had seen before. The center had been somewhere behind the line of APCs. A hemisphere of earth, concrete, men, and trucks had simply vanished without explosion or impact. The edge of the crater showed the edge of the pavement, little rodent warrens cut neatly along their length, and solid rock cut so clean as to be shiny. There was even a pipe visible, its new mouth pumping water slowly into the hemispherical hole. The radius was tremendous, easily fifty meters. It had totally destroyed the human line. There were a few vehicles and personnel visible on the other side of the crater, but no obvious way to reach them. Besides, they seemed as stunned as John himself.

  A new kind of alien craft passed over the scene of devastation. It was a bright red arrowhead, leaving contrails and a pair of fiery trails from its rear. Between the two heat trails was a slender tail reminding John of a kite. It was clearly articulated, and the tip of the tail appeared to split into multiple fingers. If John’s guess was right about it being less than a thousand meters up was correct, it was about the same size as a terrestrial jet fighter. He suspected it was roaring across the sky, surveying its bombing run. He now knew why the alien transport from a moment ago had been in such a hurry.

  There was a rumble in the ground and a stiff wind against John’s chest, probably a sign that another of the alien bombs had been detonated elsewhere in the zoo. It occurred to John that the company of other soldiers might not be the best idea. He sought cover in an admissions booth that had survived the teleportation bomb.

  As he slumped within the small booth, clutching the pistol to his chest, he could hear the sounds of gunfire and plasma roiling elsewhere in the zoo. Through the tiny window, he saw a “V” of human fighter aircraft passing overhead to engage the alien aircraft. It was by no means a one-sided battle outside, and he had the distinct feeling that it would go on for some time.

  Chapter 5: Lassiter

  Caufield was unused to sitting in a waiting area. Since her promotion to command of CIA field operations, there were precious few people in either that intelligence agency or the military with the power to make her wait. This was the Pentagon, though, at a time of war, and it was fairly likely General Lassiter’s assistant was keeping her at bay because the man was holding an endless series of conference calls in his office.

  The front office was one of sparse simplicity: a desk, a couch, a few filing cabinets, the stout oak door leading to the general, and a shaven-headed Army Lieutenant whose fingers hadn’t stopped moving at his keyboard for a moment since Caufield arrived.

  Since the Battle of Sydney, the world hadn’t accepted defeat or huddled in the darkness. Rather, as men of history from Ronald Reagan to General MacArthur had predicted, a threat from space had brought humanity together. Mankind was never so purposeful as when it felt it had an enemy, and now all of mankind shared one and the same. It was the dawning of world peace, minus the peace.

  Sydney had been won, but at a great cost. The alien airstrikes were incredibly precise, and the alien aircraft themselves were nearly impossible to hit. While their speed was subsonic, and they seemed to have no air-to-air weaponry, they possessed the ability to teleport in response to attack. Humanity held air superiority over the combat zone, that day, but only two of the five alien aircraft were shot down. Twenty Greenflies were killed, as were four alien armored vehicles. By contrast, over two hundred infantrymen had been killed by enemy fire, nearly every ground vehicle that had been fielded had been destroyed, and new cases of radiation sickness were still being diagnosed. The battle had waged throughout the night, and the aliens left only minutes before their teleportation window closed. It was impossible to know how successful their sampling mission had been.

  The effect of the battle upon the alien tactics had been pronounced. A full day had passed before another Greenfly landing, and then they had reverted to landings of only a single ship in regions removed from human occupation. The alien invasion had become… livable. Or rather, it might be if the Greenflies continued to avoid contact.

  Without any intercom communication that Caufield could detect, the Lieutenant secretary had evidently gotten word that General Lassiter was prepared for her. He escorted her to the oak door, and opened it to an accompanying buzz.

  She stepped inside to a room lit primarily by a trio of television screens along one wall. While one displayed the news channels ubiquitous in Washington offices, the other two held tactical displays, one from space command and another from the CIA’s satellite analysts. Opposite the displays was a couch, showing signs of recent use, the cushions still possessing the indentation of a reclining man. Lassiter himself sat behind an antique wooden desk retrofitted with a computer screen mounted in the desktop. It left nearly enough room for the paperwork.

  General Lassiter was a severe looking man, in many ways reminiscent of Colonel Marshal. He was rail thin, but in the manner of a whippet rather than a waif. He had scraggly white hair, loosely swept over a highly receded forehead. His nose showed signs of being repeatedly broken, giving him an appearance those under his command probably appreciated. Soldiers appreciated a commander who showed a little battle damage.

  “Ms. Caufield, please sit. I’m sorry for the delay,” Lassiter said, only looking up from his papers for a moment, “I’ve been sorting through personnel files and issuing recruitment orders nearly constantly.”

  Mariah set her briefcase down and sat opposite him, “General. Yes, I was told of your selection for the command of the project. An incredible mandate.”

  “Yes, yes,” Lassiter said distractedly, “The Manhattan project of our era. The technologies we’ll be able to derive from the invaders. Teleportation, plasma weaponry, levitation. With the full support of the international community. Take a look at this.”

  He passed a folder across the desk. In it was a series of papers, loosely in the format of scientific papers. They had the look of something hastily thrown together in the scientific community. Caufield had seen a number of such folders over the past few days.

  “A lab in Germany has discovered a method to track alien teleportation, without the use of satellites. They also explain the radiation bursts. Their theory is that when the alien transports appear, the atmosphere at the destination point isn’t just displaced, it is ripped apart and accelerated at incredible velocities. The result is radiation, light, neutrinos, the burst of sound and pressure, energy escaping from the destination point in whatever way it can. More importantly, by sharing data with other neutrino labs, they’ve found a way to triangulate locations of alien teleportation, anywhere on earth… and off.”

  “Off?” Caufield asked.

  “They say the signal is weaker, but they can detect alien teleportation in space. Between that and the location of the teleportation window on earth, they’re tracking the source off-planet. I’ve got a man over there now recruiting the author of that paper.”

  Caufield thought it an excellent time to bring up the reason for her visit, “I have a man of my own that I’m not being permitted access to. In Quantico.”

  Lassiter
squinted, but recalled, “Yes, the medic. She’s being held with the survivors of incursion 17, if I’m not mistaken. She removed her helmet in the field, correct? She’ll be released once it’s been affirmed there has been no hazardous material exposure.”

  “Leena Ramashandran. There’s an immediate need to debrief her, I’m afraid, either by myself or her immediate commanding officer,” Caufield said.

  “She is not beyond secure communication or interview in hazmat suit,” Lassiter replied.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve checked with my superiors regarding clearance, and despite your recent appointment, I am unable to give you further information. Captain Ramashandran needs a personal debriefing immediately.”

  “This is highly unusual,” Lassiter said, leaning back in his chair, clearly intrigued, “Not just this request, but training and fielding a woman in an unprecedented and physically demanding form of airborne insertion. I had my aide perform a cursory search of the records of your team. I felt the insertion method had dramatic potential. My aide informed me that, in addition to being thoroughly scrubbed, the personnel files were highly chaotic. Your medic is a medical doctor, but with a specialty in pediatrics. This soldier, Rice, I believe, entered your service as a computer analyst and now he leaps out of bombers traveling nearly the speed of sound. Your predecessor recruited another member of your team from Ireland civil defense, where the only skill he demonstrated was getting thrown in the stockade. So, now that you’re requesting special permission to penetrate quarantine…”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty, General,” Caufield replied.

  “I see,” replied Lassiter, “You or her commanding officer may enter quarantine, however, anyone who goes in, stays in. I believe she will be released in three to four days, regardless.”

  “I’ll have the Colonel enter immediately, then. Thank you, General,” replied Caufield, preparing to stand.

  “Not so fast, Ms. Caufield. You will be obligated to turn the files pertinent to your team over to me,”the General said, “They are recruited, as are you. The paperwork will most likely beat you to your office. This Gamma Team, despite their unusual backgrounds individually, have accomplished remarkable objectives since their inception under your predecessor. Interception of the Greenflies on the ground will have to be based upon rapid response and insertion. You’ll be directing field operations for the new organization, including a training regimen based upon Gamma Team’s techniques. Same job, different organization.”

  “Gamma is uniquely qualified…”Caufield began.

  “You’re obligated to duplicate the results of your predecessor. In order to provide interception cover over the entirety of the teleportation window, dozens of such teams will be required. I fully intend for you to fill out the Greek alphabet and then some in rapid deployment teams.”

  Caufield nodded acknowledgment, even though the name of the team had nothing to do with an alphabetical designation, but rather a surgical procedure.

  Colonel Marshal stepped into quarantine. Unlike the nurses and orderlies that came into this white, airlocked room, he did not wear a white hazmat suit. When he finished, he would be staying, most likely for several days. There had been no evidence yet that the aliens carried any pathogens, save for the venom that the bees injected, but no one was willing to take the chance. All humans having direct contact with the Greenflies across the world were finding themselves being hunted and detained by human forces and brought to a room much like this.

  The quarantine room itself was more of a hall, a rectangle twenty feet deep but over a hundred in width, lined with beds spaced every eight or nine feet. Only two were occupied, at the moment. There had been more, a total of five people who had received multiple stings from a bee weapon. They had all died within a day of their arrival. Single sting victims survived, mostly, but they were each being kept in isolation to better monitor their recovery. The two remaining here now were Captain Ramachandran from Gamma Squad and the girl who had witnessed the altercation at her home. They both appeared sedated, although in the case of Ramachandran, Colonel Marshal knew that to be an illusion. The combat medic may have been near catatonia, but her treatment here had little to do with it.

  As he walked up to her, he wondered how the medical staff had overlooked her condition. Perhaps they were the sort of physicians who focused on their tests rather than the pallor of their patients. Perhaps they were concluding that Ramachandran was infected with alien microbes, and they wanted to see the disease run its course.

  Whatever their interpretation, the patient looked terrible. Her skin, normally slightly bronze of brown, was now a pale beige, and blue bags lay beneath her eyes. Her muscles lay slack beneath her skin. While she was sleeping, to be sure, the training she had undergone since her surgery two years ago should have left her with the muscle tension of a competitive weight-lifter. Instead, she looked like a junkie in need of a fix.

  The Colonel glanced around, making mental notes of camera locations and where he would have to position himself to obstruct their view of what was about to happen. He looked over at the Southern girl for a moment. She was comely, in the way of farm girls, and she was physically doing far better than Ramachandran. There was an IV stand next to her bed, but the tubes had evidently been disconnected for some time. A heart monitor was still beeping alongside her head. Between that and the slow movement of her chest, Marshal felt sure she was sound asleep, most likely drugged.

  Colonel Marshal moved beside Ramachandran’s bed, and gently laid a hand on her arm. Her eyes didn’t even open, although Marshal knew that she was aware of his presence. She simply didn’t care. She was a victim of depression and apathy so great that a normal human could not relate. She had been allowed to degenerate too long. She had done her duty, but had received no Pavlovian reward. The medical staff here were incredibly fortunate that she had a tendency to lapse into catatonia. Had it been Hegerty or Klugman in this bed, odds are at least one nurse would have met their end.

  He slipped a needle from his sleeve and inserted it into her forearm. He was quite certain that he missed anything resembling a vein, but it didn’t matter. The drug was both fat soluble and slow to degrade. It was meant to last days, to grant a sense of euphoria with a chaser of something that evened out her brain chemistry. Her last shot had been over a week ago, and her body was in withdrawal while her mind was withdrawing from the world. Even with the inexpert injection, he could tell that her blood was remembering something familiar and that it was grateful. He glanced at her heart monitor and saw that the beats were already increasing in frequency and intensity.

  And then he saw the reflection in the heart monitor, and his own blood ran cold. He saw a pair of open blue eyes, those of the Southern girl in the next bed, staring at the needle in his hand. She did not appear afraid, but it was clear from the attention she was paying that she was aware that what was happening was wrong.

  The needle already back up his sleeve, Colonel Marshal turned to face her. There was a list of methods of killing the girl going through his head, but none of them could go undetected in front of the cameras. None of them would serve to hide the secret of the gammas, only expose it. While there was no one on this base who could stop him from killing this girl, even were they present, the outcome would conflict with his standing order of secrecy.

  Meg sat up in bed, engaging a glare of her own, “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing. Just something to wake her up so I can talk to her,” he lied.

  “Bullshit,” replied Meg. “The nurses here are packed in plastic, they’re not old men, and they don’t pull needles out of their sleeves. Who the hell are you and what did you just do to Leena?”

  “Leena…?”he paused for a second, the idea of Captain Ramachandran even having a first name surprising him, “Oh, you must have spoken a great deal.”

  “She saved my life, and I’m not going to let you hurt her,” Meg said, “Now tell me who you are and what you …”

  “No
she didn’t,” he replied.

  “What?”

  “Lieutenant Hegerty saved your life…under my orders,” Marshal said. “Captain Ramachandran is the team medic. It was Hegerty that engaged the Greenfly in hand-to-hand to pull it off you, and it was I who gave the order. My name is Colonel Tom Marshal, and I saved your life every bit as much as Captain Ramachandran. In exchange for that, I’d like you to give me the benefit of the doubt for a moment.”

  Meg squinted at him. She seemed to be making the mental connection between him and the figure in black armor who had been belting orders in Kentucky.

  “And what was that you gave her?”

  Colonel Marshal leaned in very closer, placing a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving away as he whispered.

  “It’s something we do on the team that rescued you. We have to. You have to have noticed that, um, Leena, has been deteriorating over the past few days. If we go without for more than a week, that’s what happens to us. What it is exactly, I cannot say, but you can think of it as a booster shot. In another few hours, Leena will be back on her feet. In another week, she’ll need another shot, as will I.

  “This is all a lot more than you should be hearing. It’s more than anyone else on this base knows, and my superiors and I would like to keep it that way. There’s nothing to keep you from screaming, telling the nurses what you saw, and having me detained and searched. But if you do, the people who will suffer most from your decision will be Captain Ramachandran, myself, and all the rest of us who parachuted onto your roof to save your life that night. Can I ask you to keep this confidential?”

  Marshal backed away and gave the girl space. It was a risky strategy founded primarily on the girl’s sense of gratitude and intelligence. If she had neither, Gamma Team might well be extinct by the end of the day. From the way she regarded him now, obviously calculating her own risks and sizing up his motivations, it was clear to Colonel Marshal that she possessed the necessary intellect. The danger was that her sense of patriotism, with the world under threat and Gamma Team clearly up to something, would outweigh her personal gratitude to the team.