The Alien Invasion Ch. 10

Chapter 10: New Allies

Chapter 10: New Allies

From the personal log of Clifford Croft, one year and eight months after the invasion:

I never imagined (or simply wasn't at all sure) that I would survive long enough to write another entry almost one year after our near-fatal attack on Sarney Sarittenden. But I have.

The first few days after the raid were tough on all of us, especially for the Silencer. He lay unmoving for two days, and we almost thought he was dead; but then on the third day he opened his eyes, and sat up, and from then on he slowly got stronger. Within a few days he could stand up unassisted; within a week he was walking around; and within a few weeks he was more or less back to his old strength.

But the injury to his arm was not so easily healed. He had a deep, black-reddish wound along his upper arm and part of his shoulder, and had no apparent control of his right arm. He tried to train it, forcing himself to lift first light and then heavier objects with his right arm, and soon regained some strength there. But he must have had some nerve damage, for his arm would jump or tremble at odd times, even if he wasn't using it. When he was asleep, it was not uncommon to see his arm jerk about as if he were having a nightmare. Maybe he was.

That effectively meant his ability to shoot with his right hand was gone; although the Silencer assured us that he was "almost as good" a shot with his left hand. Almost as good was still several times better and faster than the rest of us, so I think we're still grateful to have him with us.

Our first task was to find a new hideout. I didn't want to hurt Mongo's feelings, but we didn't want to live in a giant coffee vat forever. After much searching, and consideration of different possibilities, we found one, in an abandoned factory. We found a large block of machinery that we could hollow out and fix up. We emptied it and equipped it to my specifications; it was to have a minimum of three entrances and exits, to give us several avenues of escape; and it was to be equipped with a security system that also had a self-destruct mechanism tied to a block of explosives. If we ever had to abandon our base again, next time we would leave the Insects something to remember us by.

The next step was to equip our new headquarters. I had had some time to think in Mongo's vat, and I realized that searching for food in warehouses was a losing proposition. The warehouses were running of supplies, and most of them were baited traps guarded by the Insects. If we couldn't get food, we'd have to make our own.

So we raided some garden supply depots (a rarity on August, but at least they were unguarded), as well as a few outlying farms for supplies. We got the seeds for some thirty day potatoes, some quick growing rice, as well as a few vegetables. We even got some seeds to grow some bioengineered meat. When grown, it looked like meat and even tasted a little like meat, albeit with a kind of tangy corn flavor. It wasn't top-notch sirloin from a carefully bioengineered white steer, but it was better than nothing.

But before we could eat, we had to set up the hydroponics garden and the hot lamps (run on a portable generator) in our new hideout. That meant we had nothing to eat but chocolate bars for a month; in fact, we ran out of chocolate after just one week, and had to raid other convenience counters for more chocolate bars. By the end of a month all of us (except Mongo) were quite, quite sick of chocolate; and when the first of our grubby little potatoes came out of the ground, we greedily devoured them. After that we laid out more space for our garden, and soon evened out the supply and demand problem--though, with limited space, we always had to ration food.

We even made an attempt to live normal lives. When the Clapper told us that Red Sally's birthday was coming, the Paperweight somehow managed to put together a cake. I'll never forget the moment when she put her face close to the cake and blew on the candles. The minute she blew on them, they all lit up. I wonder what kind of wish she made.

We even got her a present, of sort; I had located a military target dummy, used for testing explosive and high-caliber ammunition. It was flame resistant, and that gave Sally hours of pleasure as she slowly burned little pieces of it off in her spare time. It took her two days just to slowly burn the head off, and I think she really enjoyed this present; she would sit in a corner, a flame sprouting from her finger, grinning as she flamed pieces of the thing.

Sashay took up painting again, and tried to paint each of us; he would hang the results on the walls, along with other decorations he would find or make. The Silencer even let Sashay do a painting of him, when we told him how Sashay had dragged him through the pipe. But only one painting, the Silencer insisted; and sure enough, when the Paperweight attempted to test the Silencer on this point, starting a second painting, the Silencer shot the painting in progress with his good hand.

The Silencer practiced quick draws and aiming with his left hand, to improve his proficiency (if that was at all possible), and he also worked with his right hand; sometimes he could draw his gun with it and hold it steady, but often his arm would jump when he drew the gun, or tremble when he tried to aim.

The Clapper didn't seem to do much on his own. He just stuck around Red Sally and watched her burn things.

And Preston and I? I think we were just glad to be alive. But having survived the initial invasion, there was more to do. The first task I put us to was preparing a secondary hideout, in case our new base of operations was discovered. I had the unenviable task of explaining to Mongo why we couldn't use his vat as a backup base, that we were "saving it" as an ultimate backup in case our secondary hideouts were discovered.

Then I issued unusual orders--I told the Silencer, Preston, Red Sally, and the Clapper, to find and equip a backup hideout of their own, while I, the Paperweight, and Mongo would prepare a backup base of operations on our own. Under no circumstances, I stressed, was one group to tell the other group where their hideout was. The Clapper, Sashay, Mongo, and Red Sally looked puzzled with these instructions, but complied. Those who were experienced enough to understand my instructions knew why I issued them; and those that weren't needn't be worried by... unpleasant contingencies.

A turning point of sorts came two months after our attack on Sarney, when we had finished building up our hideout. It was a bit hot inside from the light of the heat lamps in the gardening area, but otherwise was reasonably comfortable. We were sitting around, not really doing very much, when Preston said what was on all our minds.

"So, what do we do now?"

I understood his question immediately. We had finished building and equipping our base, and we had nothing to do--in fact, our little farm was going so well, that we didn't even need to go out to hunt for food anymore. Water was available from a local pipe. Aside from some trips for gardening supplies, we could stay inside our little hideout almost indefinitely.

If we were simply machines which could be turned on and off, that might have been an acceptable solution. But we were humans, restless humans; even the Clapper wanted to go out and cause trouble (it must have been Red Sally's influence). I tried to make excuses. I said, "What about the Silencer? Is he up to-"

Two guns came into being, mere inches from my face. The one on the right wavered a little, but both pointed at me. "I guess that answers that."

"We could start small," said Preston. "There's an Insect checkpoint a few levels up-"

And that's how we started, small. But we planned our missions carefully. And in another change of methods, we traveled mostly though the ventilation system, to reduce the chances of getting caught. We painstakingly mapped all the vents in the area and used them for travel, to reduce the amount of time we'd have to wander around the corridors where we might run into an Insect patrol. The Silencer was well enough to permit him to crawl again using both arms, though I saw him wincing in unguarded moments.

We went on a few missions, always being careful to check out our targets first, always being careful not to strike too close to our home base of operations, so we wouldn't draw attention to our location. And we did this for a few months, achieving some measure of success. By success, I mean that we managed to inflict harm on the Insects; we weren't crippling their occupation, but we were hurting them, and, most importantly, we weren't taking any casualties in return. Better planning and coordination were paying off.

We had a string of minor successes over the next few months, and then, unexpectedly, we had a mission go bad. Preston and Sashay were on a recon mission, to look for new targets of opportunity, when Sashay got caught.

I know, I know it sounds crazy to think we would send the Paperweight out on a military mission. But the alternative for him was to stay in our hideout 25 hours a day, seven days a week. He could, and did, get stir crazy. I couldn't afford to give him an armed escort just to take a walk outside; it was much too dangerous. So he volunteered to go on missions with us. I figured that recons were less dangerous, relatively speaking, than direct assaults; and as Sashay refused to touch a blaster, recon was all he was really good for.

"As my dear departed wife used to say, the only thing I'm good at firing is a stove," said Sashay.

But Sashay and Preston got separated on a recon mission, and Sashay stepped on a piece of rubbish that made a noise and gave away his position, and the Insects pounced on him quickly. In a way maybe it was better he was unarmed; if he had been armed, he might have been identified as a rebel and executed on the spot. I think the Insects thought he was probably an escaped laborer, and they merely took him away.

"Who will take over his cooking duties?" was the first question the Silencer asked when he heard the news.

"I hated his food," spat Red Sally.

"Cook not bad," said Mongo. Then, with a far away look, he said, "Don't let the Preston cook. He will make us sick, yes he will."

"Ah, excuse me, but before we discuss menus, can't we even discuss the possibility of rescuing our current cook?" Preston asked. Perhaps he felt responsible for his abduction.

"We don't even know where he is," I said reasonably.

"But I do know where he is," said Preston. "I saw them take him to their outpost on the surface, block 14-24, section 2."

"He may not be there anymore," I said. "And it's bound to be heavily defended."

"There were only about 15-20 of the bugs that I could see," said Preston.

"And there are only 4 combatants among us," I said.

"If he talks, we'll have to abandon this hideout," said Preston.

"Ummm... you've got something there." While we had secondary hideouts, I wasn't too eager to uproot and abandon what we had. I turned to the Silencer. "What do you think?"

"Seems like a lot of work for a Paperweight," said the Silencer.

"He did pull you through the pipe," I said.

"I did let him paint my portrait," said the Silencer. "That makes us even."

"He also spotted the tracker the Insects planted in our food," I said. "If he hadn't noticed it, we all would've been caught or killed."

"He's a noncombatant, and contributes little outside of the dinner table," said the Silencer. "I also find his painting and decorating habits annoying."

"All right, then," I gave an exaggerated sigh. "I guess we'll just have to pick up and move to a new hideout. It's a pity, though.... I guess you're not up to it anyway."

The Silencer gave me a cold, deadly look.

"I mean, you've been able to handle the minor skirmishes pretty well, but this would be considerably more of a challenge; after all, we haven't gone up against this many Insects since our raid on Sarney Sarittenden. And, with your injured arm, you shouldn't feel shamed..."

Two guns were out and pointed at my face. Neither of them wavered.

"Your crude attempt at manipulation isn't worth commenting on," said the Silencer. "If you want to go risk our lives for one annoying cook, cut the psycho-garbage and just say so."

I drew my weapon, and checked my blaster charge. "Saddle up, gang."

********

It was night outside. We moved through the ruins on the surface cautiously, heading toward the Insect encampment. It was some sort of small checkpoint or outpost, but given the darkness there could be more of the bugs than Preston had reported. When we got close enough, about a half block away, I peered at the location through electrobinoculars. There were guards standing outside a small, hastily constructed guard building that had been built on the sidewalk and over part of the street. There were only a handful of guards outside, but the building could easily contain two dozen more. And there, sitting on the sidewalk under guard, was the Paperweight, looking glum. He seemed to be sitting there, awaiting transport.

As if on cue, a ground car, containing four more Insects, zoomed to a halt near the encampment. As if on cue another group of Insects came out of the building, making for almost two dozen Insects on site. I could see where this was leading; once Sashay was in the ground car, we'd never be able to trace him.

But could we take on two dozen, or more, Insects?

I passed the electrobinoculars around, and the same expression spread from face to face; there was nothing we could do for Sashay. I turned away, preparing to herd our group home, and my back was to the outpost, and so I missed the very beginning of the battle.

But I certainly heard it, hearing the unmistakable cackle of blaster fire. Multiple blaster fire, which my trained ear said was coming from League weaponry. What was this?

Wresting the electrobinoculars away from the Clapper, who was tapping unconvincingly on it, I saw what was happening. The Insect outpost was under attack from several different sides! It was unclear who the attackers were, but if they were against the Insects, they were almost certainly on our side.

We joined the attackers, haphazardly running down the block to engage the Insects who were busy responding to blaster fire from all sides. The Paperweight had instinctively hit the ground when the shooting started, which may have saved his life, with all the blaster fire whizzing around. As we closed on the center of the firefight, I saw the attackers, all undeniably human, many wearing the green uniforms of regular League/Alliance army units.

In seconds it was all over; every Insect was down, and green was running on the streets. Sashay, covered with a streak of green Insect blood, sat up, looking a bit ill. The newcomers eyed us as cautiously as I did them, and their guns were now pointed at us. "Halt!" one of them cried. "Identify yourself."

"He's part of our team," I said, slowly lowering my weapon as I pointed to Sashay. "It's very fortunate you happened to be around. My name is Clifford Croft."

Their leader approached, a man in a ragged uniform. He gave me a looking over, and then looked at Red Sally and the others more curiously. He must have thought we were scavengers, or escaped prisoners. He made a hand motion, and his men lowered their weapons

"My name is Captain Malks, Alliance ground forces," he said. "How long have you been on the run?"

"On the run?" snorted Red Sally. "We've been hitting the Insects for months!"

"Really?" said Captain Malks. "The six of you?"

"We were the ones who bombed Sarney Sarittenden, what have you been doing lately?" Red Sally countered.

"You?" said Captain Malks. "I had heard rumors that Sarney had been attacked... but I think it's hardly possible that a bunch of stragglers..."

I could see that credibility was going to be an important stumbling block, so I decided to break cover and say, "I'm a level one Column operative."

There was a murmur among his men. "One of the Eight," I heard more than one say. Maybe it wasn't wise to admit in public, but I needed to get through to them.

Malks's eyes narrowed as he looked at me. "Even if that's true, what about these others. Or are you saying you're all Column agents?" he said, perhaps trying to trap me in a lie. Red Sally and the others certainly didn't look like agents.

I was about to fall into liespeak with a cover story when Sally spoke first.

"I'm a fire surprise," said Sally, sending a spectacular sheet of flame shooting out of her fingertips into the evening sky. Captain Malks's eyes widened.

The soldiers took a few steps as they were stunned. Great, the Insects could see that for miles.

"And I'm a Clapper!" said the Clapper, clapping as Malks's blaster was pulled from its holster by an invisible force and then holstered again. Malks's eyes widened even further.

"And Mongo is not anything," said Mongo, with big eyes. And then, "You will have grape juice and liquid starch for dinner tonight."

"Ah, that's enough," I said hastily. I hadn't intended to put everyone's skills on display.

"I can see there's more to you then it seems," said Malks, giving us all an odd look. He came to a quick conclusion. "I think I should take you back to see the General."

General? Had a significant portion of our military survived, after all these months? Or had some straggler simply appropriated the title? No, I decided, a real Captain in the armed forces would only answer to a real general. I started to feel hope for the first time in a long while.

"But we'll have to blindfold you, for security reasons, you understand," said Malks.

I nodded, understanding the necessity of it. I didn't expect anyone to resist, except maybe Sally. But in fact, the only one who put up a fight was Mongo.

"No, no," said Mongo, his eyes widening in horror.

"Mongo, it's necessary," I said, rather anxious now to get off the street. The Insects would be coming to investigate all the noise and fire, sooner or later.

"They will hurt poor Mongo!"

"No they won't," I assured him.

"They will let Mongo trip and fall down the last five steps!"

"No, of course they won't," I said.

"Our men will guide you carefully," said Malks. "You have my word."

Mongo looked unconvinced, but dutifully let himself be blindfolded. We started marching for some time, at least 30 or 40 minutes, during which time we went underground and down eight levels--at least I could count the number of stairwells we went down. We passed through several more corridors, and then, right before we reached our destination, we walked down a short flight of five steps. A few second later I heard a "eee...upppp!" behind me and the sounds of someone falling down the stairs, and then Mongo's voice screaming and yelling, and then, from one of Malks's men, "Oh... sorry about that."

When our blindfolds were lifted, we found ourselves in a large office; a sandy haired man in a general's uniform was sitting behind a desk, and we were flanked by armed guards. The general looked a little familiar.

"So, you are our mysterious visitors," said the general. "The preliminary action report I received indicated that you have some rather unusual abilities."

"We demonstrated them to get your attention," I said. "I'd love to speak further about it... in private."

The general considered. We had been disarmed, but there were seven of us, and one of him. "Why don't my men and your men wait outside and we'll talk one-on-one?"

I nodded, instantly agreeing.

Once everyone left, we immediately made introductions. His name was General Tenor Markov and he had been in charge of security at Sarney Sarittenden when the Insects first attacked. His men had put up a show of resistance when the Insects first landed, but were forced to pull back. Ever since then, they had staged a guerrilla warfare operation over the past year and a half.