An Alien Rescue (31 page)

One of the first things to learn about a sub-machine gun on automatic is that the damned thing tends to raise its elevation as it fires successive rounds of ammunition; and that’s exactly what this thing did. During her wild hair-raising attempts to control this black-coloured piece of fire-spitting hardware, she just made her grip even tighter, which unfortunately meant an even greater pressure on the trigger. The thing came alive in her hands, like a writhing animal trying to escape, doing its level best to leap from her grasp with its barrel roaring and
spitting lead at anything and everything. There had been thirty live rounds of ammo ready and waiting for their loudest chance to escape and they were going for it full pelt! They were all lined up, one behind the other, all pushing each other forward as if to say,
Get the fuck out of here as fast as you can because I want my freedom too
! Everyone, except the out-of-control
Calamity Jane
, fell into a horror struck silence as the first couple of rounds exploded from the barrel. The knowledge that bullets were being fired from an uncontrolled weapon seemed to make everyone freeze before she let loose a high-pitched scream. Then the not to be repeated order, ‘
TAKE FUCKING COVER-R-R-R
!’ brought them back to reality with a downwards dive. It was hollered at the top of the Gunner’s voice while he was already well on his way down to ground-level. If any silly bugger had asked
why
, they would have been speaking to no-one but themselves and a shit-load of airborne lead flying towards them. Scott always enjoyed telling this particular part of the episode, colourfully describing how steely-eyed killers squirmed and squeezed together beneath a solid wooden table while attempting to put their bestest pal in the whole wide world between themselves and the stupid bitch’s bullets. Scott was no different to the others and tried as hard as he could to bury himself under the next guy before she buried
him
. The bullets ricocheted off the newly-painted and unmarked brick wall above the sand pile with frightening cracks, whistles and whizzing noises. It had been considered that a solid wall at the top of the range would be perfectly safe because even a blind gun-toting psychopathic killer would never be so stupid, blind or senseless enough to hit it. The so-called experts had obviously never considered a woman who, in her own blinkered opinion, was better than any Buffalo Bill or Wyatt Earp. The sound of spinning bullets and their ricocheting fragments flying over and around their heads registered more like a grand fireworks display than an out of control female let loose with a life-threatening weapon. However, there wasn’t a single person who had the nerve or sheer stupidity to raise their head to see what the heck might be going on or to try and persuade her to stop.

The recognised danger of trying to tell someone to stop firing a thunderous weapon is that the
same someone turns to face them, asking why! Frankly, it was considered a suicide approach and should never be tried. It must have been at least a full five seconds after the last round had left the chamber before the Gunner went ape-shit at her. She had completely emptied the magazine and turned to face us with an angelic expression of, “What should I do now?”

If the bloody woman hadn’t just tried to end my life I might have felt a little bit of sorrow for the verbal explosion she received from the trembling and knee-knocking Corporal. She never said another word as she took off like a bat out of hell, barging out through the range doorway,
but only after fumbling with the lock for half a minute or more. It took another few minutes before the cowering group had the courage to unwrap each other from knotted limbs, clambering out from below the table that each suspected may have saved their precious skin. No one said a word as they witnessed the pock-marks in the sand with lots of holes in the wall above. In a strange kind of way, Scott thought that each of them secretly thanked their own particular god for getting them safely through that terrible ordeal. Funnily enough, though, he didn’t recall ever seeing that young good-looking female officer again. In hindsight, he suspected she had made such a huge cock-up of her range course she had insisted on an immediate posting before word could filter through the various ranks, sections and bars around the base, which it did. He recalled the comment made by one of his group at the range that day, a young Scot’s lad from Aberdeen. He had said quite innocently, “She wiz like a mad coo wi’ a big gun!” Scott, and everyone else on the range during that never-to-be-forgotten day thought his remark just about said it all, as each and every single one of them collapsed onto the bullet-pock marked grass in fits of laughter. She was one hell of a stupid woman who just refused to listen to anyone, especially shooting range officers and common-sense. And yet, here was Scott, faced with danger and a loose cannon called, Mike. He hoped his sense of duty would help him keep his Akay babe under tight control.

Belinda once again prompted the group forward, saying time was in short supply, snapping Scott out of his
shortened daydream.

A doorway appeared around one of the bends.
Scott was seen to shake his head before suggesting they check it. Belinda agreed to but Mike beat her to it. He started forwards, pressing his beloved babe into his shoulder as if he might open fire at anything that cared to move. His concentration was perfect, eyes unblinking, mouth wide open and breathing controlled. His periphery vision was as important as that of the centre so movement of his head was restricted. His progress was quiet and steady with consistently placed footsteps. Each one checking the ground for security and grip before the next was made. His time in Vietnam was hell as minefields were numerous and wide spread. It would only take one anti-personnel explosive detonation to give someone a very bad day, one that would last for the rest of an unfortunate life. He knew too many good guys who ended-up getting a leg or two blown off, arms and torso mutilated to bits, ear-drums punctured, shrapnel wounds everywhere else and no balls left. His progress stopped as he remembered his own. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” he shouted loudly through sheer frustration and the agony of knowing his family jewels were no longer worth a dime. This spurred his progress as his approach towards the doorway increased dramatically. Scott, Belinda and Phyllis watched on, standing motionless. They couldn’t be sure if Mike’s sanity had finally taken a leap for the worse, or if he had seen something and was taking action.

The door turned out to be an archway, with strange inscriptions and hieroglyphics surrounding its curved frame.

“Abandon hope all yea who enter here,” suggested Mike.

Without hesitation, they each rushed
towards the opening to join Mike, who was trying to decipher the writing.

“It doesn’t say that at all, Mike,” said Belinda.

Scott released a laugh. “I bet it doesn’t.”

Phyllis moved closer to get a better view. Concentrating on what she could see in the gloom. “It’s an entrance into a biological experimental station, or something of that nature. There are
several characters I do not recognise, some are very obscure, but those that I do know and understand suggest there is some kind of hospital or medical facility ahead.”

Mike gave her a quick look, allowing her explanation to sink in as his thoughts turned to the memory of his predicament regarding the sustained injury. “Might this be the place where I remember my private parts being covered in foam?”

Without meaning to, every pair of eyes looked down at Mike’s groin. He became conscious of the unwanted attention he was getting and didn’t like it. His damage was agonising at the best of times, but here it was being paraded in front of others whom he’d only just met. Scott immediately felt his embarrassment.

Turning to face them all with open arms, Scott said, “A hospital or medical facility? I like the sound of that!”

“Why do you like the sound of it?” asked Belinda.

Scott waited for a moment before replying, “Because it means we might manage to get Phyllis’s injuries fixed-up. That’s why.”

All eyes turned from Mike’s embarrassment to Phyllis, paying particular attention to her hands. She in turn realised what Mike had felt a few moments before, feeling the silent stares. Without meaning to do it, she instinctively placed her hands behind her, hoping the attention would pass. The sight of her injuries had brought the pain back, slight tears appearing in the corners of each eye.

Laying a hand on Mike’s shoulders, Scott asked him to lead the way, paying particular attention to anything he might recall from his arrival at the base.

“Hey, man. That was a long time ago, too long to goddamn remember,” he quickly replied, followed by the idea that he might actually remember something after-all should his memory be prompted by the sight of something. Changing his mind, he said, “Yeah, okay, Scott, ya got it, man. A’ll let ya know if anything clicks in.”

Scott smiled, thanking him for his efforts.

Belinda wondered if it might be possible to repair Phyllis’ hands after all. Mike’s groin area was a mess, to say the least, but was in actual fact healed and free from pain.
It would be better than nothing
, she thought.

“Okay then, let’s get the hell out of here and see what we can find
,” prompted Scott. “Oh, and one thing more. Don’t allow your guard to drop thinking there aren’t any more of those little sods around either. I suspect there might be and there’s at least one sad git hiding somewhere who has been controlling them.”

Everyone in the party nodded their heads in agreement. Mike felt like Scott was trying to teach him to party, but remained unusually quiet. Scott had also noticed Mike had stopped his petting of Akay, his
babe weapon. There had been a change in Mike’s behaviour since they first entered the
Great Hall of the Mountain King
, as Scott had secretly christened it. And now the reduced interest in his armament? He wondered why.

Mike took a step forwards, saying,
“Right, keep up everyone. I’m on point and Belinda’s wanting us to move-it at the double.”

Again, Belinda nodded, and everyone else inhaled deeply in anticipation of a run through the tunnel
ahead.

As they were about to enter through the arch there was a growing audible hissing sound. The noise got louder as Mike’s body was almost through. He stopped in his tracks, listening to it, before leaping through. His weapon was held tightly at the waist, levelled and ready to fire. The sound faded as he moved further through and away. “What the fuck is that?” he asked, looking back
with questioning eyes.

Observing Mike’s progress with the noise, Belinda and Phyllis drew the same conclusion. “It is a form of static electricity, Mike. It repels any dust and debris that clings to your body.”

“Heh?” said Mike, feeling confused.

Phyllis stepped forward and placed a blackened hand into the arch. The hissing grew instantly louder as she did so. “See, it is static electricity repelling the dust that we have collected in the tunnels.”

“Oh, right. I got it babe.” He said as he looked at his suit and shoes. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m looking kind’a cleaner.”

Belinda said, “Phyllis, look at your hand?” which they all did.

The carbonised skin was falling off, being removed from the hand like some magic spell was being cast. The skin looked clean and new, but several wounds looked painful. No blood flowed but the reddened flesh suggested the sort of pain she had been quietly enduring. Phyllis placed her other hand through the arch and it too became clean and red. The stumps that were once fingers looked oddly out of place, making Scott think of leprosy.

“OK, the theatricals are over,” blurted Mike. “Let’s get this show well and truly on the road again.” He turned his attention to Phyllis, saying, “Get the rest of your lovely looking ass through here, and the rest of you follow her. We’ve got a mission to complete.”

Phyllis tried to look at her, ‘
ass
’ as Mike had put it, wondering why he thought it was lovely.

“Hey, Phyllis, leave the ass bit for me to look at. Jist you git yer li’l ol’ self through here with me
... and Babe.”

An indicator blinked in quick repetition, alerting the commander of the approaching group. Without any response to his demands for the clones to return he hurriedly tried to figure out a strategy. A ship was situated not too far away, but its direction would take him past the group who were presently approaching the Control. There were no weapons at hand and the only other Greys on Mars were supposedly returning from a very long way away. He’d previously called them for support, but never received a response. Unknown to him, the message
had
been received and a team was urgently despatched. However, with a complete blackout of communications throughout the system, they would not reply. He was aware of this, hoping that was the reason.

The tunnel took some time to travel through, with several steep
inclines and sharp bends to negotiate. It had been a while before anything of interest came to light, with Mike dropping onto one knee and holding a clenched left fist in the air. Scott understood the meaning but the ladies unfortunately didn’t. Mike’s face was one of surprise and shock as he was hurtled forward by the ladies’ combined momentum. His kneeling halt had been too quick, too fast for them to react to. Mike landed squarely on his front with his webbing harness twisting tightly and magazines pressing into his chest. His face suffered some scrapes too, with trickles of blood appearing in perfectly straight lines as if rubbed by very coarse sandpaper.