Raptor Aces

  Omzbak shook his head to dispel the image. Some things were better left alone and out of mind.

  He left the forest trail and entered the main road toward home. It was not much more than a dirt track, really, but wide enough for two large carts to travel side by side. So lost in his thoughts was he that he did not even notice the large armored vehicle approaching. It suddenly appeared from around a bend, coming straight toward him like some primordial beast.

  For such a monstrous vehicle, it moved quietly. A second machine rounded the bend behind it. Omzbak stepped into the brush alongside the road and faced the intruders. He felt certain that they’d shoot him in the back if he tried to run.

  The first machine passed, nearly brushing against him. He caught a glimpse of a frightening picture on its side – a dark tornado with a skull peering out from it.

  Mag soldiers looked down at him from the open-topped vehicle, shouting what must have been insults in their foul language. One of them aimed his finger at him like a pistol. Omzbak could see that he was one of the ‘blond heroes’ the Western invaders were so proud of – the racial type that proved they were superior to everyone else in God’s creation.

  Omzbak would never forget that face and the contemptuous sneer creasing it. The man was obviously the leader of this gaggle.

  “Bang, bang!” the man shouted to the laughter of his comrades.

  “This is your lucky day, Pop!” another one yelled in broken slobe.

  Omzbak averted his gaze so as not to antagonize the brutes further, but after the second APC passed by him, he looked up again. At first he could not comprehend what he was seeing, and when he did, all color drained from his face. Human scalps were dangling from the rear of the vehicle!

  No!

  He began running down the road, scarcely aware of what was happening. He continued running past the point of exhaustion, his heart pounding and legs trembling as they carried his great bulk toward home. At some point his endurance gave out, and he collapsed, fainting on the road.

  When he came back to consciousness, he could see smoke in the distance, catch the scent of death in it.

  No! No!

  He began running again, until his heart seemed ready to burst out of his chest. His extreme efforts brought him to a vision of hell.

  The corpse of his son sprawled in the village main street, brutally scalped. The bodies of the other village men, similarly mutilated, lay scattered around him.

  Shock held Omzbak in its grip as he reeled toward the smoking ruin of the village storehouse. Lying within it were the charred bodies of his wife and his two daughters, along with all the rest of the village’s women and children. A sign nailed to a tree read:

  IN REPRISAL FOR JUNCTION K

  Unbearable grief and horror convulsed Omzbak. He wrenched his knife from his belt and raised it high, determined to plunge it into his heart and join his loved ones in death.

  “Omzbak, no!” somebody wailed.

  Through his tears, Omzbak saw the village cobbler sitting on the ground nearby. The man’s face was also streaked from weeping, and ashes covered his head where he’d flung them in his grief.

  “You must help me avenge them,” the cobbler said.

  He gestured to the charred bodies among which his own family lay.

  “I was sleeping it off in the woods when the Mag came,” he said. “God damn them! Why didn’t they take me instead?”

  He got to his feet awkwardly, like a dead man rising. He removed the knife from Omzbak’s slack hand as if he were prying a toy from the grasp of a little baby.

  “From now on, I’ll get drunk on their blood,” he said.

  Then Omzbak was moving again, headed toward the Barren with the village cobbler. Already, in his feverish mind, Omzbak had rechristened the man as “Comrade #1,” and himself as “Avenger Omzbak.” They descended into the blur which was now their true home.

  In time, others would join them.

  52. Embrace the Blur

  We follow an arching path toward our objective so as to avoid bumping into the partisans. I reckon they will make a beeline from their hideout to our cabin, and I do not like the odds of engaging them in a running fight. Bel agrees – or rather, this is all his idea. Bel is the real leader of this expedition, despite his confinement to the cart.

  He objects to being wheeled along “like a baby,” but I want him to be as fresh as possible when we enter ZOD. Later, we’ll ditch the cart.

  I recognize his superiority in this situation. He knows more than I do about ground operations – all those books he’s read, the combat veterans he’s spoken to, not to mention his masterful handling of the APC. And beyond that, he is simply more geared for fighting than I am. Service to the Homeland has always been my top motivation, but I think the joy of conflict is the main thing for Bel. He’s got the killer instinct.

  Katella takes his turn with the cart pushing duties. The truce between him and Bel is holding – superseded, even, by a growing respect. Thank God! They confer in low voices as Bel advises Katella about the role of “exterior force commander.”

  Judging from what Trynka has told us, the partisans will enter the hideout individually or in small groups. Our exterior force is to hide until enough of the partisan have entered, then ambush the remaining ones. The surviving partisans will either remain inside to face our “interior force,” or go back outside to take on Katella and his crew. In either case, we can attack them from both front and rear.

  It seems like a good plan, but experience has taught me that even the best plans can go off the rails with amazing speed. The biggest problem is that we don’t know how many fighters remain in Omzbak’s band. Will he appear with more than we can handle – has he left sentries behind?

  If only Trynka hadn’t killed Comrade 19! We might have got some answers to these questions.

  I have to stop thinking of Omzbak as an inhuman monster and see him as a cunning, rational leader. I must get inside his head. What would I do in his place?

  If my command was falling apart, as Comrade 19 indicated Omzbak’s is, then I would be hesitant to leave anybody behind to guard the hideout. They simply couldn’t be trusted not to run away. Only the deputy commander could be relied upon, but I’d want him with me so as to help maintain control of the others.

  Besides, I’d be fairly confident that no enemy could find his way into my lair, especially not now that the Mag regular forces have retreated. So, by this line of reasoning, the hideout will be unguarded when we arrive. I know the logic is thin, but it’s all I have to go on. It is within the realm of “acceptable risk,” as Bel puts it.

  As always, Trynka scouts ahead along the trail, leaving me behind among my countrymen. I can see that they are beginning to get scared, except for Bel who remains his usual enigmatic self. I know that I’d be scared in their place, too, but I feel only a grim sense of purpose, an almost religious zeal for the task ahead. I am an instrument of divine vengeance; later will come time for fear.

  The realization of what the others are doing for me penetrates my self-absorption. Every one of these lads is risking his life to help me win justice for my brother. Were it not for their allegiance to me, they could have surrendered to the army patrol. They could be in a POW camp right now, waiting for the prisoner exchange. But they chose this dangerous path, instead.

  I feel a burst of love for them all – Katella, Bel, Sipren, even Grushon. The final traces of my resentment over the slobe diving incident blow away into the dank forest air. These are my true brothers now; I owe them more than I can ever repay. No one asks about the tear I brush from my face, but I think they understand.

  The sun is going down when Trynka returns to us.

  “We’re here,” she says simply, as if announcing our arrival at a church picnic.

  “Get rid of this damn cart!” Bel snaps.

  While the others are disposing of the cart, Katella and I accompany Trynka to the edge of the woods and peer out to a large open
area. I recognize the place. The forlorn wreckage of Y-47 greets me like a specter from the past. Thank God, the courier’s body has been removed from the rear cockpit.

  “Ohhh,” Katella says, “you were lucky to survive that one, Dye!”

  “Yes ...”

  I struggle to keep memories of the horror at bay, but I can’t suppress an image of the courier’s severed hand dangling from the briefcase chain.

  “Hello, Dytran,” the hand says, “long time, no see.”

  I shake my head to dispel the ghastly image.

  “Stay here, Katella,” I say, “I’m going with Trynka for a closer look.”

  He talks with Trynka. She seems reluctant to leave his side.

  “We haven’t got time for this,” I say. “If we don’t all trust each other, nothing’s going to get done.”

  Katella tries to sooth Trynka’s concerns. I know – I look a lot like the bastard who killed her mother. How could she not be wary of me? It’s time to make a trusting gesture myself. I pull out the automatic pistol and hand it to Katella.

  “Show her how this works,” I say. “Tell her not to use it without my express order.”

  “Sure, Dye.”

  He gives Trynka a brief lesson on the pistol’s operation. When he’s finished, I present her with the extra ammo clips.

  “Here’s some more punch for you,” I say.

  Trynka looks at me for a long moment. The hostility I’m used to seeing in her eyes has lessened, replaced by something akin to friendliness. She is softer now – quite attractive, really. I can’t help becoming a bit aroused.

  Stop that, dammit!

  Here I am, in a life and death situation, and all I can think about is hitting on this foreign girl. Well ... at least it proves that I’m still alive. I exchange my rifle for Katella’s submachine gun.

  “If anyone comes after us, shoot them on sight,” I say.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I turn toward Trynka.

  “Let’s go.”

  We move across the open area, keeping as low as possible. Trynka is good at this, maneuvering silently through the plant cover. Again I feel oversized and exposed compared to my stealthy companion. We enter the forest on the other side and work our way through the marshy paths.

  I know what’s on the other side of the trees, but it’s a terrible shock just the same when I view ZOD again. It’s all there, just as I remembered – the deathly silence and inertia, the overpowering sense of wrong, the sensation that the land is moving at the same time that it is standing still.

  Trynka stiffens. She is clearly sharing my emotions about this place. We hunker down in the underbrush on the edge of the trees. I strain my eyes for the blur, but I can’t find it in the general void.

  “Can you see it?” I ask.

  Trynka understands my question; she shakes her head.

  Several minutes drag past, and we still haven’t located the blur under the moon and star light. We seem to be at an impasse. A terrible thought creeps into my mind: what if the partisans have no intention of attacking the cabin, what if they’re still around? Maybe my basic assumptions are wrong. An icy lump forms in my stomach.

  I’m about ready to return to Katella when a man suddenly materializes out in the ZOD, as if from thin air. I practically jump out of my own skin. Trynka stifles a cry.

  We sink ourselves deeper into the underbrush as another man emerges, then another. Soon, there are eight figures standing in the moonbeams. I cannot make out their faces, but the huge figure at their lead can be none other than Omzbak. They head off swiftly in the direction of the woodcutter’s cabin.

  I am surprised on two counts. First, the location of the entryway seems to be different from the last time I was here. Trynka was also looking in another direction for it. So, we were both mistaken – or else the entryway has moved.

  Also, I’d assumed that Omzbak would leave earlier to take advantage of the last daylight, but he’s waited until after dark to commence his raid.

  What else am I wrong about?

  Trynka grips my arm and speaks awkwardly in our language: “We now go.”

  But I am reluctant to depart. Why didn’t I hang onto the rifle? Maybe I could pick Omzbak off from this distance.

  Yes, and then what? The others would counter attack on terrain they know much better than we do. We’d be sitting ducks, even if I managed to hit Omzbak, and the muzzle flash would give us away like a neon sign.

  Trynka’s hand on my arm is oddly pleasant, but it’s high time to leave.

  “Let’s get back,” I say.

  ***

  We are ready to commence operations. Beltran and Katella have staked out ambush positions for the exterior force while Trynka and I have finally located the hideout entry. I am now able to see the blur for brief periods, wavering in my peripheral vision. I’m not sure if Trynka can see it at all. I can only hope that she will manage to lead us inside somehow.

  Such advantages as we enjoy are the result of pure luck. Had Trynka and I begun our observations only a bit later, we would never have learned the position of the entryway. And we would not know the size of Omzbak’s force. This vital information came to us through an extremely narrow window of opportunity. If only our luck continues!

  Bel moves about with scarcely any trace of limp. He appears so well recovered that my objections to his leading the exterior force seem unfounded. I don’t change the command structure, though. My reasons are purely selfish. I am placing myself in a position of extreme danger, and I want Bel at my side. The fear is taking hold.

  “Exterior force is in position, sir,” Katella announces. “All present and accounted for.”

  I peer out over the moonscape. Although I know the locations of Sipren and Grushon, I can see no trace of them, so good is their camouflage.

  “Excellent work, Commander,” I say. “Carry on.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Katella salutes and moves away. Our strict adherence to military protocol seems rather peculiar, but it helps to take our minds off our growing apprehension. Katella drops to the ground and disappears from view.

  Bel nods approvingly. “With any luck, we’ll catch those bastards by surprise.”

  “Right ... well,” I say, “I suppose it’s time we took our own positions.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bel replies.

  A trace of irony tinges his voice, as if he is mocking our strict formalism. How can he keep so calm, I wonder, does he think this is some sort of game?

  Trynka is to lead me and Bel inside the hideout and familiarize us with the areas she’d seen during her former penetration. Then she will go back outside and join the exterior force. If necessary, she will lead them inside as well.

  We approach the blur together. I flank Trynka on the left, Bel is on her right. My former, petty self would have objected to this arrangement, insisting that I should hold pride of place on the right side. But I am far beyond such considerations now.

  The plan appeared reasonable enough when we discussed it by the light of day. Now, it seems beyond the realm of stupidity. How can this half-baked scheme possibly work? I bite my tongue to keep from crying out. A powerful vibration that I have felt since first stepping onto ZOD becomes even more pronounced.

  But it’s too late for second thoughts. Trynka grips our hands tightly. We enter the blur in the gap between heartbeats. I am immediately disoriented. The ground seems to go mushy under my feet, and I am no longer certain which way is up or down. Only the strong grip of Trynka’s hand keeps me anchored.

  The way ahead is a dark smear; we fall into it. A pinpoint of light emerges in front of us, and Trynka makes a sharp turn. We continue our headlong rush until a second point of light appears, another wrenching turn. The violent maneuvers continue until we finally break through into the netherworld ...

  Everything is cockeyed here, tilted at strange angles. Time and space are different, as if I’ve stepped into some alternate reality that does not apply in the surface
world. I struggle to keep panic from choking me. The vibration has reached a maddening intensity. Thank God, Bel is here!

  Only he isn’t. Through my tunnel vision I can see Trynka gaping at her empty right hand.

  “Damn!” she cries.

  “Where is he?” I can hear the terror rising in my voice.

  “You ... wait,” Trynka says.

  Then she is gone, leaving me alone in this nightmare world.

  53. Strange Obsessions

  Don’t panic, Dytran! my interior voice cautions.

  I want to push it away, give myself over to pure, screaming fright. I don’t know where I am; I can’t see. Claustrophobic pressure squeezes me like a vise, but there is nothing tangible around me. I clamp my eyes shut and try to will my thundering heart to slow down before it bursts.

  An unknowable amount of time passes while I struggle to keep my sanity. At last, the roaring in my ears begins to abate, and my heart calms to a more human rhythm. I’m here, wherever that is, and I’m safe. Nobody has tried to attack me, at least not yet.

  I open my eyes and the world is slightly less bizarre. I’m in a tunnel, I think, though I can’t see any walls. The way ahead is blurry, but at least the ground is solid under my feet. I have the oddest sensation that I’m not really seeing things as they are, but only the shadow of reality ... I’m in the pee cave!

  The knowledge hits me like a sledgehammer blow, and a new burst of terror assaults me. I whip my submachine gun into combat position, cock the bolt and throw off the safety.

  Hold it!

  Trynka will soon be returning with Bel – I must believe that. Their sudden appearance could startle me into firing at them. I force myself to lower the gun and click on the safety. I feel naked and exposed to attack from every direction.

  This is what you wanted, isn’t it? my inner voice sneers.

  “No!” I reply out loud.

  Quiet, you damn fool! Somebody might hear you.

  I cower under the admonition like a dog threatened with a belt, but I can’t keep a sly little smile off my lips. I’ve done something bad and have gotten away with it! I’m much too clever to get caught. Papa will never find me with his ham-sized fist.