Beyond Armageddon: Book 03 - Parallels (23 page)

            Trevor laughed. He laughed because he recognized the expression on Major Forest’s face. It was the same expression that the Nina Forest of his world showed when she had tried to dupe him with tactical hand signals, only to find that he knew them by the book.

            "Okay, I guess you know how to use a bayonet, huh? Did I teach you on your world?"

            He shook his head and told her the truth, "Actually, I picked it up from a guy who fought for the Germans in World War One."

            She, of course, did not have the slightest idea what he meant. She did not care, either.

            Sarcasm oozed, "I see. Fine. Well then, maybe you can show me some pointers?"

            Nina tried to surprise him, bringing her dummy rifle at him in a slashing maneuver. Trevor stepped backward and barely avoided the strike of the plastic mock up.

            She continued forward with a thrust. The butt of his rifle
accidentally
deflected the charge.

            He saw she had a head of steam going but, damn, she was going. It was possible he had underestimated her instincts.

            Nina executed a perfect parry-left and knocked his mockup aside, she then slashed at his chest, followed in a fluid motion by the butt of her wooden rifle striking him in the kidneys.

            Trevor fell toward the mat. Even before he hit the ground, he felt her bayonet zooming toward his exposed back.

            He rolled away. Her rubber weapon hit empty mat.

            Nina thrust again and again as he rolled across the floor. She made the mistake of moving too fast and lost a little balance. He took the opening and swept his foot into her calf and sent her to the floor.

            That bought him one precious second to get to his feet; rifle and bayonet in attack position.

She faced off against him. "Well, you have done this before, haven’t you?" She hissed but the anger appeared to be leaving her voice. She seemed to enjoy the fight.

            "Once…twice…maybe a hundred times or so, yeah."

            He tried to slash at her. Nina effectively executed an upward block. The two pieces of wood thudded together then apart.

            She swung the butt of her rifle toward his groin. He brought his weapon down and met it.

            Nina grunted, from either pain or frustration. Trevor felt the sweat on his brow and back. Yes, he had underestimated her instincts.

            More thrusts, more parries. They danced across the room, huffing and puffing and exhaling in bursts. The rifles and bayonets went high, then low. Finally they locked weapons and hesitated. The bayonet fight reached a stalemate.

            Suddenly he tumbled backward with his rifle falling out of his hands, the result of a fast and effective leg-sweep.

 
Oh, how clever.

            But, again, she acted too rash. He managed to catch her legs in a similar sweep as she closed in to drive her fake bayonet home. This time he did not go for his own weapon, he went for hers

            She panted in surprise as he pried it loose from her grip. The fake gun fumbled about before spinning off to the side.

            Nina scrambled to her feet and he grabbed her from behind…only to find himself going feet over head as she judo flipped him. His hand had a grasp on her shirt, however, and as he came down on the mat he pulled her along, over top of him, then rolling on the mat.

            More grunts. More gasps.

            The action stopped.

            He held her wrists, both of them, stretched above her head as he pinned her body to the floor with his own.

            She was faster and she did have good instincts, but Trevor weighed sixty pounds heavier.

His body lay on top of hers too close for a knee to the groin and her hands immobilized by his tight grasp on her wrists.

So close.

They both breathed heavily for a moment, covered in sweat.

"Well," she caught her wind. "It looks like you’ve got me."
            He felt her squirm underneath…felt her leg rub and bend along the side of his…slowly…intentionally.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"There’s another difference between you and the Nina I know. She never would have let me get the best of her like this."

Major
Forest
smiled. "Maybe I just wanted you on top of me."

He wondered…did he have her, or was she in complete control?

Trevor huffed, rolled off, stood, and grabbed his towel.

She massaged her wrists. He had squeezed them very hard.

Trevor said, "You play a lot of games, don’t you?" There was no good humor in his voice. Not an ounce.

"Nothing wrong with a game, now and then."

He turned on her as he wiped sweat from his forehead. "I don’t play games, do you hear? I have a son back home whom I miss dearly. I have a world of my own. I want to go back there. But you brought me here. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that!"

She sat on the floor and listened with no expression.

"And most of all," he roared as the anger built. "You are just another person to me. I don’t know you! I don’t know who you are, no matter what you look like! Don’t think that you can convince me that you are anything like the Nina I knew. You are nothing like her!"

He stormed from the room.

Nina collapsed to the floor, stared at the ceiling. And grinned.

---

            In the center of the gymnasium stood a mock-up of a small building, perhaps a home or an office complete with several rooms, a hallway, and windows. With no roof, Trevor could see inside the structure from his seat in the bleachers as could the drill supervisor who hovered overhead in a bucket attached to a hydraulic lift.

            Major Forest sat near him but he did not give her the courtesy of a glance. While part of that came from his anger with her, the exercises below also held his attention.

            The soldiers divided into two groups of three and competed as offensive and defensive teams engaged in entry and clear operations. Their weapons reminded Trevor of paint ball guns but the pellets exploded in puffs of gas. That gas interacted with patches on their body armor, causing a color change ranging from light red to dark depending on estimated severity of injury.

            One soldier in particular held Trevor's attention: a bombastic man standing over six feet tall with a crew cut who bossed his fellow soldiers around despite no extra rank on his sleeve.

            Reverend Johnny climbed the bleachers and sat next to Trevor. He said, "At long last that fiendish tailor has managed to fit this contraption to my frame in a manner that does not cut off circulation to my nether region."

            Trevor did not reply. He focused on the soldiers as they prepared for another exercise. Green team took position inside the mock building to defend while Blue team prepared to clear.

            For the first time in half an hour, Trevor spoke to Nina, "What's wrong down there, Major?"

            She examined the scene for a moment and then answered, "The defenders are spread out, they’re not covering each other’s backs. Each one could be isolated and overpowered."

            Trevor noted, "Equal weapons and equal numbers, the defenders should win easy, every time with a little planning. But wait, don't worry," he pointed as Blue team split up and infiltrated through open windows. "The attackers have made it easy."

            The Blue fighters each used separate entrances. That might have been acceptable, if they coordinated their approach. Instead, they left flanks uncovered, rooms unchecked, and did not know each other's positions.

            As the teams engaged, Trevor tapped Reverend Johnny on his shoulder and pointed toward the tall soldier participating on the defending Green team.

            "Look familiar?"

            Johnny looked and listened. He saw that soldier angrily shove a teammate and point him to a new position then scowl at another who walked across his field of fire.

            "Seems a bit like a—wait one moment, is that who I think it is? Dear Lord, that is General Jon Brewer!"

            Nina cut in, "General? That guy down there is a Corporal."

            Trevor said, "Then I can see why you're in such bad shape around here."

            Pellets zinged back and forth as individual members of each team confronted one another. No group action, no unison of movement, no cohesive plan on either side.

            A Green shot a Blue. A Blue popped a Green.  A Green—Brewer--took out a second Blue as he rushed into a room.

The remaining Blue carefully crept through the building after his comrades met their fate (said fate resulting in kneeling on the floor with their hands behind their head).

Trevor watched Brewer. The man resembled his friend from pre-Armageddon days, in appearance and action. Like his former self from another world, this Jon Brewer believed in the doctrine of preemption. Instead of remaining in a defensive position, he went on the offensive, moving from the room he covered, to the hall, and then he apparently sensed a presence around a corner. Brewer ran into the room, gun blazing. He took a pellet in the chest for his trouble, but also managed to put a pellet into…the only other remaining Green teammate.

From the bucket overhead came the instructor screaming, "Brewer! Morris! You idiots! You're on the same damn team and you're both out!"

Reverend Johnny gasped to Trevor, "I cannot believe such incompetence."

Trevor threw a stern glance at Major Forest first, then answered Johnny, "It's not incompetence, Reverend. Like everything else I've seen here, they're sloppy and disinterested."

"Hey," Nina defended her comrades. "These are some of the best guys in Third L."

Trevor shot back with red in his cheeks, "And they've been hiding behind defensive walls for how long? Months? Years? How long since you people even left this city?"
            She said nothing.

Trevor spat, "I thought so."

            The instructor blew a whistle and lowered the observation bucket.

            "All right, all right. Seems like you guys just don’t got it today. Let’s hit the showers."

            Both teams exited the mock-up and gathered their gear. Brewer gave the one who shot him a shove but most of the soldiers laughed at how the drill ended.

            Trevor—with his hands clenched in fists and his eyes staring at the atrocity below--marched down the bleachers like a twister spawning over an unsuspecting Kansas town. Major Forest practically fell as she stumbled to her feet to follow.

            Before the group could disperse, Trevor growled, "Stop." Not so much loud, but deep.

            The soldiers turned to the sound of the voice and practically froze. He saw fear, shock, surprise, doubt, and disbelief in their eyes.

"Being a soldier is more than carrying a gun and wearing a uniform. What I just watched…
disgusting
. You are all going to die on the battlefield."

            The instructor stumbled, "Now, wait a second, I don’t know who you think you are—"

            "Shut up."

            The chubby man with rank on his collar looked around Trevor at Major Forest.

            "Why are you looking at her? Look at me," he commanded the instructor. "You should be ashamed. You've failed your men! When their blood is spilled it will be on
your
hands!"

One of the rank and file objected, "It's just a basic training mission. No big deal."

Trevor turned on him. "What’s your name?"

            The man—young and cocky with hair too slick to be the hair of a grunt—stepped forward in confrontation and answered, "Pickering."

            "Pickering, you ever see a Crawling Tube Worm?"

            "Um…I don’t think so."

            Trevor brushed over the likelihood that Nina’s humans had a different nickname for that vile creature. He did not care about details at that moment.

            "Do you know what it does? It swallows a man whole, digests him for a couple of days, then shits him out into a pile."

            Pickering shrugged
yeah, so?

            "The whole time…
the whole friggin’ time
…you’re alive. Even after it shits you out you’re still alive. Only, you just spent a couple of days inside an intestinal tract. Skin dissolved away, most of your internal organs digested, hair and eyes and all that. Lots of blood, sure, yeah. Most of the time folks are still breathing when it takes a dump, but they’re crazy. Can’t move. No arms. No legs. They just lay there like the rest of the feces except they moan and cry until a buddy puts a bullet through what’s left of their brains."

            "That’s pretty bad, man," the guy replied in that same arrogant voice.