Peace Army (2 page)

Too fast.

Drew watched helplessly as the truck filled the mirror.

“Natalie—”

Voices.

Cold.

Pain. So much pain!

Natalie
.

“He’s alive,” a male voice announced. “Rob, check the passenger! I’ve got this one!”

“Na…Na…”

“Don’t talk, buddy. Just lie still.”

“Na…Natalie…”

“Natalie. Is that your wife? My buddy Rob is checking on her right now,” the Voice explained. “You’ve got two of the best paramedics in Boston on the case.”

Drew was cold, and an elephant was sitting on his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

“B…aby.”

“Don’t talk, buddy.”

Drew felt the paramedic touching him. The touches brought fresh stabs of agony. He was hurt. Bad.

“Nata…lie,” he managed. The elephant had not moved. It took all his breath and strength to whisper those three syllables.

“Rob?” the Voice asked.

Rob did not answer.

Even the elephant knew that was not a good sign.

“Na…Nat…”

“Shhh, buddy. Save your breath.”

Drew marshaled his strength.

Opened his eyes.

The Voice hovered above him, a blurry apparition. But not so blurry that Drew missed the tell-tale shake of head the Voice gave after looking to Rob. He knew what it meant.

“Ba…by.”

The Voice leaned down.

Locked eyes.

“We’ll do everything we can, buddy.”

Drew closed his eyes and the elephant returned. But this time it was soft.

A stuffed green elephant
.

* * *

“Uhggn!”

Grant jerked up with a start.

The ragged breathing and staccato pounding of his heart that always accompanied the nightmare welcomed him to the darkened room.

He was sitting in his bed.

A quick glance showed Avery still sleeping. He had not woken her.

This time.

This was the fourth occasion in the past two weeks that the story of his mother’s death had come to haunt him. The nightmare had lain dormant for years – safely buried under the detritus of everyday life and the usual concerns of a grown man and professional soldier.

Then the threat of another Minith mothership headed toward Earth raised its demonic head.

And so had the nightmare.

His father first told him the story on his tenth birthday. After the requisite party of friends, presents, and cake ended and quiet filled their house again, his dad sat him on the couch. He offered a short prelude about how Grant was old enough to handle what he was about to tell him. Drew Justice then calmly informed his son of the events that led to his mother’s death and his subsequent birth by emergency C-section.

It was an emotionally difficult story for his father to tell, but he fought through his pain and told Grant every detail he could remember. He cried during parts of the story, laughed at others, and Grant saw how much it hurt him to be reliving that day. When the story was over, he closed his eyes and lay back on the couch. Grant took his father’s hand, thanked him for telling the story, and comforted him as best he could. He then promised his dad that he would “handle it” well.

And he did handle it well. For three years.

When his dad was taken by cancer the day before his thirteenth birthday, the nightmare about his mother’s passing visited Grant for the first time.

The dream offered random, recurring interruptions to Grant’s sleep for the next five years. It came when it wished, replayed the ghoulish events of his father’s worst day, and left a shaking, tattered soul in its wake.

The dream finally passed into the realm of just another bad memory when Grant joined the army. It was then that he finally rediscovered his sense of belonging—his sense of family. On the field of battle, he found brothers-in-arms. They became his new family, and they kept the dream at bay.

Until now.

The warrior swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and left his sleeping wife. He turned on a light in their tiny kitchen, then made his way across the apartment to his son’s room.

Grant stood quietly in the doorway and felt his heart skip. Eli was sleeping peacefully. He was turned on his side and one leg was uncovered by the blanket, as usual. At five years old, he was becoming more and more like his mother every day—smart, good-humored, and extremely full of energy.

Grant was no psychiatrist, but he knew himself well. He understood why the dream had returned. It had everything to do with the alien ship. It drew closer to Earth with every passing moment. And with every passing moment, the threat to his family grew.

He ran a hand through his sleeping son’s hair, leaned down, and gently kissed his brow.

“They’ll never take you from me, son,” Grant whispered. “I promise.”

Part I

Father First, Soldier Second

Chapter 1

Grant strode purposefully down the half-mile length of the First Square hallway, slowing only as he neared the door to Treel’s room. He wondered how Treel would take the news.

He had delayed informing the alien about the object headed toward Earth until they were positive what it was. Just that morning, the probes they had placed on Mars two years previously had sent back very clear images. The visual identification confirmed their worst fears.

The approaching object was a Minith mothership.

They had suspected it for weeks, ever since the fast-moving object suddenly appeared. Their search efforts scanned the sky at all times, looking for anomalies, blips, and motherships. A third of their systems detected the object at the same moment. One second, nothing. The next, a tiny blip marked the presence of a new object on the outer boundary of the solar system.

Senior Scientist Tane Rolan surmised the ship had slowed from faster-than-light speed at, or just before, the moment it was detected, but no one knew for certain. What they did know was, at its current speed, the ship would reach Earth in less than a week.

Treel was the sole survivor of the previous Minith occupation force. He had been captured by the men and women of Violent’s Prison after a failed raid of the prison by the alien force. The other Minith on the planet had been killed, many by Grant.

Over the past six years, Grant had come to trust the former Minith soldier. Somehow, he could relate to Treel in ways other humans could not—and in ways that he could not relate to other humans. As an ancient soldier, forged by the norms of a society six hundred years in the past, Grant was just as much an anomaly in present-day Earth as was the alien. They were both trained soldiers. Neither feared killing or showing violence when the need arose. Both were driven by a need for discipline, accountability, and an ingrained code of honor.

Over the first year after Treel’s capture, Grant had spent at least two hours each day talking with the alien. His reasons for doing so were protective and proactive in nature. He needed information that would help protect Earth from a possible future attack. And he did not want to wait until the day the information was needed to get it.

There was no torture; it wasn’t needed. The alien was forthcoming with every detail requested. He answered Grant’s questions about Minith capabilities, tactics, and weapons promptly and efficiently. Because of the ease with which it was gained, Grant was initially suspicious of the information provided. It took him nearly a year to realize that Treel was just responding as he had been conditioned by Minith culture. Upon losing his entire force and being captured, Treel had simply conceded superiority to the humans who defeated him.

For the Minith, defeat by a superior opponent meant a complete and immediate shift in loyalty to the victor.

Once Grant understood that key detail of the Minith psyche, he proceeded differently. He fostered a relationship with the alien based on mutual trust and understanding. They discussed more than just tactics of warfare. They ventured into areas of Minith culture—family life and children. It was during these discussions that Treel announced to Grant that he had a family. A spouse and two children resided on a planet that had been captured and claimed outside the Minith’s home solar system.

It was soon after learning of Treel’s family that Grant introduced the alien to his own son.

Eli was three when Grant first took the boy to visit Treel, and Grant was amazed at the bond Eli and the alien formed. Within weeks, Eli was asking to visit Treel daily. It took more than a little convincing to get Avery to relent to regular visits, but after agreeing only on the condition that they visit as a family, she too was soon swayed by Treel’s interactions with the boy. Eli’s lack of fear and obvious affection for Treel helped seal the deal. After six months of family visits, neither she nor Grant had any concern about Eli’s safety and soon permitted Eli unrestricted visits.

Despite his own convictions, it took two years for Grant to convince the Leadership Council that the Minith soldier was no longer a threat to humans. He eventually succeeded, though. Although Treel was still technically a prisoner, he was not confined to a room or a cell. He was free to roam as he wished—for now. Grant had no idea if that freedom would be allowed to continue.

The approaching ship changed things.

* * *

“Check.”

Eli scanned the board. The pieces were in their appointed places. But he always made sure. His dad taught him that lesson the first time they ever played.

Always make sure.

Satisfied everything was in order, he moved his knight two spots down and one spot over. It settled neatly into its appointed place. To the place he had planned for it to settle a dozen moves back. He smiled at his latest opponent, the only person—well, not really a person—other than his dad who played chess.

“Checkmate.”

“Ah! I thought I had you that time, little one,” Treel conceded. He leaned back from the table and glared at the five-year-old across the board.

Eli grinned at Treel’s menacing sneer. He knew it was a “tactic”—his dad’s word—the alien used to intimidate him. But it never worked. Treel was a Minith, but he was nice. That was Treel’s big secret around most humans. Almost everyone was scared to be around him. Not his dad or his mom, or even his uncle Tane or his uncle Mouse. They knew Treel well enough. But everyone else left the room quickly when the alien entered. They weren’t used to his size, his large ears, or his green leathery hide.

Eli knew that was the reason Treel kept to his room. He did not like how most humans acted when they were around him.

“Again, little one?” The best thing about Treel, though, was he liked to play chess. He was also getting better with each game, which was great.

“Sure,” the boy eagerly accepted. He loved the game and would play all day if he could. His dad was busy and didn’t have a lot of time to play. His uncle Tane tried playing a few times, but Eli knew he did it just to spend time with him. Uncle Tane wasn’t very good, and that was boring.

They gathered the pieces and settled them into their places. Eli rocked with anticipation of the next match.

Treel curled his top lip and snarled. Eli laughed.

“Don’t even try that tactic, Treel. You’re goin’ down, clown.” He quoted one of his dad’s favorite phrases whenever they started a new game. He didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded funny.

Treel snarled again. Gave Eli the Minith version of a smile. Led out with knight to F3.

* * *

Grant stopped, peered into the window set into the door, and nodded. As expected, Treel and Eli were well into a game of chess. A surge of regret at not having more time to spend with Eli flashed painfully through his core. He shrugged it off, consciously denying it the power to deter him from his duties.

Grant pulled the door open and entered the room quietly, not wanting to disturb the game.

Eli would have none of it, though. When he saw his dad, the game was forgotten. He erupted from his chair and quickly wrapped himself around his dad’s legs.

“Dad!”

“Hey, son. You kicking some Minith butt?” He smiled and ruffled his son’s reddish-brown hair, a gift from his mother’s gene pool.

Treel stood from the game. Stretched. “Yes. Your little one is unusually good at this game of strategy. He will make a fine soldier one day.”

“Don’t tell his mother that, or she’ll never let him play chess again,” Grant only half joked. Avery knew the need for soldiers, but she was adamant that her son would not be among them.

“Aw. C’mon, dad. It’s just a game.” Eli knew when his dad wasn’t being completely serious. “Besides, I’m gonna be a pilot.”

“Yes, yes. A pilot, just like your uncle Mouse.” Grant knew where his son’s allegiance resided. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure your mom sees the distinction between a person who fights on the ground and one who fights in the air.”

Grant picked the boy up and squeezed him in a tight hug. “You know how much I love you?”

Eli spread his right thumb and forefinger a quarter of an inch apart and held his hand up to his eye. He squinted through the tiny space. “About this much?”

“Ha. Even less.” They laughed, both familiar with the game they played. The smaller the gap, the more love there was between them.

Grant put the boy down and pointed him toward the door. “Go see what your mom is doing. I need to talk to Treel for a bit.”

“But Dad, we’re right in the middle of a game!”

Grant sighed. Surveyed the board quickly. Shook his head. “Little buddy, looks like you’ve got him set up for checkmate in three more moves.”

“What?” Treel growled as he scanned the pieces arranged on the table. “I’m ahead on this one.”

“Ha! That’s funny,” Eli teased as he headed for the door. “Told you you were goin’ down, clown!”

Chapter 2

Mouse landed the jet carrier on the runway outside the giant structure formerly known as Violent’s Prison. Tane, the sole passenger on this extended flight, was glad to be back on the ground.