Xenophobia (17 page)

“Lucky dip,” Bosco added.

Jameson nodded, turning back to the soldiers. “We’re good for one, maybe two engagements, but Elvis is right. We’re too big to hide, too small to fight. Besides, the Marines will be in contact with CentCom, we’ll be able to report in and get some clarity around the situation.”

Elvis spat on the ground. “I’m in.”

“Yeah, not a lot of choice,” said Bosco, a hint of reluctance carrying in his voice.

Bower admired the way Jameson worked with his soldiers. He had to know they had no choice given the circumstances. They were less than twenty miles from
Lilongwe, yet for Jameson it was important to maintain a sense of unity even this far along the track.

“OK, let’s roll,” he said, walking back to the truck.

As they got underway, Bower looked out at the alien pods. They lay scattered in the distance, spread out hundreds of feet apart on the dry grass or caught in thorny Acacia trees. She didn’t say anything, as no one else seemed to notice and she didn’t want to be alarmist, but they were all broken, they were all leaking. The further they drove, the more sure she became, noting that not only had the fragile, white umbrella-shaped parachutes dissolved in the wind, leaving a brittle skeleton, but the resin casings had ruptured too. They were breaking down, their dark walls giving way and spewing thick, black sludge on the ground.

What did it mean? What did it matter what it meant? Was there anything she could do about it? Had some kind of biological agent been released? Or was she being paranoid, reading too much into some unknown process?

Sitting there, bouncing with the worn suspension of the truck on the rough track, Bower knew she was helpless and that scared her more than any giant creature floating through the sky. For the first time, she thought she could die, that the events unfolding around her could lead to her demise. Her life was out of her control. There was nothing to control, nothing she could change. And this was true for all of humanity.

The floaters had gone, disappearing over the horizon to the north. They appeared to move roughly parallel with each other. In some ways, she preferred having them around. As jarring as they were, they held a sense of awe, but with their passing, Bower was left with a sense of fear for the unknown. What was next? As the sun set and Africa descended into night, she couldn’t shake a pervading fear of the dark.

“He says the Marines are holed up at the airport to the east of the city, but that there are Pakistani soldiers in the old UN compound in the city center,” Jameson said, climbing back in the truck after talking with government troops by a roadblock on the outskirts of
Lilongwe.

The city was in flames.

A red glow rose over the horizon, lighting up the darkness, silhouetting the buildings of the capital. Sporadic gunfire erupted from around the city. Bower had no idea of the distances involved from the sound, but the soldiers didn’t seem too concerned. Can’t high-powered bullets travel upwards of a mile or so, she wondered, but it was a question she didn’t really want answered.

“The captain reckons its easily eight miles,” Jameson added. “Bosco hasn’t been able to raise the Pakis on the shortwave, so we’re going to hunker down here for the night and move in with the dawn. Pull the truck up over behind the command post.”

“Roger that,” Elvis replied, putting the truck in gear and driving around the side of a war-torn building. Bullet holes ran along the concrete. There was no glass in any of the windows, and no light from inside, but Bower was tired. Bad had become a relative term. With the advent of vast alien creatures drifting through the sky, it seemed the worst the civil war had to offer was nothing compared to the threat of an unknown alien menace. In that regard, the building actually seemed inviting, being shelter from what she thought of as prying eyes from the sky.

Funny that, she thought, climbing out of the cab of the truck: the illusion of importance. She felt the world revolved around her even though she knew it didn’t. Somehow the alien presence was a personal threat. Bower was torn. On a logical level, she was intrigued by the arrival of an alien intelligence. The doctor and scientist within her had so many questions. And yet her human side worried. Her natural instinct was to fear all that was to come. The future seemed dark. In the depths of her soul she wanted to unwind time, to go back to simpler days, to return to her village hospital. Certainty, that’s what had been lost. Bower somehow felt there had been certainty in the midst of a brooding civil war. She smiled at the irony.

As she walked across the dusty ground she noticed a government soldier pissing into the remains of an alien pod. She went to say something to him, but what was there to say?

Jameson led her and Kowalski into a small storage room with single window. Jagged shards of glass stuck out of the window frame. There was no privacy, but at least she knew no one would try climbing in during the night.

“We’re going to get you to bed down here. Try to get some sleep. In addition to the government sentries, we’ll have a two-man watch through the night.”

Bower nodded.

Kowalski dropped their packs onto the ground.

Bower was surprised by how tired she was. She barely remembered unfolding her sleeping mat and crawling into a thin sheet sack.

Within seconds, it seemed, she was being woken by Kowalski rummaging through his backpack.

Light broke the darkness hanging over Lilongwe. For a moment, Bower thought she caught a glimpse of the alien mothership, but it was a cloud lit up in soft pinks high in the stratosphere. A hot, dry wind blew in from the west. The humidity was already oppressive.

“Rise and shine,” Bosco said, sticking his head in the door.

Bower was still trying to process the eight or nine hours that had vanished in a fleeting moment. Kowalski had already repacked his bag. He offered her some water, which she gladly accepted.

“I need to -”

“Latrine’s behind the guardhouse,” Bosco replied. “Unisex.”

Bower faked a smile. As she walked past Jameson he handed her a bullet-proof vest saying something she missed with the sound of gunfire close by.

“I’ll just be a ...”

There was no need to go on. Jameson knew. He continued rummaging around in the back of the Hummer. Elvis and Bosco were joking around with each other, laughing about something.

Smithy was checking the bulky magazine on the lightweight machine gun. Bower got the distinct impression she shouldn’t dawdle.

The smell from the toilet was overwhelming.

One of the young Rangers followed her over and stood outside the latrine with his M4 rifle in hand. He looked outward, away from the toilet, toward at the checkpoint. He must have followed her on Jameson’s orders, even though she was barely thirty feet away.

“Thanks,” she said after she came back out. The young man simply smiled in reply and followed her back to the rest of the Rangers. His helmet looked too big for his head. Bower couldn’t suppress the realization that she was being protected by a kid with a machine gun. He looked barely out of high school.

The bulletproof vest was uncomfortable, designed for men. Bower fiddled with the webbing on the shoulders, trying to let the breastplate out a little as she walked back over to join the soldiers.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Bower looked up to see Smithy with her helmet off. Although her blonde hair was cropped short and messy, she was pretty. Her petite face had a natural beauty, one that didn’t need makeup to accentuate her features. It was no wonder Elvis joked about her being Combat Barbie. Smithy really did look out of place among the Rangers. She belonged in a vogue magazine, not a civil war.

Smithy loosened the waist strap for Bower.

“Feels like you’re carrying lead weights over your shoulders, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bower replied sheepishly.

“Not the most practical or fashionable of outfits,” Smithy continued, adjusting the straps for her. “But, hey, out here you don’t want to attract unwanted attention.”

“How do you do it?” Bower asked. She hoped Smithy understood what she meant by ‘it.’ Everything associated with Army life seemed so contrary to a pretty young girl like Smithy, but that was the thing about stereotypes, she figured, they never fit everyone.

Smithy shrugged her shoulders. She was shy, which surprised Bower. From what Bower had seen of the young lady, Smithy was able to hold her own with the male troops, and yet deep down she really wasn’t some tough-as-nails butch woman. If anything, she seemed more feminine than Bower.

“I’m the youngest of five kids, four of them boys, so I’m used to the banter.”

“But to fire at someone?” Bower asked, not able to bring herself to use the word kill.

“Yeah, that’s a bit nasty. I don’t think anyone really likes it, but it’s one of those things you’ve got to do, you know, like washing out an old garbage can with maggots and stuff. You don’t want to touch it, but you know what’s right so you just get on with the job.”

Bower was silent.

“Hey, I’ve got something,” cried Bosco, holding the handset for the shortwave radio. The radio itself was seated on the hood of the Hummer, its three-foot long aerial extended. Bosco kept talking into the radio as the others gathered around. Jameson was pointing at something on a map next to the radio, talking with Elvis. Kowalski leaned over, taking a good look, although Bower doubted he knew what he was looking at. Bower strained to understand the words being spoken over the haze of static.

“ ... avoid northern routes ... main clear ... sporadic rebel attacks on Dupoint Road ...”

The mood among the soldiers was upbeat.

Jameson turned to her and said, “We can’t get hold of the Marines, but the Pakistanis have a convoy heading for the airfield this afternoon,” Jameson said to her. “There’s a flight from Nairobi, Kenya, heading to Pretoria in South Africa. It’s due to touch down to pick up stragglers and will be on the ground for no more than thirty minutes at 1500 hours. That’s our ticket out of here.”

He smiled, grabbing Bower by the shoulder. “You’re going home. 24 hours from now, all this is going to be a just a fleeting memory, just another wild yarn to share with your family.”

“And you?”

“We have to get in contact with Af-Com out of Dar es Salaam in Tanzania, but it would make no sense for us to stay in-country. We’re separated from our unit. More than likely, they’ll have us fly out with you to South Africa and from there, stateside.”

Bower forced a smile.

She wasn’t sure what she felt inside. She was grateful, of that she was sure, but it seemed too good to be true. Everything had fallen in place.

“Fucking US Air Force, baby,” cried Elvis, his eyes hidden behind his gold-rimmed sunglasses. “Ain’t no one keeping them out of the skies.”

One of the soldiers came running over from the checkpoint, having been talking with several of the African guards. “We’re good to go.”

“OK,” Jameson cried, grabbing his M4 from where it leaned against the side of the Hummer. “Let’s roll.”

They pulled out onto the dusty road. The African soldiers manning the checkpoint waved them on, their yellow teeth showing as they grinned and smiled cheerfully. Several of them called out, but Bower couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Elvis leaned out the window of the truck, yelling, “Yee-haw.”

The Hummer pulled ahead of the truck and began driving down the wide boulevard leading into the city. Tall palms lined the road. Ragged, single-story buildings stretched out on either side of the street. For the most part, they were made from large sandstone blocks, but beyond them loomed taller concrete buildings, stark and impersonal. It was as though Lilongwe had no soul. Black soot marred the walls above the empty window frames, marking where flames had licked out from within the burnt-out ruins.

Those few people on the street quickly disappeared at the sound of the approaching vehicles. Weary eyes peered out through broken windows. Ahead, smoke rose from the shattered frame of an overturned truck blocking a side road. Smoldering tires formed a barricade blocking the entrance to a narrow alleyway running parallel with the side road, barely wide enough for a soldier to move down. A bloodied arm hung from the scarred rooftop.

“You thinking what I am?” came a voice across the radio.

“Guerrilla warfare,” replied Jameson. “If this is the first mile, I suspect the army is being over-optimistic. I doubt they have control of the city. Best pick up the pace. Keep an eye on those rooftops.”

“Roger that.”

Bower could see rifle barrels sticking out of either side of the Hummer ready to return fire.

Jameson turned toward Bower, seated in the middle of the truck’s bench seat.

“If we come under fire, we keep moving, OK?”

“OK,” Bower replied, not sure what she was agreeing to.

“It’s important to understand that, regardless of what happens, our best option is to keep moving. If the Hummer takes a hit from an RPG it could disable the vehicle. If that happens, we won’t stop. If we stop, we’re concentrated in one place. The best thing we can do is to keep going, get out of the kill zone and then look to render assistance. If we get caught in the kill box it’s all over.”

Bower was silent. For Jameson, ‘disable the vehicle’ was a euphemism for seeing his men maimed and killed in an instant. These were people he’d served with for years. As a doctor, Bower knew what it meant to divorce herself in life or death situations. To disconnect her feelings wasn’t easy, compassion wasn’t something she could ignore, and yet once her head was in that space a sense of detachment allowed her to make swift, decisive, clinical decisions. She understood the necessity of that kind of thinking, but it wasn’t like unplugging a TV or switching off a light. It cost something.

“Likewise, if we take a hit, they’ll keep going. They won’t leave us, but they’ll move away from us so they can outflank any incoming attack.”

She nodded.

“If that happens, we will need to take cover until they can assist. We may have to move out on foot.”

He was looking deep into her eyes, maintaining an uncomfortable level of eye contact, and she knew what he was doing. He needed to know she understood. As simple as his sentences were, Bower understood the implicit meaning. If anyone was wounded or hurt, there was little that could be done for them in the short term. This wasn’t the movies. There were no heroics that could defy the physics of a bullet moving faster than the speed of sound.

“Left 200 meters,” came the call over the radio.

Elvis had sped up to keep pace with the Hummer, staying uncomfortably close to the lead vehicle. They raced around the corner. Africans, caught unawares, darted off the road and into side alleys. Several of them were carrying AK-47s, either slung over their shoulder or in a casual grip. In any regard, they seemed more interested in getting away from the Rangers than starting trouble. In the distance, Bower could see the blackened remains of a bus lying on its side, blocking the road.

“Right 100 meters.”

They turned down a narrow alleyway, reacting to the roadblock. The buildings reached three to four stories in height as they moved further into the city. The alley narrowed. Bower felt as though the walls were closing in. A cluster of power lines wound their way between poles running the length of the alley. Bower could see clothes hung out to dry between the buildings, splashes of color against the otherwise dull, sandy browns.

“Left 50 meters.”

They turned into a broad street. An overturned truck forced them onto the other side of the road for a few seconds.

“Looking an awful lot like a coordinated system of barricades,” Bosco said over the radio.

“You think they’re corralling us?” Jameson asked. “Setting up a choke point?”

“They were corralling someone,” came the reply, “But I doubt they’re targeting us. I doubt they want to tangle with US soldiers.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here before they figure out we’re not an effective fighting force.”

“Roger that.”

The sweep of the road curved to the left and the Rangers found themselves bearing down on a battle easily quarter of a mile in the distance. The sound of gunfire echoed off the buildings around them. Government forces were spread out along either side of the street firing on rebels further down the road.

“Get us the hell out of here,” Jameson cried over the radio.

“Already on it,” came the reply. “Right 20 meters.”