25

INTERLUDE 2

THE WOLF

Al-Tanf Garrison (US Military Base)

Southern Syria

1300 Local Time

Nathan Segerstrom shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare with his hand.

Even in early April, when temperatures in this stretch of the desert never went above the eighties, it felt almost like a hundred. Not even his sunglasses helped him scan the pack of soldiers around the eight parked humvees; half were lying on the ground, the other half crouched over them as they continued the MEDEVAC exercise while their sergeant laid down the law on those too distracted to finish it. At least the SDF troopers were taking things more seriously.

What was it now, the ninth exercise in a week?

They were all bored, and Nathan didn’t like it when it caught on to his SEALs. Unfortunately, their only distractions were four men’s magazines shared across the garrison and a private seven-minute dibs in the outhouse. Phones took too long to recharge with solar panels, only to drain faster when you watch any extra-curricular videos over the net, so the garrison’s all about the old-school ways. It wasn’t even a good use of a resource. Most soldiers just listened to music or read an ebook during their downtime with their devices. When civilization was far out of reach, you gotta be creative with conserving batteries.

And we should have been out here yesterday, Nathan thought, fidgeting with the straps of his rifle around his shoulders. What was supposed to be a week-long mission turned into a fucking sit-in. When he tried to ask questions, the base went under a communications blackout. Major Anderson said it was for exercise purposes. No phones. No calls. No internet.

So, the magazines had seen some better days.

He wanted the exercise to be over. However, time seemed to move at a turtle’s pace.

It was part of their patrol around the de-confliction zone—the fourth time this week—and they hadn’t met anyone except for strolling goat farmers from the nearby villages spread out of what they called “The 55 KM Area,” or just the Fifty-Five. The Al-Tanf Garrison was at the center of it. Here, five rebel factions took up base, some of which were allies to the United States as part of Operation Inherent Resolve, an international military intervention to combat the rise of the Islamic State…and also lay a claim on the Al-Omar Oil Fields.

You gotta love a military operation with a worthy cause served with a side of greed.

The US and the rebel forces maintained a buffer zone against the Syrian Armed Forces and halted the bordering Iranians from influencing the region and going after the refugees. Nathan doubted anything was left to pick apart from what remains of a broken state after years of civil unrest.

The Fifty-Five had even fewer people than Wyoming. The garrison only held four hundred American troops, a few battalions from the British and the French, and a small platoon of Syrian Democratic Forces; the latter were here to train with the Americans and the British. The only significant civilian population was the Rukban camp of eight thousand Syrian refugees displaced by the civil war. Other than that, only the flat, barren desert and the goat villages kept them company.

Nathan returned to the Humvee, where his troop chief—Senior Chief Petty Officer Dane Abbott—lazily sat on the passenger’s seat with the door wide open. He was four inches shorter than him, with dark hair coifed to the side, a thin mustache, blue eyes, and pale skin asking for a major sunburn. He had slathered an eighth of a bottle of sunscreen just for this patrol alone to survive another day under the Syrian sun without peeling his skin on the way back to base. He’s got an Amazon delivery waiting there for a two-dozen packs of sunscreen bottles (even that’s not enough to last him the entire deployment). Nathan thought of stealing one because he had no intention of getting skin cancer. Dane claimed it cost him a fortune just delivering it to Syria from the last supply drop with no two-day shipping.

“Look at that beauty.” Dane gestured at the desert with just a tinge of red. “It sucks we’re gonna have to drive back.” It would put an extra hour on the trip. The boys riding in the helicopters would arrive early for chow, and the mere thought of food made their stomachs grumble.

“I thought you love the drive, Dane,” Nathan said. “Cruising on those flat tracks with the sand behind you and nothing else for miles. It’s almost peaceful.”

“I’d be down for a race if the other boys are up to it.”

“Do you want Major Anderson to nick us for abusing military equipment?”

“We’re not Marines. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, boss.” Dane extended a small plastic tin filled with half-a-dozen mint candy gums, and Nathan grabbed one.

Nathan and Dane went way back since pre-school. They enlisted into the Navy together and went straight into BUD/S, leaning on each other through the tough times of training. It was just a glorified months-long hazing ritual of making them the hard-hitting, full-blooded SEAL they’d ever seen in a generation. It was all to ensure they had the mind and body to push themselves to the limits, but it was Hell on Earth back then.

Although Dane failed phase two for some bullshit reason, like getting three points off from a passing grade on Math. SEALs wanted to make sure that not only were you the toughest son of a bitch that ever lived, but you were also smart as fuck. Fortunately, Dane managed to pass the following class a year later.

Nathan got sent to Team Seven, while Dane went to Team Ten. They were recruited by DEVGRU years later, and they have worked together ever since under White Squadron. The other members would sometimes call them King Arthur and Merlin; Nathan gave out the orders, and Dane would work his magic on the rest of the platoon.

“Heard from the top yet?” Nathan popped the mint into his mouth.

“Nada,” said Dane. “JSOC ain’t exactly being chit-chatty lately.”

“You don’t think that’s odd?”

Dane shrugged. “Half the shit we’re working on hadn’t been obvious to me, Nate. Maybe in a few years, I’d be enlightened when they declassify our missions, and I see it on the paper or some shitty Reddit thread.”

“Maybe when you’re sixty, and you have a bad case of arthritis.” Nathan looked out to the desert again. “Gives me the creeps seeing nothing out there.”

Dane nodded. “Intel was solid a week ago. Something must have changed.”

“Yep.”

“And it seems like Major Anderson is extending the blackout.”

“For real?” Nathan was disappointed he wouldn’t be able to call his family. It had been a long time since he talked to them. His nephew, Tony, was about to finish his sophomore year of college. He was proud of that kid. He and Samuel, his older brother, never went to college, and for Tony to pursue a degree came as a surprise but a welcome one. The last time he talked to his brother was three months ago after a brief visit to Wilsonville for a fishing trip to Lake Tahoe. The mere thought of water made him anxious to get back home.

Dane shrugged. “I heard one of the sergeants talking. One of them let it slip. A little splash of bourbon goes a long way, you know.”

Nathan didn’t feel good about any of it. “Look, I’m not going to argue with this, alright? Push it up, the boss.”

“You are the boss, boss.”

“Heard that, too.”

For almost nineteen years and eleven deployments with the Teams, it wasn’t unusual for a well-planned mission to abort at the last minute, especially one you’ve spent six weeks of recon and planning. It’s the nature of the job. The shit they were working on teeters between a wipeout and a success, and it was on them to ensure it ran as smoothly as possible based on their finesse, expertise, and gut instinct, no matter how good or shitty their intel was. Everyone was responsible for making each brother by his side come home intact. As the leading officer of White Squadron’s Alpha platoon, it fell on Nathan’s lap to make that happen, along with the brave men and women supporting them in the Tactical Operations Center (TOC). If someone’s gut instinct from the top felt something ain’t right, Nathan would respect their decision to abort and take a step back, assess the bigger picture, and then, if possible, revise and finish the mission with clearer heads and a much better op.

This wasn’t one of those missions.

Command pulled the plug after their arrival on the garrison. Nathan expected to be re-deployed back to a larger base in Kuwait or on USS Truman with the Sixth Fleet, which was currently patrolling off of Greece, but JSOC told them to stay put in Al-Tanf instead. Something smelled funny, but Nathan couldn’t place a finger on it. It was unusual for JSOC to keep them in the dark about the op altogether, and if there were any changes, they were not told about it.

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“We’ll keep you posted as the situation progresses,” they said.

What situation? Any attempts from TOC to put eyes on the enemy compound were denied, and Nathan couldn’t strategize with an intel that was a week old. Keeping secrets could get an entire platoon killed. Communication was vital in any military operation, one that kept the trust between men solidified that they had each other’s backs without expecting any strings. Although, that communication didn’t have to be the whole truth. Nathan acknowledged that some missions he was involved with included something shady, things you shouldn’t tell your momma about, but at least someone on top had the courtesy to tell them where they were putting their dicks into. Not in this case. That’s the life of a special operator. You get some, and you lose some.

The life I chose, he mused.

“What are we even doing here, man?” Dane asked. “MEDEVAC exercises in the middle of nowhere when we’re supposed to get Al-Masry? I thought we were here to kick some JTS’s ass. Even the SDF captain’s been asking me what gives.”

“TOC’s figuring it out.”

“Yo’ve been saying that a lot.”

Nathan raised his brows. “Itching for a fight, Dane?”

“Thirty-six out of the four hundred dead civilians were Americans, Nathan. And forty-six out of four hundred were children. We’ve been in this desert for a week. So, yeah, I’m itching.”

“Well, you ain’t gonna find it out here in the fifty-five.”

“As long as we’d get Al-Masry, it’d make my whole damn year.”

“Can’t say things that haven’t happened yet, Dane. Bad for the op.”

Dane waved him off. “You and your superstitions.”

“Hey, it brought you out of some close calls, didn’t it?”

“That’s because we’re trained to execute it. Not some damn luck.”

Nathan shook his head. In their line of work, luck played the biggest part in keeping their heads on their shoulders. “Whatever you say, Dane. Thanks for the mints. Feeling fresh already.”

“The only thing that would help is a shower. Fuck my life.”

“Dancing through life…Skimming the surface…”

“Please, don’t.” Dane glared. “I’ve seen Wicked with the missus and the kids, and I’ve listened to the album for God knows how many times. My kids are obsessed with it. They’re putting up that musical for school. I don’t need it from you.”

“You know, I’d actually like to watch that. If we only have a stereo and some loud music, it’d make our time a lot easier out here.”

“Yeah, I agree, but for the love of God, no show tunes. Give me some Tupac or Eminem. And I’ll happily grab a ticket for you. Lisa will appreciate her Uncle Nathan coming.”

Nathan grinned. “Hey, my hypothetical stereo, my music. And since I’m driving, driver’s rules, too.”

“As long as it’s not Cats or Phantom of the Opera.” Dane mimed putting a gun to his head and shooting himself.

Nathan caught the two helicopters approaching their zone. “Heads up. The birds are here.”

“Finally,” Dane muttered and took out his radio. “Stallion One, this is White Five. How copy?”

However, Nathan realized that the two birds were moving too fast.

They were F-15s. And they just fired missiles at something to their west.

It was blunt at first, hurtling from a distance to the east until Nathan felt the tug in the wind. He looked in that direction, a twitch at the back of his mind urging him to look that way, and he didn’t know what he was staring at. What the fuck?

It was a plane, but much larger, at least two hundred feet wide of smooth rock and metal. It was the strangest thing Nathan had ever seen, and he gasped when the missiles barely hit it. Some force fields blocked the impact. A thin beam of white-yellow light shot out, forming a faint ring of clouds around its column. Nathan shielded his eyes, fearing he’d get blinded by a nuclear explosion; his heart raced just from the mere thought of a nuclear attack right on top of his head. Who would be crazy enough to drop that fucking thing here? There was nothing out here for miles except goat farmers and refugees.

Then the aftershock reached them. It wasn’t violent as Nathan imagined, ruffling their jackets, scattering loose objects around, and pushing them a tiny step back. Gasps and shouts reverberated around the field, and Nathan watched in horror when the two fighter jets swayed in the air, hurtling toward one another. Before impact, the pilots managed to eject just before the two planes crashed into one another, expanding into a fiery ball. Two parachutes appeared mid-air, descending gently to the ground.

“Wa—was that an EMP attack?” One of the Marines exclaimed, getting up from his makeshift stretcher. Kyle and Smitty got up, rifles at the ready.

“You seeing that shit?” Dane pointed to the dissipating beam. It exploded right between the fighter jets. Nathan thought they weren’t aiming for them at all. Everyone was staring at it. “You thinking they’re Iranians?”

“The Iranians ain’t that stupid attacking this close to an American base,” Nathan reckoned it must be at least twenty clicks out, and it definitely wasn’t a mushroom cloud. “And I doubt that was a nuke.”

“Holy shit. I think it’s coming this way!” Dane exclaimed.

“Marines!” Nathan cried out. “Fan out! Fan out! Men, on me!”

The Humvee was the only cover. The terrain around them was all flat except for a few low slopes. But wherever they went, the strange metallic vessel would see them. Dane and Nathan took cover behind their Humvee. Quickly, Kyle and Smitty followed; their weapons ready. So did the Marines and the other SEALs. Dust billowed outward from the descending vessel, almost stinging Nathan’s eyes. He had to close one eye and see through the other, but even that was harder to do.

“What’d we do, Nate?” Dane took position behind the hood, ready to shoot whatever came out of the vessel. “That ain’t American-made, right?”

“Nope. Not us,” Nathan said.

The vessel landed thirty feet away from their vehicles, the Marines and the SEALs using them for cover. A ramp began to descend.

Nathan grunted. “Move, move. Broad front,” He said lowly.

All up and down the line, the troops formed up in knots, grim and scared looks on their faces. But years and years of drills and exercises quickly kicked in. They kept their heads low and knew where to take their positions. Sergeant Burden also coordinated with the other Marines, some taking a knee, rifles aimed at the yawning entrance. Several with their bellies on the ground behind the only few mounds and slopes within this goddamn stretch of the desert. The rest crouched behind the vehicles.

A rising thought bubbled up Nathan’s throat, but it was too outrageous for him to spit out. These couldn’t be aliens. They don’t exist.

The ramp touched the sand, and they waited.

Nathan didn’t expect a human to walk down the steps. And he most certainly did not expect it would be his nephew. Tony Segerstrom had his hands raised already, cautiously scanning the Marines, the SEALs, and the SDF until his sight landed on Nathan.

Tony smiled, shoulders relaxing. “Hi, Uncle. Long time no see.”

“Hold your fire!” Nathan called out. “Hold your fire!” Nathan slowly got up and gestured for the others to stay put. This might not be Tony. This might be someone imitating him. But he looked so real. He glanced at the ship and then at his nephew, wondering why he was on it. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. He stepped forward.

Then another.

And another.

Until he was ten feet away from the creature wearing his nephew’s skin, he didn’t trust it. “Tony?”

Tony nodded and turned to address the others. “I am going to lower my hands, but I won’t do anything.”

Tony lowered his arms. Nobody dared move, yet Nathan could feel fingers resting an inch away from multiple triggers. They weren’t going to shoot. Not while Nathan was standing in the way.

“Uncle Nathan, it’s me. Tony.”

Nathan’s brows furrowed. “Are you?”

Tony thinned his lips and sighed. “Remember when we went to the Grand Canyon, and Dad thought he’s got more wilderness expertise than a Navy SEAL and got us lost? We almost 127 hours our shit for two days until you managed to get us back on the trail and to civilization. We ate BBQ that same afternoon, and then we got food poisoning. You called it the worst vacation ever because we ended up on a toilet for most of the weekend than hiking the trails. Remember what you said to me?”

Nathan paused. “Buy your dad a compass.” He looked at the strange plane looming behind Tony again. “Why the fuck are you in that thing, kid?”

“It’s a long story—”

“Nate!” Someone shouted from within the entrance. Another man six years older than him stepped out with his hands raised.

“Sam?” What the hell is my brother doing here?

“Get your butt over here. We need to talk to you.”

“What are you doing up there—”

Nathan spotted Meredith and the boys lingering behind Sam. Then a few cops stepped out, some wearing khaki-colored shirts and the rest wearing those FBI jackets. It was the most confusing band of people he had ever seen. What the fuck is this?

Nathan turned to his nephew. “Uh, Tony? Care to share?”

“Come. We got some cold drinks inside. There’s more room for the others as well. Get them out of the sun and all.”

A few minutes later, the other troops (even the SDF) began exploring the vessel, what his nephew called “the cargo hold.” Word began to spread from the Wilsonville cops and the FBI agents what this vessel was. A fucking alien ship. They quickly told them about the alien invasion, how they destroyed half a dozen major cities, and that around fifteen million people died.

Nathan wondered if Major Anderson knew what was happening before he called in a communications blackout across the military base. It could be one of the reasons why the top brass completely went dead quiet on their mission.

Nathan was the only one allowed into the cockpit, where Tony explained everything. It took an hour or so. Going back and forth with question after question. Nathan didn’t want to miss a single detail. Once everything was said and done, the silence enveloped the cockpit, and it lingered there for a minute while Nathan pondered about the gravity of their situation.

“You hacked through the satellites and broadcast your announcement?” Nathan asked.

“Yes.”

“And you talked to the president? Asked him for help?”

“Yes.”

“What’d he say again?”

“He said no. He said I should hand over this tech to him instead. For the good of the country.”

“And if you do, you’ll die.”

“Yes.”

“Then, why are you here?”

Tony bit his lip. “Aside from visiting my uncle, who I haven’t seen in a few months…”

“Tony. Be serious.”

“Fine. I need a general.”

“A what?”

“A man who can lead and train my forces. I’m recruiting soldiers soon, uncle—a lot of them. I need someone with two decades worth of leadership to handle that. I thought of you.”

“Me?”

“Why not? You were up for a promotion twice to become captain, and you refused it. Had taken that promotion, you’d be up for a rear admiral by now.”

“Oh, God. You sound like your dad.”

Tony ignored him. “But you said something about wanting to be in the fight rather than taking a backseat.”

“And you’re going to put me there?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s a bit of a hands-on position. Bit of both, I guess. We’re playing it by ear. But I need a guy who can glue it together. Maybe you’re the guy for the job, uncle.”

“You do know this is treason, right?”

“I’ve been told multiple times. Believe me.”

Nathan shook his head. “I don’t think you do. I’m a Navy SEAL, Tony. I work for the government. I’m the guy they send to silence this treasonous bullshit. Look. I don’t want to see you get hurt, Anton. Your dad and I made a promise to your mother—”

“—And I joined the Marines anyway. Are we gonna keep doing this dance again, uncle? I can do this with or without you. But I would rather have someone I trust by my side than some retired British general in the middle of Scotland because he’s my second pick if you refuse. It’s all hands on deck. I’m taking the fight to them sooner rather than later, and I can’t count on the US to help me.”

“You want me to train your little army in two weeks? Learn how to fight in space of all places?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I can tell you right now it’ll take more than that. I don’t even know how to fight in space.”

“Not when you’re looking at it from a week ago.” Tony motioned to the side, and suddenly, a dog-like creature with mechanical tentacles crawled out of the air ducts. “I have the secret ingredient to speed up their training. Politicians will argue in Congress, stockpiling political points and sound bites rather than getting the job done. Well, I’m here to get that job done.”

“But, Tony—”

“Fifteen million dead. Millions more were wounded. I need your help to get rid of these motherfuckers off the planet. Cut them from limb to limb if I have to. Will you do that? Will you help me?”

Heaving a sigh, Nathan didn’t take long to say yes.