Mike burst out laughing. "Really, a hallmark movie? You're fucking with me."
Dreki gave him a confused look and said, "What? It has a moving plot and gut-wrenching twists!"
He laughed even harder as he saw the confusion on Dreki's face. Still laughing his ass off, Mike asked, "What twists?"
The now offended Kael said, "What do you mean, 'what twists'? Are you stupid?"
Mike was wheezing as he said, "I can tell you exactly what's going to happen after five minutes."
Dreki said, "You cannot!" with vehemence.
Mike was determined to show him the light, but Dreki was willing to die on this hill. A few minutes later, Mike pointed at the screen and said, "She's going to end up with the lumberjack guy."
"You're making that up!"
Mike laughed at his interruption, "Wait, I'm not done yet. They are going to meet at the festival and hit it off, but around fifteen minutes before it ends, they are going to get into an argument and break up."
Dreki was aghast, "What?!"
"They'll both regret it and talk to their friends, who convince them to give love another chance. The climax is going to be them getting back together in some incredibly cliché romantic spot like the little bar with Christmas lights or the big tree."
"Bullshit!"
Mike chuckled as he said, "It's the hallmark formula. They've got three plots, six locations, and twelve characters; they just randomly pick out of a hat and fill in the blanks until voila, a brand-new movie."
Dreki was dumbfounded, "This must be one of those human conspiracy theories I've heard of."
Mike doubled over laughing. "Just watch the movie, big fella, you'll see, I swear to god."
While the big Kael was transfixed by the cliché Christmas romance, Mike pulled out his half-empty bottle of whisky and started chipping away at it. Ten minutes later, his first prediction came true.
Mike busted out laughing again, "Told you so!"
Dreki accusingly said, "You've seen this before!"
"I have, and I haven't; I've seen a Hallmark movie before, not this one, but once you've seen one, you've seen em' all."
An hour later, Dreki had a forlorn look on his tusked face. He had grown increasingly distraught as Mike's predictions came true. Mike was slumped over the armrest on the verge of passing out. He had downed an entire bottle of whiskey in less than three hours. Mike had completely tuned out the movie.
He was staring at the floor.
For all I know, I won't be coming back…
Mike's moping was interrupted by a Kaelithi soldier boarding the ship.
She walked over to the couch adjacent to Mike and Dreki and dumped her ruck on the floor.
The newcomer flopped down face-first on the couch and groaned. After lying there momentarily, the tired soldier rolled onto her side and asked, "Why is there a human in here?"
Dreki was awoken from his Hallmark movie-induced trance. He paused the movie. His frustration with Mike's revelations crept into his voice, "Transport to Kael Prime. The rest of the details do not concern you."
The soldier raised her hands, "Got it."
They all sat there in silence for a minute.
Dreki broke the silence, apologizing, "Sorry, I did not mean to be so rude. I am Dreki. What is your name?"
She smiled, "My name is Lael; this is my homecoming flight."
Dreki sighed and said, "I wish it were mine too."
She asked, "How long have you been here?"
Dreki said, "Three months. You?"
Lael smiled and said, "The whole two years."
Dreki perked up, "Where did you land?"
She answered, "I've been in London since day one."
Dreki eagerly asked, "What was it like?"
Hmm… I assumed he was a veteran…
Leal answered, "We were worried for a minute. Our dropship got hit by 6 missiles on the way down, but the shields held. On the ground, we only took one casualty during the fighting." She laughed as she recalled the story, "We had a guy offer a duel, tusks to bayonet, to a guard at Buckingham Palace while we surrounded it; he got his thumb cut off trying to block the bayonet with his hand. He won eventually, of course, but we'll never let him live it down."
Dreki let out a hearty laugh.
Mike had some choice words forming, but he held his tongue. He knew he couldn't win the fight his acidic retort would inevitably cause in his current very inebriated state.
If either of the Kael were looking, they would have seen a macabre grin on the drunk human's face as he savored the feeling of hot blood running down his hand.
I won my duel…
Mike delved into his memory of the first day of the war.
----------------------------------------
The City of Philadelphia was, for perhaps the first time ever in its nearly 400-year history, quiet. The city was in blackout, and all its inhabitants cowered in basements, bunkers, and bomb shelters. The only sound one could hear in the darkness of the rail yard beside the Walt Whitman Bridge was the sound of tree branches swaying in the wind and the Delaware rippling against the shore.
Mike stalked through the labyrinth of shipping containers with his rifle at patrol ready; his newly taped web gear and magazines were nearly silent, thanks to the help of Private First Class Martinez. He was checking in on his squads, doing a little morale raising, as he was returning from battalion HQ.
Mike had a slight smile on his lips as he remembered the reactions each squad had to his surprise.
His destination was his platoon HQ, but Mike was lost. He was reasonably certain it was about 100 meters past the service road that intersected through the alley he was walking through. As he began to cross the intersection, he turned his head and winced as he gazed across the river. Mike wasn't issued a counterweight for his NODs, and his neck suffered for it. He looked out at the empty dock on the other side of the Delaware. It looked rather eerie in thermal greyscale. He started to look away.
MOVEMENT!
His head snapped back as his eyes locked in on the target. He saw what looked like a leg disappear behind some foliage in a park strip between the empty dock and a parking lot further inland. His brain screamed GET IN COVER. He immediately brought his rifle to low ready and flipped the selector from safe to semi in stride as he dashed across the road and came to a skittering halt less than a second later behind the wall of shipping containers.
Fuck! I can't break radio silence for nothing. And I can't just leave it…
He took a deep breath, shouldered his rifle, and backed up until his shoulders scraped the row of containers behind him. His heart was trying to beat through his ribs.
Here goes nothing.
He stepped out of cover, sliding out to the right step by step at a rapid but controlled pace while keeping his rifle trained next to the edge of the container he was peeking around, slicing the pie. He was almost back to the other side of the small road when he saw a bush move a little. He took another step, expecting to see whatever it was at any moment.
"CLUNK!"
A metallic clang rang out into the night as Mike walked into a signpost.
Fuck!
Reeling slightly, he got his eyes back down his sights and kept moving, expecting an alien bullet or whatever the fuck it is alien guns shoot to rip his head off at any moment.
A gruff voice quietly called from above. "It was a doe, lieutenant." Mike nearly jumped out of his boots. He thought he was alone.
"You scared it off when you encountered that stop sign."
He looked up slowly, trying to pretend that he didn't nearly shit his pants, and replied with an aggrieved whisper, "Christ, Roberts, don't fucking do that!"
Quiet laughter rang out around him; he was at his HQ.
Fuck!
The platoon Mike was in command of was made up of five ten-man squads positioned across a 500-meter-long section of the wall of shipping containers. Charlie company covered 1000 meters of real estate on the wall overlooking the Delaware, enfilading the Walt Whitman Bridge. Delta company covered the rest of the two-kilometer stretch of storage lot that serviced the railyard and nearby docks. The other two companies of the battalion stretched from the edge of the storage lot to the bridge. Most of the men in his HQ were inside containers, peering through mouse holes made with small explosive charges that came packaged like gum.
The weathered sergeant first class thirty feet above him chuckled. Mike smiled despite his agitation; after all, it was funny.
He quietly asked, "How much of that did you see?" The sergeant gave him a sly smile and gruffly replied, "The whole thing."
Fuck. Mike was torn between amusement and despair. He almost made it through his first day without failing at Land Nav.
Seemingly reading his mind, the old sergeant whispered, "Don't stress it, kid. You've done fine."
Mike nodded and felt a little relief. A comment like that from someone like Roberts meant you weren't a complete dipshit.
Alright, back to business.
"Anything new, sergeant?"
"No, sir."
Mike nodded again and said, "We still have no fucking idea what's going on. Orders are to hold position. We'll be bunking in the containers tonight. Set up a night watch."
"I already did."
Mike nodded and turned away from the sergeant.
He was suddenly struck with an idea.
We have a few hundred pounds of C4 sitting at the ammo dump…
Mike looked down the line and raised his voice slightly above a conversational level. "Martinez! Decker! On me." He looked back up at Roberts. "I'll be back in an hour with C4. I want a guy from every squad to haul it from here when I'm back. In the morning we make loopholes through the containers. Depending on how much is left after that, we may even be able to link up with Delta."
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Roberts said, "Good idea; I'll see what I can do."
Mike nodded as he said, "Keep your eyes peeled in the meantime."
"Ten-Four"
Mike nodded again.
He was cringing internally as he walked back into the cover provided by the wall of containers.
Jesus, Mike, are you a fucking bobblehead!?
Decker and Martinez had climbed out of the shipping container they were occupying and started jogging towards him.
Oh shit. I almost forgot.
Mike opened a pouch attached to his webbing at the hip and pulled out a plastic shopping bag that crinkled as he tied it shut. He had nearly forgotten about his surprise during the stop sign incident.
He called to the sergeant, "Hey, Grandpa, one more thing."
The sergeant looked down at Mike, who could feel his angry glare through both sets of NODs. He had chewed out a private earlier that day for calling him grandpa.
A private older than me…
He threw the bag underhand up to the sergeant.
"Catch."
The old man caught it clean. He's got good reflexes for a guy pushing 60. The ever-efficient man ripped the bag open instead of wasting time untying the minuscule knot of polyethylene film. The sergeant's face shifted from a scowl to a grin.
Roberts asked, "Where did you get these?" while holding up a fistful of chocolate bars.
Mike replied, "I stuck up a wawa. Pass em' around."
The sergeant laughed, "Thanks." He elevated his voice a little louder than Mike liked and said, "Christmas came early this year, boys!"
The sergeant pocketed a Snickers bar and passed the bag along to another soldier atop the containers.
Mike smiled. He had already done this with all his other squads on his way here, but it still surprised him how much something as simple as a chocolate bar could cheer a band of weary warfighters. Roberts looked like a kid on Christmas, and the crusty veteran had been deployed in combat zones longer than Mike had been alive. The 10-minute detour and broken window were well worth the reward by Mike's accounting.
Martinez called up to the specialist on top of the container wall, who now held the bag. "Toss me a Twix cowboy."
"Say please first, you Mexican bastard."
Martinez replied with a grin on his face, "Fuck you, gringo."
The specialist laughed and tossed Martinez the chocolate. Martinez immediately unwrapped it. He snapped the fused chocolate bars apart and said, "Want one, Decker?"
Decker answered, "No, thanks."
Mike turned to the pair and said, "Meet me at the ammo dump."
They affirmed his order and began walking to the secluded garage in the southwestern corner of the railyard that was packed to the gills with ordinance. It supplied the entire southern sector of the city and was a veritable gold mine of things that go boom. Mike started walking northwest, back to battalion HQ. The hushed voices of his headquarters squad squabbling over the last Snickers bar faded to silence as he went. He needed to sort out the details of his pending C4 acquisition. He glanced at his watch. The faintly glowing dial read 02:37.
I've been up for almost 20 hours now… Fuck, 48 hours ago, I was a cadet.
Mike wasn't supposed to graduate from OCS for two more months, but that changed yesterday. He was called into the superintendent's office and walked out the door with gold bars, a class ring, and marching orders to join the 801st infantry regiment. He packed his shit and hopped on a bullet train. 45 minutes later, he was met at 30th Street Station by the CO of Charlie company, his boss, Captain Sam James, and Sergeant First Class Dale Roberts, Mike's platoon sergeant.
After 10 minutes of walking, Mike managed to get through the worst of the container labyrinth without getting lost. He was now on a road that led straight to the office building where battalion HQ was. He still had a kilometer to go.
Mike heard a small thunk and the sound of metal scraping against metal. Fucking Christ, again?
He had only been in the infantry for a day, and he had already had to yell at several boots for doing boot-shit. He rounded the corner, expecting to see a private dicking around with god knows what.
His jaw dropped.
What the fuck?
He was staring at an alien. It looked like a rather buxom woman about his height wearing a skin-tight bodysuit, a belt, and a helmet that looked kind of like a medieval armet. She had an odd-looking rifle in her hands. She wasn't looking at him. And she was less than 10 feet away from him.
Mike knew they were fighting aliens, but he was expecting something, well, more alien.
Mike was petrified for a moment.
He was jolted into action as a sense of deadly purpose and grim determination joined his terror. The mix resulted in a strange sort of excited calm.
He closed his mouth, shouldered his rifle, and held down the trigger.
Time slowed down. Mike was acutely aware of every little detail while also being fully focused on the task at hand.
Kill!
Small puffs of smoke spewed from his rifle as suppressed shots hissed out into the night with supersonic cracks, instantly followed by metallic thwacks as bullets impacted the alien's armor. Empty casings rang as they bounced on the ground. He had held down the trigger for half a second, dumping 10 rounds of 6.8x51mm into center mass. His target barely reacted to the torrent of bullets that would have turned an armored man's insides into his outsides at 500 meters. She turned her head and started to raise her gun.
Shit!
Mike could hear his CQC instructor screaming "VIOLENCE OF ACTION" in his head as he charged, finger never leaving the trigger. He shifted his aim during his first step, 5 rounds climbing up the alien's torso into its neck. The following 5 shots rose from her chin to forehead during his second step. The muzzle of his rifle was now inside the alien woman's reach.
She tried to aim her rifle one-handed as she reached for his barrel with the other. The woman, no, the thing still wasn't down, and its weapon was nearly on him. Mike took his supporting hand off his gun and dropped his shoulders as he took a third step, preparing for a takedown, still never letting up on the trigger.
3 more rounds shattered on the thing's face, and 2 flew over its head. Mike dropped his gun as she got her hand on it, letting it fall back onto his right hip, held in place by his sling.
The alien's gun was on him.
Mike took his launch step, barely scraping under the alien's muzzle as it started shooting; the gun sounded like a tattoo removal laser on steroids. His thermals flashed all white as he felt something extremely hot fly over his head.
He was blinded. His NODs were so bright; it was like staring at a video game flashbang.
He blindly grabbed for the creature's legs as his thermal goggles slammed into his eye sockets. He had meant to get his head clear, but instead, his face rammed into the alien's stomach.
Coach Johnson wouldn't be pleased with my form.
He wrapped his arms around its knees and hinged his hips back, lifting the creature off its feet while driving his legs forward. The beast dropped its gun and started grabbing the human; its only reward was tangling its left arm with his rifle sling. Mike left his feet.
"SMACK!"
Mike slammed his foe into the pavement, driving his body weight into its stomach. The creature groaned.
Mike was still flashbanged by his NODs, but the brightness was becoming more bearable.
He hauled his arms from underneath the beast's legs, reaching for the knife in his belt with his right hand and grabbing the creature's throat with his left. Its armor felt like a bunch of tiny metal hexagons arrayed atop thick rubber-like material.
The creature snagged the inside of his plate carrier near his armpit with its free arm.
He tried to flip his head back to get his fried thermals out of his face. No dice.
Mike felt it pull its trapped arm out of his sling. Two heartbeats later, its fist slammed into his chin. His thumb brushed the handle of his knife. His rifle was in the way. He was punched in the nose while he desperately fumbled around his rifle for the knife.
The creature grabbed his collar and began pushing him to the side. He stuck his hand between his rifle and his hip and started to pry the gun away from his body. The alien began to roll, dragging its legs out from under Mike.
YES!
His fingers curled around the handle of his knife, and he pulled it free of its sheath and the rifle.
The alien let out a grunt and rolled them both to the side in the nick of time, pinning Mike's knife arm between his body and the ground.
FUCK!
They were now clinched in the fetal position.
His NODs were starting to be usable again.
The beast won the initial skirmish for leg position, sandwiching one of Mike's legs with both of theirs.
It let go of his plate carrier.
Mike fuzzily saw it grab something on the back of its hip with its right arm. He released its throat and snatched the offending arm at the bicep, slipping his hand down until he had its wrist. It tried to pull something up. Mike propped himself somewhat upright and pushed down on its wrist, slamming its hand and whatever it held back where it came from.
Knife or pistol?
His NODs were almost completely unfucked now.
He leaned his left shoulder into the creature's midsection as he wormed his free leg underneath the leg sandwich. It punched him in the nose, stunning him just enough to get the thing it held out.
That sounded a lot like a pistol leaving a holster.
He still had a hold on its wrist. It tried to punch him again. Mike ducked it somewhat successfully; instead of getting hit in the teeth, he got hit in the NODs.
Mike craned his neck and saw a bright white hand grasping a dull gray pistol.
FUCK!
It started to glow brighter as the creature's hand warmed it.
A fist flew towards his head, but he slipped it, only getting nicked in the headset this time. He pushed its wrist down as hard as he could, pinning it vertically to the ground behind her back. He hoped to maintain control over the pistol long enough to free his arm.
The creature gave up on punching him and tried to pry his arm off its wrist. It shoved his arm to the side while it rolled its arm flat, slipping Mike's grip.
It ripped the pistol off the ground and started to raise it gangster style as Mike desperately snagged its wrist again.
Now or never.
Mike let out a scream as he twisted his hips and then pushed up as hard as he could with his free leg, lifting the leg sandwich. The creature's hold on his other leg started slipping, and after a moment of struggle, his trapped leg was free.
Mike immediately swung his legs in the opposite direction, pushing to get the alien back onto its back and his arm free. From a birds-eye view, their grappling bodies were making the letter T.
The ankles on his boots weren't flexible enough for him to get any more than the edges of his feet on the ground.
Where are your wrestling shoes when you need them?
He kept pushing, and his feet kept sliding, making surprisingly loud scraping noises each time he lost and found purchase on the asphalt.
They rolled a bit more.
He shoved his head into the things boobs, pushing down as he put more and more weight on his neck as he scrambled to get his knees off the ground, reaching a sort of inverse bridge position.
COME ON! FUUCK!
Just a little more.
He found purchase with both feet.
He smiled.
Gotcha bitch!
He was betting the farm that the alien's armor wasn't stabproof.
He pushed with his legs and lifted his torso off the ground, putting almost all his weight onto his neck, freeing his arm.
Mike's liberated arm shot out towards the belly of the beast in a vicious underhand stab. It squealed and tried to grab his arm, but Mike was too fast. He buried the knife to the hilt in its abdomen.
Hot blood dripped over Mike's hand as he twisted the knife and pushed the creature onto its back. It howled. Mike scrambled on top of the creature. He sat down on its thighs, straddling its legs while pulling his head out of its cleavage, all while firmly pressing its weapon hand into the ground. He started to pull the blade out but only made it an inch before the bleeding stopped, and the knife was stuck; he hauled on the knife and started wiggling it back and forth. The creature screamed.
The things armor was sealing around the knife. The creature noticed it wasn't coming out and grabbed his throat. Mike kept hauling on the handle of his knife.
"POP!"
The knife came out after an agonizing 3 seconds of struggle.
Mike roared and plunged all 7 inches of the tempered steel blade just below the creature's ribs. It let out a grunt as the air was driven from its lungs.
It only took 2 seconds to pull out this time.
The creature still hadn't released his throat.
He stabbed it again. The blade came out in a second.
It was still choking him. Mike's lungs were starting to strain.
He switched to an icepick grip and then stabbed the alien in the throat. Blood sprayed high into the air out of its neck as he pulled the knife out; some got in his mouth and on his NODs; the beast gurgled; he gagged and spat the bitter and coppery-tasting blood over the alien's visor. It had only taken a second for the blade to come out this time.
But it wasn't dead yet.
The strange armor sealed after letting out two more spurts of blood.
He stabbed it in the gut again. The knife came out without much resistance, and the armor sealed far more slowly than before.
He stabbed it in the stomach twice more.
Blood pooled around the now weakly kicking creature. He seemed to have damaged the armor too much for it to seal anymore, but the creature still held on.
He planted 3 stabs in the arm that was choking him.
The fucker still wouldn't let go; if anything, it was holding on tighter.
He tried to stab it in the visor of its helmet, but the blade bounced off.
His lungs were screaming for air.
He started franticly stabbing it repeatedly in places that were vital for humans. The sound was sickening. Mike's knife shot up and down at a rapid pace. The creature's armor offered no more resistance. “Shlik”, “shlik”, “sklik”, “shlik”, “shlik”, “shlik”, “shlik”, “shlik”, “shlik”, “shlik”, “shlik”.
WHY WON'T YOU FUCKING DIE!
Mike was panicking now. His vision was tunneling, and he was losing strength rapidly. He kept stabbing.
“Shlik”, “shlik”, “shlik”, “shlik”.
But it still held on.
"Shlik… Shlik."
Mike was starting to fade out of consciousness. He released its pistol-bearing arm and desperately planted the knife into the beast's sternum with both hands.
He felt a jolt in his arms as the knife smashed through bone; there was a wet crack, but Mike was too far gone to hear it and too weak to wrench the blade out again.
He must have stabbed it twenty times, but it just wouldn't let go of his throat.
So this is how it fucking ends? Really.
Mike's vision went dark, and as he slumped back, its grip finally slipped. Gasping, he flailed his arms back, catching himself before he folded over.
The whole ordeal lasted just over two minutes.
Mike scrambled to get up and immediately slipped on an empty casing. He fell face-first into the pool of gore, the charging handle of his rifle slammed into his hip.
"FUCK!"
The terror and intense sense of determination that filled him during the fight was replaced with rage.
He angrily got up, pulled his knife out of the alien's chest, stabbed it again, and then kicked it on the head for good measure. He wasn't even mad at the alien for nearly killing him; after all, he shot first. Mike soccer kicked the corpse's head because he was enraged that he had bruised his hip.
After his brief fit of rage had subsided, he wiped the knife off on the back of his pants and stuck it back in its sheathe. Mike wiped his mouth and vomited. He forgot that his hands were soaked in blood. He staggered for a moment, spitting out bile and alien blood. Mike was exhausted. He stood there for a moment, entranced, breathing deeply as he watched the corpse fade from white to light gray with his blood-splattered thermal goggles. Mike was elated. Not only did he kill his enemy, but he had also cheated death.
Mike snapped out of his trance. What the fuck am I doing?
He had to raise the alarm. Mike tried his radio, but it must have been broken in the fight.
"Goddamnit."
He pulled his pistol from its sheath and pointed it in the air.
This will alert that things pals if they weren't already on to me.
Mike sang shave and a haircut—two bits in his head as he fired. “BANG!---BA!-BA!-BANG!-BANG!------BANG!--BANG!”
He stuck the pistol back in its holster and started sprinting towards HQ.