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Searching
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“The angels are coming! The angels are coming!”
Carparso watched with a curious disconnection as he saw the figure waving frantically, shouting at the top of his voice. He seemed such an insignificant thing — one tiny figure amongst a myriad of moving bodies, all fighting for their survival at the summit of Palmer’s Point while a tide of demons swirled around the plains below. He recognised the elation in his own voice as he called out those words, but he couldn’t experience it — he was an observer, disconnected from events as they played out endlessly before him.
For a moment, he let his concentration linger upon a creature that attacked the defences around the summit. It was some nightmare made flesh — a protrusion of spikes of bone from the torso of some malformed humanoid, only vast in proportions. Its spider-like limbs thrashed at the defenders, a cluster of exiles and Americans who poured fire down upon their attacker.
Carparso let his mind play out over the gruesome shape of the creature, studying its warped and twisted form.
For a brief moment, he felt his own consciousness coalescing, solidifying into that same shape, as though whatever his mind dwelled upon he would become.
He caught sight of a single figure amidst the chaos of smoke and flames. It was his commanding officer, attempting to hold a group of American soldiers together in the defence of the line. Without even thinking, Carparso’s consciousness zoomed down to the group, and he was suddenly amidst the chaos of battle. He saw his friends, fighting for their lives as the demons inched closer under a hail of fire.
“Wade!”
He heard his own voice call out as he spied his friend, John Wade, duck down into a trench as an explosion rolled over their positions. Instinctively, Carparso dived down beside him, holding his arms up over his head to protect himself.
“Dan?”
He looked up in confusion. All sounds of the battle had ceased and he was in utter darkness.
“Dan?”
He heard the voice again. It was faint, and muffled as though he heard it from underwater.
“Wade? John, is that you?”
His voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible.
And then, he slowly began to make out shapes within the shadows — intertwining lines of light. The tracery was coalescing into the shape of a figure, and suddenly he recognised Wade standing a little way off. His surroundings seemed to form around him as he gave them his attention, and he realised that he was standing upon the deck of a ship that rocked slowly upon dark seas.
“Dan? I thought you were still in the infirmary.”
The more that Wade spoke, the more Carparso felt the world solidifying around him.
A sudden wave of emotion crashed down, and he felt such an intense relief to have returned — to be standing once again in the real world. For so long, all he could think of was escaping the Heavenfield. He hung on to Wade’s words as though they were a lifeline, and without them, he would keep falling forever.
“Help me, Wade,” he heard himself whisper, and felt such a feeling of relief wash over him. He clung to that feeling for all that he was worth.
A sudden boom like thunder shook the air around him and he stumbled, his vision blurring. He looked around in panic as the world seemed to dim, and Wade’s body shimmered, as though it were insubstantial. Carparso desperately tried to focus, to reach out to his friend, but another explosion of sound rocked his surroundings. He fancied that he heard a deep voice echoing out across the seas, and he tried to block it out, but it was no use.
“Help me, Wade,” he called out in fear, trying to grasp hold of the man, but he was fading now, as with each repeated explosion, a piece of this world was falling back to darkness.
“Wake up!”
The booming voice tore through his consciousness once more, and he lost his grip on reality, falling through the deck of the ship as though he were no longer solid.
He screamed out as the world fell away from him, and he tumbled back into the abyss.
“Wake up!”
As though the final words were a command, Carparso tore his eyes open, sitting upright in bed. He drew in a great gasp of air, gulping it in as though he were drowning.
“Easy, easy.”
He heard the deep voice once more, but this time it was gentle, soothing. Carparso let his head fall back into the pillows, too exhausted to keep his eyes open.
“You are coming back to us,” he heard the voice whisper, but he was already slipping back into his dreams.
* * *
Boynes stepped out of the hatchway and flinched as the icy air washed over his face. He felt himself returning; the sensations of his detachment were dispersing. He breathed deeply, and slowly the knot in his stomach receded.
He jumped as a floodlight snapped on somewhere behind and above him with a sudden crack, illuminating the decks. A square of red and green emergency lights blinked harshly in the night, outlining the helipad at the rear of the vessel. Then all over the ship more lights sprang up, deepening the shadows beyond, further adding to the sense of isolation upon the dark seas.
Boynes strained to hear above the sounds of running boots, as the crew prepared themselves at their stations. He could just make out the ominous chatter of the approaching helicopter and scanned the darkness for any sign.
“There!” called a voice from behind, and he glanced around to see the lieutenant pointing out over the water. Boynes squinted into the gloom; for a moment, he thought he saw the flash of a navigation light.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“They’re coming in fast and low,” called the officer excitedly, lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. “Jeez! That wave almost took them! I think they’re in trouble, Colonel.”
He passed the binoculars over, pointing out into the darkness. Boynes steadied himself against the railing, feeling the ice-cold metal in his hand. He took a moment to scan the waves, the green image through the binoculars grainy and indistinct. A bright flash caught his attention, and then he could see it, the helicopter — military-transport by the look of it, skimming the surface of the sea.
As he settled his breathing and the image steadied, he could see what the lieutenant had meant. The helicopter was pitching as it sped towards them, falling perilously close to the waves, and then righting itself at the last moment, its tail swinging around as the pilot obviously struggled for control.
“Have the commander order fire-fighting and medical teams standing by, Lieutenant,” snapped Boynes, his eyes never leaving the helicopter. “Who the hell knows that we’re out here?” he muttered under his breath. Boynes lowered the binoculars; he could see the flash of the approaching navigation lights unaided now. The noise of the rotors grew louder and louder.
“Here she comes,” gasped the lieutenant. “She’s going to have to pull up — she’s coming in too low!”
All of a sudden the dark shape of the helicopter was revealed in the spotlights of the troop ship. It was right upon them, pitching sideways and then dipping down towards them on a collision course.
“She’s going to hit us!” yelled the lieutenant, and Boynes instinctively fell to the floor, his hands up to his head as the helicopter screamed deafeningly overhead. He glanced up as the craft passed above them; he felt that he could almost reach out and touch the landing gear. He staggered to his feet in the down-draft as the helicopter somehow managed to gain enough height to clear the bridge. It came to a halt, hovering unsteadily over them. The lieutenant shouted something in Boynes’ ear, but the words were drowned out by the noise, and he clung on to the railing as the wind whipped around him. He gave a gasp as the craft pitched violently, dropping down towards the helipad. At the last minute it slid sideways, dropping down just beyond the hull, narrowly missing the deck.
“Come on,” he urged through gritted teeth, as the pilot battled the helicopter once more towards the landing pad. There was a heart-stopping moment when its front wheels touched down with a heavy bump, and the tail spun out over the barriers. Finally it rolled forwards, and all three wheels hit the safety of the helipad.
The lieutenant sank back in relief as the pitch of the turbines lowered; the engines were cut and the rotors slowed to a dead stop. But Boynes was already on his feet, rushing down the steps towards the helipad.
As he approached the lower decks he saw the dark shapes of Captain Blake’s alpha squad taking up positions around the silent craft.
“What do you see?” Boynes hissed, crouching down beside one of the soldiers. Blake glanced around and grinned.
“No signs of life, Colonel,” he muttered quietly. “Pilot and copilot haven’t moved a muscle. We can’t get a visual into the passenger compartment.”
Boynes risked a glance out from behind their cover, but the harsh lights merely served to darken the windows of the helicopter. A ghostly silence had fallen over the entire ship.
“You should get back to a secure area, sir,” whispered Blake without taking his eyes off the silent craft.
“She’s 1st Aviation Company, out of Fort Caulder,” replied Boynes, ignoring Blake’s suggestion. The captain turned, casting Boynes a questioning glance. The colonel gave a grim nod, and Blake motioned to his men. Dark shapes detached themselves from the shadows all around the landing pad as troops converged upon the ominous helicopter, their weapons at the ready.
Captain Blake stood cautiously and followed them out into the light. He noticed scorch marks and blast damage all along the hull; its metal plates gouged and pierced by weapon fire. He glanced briefly into the dark windows for any signs of movement. There was a scrape of metal as one of the soldiers slid back the passenger bay door, his squad members shining their flashlights into the darkness.
“Medic!” came a harsh shout from the front of the helicopter. A team ran forward, and Blake saw his men pulling the pilot from the cockpit; he appeared unresponsive. He glanced back into the darkness of the passenger compartment.
“Talk to me, Sergeant,” called Blake, anxious and impatient.
“Three men down!” came a shout from the gloom. “One’s got life signs! Medic! Get a medic in here!”
Two soldiers backed out of the compartment, dragging a limp figure between them. They set him down upon the ground, and there was a flurry of activity as a medical team ran up.
“What have we got, Captain?” came a voice from behind. Blake looked up as Colonel Boynes strode purposefully towards him.
“Pilot and one passenger alive; copilot and two others dead. Shrapnel wounds by the looks of it.”
“All military?” asked Boynes, looking down as the medics worked feverishly on the two survivors. He stepped aside as the soldiers pulled the two dead passengers from the compartment.
“These two are civilians, sir,” replied one of the troops. “Looks like they’re from the research centre.”
“Sir, I think you should see this,” came Captain Blake’s urgent voice. He was crouched down beside the survivors. The pilot was still unconscious, but the other man moaned quietly as the medics cut away at his uniform, exposing an ugly blast wound that had torn open one side of his chest.
“What is it, Captain?”
Blake shone a flashlight upon the man’s uniform, illuminating his name tag, but Boynes didn’t need to look. Although the man’s face was a mask of blood from numerous small cuts, Boynes recognised him instantly.
“General Oak?” he breathed incredulously. The man cried out, opening his eyes as the medics lifted him on to a stretcher.
“Boynes.”
The word was dragged out through gritted teeth.
“Don’t worry, sir, you’re going to be okay. We’ve got you now,” said Boynes softly. The medics lifted the stretcher and went to leave for the infirmary, but General Oak grabbed Boynes by the arm.
“No! Listen! You must listen!” he coughed, staring feverishly up at him.
“Sir, we need to get him to —” began a medic urgently. Boynes held up his hand to silence him.
“What is it, General?” he asked quietly, bending over the injured man.
“You mustn’t — you mustn’t... dock... get to Fort Caulder...” he gasped, coughing weakly with the exertion.
“Sir, the general is —”
“Boynes,” gasped General Oak, his eyes closing as he slipped out of consciousness. His voice slurred, and he lifted his head with a great effort. Boynes had to put his ear to Oak’s mouth to make out his faint words. “Exiles... They’ll... waiting for you... do not dock... America... We are under attack...”
General Oak slumped back to his stretcher, unconscious. Boynes stood in a daze as the medics rushed the stretcher off to the infirmary.
“Is everything alright, sir?” came Captain Blake’s voice at his side. Boynes looked around, shaken from his thoughts. His eyes seemed to take a moment to focus.
“I don’t know, Captain,” he breathed quietly, turning back towards the helicopter, standing forlorn and silent upon the landing pad. “What the hell happened to them?” he muttered, glancing up at the blast marks all along the metal hull. “Doesn’t look like fifty-cal. Shrapnel damage from an explosion?”
“I’d say not, sir,” muttered Blake, walking over to the open passenger bay door and reaching into the gloom. He ran his gloved hand over the floor of the compartment.
“So any theories, Captain?”
“Well, sir, if I had to hazard a guess.”
He brought his hand back out of the compartment, holding up his palm towards the colonel. It was covered in fine red dust.
“I’d say that they had a visit from the Heavenfield.”
“Oh my god,” whispered Boynes. “General Oak… he just said…”
“Yes, sir?” asked Blake quietly, moving closer so they were out of earshot from his men.
Boynes looked up at Blake in disbelief.
“He said, America is under attack.”