Maria didn’t need to watch Phillips change the ship’s course. She could trust him. The new heading was an island off the shore of Egypt where a secret S.U.N. facility awaited. Inspecting her service pistol, a nickeled Whitney Wolverine, she ejected the clip. They were dated to be sure but reliable. Perfect ceremonial garb. She could only assume the S.U.N. adopted them in the late 50s due to the aesthetics of the guns. They reminded her idly of old Buck Rogers ray guns, only these were a fair deal more deadly. How many people had she killed with this one gun, she wondered.

Holstering it she got back to work. Enough time elapsed since they arrived, they needed to be ready. She tapped her badge once, an earpiece coming to life on the right side of her face. An inaudible pulse was sent to her squad, paired to the badge. Phillips ignored it.

“Demo crew reporting,” Sid said. “Charges are placed, no crewmen intercepted, making our way back.”

“Janitor crew reporting,” Jacek said after a fifteen second delay. “Sleeping quarters have been cleared. Ten to add. Doing a sweep of the rest of the lower deck. Heading to the cargo hold.”

Ten below, plus the three above. Maria lowered her head. That should be all. They could leave the ship on auto pilot and bail if need be.

“Phantom, we’ve arrived.” Jacek’s voice picked up. “Ready for review.”

Maria took a moment to breathe in the warm salt-tinged air. “Demo crew, convene with Pilot and keep watch.”

“Aye.”

“Janitor crew, I’m coming down. Hold until my arrival.”

“Roger.”

Maria gestured to Phillips who grunted. She stopped by the helicopter, acquiring her own H&K 11. This was a custom model, chromed to match her uniform. She reached for the gear on the side, winding the primer up. It always felt ridiculous, like she was working with a clock instead of a gun. Kraut nonsense. Tossing the sling over her shoulder she headed into the ship.

The smell of gunpowder was heavy, almost burning out the stench of blood. She passed by the now blown open doors of the crew cabin. The moment the captain and his two lackies were killed the option for a peaceful solution was over, tenuous as it was. Not unexpected. Not the first time either. She glanced inside.

Most of the crew remained in bed. A few had been getting dressed or milling about. They littered the ground. She would have kept going if not for the noise. Very slight, incredibly quiet, a gasp reached her ears. Stepping into the impromptu mass grave, she looked over each man. Most were riddled, burst fire coming from the doorway with them unaware. They were not the one.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Then, another noise. A slight shifting, boots scraping along metal floor. She was on them in an instant. Hidden behind the bed frames, one lone soldier dragged himself away from the carnage. Tears filled his eyes, blood running freely from his arm and neck. He was a young man, maybe eighteen. He looked younger.

Maria kneeled opposite of him, catching his eye. He tried to draw himself away from her as much as he could, every movement agonizing. The soldier was only clad in a pair of pants, not even wearing socks. His messy hair and youthful features made her think of her boy.

He started pleading with her in Russian. Fear overrode everything, crimson spittle spraying from between clenched, stained teeth. Maria felt a pang of sympathy for his plight.

“You didn’t deserve this.”

Maybe it was her soft tone, maybe it was her sympathetic gaze, but some amount of hope reached his eyes. His body relaxed slightly, shoulders easing up. Then the three-round burst of her rifle ended his misery. Blood splattered across the front of her uniform, Maria standing back to full height. She followed his blood trail back to the pile, switching the dial on her gun to 60 rounds a second. Staring down at the group of young, presumed dead men, she pulled the trigger.

No mistakes would be tolerated. Letting out a slow breath, it felt like she was breathing fire. This was the cost of their world. This is what needed to be done. That’s what she told herself, what she ingrained on her heart for the last nine years. She grimaced. No. Longer.

For as long as she lived this was the cost of progress. Ejecting the now empty rack of bullets, she hung it at her hip like a saber and put one of the spares in the middle column, rearming. The fancy thing about this rifle was that it left no casings behind. Couldn’t since none of the bullets had casings at all. Those special bullets, exploding within a target, were unable to be recovered or traced. How the Krauts figured that one out she couldn’t fathom but she didn’t need to.

She found the stairs to the cargo hold. Haig was there, rifle in hand. He looked at her with confusion.

“You missed.”

She pushed past him down the stairs. Jacek was waiting at the threshold, staring inside but not daring to step foot within.

“Won’t happen again, ma’am.” Haig grumbled behind her.

Maria reached the bottom, seeing exactly what gave her men pause. Specialized equipment was on either corner of the cargo area of the ship, pumping cold air into the hold. Littered across the hold, sectioned off by wood and metal in open carts, were eggs. Hundreds of eggs. Eggs the size of men. Purple and brown, shiny and slimy looking, they were disgusting to a one. The legacy of the invasion of 1984.

Official policy of the Supreme United Nations was to collect and destroy every batch of eggs found safely and securely. The damn bugs laid enough of them, that was for sure. Maybe what they were doing wasn’t official, but maybe official didn’t ensure the safety of the people. Whatever it took to safeguard humanity and set them apart from the monsters of the world, that was her duty.

There were far worse things than the bugs.