As the plane flew on into the night sky over Africa, Falkirk thought back to his original decision to become a test pilot. This really isn’t what the job entailed, thought Falkirk to himself. He tore a strip of fabric from his jumpsuit to allow Martinez access to the bullet wound in his shoulder. Martinez’s field bandage was secure on the wound, and although pain still raced through his arm when he moved it, Falkirk realized that the bandage would have to do until they arrived back at the Pentagon. Getting the alien equipment back to the Pentagon for disassembly and inspection was the most important thing right now.
“How’s that bandage feeling, sir?” Martinez asked, a look of genuine concern crossing her tired, worn face.
“It’s not bad, Lieutenant. You make a good field dressing. I hope it’s not due to experience.” Falkirk said, prying into what he hoped would help him to understand what she had been up against during the Chinese War.
“I’m sorry, sir, that’s classified.” She responded with a wink. Although Falkirk realized that he may have attempted to extract too much personal information from Martinez, that didn’t mean that she was bitter about it. Her reply reminded him of the way that she was in high school, the airy and casual banter putting both of them at ease. Falkirk knew, however, that he was needed in the cockpit.
Moving into the seat next to Valmont, Falkirk saw the ocean beginning to appear out the window. The sub-orbital capabilities of the plane allowed for higher speeds and shorter transit times, at the expense of a detailed view of the ground far below. Valmont acknowledged his presence with a brief nod, as Falkirk strapped himself into the co- pilot’s seat.
“Allan, I want to talk to you about what happened to you in the raid.” Valmont said. Valmont’s use of Falkirk’s first name, a rarity, indicated that what he was going to say was of clear import.
“Go ahead, Captain Valmont, what’s on your mind?” Falkirk replied in measured tones.
“The raid went excellently; however, your wounding is an indication to me that you are being far too aggressive in your own role in combat. More than anything else, Captain, the unit needs a leader, not a hero. If that bullet had done serious damage, you wouldn’t be able to lead any more, and to be honest, I don’t think that I could lead anywhere near as well as you can.” Valmont stated, eyes fixed out the cockpit window.
“You don’t need to make up for the death of Ericson with your own.” Valmont added, nearly a whisper.
Thinking for a moment, Falkirk realized that Valmont was right. Although Falkirk believed that Valmont had the ability to lead the unit, Falkirk knew that he was not risking himself for the right reasons. The loss of another member of the unit would hurt, but not cripple the rest of the team. His own loss would surely ruin the confident perception of the rest of the unit, and that confidence was more important than anything else.
“Thank you for your suggestion, Captain. It’s been taken under consideration.” Falkirk said, smiling. A wave of fatigue swept over him, the adrenaline finally phasing out of his system. Before he knew it, he was unconscious, the auto-pilot system taking over after his hands left the controls. Falkirk fell into a fitful sleep that he hoped would not be ended prematurely.
* * *
Unfortunately, as seemed to be the order of the day, Falkirk’s sleep was rudely interrupted. Falkirk split his eyes open, the gentle prodding by Valmont provoking a response.
“We’re here, Captain. Let’s land this thing.” Valmont said, eyes returning, hawk like, to the view out of the cockpit.
The specialized receiver package on the S-1 was easily able to target the entrance to the secret Pentagon launching tunnel. The actual landing procedures, however, looked certain to be more difficult. The seas were apparently quite rough, and water was splashing down into the tunnel, which had lit up with a series of landing lights after the receiver package transmitted clearance.
“Alright, Valmont, let’s line her up. Be careful here, that alien equipment isn’t feather-weight. Give it a little extra thrust before stalling.” Falkirk advised from the co- pilot’s seat.
“Already on it, Captain.” Valmont said, executing a wing-over and lining up with the tunnel. Falkirk placed his hand on the lever to activate the tail-hook. Perfect timing would be essential, if he didn’t pull it at just the right time, the plane would come crashing down the tunnel. The high waves blocking a clear idea of where the tunnel entrance was didn’t help matters, either.
“Get ready, Captain. Coming up… now!” Valmont said, cutting the throttle of the plane down to nothing. The nose first edged up, then began to nose down in a stall. The entrance of the tunnel was coming up quick. Falkirk pulled the tailhook, and, with a rush of blood into his eyeballs, the plane caught, coming to a near instant stop.
The jolt sent waves of pain through Falkirk’s bad shoulder. The clotting of the blood came loose, and the wound began to bleed again. Falkirk cursed, and gripped his arm. A look of exquisite pain crossed his face.
“Captain, have Martinez take you to the infirmary after we land. They should be able to patch you up. I’ll supervise the unloading of the alien equipment.” Valmont said, not taking his eyes off of the front view. Falkirk barely nodded, thanks for work that he would have otherwise had to have done with a bad shoulder.
The plane touched down on the concrete landing pad, and Valmont triggered the bay doors to open, allowing the growing number of technicians arriving on the landing pad access to the wealth of alien technology located in the cargo bay of the aircraft. Falkirk, aided by Martinez, left the landing bay to go to the infirmary. Falkirk hoped that the technicians would be able to find a use for all of the equipment that had been so difficult for him to capture.
Falkirk wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going, simply following Martinez, but they eventually arrived at the state-of-the-art medical facility that was housed deep in the bowels of the Pentagon. Martinez saluted the doctor on duty and reported Falkirk’s condition, as he was injected with anesthetic. Falkirk vaguely remembered Martinez saying that she would wait for him, and with that, he drifted into a coma-like dreamless unconsciousness.
* * *
When Falkirk awoke, he was blinded by a bright light above him. After his eyes adjusted, he realized that he was looking into the fluorescent light on the ceiling and turned his head to the side. Martinez, who had been sitting in a chair, rose and walked slowly over to him.
“Ah, how long was I out?” Falkirk asked, mouth feeling as if wads of cotton had been stuffed in it.
“Only a couple of hours. Valmont unloaded the plane and debriefed the scientists, so you don’t need to worry about that. The president wants to see you, though. Wait for a couple of minutes. Drink this.” Martinez spoke, handing Falkirk a cup of orange juice as he shifted to an upright sitting position.
After he had shifted, he noticed his shoulder. The wound itself had been filled with a strange looking green organic goo, and appeared to be covered by a coat of clear surgical glue.
“What exactly did they do to it?” Falkirk said, in reference to the wound.
“Oh, the goo is a prototype treatment for burn victims. It contains a solution of nano-molecular organic robots that are able to effectively reconstruct wounded tissue. The bullet wound would be able to heal on it’s own, but this goo should be able to repair it in less than two days, and it won’t leave any scarring.” Martinez said, looking to Falkirk’s wound, then his bare chest, and then away.
“Something on your mind, Mel?” Falkirk asked, noticing her gaze. His calling her by her pet-name from high school indicated his willingness to step out of the rigid chain of command for a moment.
“Alan, I’ve got to be honest, it’s great seeing you again. I honestly never thought that I would. There were some times in China where I never thought that I’d get out, and when you’re in a situation like that, you do a lot of thinking, you know? About how things are, and how they could be?” Martinez stated. Falkirk knew exactly what she meant. In the little time that he had been able to take for self reflection since the beginning of this crisis, he had been thinking about the same sorts of things.
“Yes, Mel, I know. It’s been great seeing you too, I wish it could have been under different circumstances. I think, after this, we’ll both be due for a long shore leave, and I’d like to take it with you.” Falkirk said, gazing into Martinez’s deep green eyes.
“I’d like that too, Alan. You know, I always promised myself that if I did manage to make it back, that I would tell you,” Martinez trailed off, then continued, “tell you how I really felt about you.” She said, returning his intent gaze.
“I know, Mel, but we’ve got a battle to fight. I care for you too, but there’s procedures that have to be followed, protocols. We’re both going to get through this thing, I know we will. We’ll be all the stronger for it.” Falkirk said, cupping her left hand with his hands. Falkirk wasn’t entirely sure how much he believed what he had just said, but there was nothing more important than the mission at hand. Although he longed to take Martinez in his arms and whisk her away from the conflict, he knew that unless the menace was stopped, here and now, that it would follow them forever.
Falkirk rose, and strode behind a dressing screen, a new black jumpsuit waiting for him to change into. Falkirk had been stripped to the waist for his operation, and the jumpsuit made him feel as if he were back in uniform, and in charge again.
“Let’s go see what President Donley wants. I hope it’s good news. That’s all I can say.” Falkirk said, gesturing for Martinez to follow him. The two left the operating room, tracing their way to the auditorium where the president had first briefed them.
As they entered the room, they saw a solitary figure, head hung, standing at the podium. There was no audience, and, for that matter, no secret servicemen, a rarity that Falkirk had never before experienced. The lights were low, the light over the podium bathing the face of Donley in an odd shadowed countenance, illuminating only his outline and not the details of his face. Falkirk approached the podium slowly, Martinez behind him, not entirely sure what to expect.
“Captain, things are bad out there, aren’t they?” Donley asked as Falkirk ascended the stage, not turning to face him, simply staring out over the multitude of empty chairs. Falkirk was at first taken aback by the question, not entirely sure where to begin.
“Yes sir, they are. Things are bad. But we’re working to make them better.” Falkirk said, in measured tones. Donley turned to face him, and strode quickly toward him, coming within the boundary of personal comfort. He gripped the synthetic material of Falkirk’s jumpsuit tightly, the sinewy material slipping just slightly as a result of the sweat on the palms of the president.
“Yes, you’re doing everything you can! But will it ever be enough? Will any of this ever be enough to stop them? This limited war, limited war. Limited war destroyed our chances in China, you know. We could’ve had them on the ropes if we’d committed fully!” Donley yelled in his face. Falkirk’s steady gaze did not waver, even with the shorter Donley’s booming voice attempting to make its impact felt. Falkirk knew that the man felt personally responsible for what had happened in China. It had been, without a doubt, the most costly U.S. military action in the twenty-first century. Nearly ten thousand U.S. troops had been killed, thousands more lost or wounded, and the media had been out for blood. Now, it appeared that the stress was catching up to Donley. “Sir, we’re doing everything that we can. Everything within reason. You know what Davis said about a nuclear response. The casualties would be apocalyptic. The nuclear option is not an option. You know that, and so do I.” Falkirk said, loosening Donley’s grip gently, and placing a hand on his shoulder. Donley stepped away, anger crossing his face.
“I know what you’re thinking Falkirk. They nearly impeached me for what happened in China, you know. Claimed that I was mentally unfit for the duties of president. But I’m fit. It’s those damn war-mongers on the cabinet that are not fit. China should never have happened, I should have known better. Now, there’s these aliens. I can’t give them the chance to take it away, Falkirk. I can’t let it happen. My presidency was supposed to be one of progress, not destruction. Can you understand, Falkirk?” Donley said, glaring. It was clear that he was obsessively paranoid about potentially losing his power. What Falkirk didn’t know, however, was if he was dangerous.
“Sir, nobody can plan what’s going to happen in any given period of time. I’m sure that after this is all resolved, we’ll all get out of this fine. Let’s not rush things, and just all do our jobs the best that we can.” Falkirk said, attempting to reassure him. The tactic appeared to have worked.
“Alright, Falkirk, let’s do the best that we can. But don’t you dare slip up. Don’t you dare. Because it’s my ass out there too. If you screw up, they’ll come after me, impeach me. I can’t let that happen. Won’t.” Donley said, continuing his stare at Falkirk.
He then strode from the room briskly, slamming the door on his way out. Falkirk looked at Martinez. It was hard to believe what they had just witnessed, but it appeared that Donley was giving way under the pressure of the situation. By generalizing his failure in China to the situation with the aliens, it was fairly clear that Falkirk had to keep the president in as limited a role as possible during this conflict. They could not afford to have a snap nuclear decision made. The results could be catastrophic.
Falkirk and Martinez left the room, heading back to the landing bay to find Valmont finishing up the unloading of the last remaining samples of the odd yellowish metal. Valmont saluted the two as they approached, and Falkirk and Martinez snapped off two smart salutes as they strode towards him.
“What’s the story, Captain Valmont?” Falkirk asked, lowering his hand to his side as he spoke.
“Just finishing up here, sir. From what I understand, the scientists seem to be delighted with this odd new metal. Apparently, it has some extremely unique properties that may be able to explain how the weapons on board the alien ships work. Hopefully, a way to combat them, too.” Valmont said, addressing the two.
“So what’s the plan now, Captain?” Martinez asked.
“Well, sounds to me like the alien presence in the Antarctic needs to be investigated. If they’re massing there, we need to know why. Let’s get the rest of the group back here and get ready to get going. Meanwhile, I’m going to go see Lieutenant Carlisle about requisitioning some arctic camouflage.” Falkirk said with a smile.