“Oh, shit!” Turn said, then began to move over to him. “What the hell just—”
Turn’s words were cutoff as bullets ripped into their position, one of them striking Dan right in the forehead and causing his eyes to go wide, then lifeless. Turn’s own eyes went wide at the sight, and then he got his head down.
BOOM!
There was a massive explosion and the wall of the building next to Turn seemed to just up and shoot into the air. The last thing Turn remembered was a searing pain in his legs, and then everything went black.
2 — Coming To
Turnicot opened his eyes and that hazy shade appeared, the one partway between the realm of dreams and the land of the living.
“Who…”
“It’s alright, take it easy,” a voice said, one Turn hadn’t heard before. It certainly isn’t one of the doctors.
Turn made to nod but then stopped himself and sat still, fluttered his eyes a bit, cajoled the world into making itself known.
“Dan?”
“Dan didn’t make it out of Laos. My name’s General Harry Anderholt,” the man said, closer now — Turn had heard the chair scrape against the floor as he’d dragged it closer, “and I used to be a Major in the Air Force.”
“Air Force?” Turn said, his brow furrowing despite the slight pain it caused his head wound.
“What the hell’s an Air Force Major doing interested in an ‘ol jarhead like you, right?” Anderholt said, jovially, and about the closest he ever came to a smile, although Turn didn’t register any of that — his vision was still blurry as hell.
There was a pause, Turn frowned, and the general did the same before pressing on.
“They’ve no doubt told you by now that your military days are over, haven’t they, Turn?” and then quickly, “I hope you don’t mind if I call you that… Turn.”
Turn shook his head that he didn’t.
Anderholt gave another nod that Turn didn’t see and then launched into it, like he did with all the other prospects. He knew from experience that it’d only take a minute to tell.
“What if I told you, son, that you could still serve your country, but in a way you’d never believe and could never talk about — would you be interested?”
“Of course.”
No hesitation, Anderholt saw. The first step was passed.
“The chances that you’d die, even on the very first day, are close to 100 % — does that dissuade you?”
Turn’s brows furrowed yet again, although most wasn’t visible beneath the bandages.
“If I…” a slight pause, “if I was scared of dying I wouldn’t a joined up.”
Anderholt nodded. “Right.” The second step, complete.
“Sir,” Turn said, and this time he pushed himself up, ever so slightly, but enough, and more than he was thought capable of in his position.
“Go head, soldier.”
“I’ve read a lot of freaky books and seen a lot of wild movies,” Turn said, cracking a smile despite himself, “and it sure sounds like what you’re getting at here is something, oh… I dunno — out of this world, you get my drift?”
There was a smile on Turn’s face, but the general’s remained impassive. He held his gaze, locked on Turn’s eyes, then finally spoke after several endless moments.
“There’s a secret U.S. military base under a mountain range in Dulce, New Mexico,” he said, not breaking his gaze at all. “It’s been there since 1947 and ever since that date it’s been used as a base, staging area, and takeover point for an unknown number of extraterrestrial races. In May of last year the base got away from us, a faction of the aliens rebelled, and we’ve been locked-out ever since. We’ve staged over half a dozen missions to retake the base since then, but each of them has failed.” The general sighed. “Turn, we want you on one of our next mission… the one that won’t fail.”
General Anderholt still held Turn’s gaze and no matter what he did he couldn’t break it. Finally five words tumbled from Turn’s mouth, five words he hadn’t thought about and probably wouldn’t have said if he did: “I’d like to help, sir.”
Anderholt nodded, rose, and walked to the door. He turned back once more, then gave a slight smile that he had no doubt Turn couldn’t see. Step three, clear.
3 — Washington
The phone rang. General David Jones gave it a sideways look and kept his pen moving over the paper in front of him. It rang again. He finished his sentence. It rang for a third time, and this time he reached over and picked it up.
“Yeah.”
“David,” the voice on the other end of the line said.
General Jones sat up and took the phone from under his chin. “Mr. President.”
“I want you coming to Vienna with me next month,” President Carter said from the other end of the line, “I want you there when we start the SALT II talks.”
“But sir…”
“No ‘buts’ on this one, David — I need you there, I need your expertise.”
General Jones bit his lip. Why now? Why when we’re so close? he thought, but instead said, “of course, Mr. President,” nodded a few times after that, then hung up the phone.
He sat back in his chair, the report on aircraft transportation costs forgotten as he stared at the map on the far side of his Pentagon office, the one showing all the major military bases in the United States, and quite a few of the minor ones as well. He stared for a long time, his hands crossed in front of his face, his breath misting upon his knuckles. Finally he picked up the phone, and from memory, dialed the number of one of the few bases not on that map, one of the few that even the man who’d just called him didn’t know about.
“We’ve gotta get two placements here and clean up this mess over—”
“General.”
General Robert Herres stopped detailing the procurements reports and looked up.
“General, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is on the line,” Suzy, his secretary, said.
General Herres looked at the junior officer. “I’ll get on that and come back later,” the young man said, and General Herres nodded, then stood silently over his desk while the man scurried out of the small base office. He nodded at Suzy to close the door, then reached down for the phone.
“Sir.”
“The President wants me to go with him to Vienna next month for the SALT II talks,” General Jones said over the phone from Washington, “we’ll need to move the plans up.”
“Move the…,” General Herres started, then stopped himself before taking a different tact. “Sir, the teams.”
“I know what we discussed and I know what the plan called for,” General Jones replied in short, clipped syllables, “but I’m telling you, Robert, things have changed.”
“Just because you’re going to Europe…”
“With the Russians involved, things heating up in Afghanistan, and the Iranians under new leadership, anything can happen.”
General Herres nodded. He’d heard it all before, and they’d been over just this eventuality, well, not quite the SALT II talks, but something pretty similar. They’d all agreed the plan would have to go forward no matter what.
“I know you suffered a serious setback last month when that recon team was discovered,” the Chairman continued.
“You could call it that,” General Herres scoffed, before quickly adding a ‘sir’ on the end.
“The original plan called for four combat assault teams,” the Chairman continued, ignoring the tone of the junior officer, or putting up with it more aptly, “and we’ll have four.”