Skyglow

I was sitting towards the end of the enormous oval table in one of the conference rooms at headquarters, staring out of the window that was covering most of the walls. All I could see was the blue sky and a few milky white fluffy clouds, the sun shining brightly like it was an average beautiful late fall day when people would go on walks, maybe hiking. I was tired of arguing, and couldn’t care less what they were still talking about when they had already dismissed all my good ideas. Maybe now they would discuss how everyone liked last night’s dinner, or how we would celebrate Christmas this year. The last month of autumn had just started; we had been under siege for more than a year and a half, and we hadn’t even heard of reinforcements. I could not fathom what was so hard to decide.

When the bi-weekly briefing was over, as I was walking out of the headquarters boardroom, pondering all the bullshitting of our esteemed leaders, Lieutenant General Jensen Williams called after me.

“Jelena! You’re not going to disobey orders again, are you? You’ve only got one shot left!” He warned me.

Lieutenant General Williams was a thirty-five-year-old soldier who was moving up the ranks at an incredible speed. Not long ago he was still serving in the same platoon as my father, as his subordinate, but thanks to his excellent leadership skills, he practically climbed the ranks two by two. He was a blond, green-eyed, innocent-looking fellow with a decidedly muscular body.

I slowly turned back to face him with a sigh, as a group of medics wearing red helmets rushed past me in the corridor.

“Come on, General! Still not agreeing on a unified plan is insane! But alright, we’ll wait. For a while.”

“Captain!” Jensen’s face was aflame with rage, holding my gaze for a few seconds, then continued, “I can’t dissuade you, can I?” His tone softened.

“I don’t think so, General.” I shook my head.

He studied my face for a few seconds longer, then nodded in acquiescence, turned and went to his office.

Usually it was always like this: he gave the orders, I had a better idea, which of course the other platoon leaders didn’t like – except for Colonel Thrumble –, so Jensen got what he wanted and I got to do what I wanted. My platoon followed me loyally anyway; I had never had to doubt them. Well, maybe only the rookie could give me some trouble, but he would learn on the job.

I have been living on a flying aircraft carrier, the Militant, for the past ten years, with minor interruptions, and I lived on other ships and bases before. This ship became my whole life. It could hold a well-equipped army, and if you didn’t know your way around, you could easily get lost. My father started serving here, then my mother followed him, and with her came me. Then my father died, and since then it was just me and my mother, and we were stuck here fighting. Especially now that the greens were trying to take over the Militant. I only called them greens, as they didn’t have a uniform name – the Army officially called them the enemy –, I was all for greens, toads, and whatever came to mind.

My only first-hand experience with them had been shooting at them. Back then the first hectic briefing told us that they invaded from space – one of the unfriendly majority of extra-terrestrials –, and their entire bodies were covered in uniforms of various shades of green – I assume they all wear the shade of green according to their rank.

Stanislav Koshka, my father, died almost three years ago while serving on the Militant. He paved the way for my military career, which got sped up thanks to me being a child of a family with long military history. Like my father, I finally found myself at the head of a platoon at the age of twenty-seven. Many people didn’t like that, but I didn’t particularly care what other people thought. I worked hard to get here.

It was a long journey from the headquarters to our base, and during that time, I wondered why they had built the Militant in the first place. In my opinion, it was a uniquely strange ship. There were three levels below the airstrips, and all three were divided into different sections. Of course, this has now been completely overturned as the enemy has invaded us. The headquarters was on the second level, as was our base, only about half an hour’s walk away. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, if the internal transporters had been working properly.

But at least the internal layout reflected the size of the ship: the corridor was wide enough for four people to walk comfortably side by side, and the ceiling height was about three metres everywhere. The corridors were flanked by various rooms, some of which were parts of larger bases. You could recognise those by the at least two guards, armed to the teeth, standing at the door of each base, and as I passed them, they would salute me. The interiors themselves were rather uninviting – though this was a warship, so what else would anyone expect; all brittle metal, with only a few arrows painted on the walls with a few words indicating what one would find if they went further in that direction, or a regulation or proclamation posted, though most of these had been torn down.

When I got back to our base, everyone was preoccupied with mundane but necessary tasks. Joseph was pestering some of our engineers who were trying to fix the transporter, which broke down every week. Liberty was doing inventory in the medical cabinet; she did it every day, and her reports were always disheartening but trying to stay positive. Some soldiers were cleaning their weapons, others were lying on the camp beds, probably regaining energy for their next shift.

As I walked in, everyone I passed saluted then continued with what they were doing, and I sat down at my desk in the corner, where the control panel for the base was. I started going through reports from this morning, but I had to re-read lines. I started chewing my nails – a bad habit I couldn’t kick –, and my thoughts wandered to the recon team that was out there, wondering when they would be back. After thirty minutes, when I couldn’t sit still anymore, I stood up, turned to my men and started giving out orders: eleven of the soldiers to arm, and the engineers, technical and medical personnel to stay. At this time, those who were left behind were also given more firepower to defend themselves in case the enemy invaded. I figured I would wait a bit and then move out, not wait for my two remaining men if they hadn’t made it back by then.

“Jelena Koshka” My mother shouted, “Why do you never obey Jensen?”

That was the only downside of having my mother as part of my platoon: she was always mothering me. But after my father’s death, she was adamant, she wanted to keep fighting, but I only agreed if she was on my team, so I could look after her.

“Come on, Officer Polovina” I called her that when she got on my nerves, “The decision is mine, as well as the responsibility. Now, everyone, follow my orders.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Echoed all present except my mother, undermining my authority.

“And when the Winterberg brothers get back, keep them informed.” I barked back over my shoulder, using hand signals to begin navigating my unit towards enemy territory.

Since we were in the air at the time of the attack, my primary objective was to regain control and put the Militant on water. So, we headed for the ship’s control room, which was of course at the far end, one level up. We made our way quietly but swiftly, everyone alert, looking out for enemy presence. We crossed the border that separated our territories, but as we approached, it became increasingly difficult to advance, and we encountered more and more patrols, which we either hid from in the dugouts along the wall or terminated. When we couldn’t progress unnoticed because of their overwhelming numbers, I took the rookie with me, and organized the rest of my soldiers into two groups of five, and gave the order to proceed by different routes, taking small detours towards the control room. Jack looked a little frightened at our dwindling numbers, but I nodded at him encouragingly and he seemed to feel safe with me.

Still, I was glad he was by my side. I grew up with Jackson as my neighbour before I moved to the Militant with my mom, but we kept in touch. He used to wear his black hair in a buzz-cut back then too, his eyes also almost black, and he always had the brightest smile I have ever seen on a person. He has only been part of our team for less than a year. He had been travelling the world for a while, doing a variety of jobs, and it was only a few years ago that he became more interested in soldiering.

We pressed on in silence, disregarding the ever-thickening patrols. The two of us could move quickly, but after a while I began to notice that the patrols we encountered were thinning out, which was extremely suspicious given that we were nearing the control room. I indicated to Jack that we should pull into a gap and let a few greens pass. I wondered what the reason for this inexplicable tactical move was. Maybe they were fighting elsewhere with another team; maybe they underestimated us. It looked like the greens were withdrawing. Perhaps it was all just my paranoia, I concluded, so we pressed on. We hadn’t gone ten or fifteen meters when we turned a corner and found ourselves facing a larger green unit. There was nowhere to hide, so – despite being outnumbered – we had to take the fight to the greens.

First, I tried a few grenades, but when they got too close, I had to switch to pistols. I always carried two semi-automatic Strizh pistols. Although it wasn’t the army standard, I felt more comfortable with the Strizh, and carrying two of them meant I had twice the ammunition capacity of an eighteen-round magazine. Perfect for being outnumbered.

We tried to back off slowly so we could retreat, but it didn’t really work; they were gaining on us. I had already fired a magazine, and Jack was fighting a small group when a few more units came in from the rear, surrounding us.

Slowly they overtook us, and dragged us into a dishevelled council chamber down the hall. There they set up their instruments of torture. They themselves did not speak – I didn’t know if they could even make a sound – but they were generally successful in getting their captives to talk. I had only heard legends about their methods – this was the first time I had been in this situation myself. Up close, I found them even more despicable than from afar; they were even shorter than me, by almost thirty centimetres, but lanky in build.

As I was the higher ranking, in possession of more intel, I was tied to a chair set up on a table. When they surrounded me to drag me to the chair, their grip on my arms felt cold, their emotionless, reptile-like eyes quickly assessing me and each other, communicating in a way. They never opened their lipless mouths once, yet they worked together like a well-oiled machine. The only sound they made was the calm, rhythmic inhale and exhale through the slots they had for nostrils. I looked around at the tarnished room, trying to find a way out of this mess, but I had none.