Little Green Men

Chapter 1

The Lab

The year was 1950. A black car that did not belong anywhere except within the president of the United States’s secret service, was doing 80 down a stretch of new highway. Top of the line model, air conditioned, bullet proof tires, windows, and a reinforced body. A cachet of weapons in the trunk held enough ammunition to fight off a well-stocked police department. The black car eased off an exit, then cruised along a patchworked backroad, until a right curve led into the main street of a small town.

The street was a long stretch of two-way road, made up by a series of buildings on both sides. Mom and pop laundry, diner, pawn shop, bank, florist, coffee, doctor, grocer, motorbike dealership. It was all here on one side or the other. A place so little it didn’t need tourist signs, politics rarely entered discussion outside of the county fair or the sheriff’s election. The people were simple white bread, friendly looking, self-proclaimed Christian by a large Baptist church on the corner. The type that lived in places like this. The stout difference between local and visitor made the causal townsfolk stare out of their windows, as the strange black car was gently cruising where it didn’t belong. Some even were pointing, talking amongst themselves about what it could mean.

Two were inside the black car, behind tinted windows. One was Agent Bob, an older grizzled man, who wore a black suit and a permanent grouch. With a face you prayed you’d never see on anyone with authority over you. The other, who was much younger, was Professor Hubert Williams, who wore a brown suit jacket with coffee-stained slacks. His uncombed hair fluttered in the artificial breeze of the air conditioner. While Agent Bob was focused on the road, Hubert was busy taking in the scenery. On account of several half naked woman loitering by a juke joint.

It was hot today, miserably hot for a town in northern Iowa. A radio that Agent Bob shut off 40 miles ago said it was a record heat wave. The heat was so strong that despite the social taboo for long shirts, proper dress and hatred of all things nipple. The young people had rebelled, especially a few young woman taking shade under a tree by the diner. They had taken to wearing cut off skirts well above finger tip length, while tying the front of their shirts up over taunt bellies, which pulled their breasts against the thin white fabric. Some boys had joined them, sweat stained white T shirts with rolled up jeans. One had even cut off the bottom half of his pants, just above the knee.

The old people seemed to have abandoned all hope and took refuge inside the many buildings. If they could tolerate the heat, there’d be at least one crotchety bastard yelling about modesty, calling police, maybe even throwing things to make their point seem important. Anything to get rid of the hot young nakedness. And yet there wasn’t. Hot bodies were here and there, ripe for the perverts gaze.

“Good window shopping there Professor?” Agent Bob asked, keeping his eyes on the road out of principle.

“It’s excellent. You’d never see this much skin back in Boston,” Professor Hubert replied as a bombshell brunette licking an ice cream cone gave him a look fit for playboy from across the street.

“You know you never struck me as a ladies man, you seem more on the queer side,” Agent Bob smirked.

“You never struck me as man without a stick up his ass, I supposed we were both wrong”

“Maybe we were, but funs over, we’re about half an hour out and you need briefed.”

Agent Bob leaned backwards, his white dress shirt pulling into slack from his pants while he reached a hairy knuckled hand towards the back seat, grunting louder and sounding older than he meant to. A vanilla folder with several thin stacks of paper came back and were plopped into Hubert’s crotch with a thud that made him feel like wincing. Reminding him of his nephew’s 4th birthday when the boy pitched a thundercrack of a ball between his legs last year.

“Jesus, why couldn’t we go over this back at the hotel?” Hubert complained as he began fingering into the papers. Part of him imagining doing something similar to that woman while she licked something different than the ice cream cone.

“I don’t make protocol. Everyone outside is on need to know, as in told when they have to know and not a second sooner.” Agent Bob slowed the black car, then turned into a gravel dirt road which led straight into open country. The town was soon gone, behind them growing smaller, instead it was rolling hills with fields of corn, cattle, wheat, and other crops that made up whatever wasn’t for grazing.

Hubert opened the folder and noticed full pages, with corresponding photographs of the sky, cloud formations, thunder clouds. His jaw nearly dropped, seeing that the photographs were in color. Surprised since real color photographs were a luxury he wasn’t used too. Not important enough to request and never in budget. Sure he’d seen colored photos before, but these were expensive, government paid in full. He felt the full power having military funding literally at his finger tips. Made him a little intoxicated, self-important, just being involved with so much money.

As he delicately pulled each paper out, two at a time. Hubert read over what intrigued him, while still retaining some of what didn’t. The documents were an in depth study on weather patterns, meteorites, and unidentified flying object incidents. Each paper had a clear stamp on the upper right corner which said “classified” in bold red ink. Towards the end of the stack, there were pictures of various patterns of crop circles taken from a plane midflight.

“Crop circles?” Hubert asked, almost as a joke. Speaking as if seeing those pictures were beneath him.

“Take this seriously, what’s in that folder is a matter of international security Professor. Let me know when you’re done reading and I’ll fill you on the rest of the assignment.” Agent Bob cracked the window slightly to light a cigarette, which made the car a little smellier and hotter. Hubert felt the cold air fighting like hell against the heat and losing. He began sweating almost right away.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told Bob, but I’m only here to assist on a meteorological consult, in exchange for my own funding to be paid, in full, for the next five years, as… per… agreed. Nothing more, nothing less, I’m not some boy scout graduate student looking for aerial induced hallucinations and teenage pranks on the local corn supply. I deal with real science. Not this joke of a paper.” Hubert postured himself, feeling that he had just made a firm point, standing on it. Wanting to show he couldn’t be bullied into any extra work by a government gorilla.

Whether it was academia or a white castle fry cook job, every boss he ever met was hell bent on squeezing him as dry as he’d let them, and they all get pissed when he doesn’t bow like a good boy. There was silence in the car for a few moments, only the rumbling of dirt and gravel flying under the bulletproof tires. Along with a buzz of some insect outside coming from Agent Bob’s window. Agent Bob didn’t give an acknowledgment; he only pulled on his cigarette and exhaled annoyed. The way a parent does before they busting their darling child’s ass.

“Well, you’re not here for only a meteorological consult Professor. We have questions that need answers. Answers that on paper, you should be able to provide or least lead us in the right direction of an answer.” Bob pulled at his cigarette again, his tone was easier, more relaxed as the nicotine buzzed off the tip of his temper.

“I’m just here to lend a hand and do what I agreed to, God and country be damned,” Hubert said.

“Professor Hubert Williams, born august 9th 1923 on a farm in tornado valley Kansas, IQ off the charts, enrolled into MIT at age 11, youngest ever. Only reason you didn’t become a doctor before your balls dropped was because your parents died in a twister, my condolences. You majored in meteorology however you minored in cosmetology, astronomy, geology, biology and engineering all at the same time. Making you a true polymath. Consulted on the Manhattan project’s radiation studies. You should be leading your own department but really you’re on academic probation. Due to being arrested for public intoxication and an incident of public indecency involving three grad students who were working under you last year. You didn’t come here for only a consult, you agreed to share your expertise in exchange for a tenured position at Berkley upon completion of a secret assignment for the US army. You can’t lie to me Professor, I know who I work with.” Agent Bob finished the cigarette and flicked it out of the window as Hubert grumped.

“Firstly, it was four grad students. Blonde grad students,” Hubert spat and Bob interrupted.

“I don’t care if it was fifty you damn horndog. Despite your circumstances, your background couldn’t be more perfect for this particular assignment, still, everyone is replaceable.” Agent Bob coughed harshly and spat a yellow colored loogie out the window.

“Now Hubert, do I have to make a phone call or do you want to ask me something about this assignment of which your future depends?” Hubert wanted to argue and did.

“Four more Blondes than you’ll ever see,” Hubert sneered

“Guess somebody doesn’t want this job after all,” Agent Bob threatened, which made Hubert giggle.

“You think you’re the first government SOB to pull rank on me? We’re in the cold war, all of the major universities are on the army’s payroll. Let’s set up some ground rules Rumpelstiltskin. You ain’t going to find anyone in the world with all my skills. You don’t have the power to fire me, and if you do I’ll tell your bosses that your just jealous because I fucked more woman than you!” Agent Bob leaned over, one hand on the wheel the other cracking a knuckle.

“You’re on thin ice you little shit, I’m going to give you one more chance to straighten up and fly right, or I’ll toss you out of this damn car.” The silence hung, swinging ominously like meat on a butcher’s hook. Agent Bob didn’t blink, the man was serious. He’s big, tough looking, with apelike knuckles, he could do it, probably with one hand, Hubert thought. The one he was preparing right now.

“You wouldn’t” Hubert gulped. Just then in that moment, the disturbing click of the car door unlocking rang above the rumbling of flying gravel under them.

“You would!” Hubert clutched his chest, the way an old woman would at her pearls upon hearing the word sex shouted in church. Sure he could tell on him, but it wouldn’t save him from an ass kicking and a long walk back to the nearest payphone. Hubert quickly thought on it, then came to a desire for peace the likes of which Gandhi would appreciate.

“I would like to apologize. So, you didn’t just bring me here for crop circles?” Hubert said, trying to turn things back to amicable.

“No we did not,” Agent Bob seemed to ease back into his seat and then produced on small lead cube the size of ring box from his suit pocket, which he handed to Hubert.

“To start we want your opinion on this.” Hubert grazed the rough metal with the soft tips of his fingers.

“Lead lined, radioactive?”

“Slightly, but no more than radium glass, it’s safe to open,” with that Hubert lifted the thick metal lid and gazed lovingly at a yellowish black stone with several unique crystal protrusions breaching from the top. A closer look at the crystal’s inner structure reminded him of a snowflake. He lifted it from the box to his eye with an awe at the intricate design.

“Where did you find this beauty?” Hubert asked, adjusting his glasses as they passed over another small bump in the road, which the suspension ate most of.

“You’ll see soon, we can’t discuss it outside of the scene. Can you tell me what that is?”

Hubert looked closely, examining the intricate patterns of the crystal as well as the stone base. The fine quality had a very specific way of lighting towards the tips of the crystal while staying dark towards the bottom, nearly black at the rock base and golden in the middle. While the crystal itself was one shade from being colorless, nearly indistinguishable from a diamond at the tip. A lesser man would need more tests, Hubert thought confidently while he decided.

“Sanchezium,” Hubert declared.

“Sanchezium?” Bob asked, his tone implying he wanted more of an explanation.

“It’s a rare one, very rare, whole world’s supply including this wouldn’t reach halfway to a coffee cup but I’m sure it’s the right element, you’ve got quite find here. I’ve never seen more than a few grains of this stuff in one place.” Hubert continued to take in the stone’s appearance from every angle, memorizing it for future reference, unsure if he’d ever see something so precious and rare ever again.

“Another source said it was a new element unknown to science, the rest weren’t sure and none of them said anything about Sanchezium.”

“Casuals… unless you’re dealing with the fringes of subjective geology most probably haven’t heard about it, much less seen it with their own eyes like me. Like I said it’s a rare rock, we’re talking Painite kind of rare. I only know of a few grains in storage somewhere in the bowels of oxford. The big whigs of geology have argued for years over whether it’s its own element or some variation of another. Can’t even agree to let it be put on speculative papers.”

“Then how do you know it’s its own element? And why all he secret?”

“Because my head isn’t completely up my ass and it’s too unique. Sanchezium is special, it’s the closest existing mineral to unobtanium.”

“Unobtanium?” Agent Bob asked.

“It’ s a placeholder term for a mythical element that can do anything you want. Build bridges, electrical components, computers, cars, spaceships, and it’s lightweight, strong, everything you’d want in a construction material. Sanchezium’s main problem is both that it’s so rare and it degrades in the presence of anything besides pure helium. So tell your boys that this stone will be dust in a week unless they can get it in a sealed Helium container.” Hubert closed the small square box with the stone inside and handed it back to Agent Bob, who looked at him curiously.

“The one thing I could never decide on, was whether Sanchezium was a man made element or just a highly unstable one. Until now, we’re dealing with aliens aren’t we?” Hubert asked, his smile contrasting with grouched look of Agent Bob.

“How on earth would you come to that?” Agent Bob tucked the box back into his pocket and gained a slight respect for the man he was about to toss out of his car less than 10 miles ago.

“The structure of Sanchezium is too perfect for something naturally occurring. It never has natural blemishes or non-Euclidian structures even at the atomic level, that with its versatility, it has to be made with methods beyond what have on earth. Where did you get it? Because if you’ve got more I could change the world.” Hubert asked, sitting up straighter. Agent Bob nodded.

“You’re going to find out soon, you might be worth the trouble after all Professor Hubert.” Agent Bob watched the rolling hills peak and dive over and over again. Hubert didn’t get a full answer and knew he wouldn’t. Leaning back into his seat the ride reverted back to the quiet it once held back on the highway. Rumbling and silence dominated the air again. A faint smell of artificial pine and a lingering cigarette wafted in the cold air around them.

The black car climbed a final hill, just over the peak Hubert saw the opportunity of a lifetime. In the distance, way on the other side of an ancient looking fence, he could see it. Towards the middle of a wheat field, a smoking pile high several yards high, with flattened crops around the base. A ring of hills surrounding them. They were on the edge of one, going down now.

Ahead soldiers stood at a fence gate entrance facing the road they were driving on. The army had sealed the perimeter, which was surrounded by trucks, barbed wire bushels, sandbags, civilian barricades, soldiers patrolling here and there in pairs, watching from all angles while three helicopters were flying overhead. Hubert even spotted a tank overlooking from the hill to the west, slowly it spun a long dangerous looking cannon. Which rumbled and begged for a reason to make something disappear. As Agent Bob pulled to park in the grass, Hubert saw a man, no, a reporter wearing a camera around his neck who was being carried out of the gate like a thrashing toddler.

Hubert couldn’t hear what he was saying between the car and Agent bob unbuckling. However, the man’s mouth was big and wide, forming words Hubert could decipher from the shapes of his lips alone. It was “goddamn” this and “fuck that” and somewhere “lawyer” and “first amendment” appeared. The soldiers dragged him just outside of the fence and onto the white gravel. One soldier held the man’s arms back while the other ripped the camera from his neck and threw it on the ground. Stomping it into pieces with a thick green boot several times. Twisting his foot on the film and grinding it into the dirt.

The reporter shouted curses and lunged, he was repaid with a firm buttstock to his sternum. Crippling him to the ground as both soldiers began kicking him. Stomping his head, rearing back into his stomach and legs, and smashing their heels into his back. The sight made Hubert sweat, as it was something he expected to happen in the Soviet Union, not on American soil to a reporter of all people. Agent Bob noticed him watching.

“Like you said, cold war, that means the normal rules don’t apply. Follow me, don’t talk to anyone I don’t tell you too, don’t look at it if you want to sleep tonight,” Agent Bob spoke plainly, as nothing more needed to be said or explained. Part of his tone implied that he wasn’t unsympathetic, his advice genuinely meant to help Hubert get through it. Hubert joined him in leaving the black car, only to be met with that godawful heat that made the girls go naked.

Agent Bob led, Hubert followed close behind, folding his jacket to hold instead, while gripping a briefcase with basic lab field equipment. A farmer curiously watched them walk in the distance, he didn’t know that two soldiers were circling around in a jeep to stomp him. Hubert tried to keep his eyes away from the reporter, but his fear forced him to occasionally peek. As they came closer to the gate, he could hear the brutal thuds of boot against clothing and gravel cracking under the strikes. Along with faint dry heaving.

“Please no! Please no!” The reporter cried. Hubert didn’t realize how close he was to the man, now able to hear him beg for his life. It made him meek, sick. Agent Bob approached the two soldiers at the gate.

“Agent Bob, special task force, I’ve brought a Lab with me,” a solider nodded, then left into the wheat, stomping and crunching as he went. Agent Bob behaved as if it were another Tuesday, all be it a hot one, as he occasionally dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket. Hubert could hear weeping now, still he tried to do anything but look. Gurgles and crying and the thumping of boots was all that was there, he could spit on the man if he wanted, he was so close, so loud, so awful.

“Please! You’re going to kill me! My wife! My son! Murder! Murder!” the reporter cried, as the solider from before quickly returned, joined by another man in black, dressed the same as Agent Bob. The two shared a nod.

“Agent Warren”

“Agent Bob”

Agent Bob shook Agent Warren’s hand who turned and led them into the wheat field towards the smoke, with Hubert trailing close behind them like a scared puppy.

“How was your trip Bob?”

“Too long, same are yours?”

“I got approval to bring Caroline with me, she’s back at the hotel so it’s not been so bad”

“How are the kids?”

“Good, they’re with their grandpa in Ohio learning to fish. Did the lab give you any trouble? File said he had a mouth.” Agent Bob glanced back at Hubert. Not in a way of respect but closer to how he would glance at his dog while describing what was wrong to the vet. Not caring if it heard, since it didn’t matter.

“No, he was a little mouthy a few miles back but we came to understanding. Guy knows his stuff. Don’t let him around Caroline though.”

“Why?” Agent Warren spoke in a rough growl.

“Yea, tell Agent Warren here why?” Agent Bob smirked, Hubert thought for a moment, not as afraid as he was.

“If I can get her into bed she never loved you anyway,” Hubert smiled.

“You son of a bitch!” Warren stopped and clenched his fists. Making Agent Bob laugh loudly, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

“Easy he’s all talk, go ahead give us a brief, and I’ll keep him away from Caroline. Scouts honor.” Agent Warren adjusted his suit and wiped his brow.

“Alright gentlemen, what we have here is an object of unknown origin-“

“Listen I know about the aliens, what do you say we skip all this secret nonsense and crack this thing open? That’s why I’m here aren’t I?” Hubert asked, glancing towards the smoking pile which was closer than ever before. Agent Warren looked to Agent Bob distastefully.

“He took one look at a sample and said at lot of useful information. It’ll be in my report but he doesn’t know anything beyond what he just said. My recommendation is level one clearance. At least give him a heads up, he could be helpful.” Agent Bob said, looking stern as he did. Agent Warren nodded and stroked his chin before glancing at the smoke and then turning to Hubert.

“On behalf of Agent Bob’s recommendation and exorbitant circumstances. I’m granting you level one access.” Agent Warren stepped close to Hubert. So close that Hubert could smell gin on his breath and feel part of his black suit touching his hand.

“We’re not here to “crack” anything open. That behind me, is an object with a point of origin of which we are somewhat aware of, you are not allowed that information at your level. The object from our observations, appears to be in an incapacitated condition. However, even in its current state, it is by far the most dangerous object currently on this planet. We know a fair amount about it from other instances. So I can tell you with accuracy that a lot of these men here are about to die, the three of us may very well die. However, we have never gotten this close to one or seen one such object this weakened. We are hoping the “pilot” is either deceased or in no condition to retaliate. If the pilot is able bodied, we will all die and the army will have to send God knows how many men to take it down. We’re preparing to approach the object now. We were waiting for you to come so to have scientific eyes on the situation. This is not a joke, we are in the jaws of death itself young man and you’d be smart to realize it.” It was truth in its most cold, honest avatar.

Hubert didn’t wonder or second guess. There was no reason to suspect that the man in front of him was lying. He could hear a tinge of something akin to fear. Tough men are usually very good at hiding fear, he was. So easy it was akin to stifling a cold before going to work. Hubert could still tell though, despite Agent Warren’s demeanor, seeing through his grizzled face. Which was almost as tough looking and gritty as Agent Bob. The fear of death was in him. He was worried he wouldn’t make it back to the hotel. That he’d never make love to his Caroline or see his children again. Agent Bob didn’t have to talk, he was a smart man, smart enough to fear death deeply in his soul. Even if he was better at hiding it.

Luckily it was only among them three. The men in black and now Professor Hubert Williams knew, no one else knew they were all going to die. At first Hubert felt his chest clinch, he wanted to panic, then his ego calmed him. It was a feeling that Hubert’s inner dictator relished, something to hold onto, a form of power in a strange morbid way. Knowing what others don’t. Then he bashed the idea as quickly as it came, what good was knowing something like that? He envied the men around him now. He wished he did not know. It was better to be an ignorant ant than a real prophet with forbidden knowledge of doom.

“When do we start?” Hubert asked, trying his best to hide his turmoil, succeeding.

“Right now, come on, we’ve got some grunts who are about to test the waters,” Agent Warren said. As all three walked on a worn path of wheat made from hours of stomping soldiers. Hubert soon saw it partially from around Agent Bob’s shoulder, a saucer shaped object sticking hallway out of the ground at an odd acute angle, burning the wheat around it, still smoking.

Hubert smelled the air quietly. Curiously tallying everything he could detect. There was the burnt crop, it was acidic, rough, something like black coffee, only worse, he didn’t like it. There was a bit of plastic, chemicals, then manure, dirt, country dirt to be exact. The good kind that reminded him of home. There was nothing he didn’t expect. Hubert worried about that, he would have worried whether he detected something or not. What if the air was poisoned?What if he missed something important? Too many what ifs, not enough data to work with.

The three men approached a makeshift barrier wall made of sandbags. Several soldiers were surveying here and there, none dared to get within 20 yards of the UFO. The army had cut down the wheat and flattened ground, unknowingly to make room for a shootout. At this distance Hubert could see it well, not in great detail but enough. It was a saucer, just as he thought he saw, with half of its body buried. Scorched black dirt surrounded the hole. The half above ground was covered in intricate lines with circles and shapes that held no meaning anyone earthly was familiar with. Despite the smoke rising, the body of the saucer didn’t seem to be burned, or damaged, it was the dirt around it that was burning. Hubert had no idea when it crashed, had to be hours for all this and still it was burning with no source but the UFO itself.

“Captain, you’re clear to move in,” Agent Bob ordered. The captain, who looked angry and old, gestured to a group of twelve men who approached in a uniform march. Three rows of green, each one holding a rifle with a blank, disciplined look in their eyes that showed devotion.

“Men, approach the target, be vigilant, semper fie!” With the Captain’s approval they jogged forward in unison. Hubert watched them with carefully limited sympathy. He liked what the army does to their enemies, not what they do to their men. He thought stripping men of their individuality was basically communism. Turning groups of unprivileged boys into weapons and tossing them out after they’re done. A year ago someone in that group would of asked what they were doing here and maybe realized enough to walk away and save their own sorry ass. Not these boys though. They were broken in, respectable to society, but less than human in the eyes of real freedom.

“Brave little lab rats,” Hubert thought.

“Go get my cheese,” he whispered.

The men dispersed and surrounded the saucer with guns drawn, loaded, and cocked. Carefully they creeped ahead with careful steps that crunched the dry dead wheat below them loudly each time. The men were carful, restrained, but ready to kill, they had the look in their eyes. Behaving as if the entire soviet army were about to pop out at any time. And if they shot them like good boys they’d all get to go home. A loud crunch from behind made Agent Warren and Agent Bob nearly jump out of their skins, they turned and saw Hubert eating a candy bar.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Give me that!” Agent Bob shouted quietly before he snatched the chocolate piece straight out of Huberts hand and tossed it to the round where he stomped it.

“Hey! That was a nickel!” Hubert scoffed.

“Shut the fuck up!” Agent Warren whispered.

“Sorry the suspense is killing me,” Hubert admitted.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t shut up!” Agent Bob gritted.

While the three men whispered angrily back and forth. A fresh private with hair as blonde as the golden field around them and a name tag that said “Humfrey” reached the saucer. He couldn’t touch it, but he could poke it with his rifle if he wanted. He stood there, not knowing what to do. They only told them to go to the saucer not what to do once they got there. He had to do something, but not something wrong or bold or defiant or stupid. Slinging his rifle over his back, Humfrey watched the object, taking in its unnatural symmetry. There were so many distinct patterns, he liked looking at it, there was a strange calming feeling about it. Relaxing even. Humfrey found himself getting closer, stepping slowly, until he could see his freckled face in the black reflection of the craft. Then something else, something was looking back at him. It was angry and he was scared now.

“Sarge?”

Humfrey’s words caused a noxious blue gas to spray right in his face. He screamed, loud, loud enough to rile the attention of the entire company and the three men before they could start beating up Hubert. Humfrey clutched his eyes and fell backwards, causing his rifle to go off and blow the foot off a boy ten yards behind him. Making him scream and fall to, clutching his bloody stump of a foot.

“Jesus Christ!” Hubert said, as the captain sent two stretchers to get the men out. The rest crouched and waited in their positions. Watching the injured men while eyeing the saucer for any signs of movement. The man without a foot was carried off right away, Humfrey still laid screaming on the ground, tossing about like a toddler in a tantrum while the medics tried talking him down enough to get on the stretcher.

“It’s starting,” Agent Bob spoke while standing between Hubert and the sandbag, he reached into his suit and produced a small chrome pistol-like object, Hubert assumed it was a secret model only given rarely. Agent Warren showed one as well. At the same time the medics crouched around Humfrey who twisted and turned and screamed. Ripping and tossing wheat and dirt truffles to exercise through the pain.

“It’s behind my eyes! Cut it out! Cut it out!”

The Medics were as young as him. Trained in bullet wounds, amputations, heat strokes and dispersal of aspirin. They looked to each other only to eye the words, “what the fuck is going on? What do we do?” The other replied that “they didn’t know” without speaking. Deciding the medical tent was the best place to get him started, the boy who had black hair and Sicilian skin reached out.

“Wait! Don’t touch him!” Agent Warren shouted. As Humfrey suddenly grasped the medics hand and pulled him inside of himself. The other men watched in horror as the two men fused together into a grotesque bundle of whirling skin, flailing arms and kicking legs which stirred about the body. The limbs began to toss and throw more bunches of dirt and dried wheat into the air, flailing wildly. Their clothes seemed to rip under the combined mass of writhing. The other medic tried to run away, screaming as the mass rolled over him, pinning him down with four arms and pulling him inside as well. There was a moment as the third man was absorbed when no one knew what was going to happen, until a shot in the air from the pistol of the captain pulled the men’s attention.

“Give em hell!” he shouted, firing another round at the mass. The company began spraying the mass of arms and legs, riddling the thing with bullets. The mass gained several punctured holes by the second, red blood spurted along the wheat covered ground as the arms and legs pulled it upright to stand. It perched tall and began frantically running towards on several limbs towards the nearest man, bull rushing him before he could get away and pulling him inside as well, adding new arms and legs, getting bigger. Then it scuttled to next nearest man, then the next, and the next. Though it was being filled with lead it seemed to be winning. Hubert looked closely at the creature and noticed several small eyes and ears which circled around the body, around the limbs they spun with an ocean-like current. Crying eyes of men in pain.

“Aim for the eyes and ears!” Hubert shouted. The captain heard and planted four shots in quick succession, knocking out two rotating eyes and ears that turned into bloody holes. The creature reared up and groaned, stomping in place to roar, opening with a large mouth and dozens of human teeth and tongues to do so.

“Aim for the eyes!” The captain ordered since it seemed to work.

The rest of the men began carefully firing, trying to hit moving targets. One angry son of a bitch with a machine gun got several in a burst. The creature bellowed and began thrashing in place, blinded and deaf, disoriented, kicking holes in the ground. It charged randomly around, clumsily enough that the men could dive out of the way. Hubert watched as a sudden green beam came from Agent Bob’s weapon. Piercing straight through the mass, lighting a fire in the wheat behind it, making it arch in shock and pain. Agent Warren fired his weapon and the same happened. The mass was wounded internally now, slower, the beams seemed to have crippled it.

“Should be good enough for the men to finish,” Agent Bob said before he and Agent Warren put their weapons away, back into the black suits. The soldiers fired on until they reloaded and fired more. Despite getting slower, still, it wouldn’t die. The captain watched in morbid fascination. He crossed over the sand bags, watching it stumble and crawl and wriggle as the bullets flew into it over and over again. Gushing blood and flesh ripping from all sides. He kept his distance, then produced a grenade. Whispering something before carefully tossing it in front of the mass, letting its massive blood covered body flop forward. It acted as a cover, the grenade went off while surrounded by thick flesh. It shook with a boom, then blood gushed from under it, the arms stopped flailing, the legs stopped kicking, the mouth didn’t whine and what eyes that were left were glossy and lifeless. It was dead.

“Holy shit” Hubert said. “They got him!”

“They did well, but don’t count your chickens just yet Professor!” Agent Warren noticed that a drone had risen out of the saucer. It was round, the size of a football with several glowing orbs around a main metal body. Under were small intricate limbs that looked as if they were for grasping small things. The drone rose, then hovered for a moment, and then it sparked, shook and died. Falling on the saucer and rolling over with a metallic thud onto the dead wheat. Then there was stirring in the hole of the saucer. Dirt was moving. The captain spun two fingers and the men understood, cocking, then raising their smoking guns they crouched and approached cautiously. Not daring to go past ten yards. A hand rose from the black dirt.

“My God, it’s an alien,” someone said.

The grey hand was joined by another. It had long fingers, swelled joints. Pulling up, a head came next. A large, grey colored head with two big black oval eyes glistening the way a mouse’s eyes do. It rose from the scorched pit, a thin body, with thin legs. It coughed with a mouth, Hubert thought he saw teeth. The blood landed with a slimy splat, it was metallic green, nearly black. The Alien rose, it was hunching, trying to stand on its own but too weak.

“What do we do?” Hubert asked Agent Bob quietly. Not darling to taking his eyes off the Alien.

“We pray to god it’s as bad off as it looks,” Agent Bob replied, his hand inside his pocket, firmly clutching his weapon. Everyone had their guns on it. No one wanted to shoot. Afraid of what may happen. Of being the first to fight something beyond earth and everything known to mankind.

The alien blinked slowly, like a frog, it looked around, focusing on the closest soldier. Its eyes narrowed, squinted, seemingly in anger. The man jumped, stumbling backwards, he quickly regained his balance, focusing his rifle again. In a moment that was too fast the alien was holding something. A long device laid partly on the ground, seemingly from no where since it appeared to be naked. The device was shaped to be something like a rifle. Part of it glowed an unnatural yellow that pulsed. There was no telling what it could do. Posturing itself it stood uneasy, then tried to point the object.

“Semper fi!” The captain shouted, firing his side arm while all the men shot in fear, riddling bullets towards the Alien. It was Hubert and the men in black who noticed first that the bullets had no effect. They seemed to bounce off some invisible surface like spitballs on a window. The men kept on firing until clicks were heard all around. So many bullets were fired that they had dug out some of the scorched dirt from around the alien. Who was unharmed, they couldn’t hurt it. Then it laughed.

It seemed, to them, that it was laughing. Heaving somewhat. Even the men who knew nothing about science or space or education knew it was laughing. A slight repeated jerk in its chest and stomach. It was laughing at them and their attempts. The most powerful army on earth was flinging pebbles at it. The men were terrified. Hubert believed in God, however this thing was turning everything he believed in, into questions. The alien heaved and held its stomach. Laughing so hard that the pathetic humans, that it vomited a burst of dark purple liquid that boiled on the ground.

The men readied to fight on, reloading, but it didn’t matter. The alien, despite its advanced nature and its humor could not change reality. It could not raise its weapon nor pull its organs back to a healthy state. It dropped the device. Then its legs gave, buckled forward. It nearly collapsed on the ground. Coughed more bubbling purple liquid. Hubert was sure it was some mixture of shredded organs and bile, ugly purple visceral, this time it vomited all over itself. Trailing down its thin grey body. The alien kneeled, woozy, its dark eyes lost their focus, turning cataracted with milky white hues in seconds. A hand reached, attempting to brace, but it didn’t. The Alien fell forward and died on the ground.

“Professor Hubert Williams, time to get to work” Agent Bob said.