Chapter 9:

9-15-2013

Entry No. 21

"You cannot invade mainland United States. There would be a rifle behind each blade of grass."

It was some Japanese guy from World War 2 who said that, I think it was one of the leaders of their army who saw nothing but idiocy in what the dolts had done at Pearl Harbor, but it rang true when the Aliens decided to gun for DC, after they'd taken Maryland and had effectively sealed off Virginia from the rest of the country.

I think the Aliens wanted a show, because three of their ships came down from orbit miles away from DC proper, they started flying in like they owned the god damn place. Well, they got a show, unbeknownst to them we've been spending the last three weeks hooking up massive anti-aircraft batteries to the rooftop of every building in the commonwealth. I myself helped out with five or six, and managed to secure two or three extra crates of ammunition for the cannons, and a missile or two for the launchers.

Anyways, after we figured out they were coming, we covered them all in camouflage tarp, the kind we use to shield our vehicles from satellite/thermal/IR imaging satellites. It had to be one of the fastest, most organized movements in US Military history, in literally an hour we had over ten thousand AA Guns hidden and ready to go. Actually, there had to be more than that, had to be.

So, the aliens ride in and settle themselves right above the Capitol Building, Independence Day style, and demand the United States' complete and unconditional surrender.

So what do we do?

Fucking General Whatsisname himself goes on camera, flips the aliens The Bird, and tells them 'America, united, respectfully declines your request, and asks you to leave our home within- now.' Literally giving them no time before all of those tarps are ripped off of the guns and the guns open fire.

Ten Thousand AA Guns on less than a half dozen space ships. Even with quantum-crypto-force field technology, nothing can survive that. All three ships went down in ten minutes, America won.

For all of six hours, before a lotof aliens started storming the Virginian borders. We've been fighting in DC tooth and nail for three weeks, now. We've still got a generally Human-controlled National Mall, though the aliens are pressing hard from all sides. The FOB 'Washington', named so for the enormous monument literally right next to us, is pretty much the last of two bases in the commonwealth, the last of two bastions of Human resistance in the soon-to-be conquered nation.

Also, though I very much doubt anyone reading this knows what I'm talking about – and can't look it up because I doubt the internet will still be working when this is all over – but I heard Chekhov's Gun getting loaded back in June... Never figured out what wall to be looking at 'till now, though.

He sat in the dark, night-covered building, his head leaned against the concrete wall of their impromptu hospital in the middle of the DC FOB. The air thumped and shook almost rhythmically, with the distant impact of mortars both Human and Alien, seeming to inch closer by the hour, yet never truly seeming to win out and finally spill all over FOB Washington. Dust and debris hung in the air, aftermath from the initial orbital bombardments that had preceded the invasion. His uniform was dirty and tattered, covered in dirt on some places and dried blood on others, it was simple enough to get it all off, it just took time, which Corporal McGraw had none of. He currently was in the limbo state between sleep and alertness, the closest thing anyone could get to sleep these days. None of the other soldiers and Marines bothered him, they recognized the patches on his body armor and recognized that he'd been one of the few Rangers to have survived Ohio. They gave him his space, which he appreciated, sleep was a precious commodity, sleep and coffee, neither of which he had gotten much of ever since the Subjugation War had begun.

In truth, the Ranger's mind was only barely in its limbo, he was still cognizant of his surroundings and was thinking deeply on the war. He had been following the news overseas almost religiously, Ukraine and Germany had fallen just the other day, and apparently London had finally gone under siege, the image of Buckingham Palace in flames was being shotgunned all over the internet, and outright rage had followed, rumor had it that the UK's military was considering nuclear options. Worse, that hadn't been the only country to suffer in the months since the war, Japan had outright surrendered days after the fighting had begun, a quarter of Russia had been taken, Switzerland was nearing defeat, a large percentage of Africa had practically been annexed with little initial challenge, Afghanistan had been taken down a month previous, and France was well on its way to defeat, rumor had it that the Invaders were working on Paris just as they were working on DC, locally.

Worse still, the soldier knew, was that the nations he remembered having fallen were barely a fraction of the ones that he didn't remember, from what he'd gathered a practical mass migration was occurring in the lesser-developed countries, however it wasn't a migration of civilians, much the opposite, troops, militaries, anyone who held a gun, they were the ones running, leaving, looking for human-held territories. The news agencies and the internet were ablaze about this, it seemed that anyone who wore a uniform – and even the conscripted ones who didn't – was simply picking up shop and moving, going from one set of trenches to the next. None of the organized militaries wanted to stop the fight, it seemed. It was almost as if all of Humanity's warriors had achieved a hive mind in the last few months, and not a single one of them wanted to stop fighting, it seemed that people were fighting less for their countries, and simply for planet earth. No example of this migration stuck out more to McGraw than the first one he'd heard of: German soldiers leaving Germany, after the country had fallen, to go fight in the Russian front lines; two peoples that had at once been at odds with each other, once on completely opposite sides of the gun, now were fighting to the bloody, bitter end side-by-side.

It was another thing McGraw and many Humans were beginning to figure out, though no one was willing to believe it. As more and more of the un-developed world was lost, and increasingly large amounts of the developed and militarily capable world fell, everyone was beginning to realize that there was no escape from this, there was no 'Human Victory', outside of holding a city or a town against the initial assault. It seemed that the whole of Humanity knew that, in this war, unlike each and every single war any Human had ever waged, no Human would leave the victor, and it seemed that, because of that fact alone, any Human fighting the non-Humans seemed to want to continue fighting, if not to win, but to cause as much annoyance or, preferably, as much trouble as possible for the alien Invaders.

At the end of the day, McGraw thought, I guess that's what I want. He had seen a lot of things in his lifetime, Afghanistan included he had seen a lot of death and a lot of destruction, but as he thought more on it, none of it had really gotten to him until this war, until this battle. Sure, he had lost sleep over things he'd done, but at the end of the day, he had done everything on foreign soil, back when there was 'foreign soil'. Everything he had done and seen in his life, all of the killing, all of the death, all of the destruction, it had all been to prevent exactly what was happening now: The death of the United States, and even though barely more than half of the country was still in working order, if DC fell – and it would – the rest of the country would surrender.

Except... McGraw thought with a smile, maybe for Texas... He thought of Whyte as he wondered how long the lone star state would hold out before it fell. Thinking of his late squadmate brought McGraw's thoughts back to a darker place, back to Ohio.

Fortunately for the Ranger, he got a light shove on the shoulder, which brought him out of limbo quickly. He looked up and saw the dark skinned face of his Sergeant looking at him expectantly, though there was a hint of concern in his steeled eyes.

"You alright, McGraw?"

"Yes sir." Said the Ranger, robotically.

The Sergeant saw through his words, though. "Still thinking about Ohio?" McGraw relented, nodding silently. "Chris, don't think about it, alright? He was in pain, and we couldn't have gotten him to a doctor." He urged.

"I understand that." Said McGraw, blankly, "but it doesn't give me peace."

The Sergeant stayed silent for a few moments out of respect, eventually taking up solace with his fellow Ranger and sitting beside him against the wall. "Did you hear? Apparently we liberated a massive POW camp, whole bunch of Uniforms practically came streaming into FOB's Washington and Olympus just yesterday."

"Really?" Commented McGraw, "guess that's something." He said honestly, "we get any word on numbers?"

"Anywhere from five to ten thousand, rumors are saying, problem is the guys aren't taking no for an answer when the orders are 'wait for further orders'." Fuller explained, "I heard it took them not an hour to find the trenches before they were off again, now they've practically gone MIA again."

"Ain't that 'bout a bitch?" Chuckled McGraw, before he cracked his neck, mostly out of nothing else to do than out of any discomfort. "Reminds me of the Soviets back during World War Two, they'd conscript their soldiers, point 'em at a battlefield and tell 'em 'Find a weapon and a uniform, good luck!'."

"Yeah, well, difference being -" Fuller's phone vibrated, interrupting him. Ever since half of the US had fallen, 'personal calls' had become a thing of the past, the only ones who had Special Forces Operators' numbers were squad-mates and higher ups, Fuller answered the phone and conversed with the man on the other end for a few moments, before he cut the line and got to his feet. "We've got to go, man." He said, "new orders, straight from the top."

"Oh?" McGraw looked up from the ground and clasped the hand Fuller offered him, and hauled himself to his feet.

"Keep this on the down low, but DC's done, top brass made the call." Fuller said lowly, "we're done, surrendering." McGraw's eyes went wide, "the United States has lost, the Invaders took the white house, and are tearin' through the mall as we speak. The Chiefs of staff are going to make the address tomorrow, when they expect there to be total loss of life."

"Expect it? It's been three days and the Invaders haven't moved an inch, how do they know we'll all be gone by tomorrow?" McGraw almost shouted, though he restrained himself as he leaned down and snatched up his battered helmet.

"They're going to drop the bomb." Said Fuller, "they're wiping DC off the map and handing the rest of the country over in the morning."

McGraw wanted to shout in defiance, ask if Fuller's intel was solid, but something in him refused to donate its energy to let him fight this, this smallest of anything he'd fought. "Shit." He settled on, leaning against the wall. "This is actually happening..." He slipped on his helmet, "three hundred years of history, dying in a big bright flash and a big dark cloud." He thought for a moment, sighing deeply. "I think I'm ready for that." He said, honestly, before something occurred to him. "How did you get all this in a forty second phone call?"

"I didn't, that was Sanders telling me it was time to roll out."

"Oh."

"And, I hate to burst your bubble, Chris, but you ain't gettin' a fiery death, not today." Fuller said, "we've got orders, remember?"

"What're they?"

"Top brass is conducting some joint operation with the SEALs, the SAS and the Spetsnaz, something about a strike-back, but they need alien transportation to do it." The Sergeant explained.

"Strike-back? What the hell are they going to do, go to Home and fuck ET's wife?" McGraw chuckled.

"You're actually not that far from the mark." Said Fuller, causing McGraw to blink. "They let me in on the mission details, probably so I'd know how important it was and so we'd know not to fuck it up, but apparently they've got intel that says some of the space ships in orbit are leaving our solar system." He explained, beckoning for McGraw to follow him. "From what they've gathered, the Invaders are going somewhere pretty important, they keep referring to a 'carson', or whatever, but we figure that if it's in alien territory, we can at least give 'em a pretty nasty bruise if we get our guys there."

"How do we plan to get our guys there?" McGraw asked, "they've been destroying all the space-strips on earth, and all the launch platforms we've got out at sea... They even tore down Seattle's space needle! So how do we plan on getting our guys to stow away on their ship, hug the bottom?"

"Just a few hours ago our guys hauled in a massive troop-transport vehicle, large enough to do what the Spec Ops want to, their plan is to get that, bring it to some secret base out in the middle of nowhere in Russia, and launch themselves out into orbit with it." Fuller explained, ripping a pair of rifles off of the ground, right where the two had left them earlier the previous day, and handing McGraw's battered and beaten weapon to him.

"Won't the aliens notice?"

"Not if we transmit their friend or foe codes, they won't." Said Fuller, "I don't know the specifics about this one, but the word 'AI' got tossed around a lot over the phone when they were talking about what happens after we drop off the shuttle. So I guess some government's been holding out on us, or it was a code-name."

"Alright, so... What's our job? And why didn't they get the SEALs, or the Deltas to do it?" McGraw wondered, as the two Rangers paused in their journey, right next to the exit to the hospital.

"Our job is simple: We're sky-car jacking the aliens, and they wanted us because we're airborne Rangers, a handful of the fistfull left, and you've flown one of those things before." Fuller said, bluntly.

McGraw blinked, "wait, what? They chose us because I've 'flown' one of the alien ships before? Sarge, I was impaled in the stomach and was high on morphine, I'm still surprised I didn't kill myself! Damn it, I crashed into a VTOL for Christ's sake!" He argued, in shock that they'd been tapped for a one-time fluke. "Why not get an air-force guy to do it?"

"Because we're trying to get ready for a mass military evacuation. Any forces that don't want to stay and fight the guerrilla war's going to get moved redeployed elsewhere." Fuller responded, forcefully, "that includes any mechanical assets we can easily evacuate, tanks, jeeps, humvees, jets, helicopters, our primary concern is manpower but we want to bring our bulk with us too."

"To where?"

"Anywhere, son." Said Fuller, "what will most likely happen is we'll spread out, a lot of us might end up in China, or Russia, maybe even Germany or Iraq, hell, I've heard reports that Italy's requesting us for when we start migrating."

"Over two million soldiers, not counting conscripts, just... Moving?" McGraw couldn't believe it, and yet, in the back of his mind, he realized he could. "Christ." He checked the magazine in his rifle and then the ones in his tactical vest, he was fully outfitted. "These aliens have just done what dozens of nations and a half million books and video games have dreamed of... They just beat the superpower." He said, chuckling despite himself. "Fuck." He finally settled upon.

"Ain't that the truth?" Fuller agreed, before he too settled upon, "fuck."

The two stalled for just a few moments longer, enjoying the peaceful, serene near-silence of the hospital before they turned to the doors leading outside, but fate had other ideas for them, for when Sanders' hand touched the door, it burst open, a Marine scrambling inside, sporting several wounds in his abdomen and one in his shoulder, all bleeding heavily.

"Damn!" McGraw made to grab the Marine but the Marine wouldn't have it, he turned around and slammed himself into the doors, forcing them to shut with a loud bang. "Private, what the hell's -"

The Marine's head whipped around, eyes wide and nearly blood-shot as he shouted in as loud a whisper as he could, "shut up, shut up!"

Immediately the two Rangers knew something was up, as the Marine finally lost his balance and slid down the door, leaving a trail of blood smeared upon it. McGraw thought he could hear muffled gunshots outside, but his attention was stolen by the Sergeant.

"McGraw, get a medic!" Shouted Fuller, abandoning his friendlier half for the 'combat-mode' Sergeant many knew him as.

"Ack-" McGraw almost completed his acknowledgment and turned to rush into the hospital, but the Marine grabbed his ankle, forcing him to stay.

"No! No!" He said, "they're here!" He groaned as the blood continued oozing out.

Fuller acknowledged the Marine's decision and kneeled down to face him, as McGraw turned to face them both, absolutely aware of the hairs that were standing up on the back of his neck.

"The Invaders!" The Marine groaned, "the Brutes, the four eyed ones, they're here!"

"What do you mean, Private?" The Sergeant demanded, accepting the hand that was desperately reaching out for some sort of support.

The Marine clenched Fuller's hand with a steel grip, as if his point would be made all the clearer if he gripped harder. "The Invaders... They're wearing our uniforms!" He said, spastically, hurriedly, "they're here, they're in our uniforms and they're here! Some kind of spec-ops, they have to be!"

"You're telling me the FOB is compromised?!" Fuller summarized, to the nods of the Marine.

"They're using suppressed weapons, don't want to make noise until it's too late!" The Marine rushed, though he trailed off when his eyes widened.

McGraw didn't even need to take the hint, the second the Marine looked past the two of them he'd realized what had happened, and he ripped his rifle through the air, jamming it against his shoulder before he'd even finished his one hundred and eighty degree revolution. He saw three figures, all at the edge of the hallway, all in US Army uniforms, all with vaguely Human shapes, McGraw almost didn't fire, but then he noticed their four eyes and thicker stature, two dead giveaways, both giving the Ranger cause enough to fire his rifle-mounted grenade. The resultant explosion incinerated the Invaders before they had even realized what had happened, and Fuller wasted no time as chaos seemed to erupt all across the FOB.

"We've got to move!" He roared, snatching his rifle from the ground and quickly making sure his helmet was fastened to his head. "The shuttle's right next to the monument, let's go, let's go!" He shouted to McGraw, before he hijacked the Squad's radio-waves and provided the same orders for Sanders and Allen.

McGraw and Fuller had all of six seconds before the Chaos erupted in its truest form, with the aliens revealing their turn-coat nature and the Humans scrambling to arm themselves and find defensive positions. The Rangers, McGraw and Fuller, moved continually, several times avoiding being cornered by abusing the aliens' newfound, crippling weakness: Their technology, or, specifically, the lack thereof.

McGraw had realized in their first hiccup during their sprint to the Washington Monument that the aliens didn't have energy shields, and moreover were not wearing Kevlar, or any other type of body armor, most likely forsaking even their own armor to look as 'Human' as possible. Unwittingly the aliens placed themselves on an even playing field with the Humans with this stunt, technologically speaking, their only advantage being that their rifles essentially had 'limitless' ammunition, but even then, McGraw had only to revert to his ingrained Army training to counter this: He shot at their center of mass, their chest. He did this – and instructed his Sergeant to do this – because of the fact that the aliens had, for everything save for their weapons, downgraded themselves to World War 2 era-levels of protection, all they had was their skin and the clothes on their back.

One would be led to believe that all of these suddenly introduced weaknesses would lead to the aliens' downfall, but they still held a very important advantage: Surprise. They had taken the Humans completely by surprise with this stunt, and worse, they were utilizing a proven method of warfare, used by all Humans: camouflage. While they weren't using any sort of space-age hologram projector that would make them look outwardly Human, their outfits and other such additions to their persons – such as Patrol Caps, helmets, gloves, and so on – turned them from massive, hulking, alien creatures, to far more-Human appearing soldiers, which turned the battle from 'shoot at the enemy, who you can easily recognize' to 'return fire only to those who have fired upon you'. In essence, the only ones in the battlefield who truly knew who they were fighting and how to fight them, were the very people that the defenders could not afford to lose against.

Worse still was that McGraw and Fuller, in their desperate gambit to refuse to cease moving, were essentially removing their valuable skills from the playing field. As it was, FOB Washington was more or less empty, all of their men save for a few Special Forces teams and some reserve troops had been deployed to the frontlines, essentially meaning that, as long as the aliens poured men into the base, they would take it. Adding in their element of surprise, and the loss of the base was inevitable, this here was a battle where every fighting man would be worth double his weight in gold, and here were four men that were bred and trained to fight better than every fighting men, doing their best to run.

In McGraw's eyes, it was unacceptable, he simply hoped that this 'Strike-Back' was worth it, worth the moral cost of abandoning his nation's capitol to its fate.

The Ranger was ripped from his thoughts when their run to the Washington Monument ended, they saw in the distance what was very obviously their target, it was a shuttle the size and shape of an aerodynamic Winnebago. Fortunately for them, it seemed that the other two men from their squad were already there, ready to go, but unfortunately for them, the two were being engaged by a half dozen Humans.

Wait... What?! "Sergeant, possible -"

"Turn-Coats!" Fuller interrupted, not caring for the details, "put 'em down!" He roared, taking a few shots as the two rushed to cover.

McGraw slammed into one of the stone columns surrounding the monument, well aware of the bullets that whizzed past him by millimeters, barely missing him. The veteran Ranger found he couldn't wrap his mind around what he was seeing, so, like he did with all situations like this, he didn't. Instead of focusing on the fact that he was about to engage American Men – Humans above all else – in American Uniforms, he focused on the fact that the enemies were shooting at his buddies, which, above everything, was not something he would stand for. So, his resolve steeled, McGraw waited for the singular momentary break in fire that he needed to break cover, take aim, and fire.

He got a hard look at his target as he whirled around cover and centered his sights on the man's chest, the Human wore a uniform that was obviously two sizes too small for him, and was wielding his weapon in a foreign manner. Most Humans would, when given a rifle, clench it with a white-knuckled grip and would wield it, either as if it were a foreign object to be feared righteously, or was an extension of themselves to be trusted almost implicitly. Here, however, as McGraw squeezed off a four round burst from his rifle, he saw that the Human he was firing at seemed to be wielding the rifle almost dully, as if he was numb in body and in spirit and was simply acting on impulse. The Human, who fell to the ground, bleeding, because of the well placed rounds that pierced his heart, hadn't been moving sluggishly, as others without training would, but he wasn't moving with the precise accuracy of anyone with training, either, in the few instants McGraw had to observe him before he put the man down and moved onto his oblivious friend, the only words McGraw could put to the Human's handling of his weapon were: Dull, and Foreign.

In all honesty, he realized as he put two rounds into the head and chest of a second Human, and then slammed back into cover when he felt a round whiz past his ear, and scrape across his arm, their handling of weaponry reminded him of the Brutes.

The firefight continued for all of eighty seconds, with Fuller and McGraw both leaving with only minor scrapes and injuries, nothing to worry about. They called and counter signed with their squad and regrouped.

"Sitrep!" The Sergeant ordered Allen as Sanders worked to open up the shuttle.

"Sergeant, you're not going to believe this but we've got a pilot!" Allen began with.

McGraw didn't miss a beat, "Permission to speak freely!" He shouted to Fuller.

"Granted!"

McGraw, dramatically, fell to his knees and clasped his hands together. "Thank, fucking, Christ!"

"Shut up, Corporal!" Roared the Sergeant, though they all saw the grin plastered onto his face. "Allen, you've got us a pilot for the shuttle?"

"Affirmative, he's getting the thing ready as we speak. You don't need to know how we got him, you just need to trust us that he'll work, all he needs is a co-pilot."

"Fuck!" Cried McGraw, as he got back to his feet, to be ordered inside the shuttle by the Sergeant, along with everyone else.

The shuttle roared to life as McGraw ambled inside, he turned around and pulled Allen, who accepted his help and moved to the side. McGraw reached out for Fuller as the engines picked up in pitch, Fuller grabbed McGraw's hand and as McGraw hauled the Sergeant inside, the Sergeant twitched, as if something had hit him. Fuller's momentum carried him into the shuttle, where he limply fell to the ground with a loud thud.

McGraw was stunned into silence as he watched the blood trail out of the wound at the base of his spine, right where it connected to his skull. The sergeant didn't groan, he didn't even twitch as the last electrical impulses from his brain surfed through his dying body, alien ammunition was designed like a hollow point round, it was meant to enter and shred, not pierce and exit. The alien slug had shattered upon impact with Fuller's spine, and had shredded his brain upon impact with it, if there was anything left in the man, it was rapidly fleeting.

"Take off..." McGraw said, before he snapped out of it and ran into the cockpit of the massive shuttle. "Take off god -" He was frozen at the sight of an alien at the pilot's seat, deftly and desperately manipulating the console as he tried to take off single-handedly; this alien was not like the others, but McGraw didn't focus on that, what he focused on was that he was Human and this thing wasn't. "DAMN IT!" McGraw ripped his sidearm out of its holster, forgetting completely about his rifle. "Contact!" He shoved his pistol right into the skull of the alien and was already squeezing the trigger when Sanders came racing in, smacking McGraw's hand out of the way so the bullet would just miss the alien.

"McGraw, no!"

"What the fuck Joe?!" The Ranger demanded, fighting Sanders' extended grip to bring the pistol back onto bear against the cursing alien, as the shuttle lurched underneath them, throwing them both off balance. McGraw regained his balance first and took aim again, but he didn't fire. "What the fuck is this!?" He looked at Sanders, "who the fuck are you!?" He roared at the alien, who gave him a quick glance but went back to manipulating the shuttle, trying to keep it in the air without assistance.

"McGraw, that's our pilot!"

"Bullshit it is!" McGraw yelled as he felt the spacecraft pick up speed. "It's a god damn alien! The very same kind that is trying to make us extinct!" He roared, more at the alien than at the Human, "his kind just killed Fuller!"

"McGraw, listen to me and put the gun down! He's a friendly, trust me!"

"I trust you, not him!" McGraw resisted the urge to lean in close, "alien! Do you speak English?!"

"I want help!" The alien said in broken English, and in a tone not at all deep like the other aliens.

"You're not fucking getting any!" McGraw roared, months of mental stress pouring out of him and focusing on this one creature.

"I want help Humans!" The gecko-creature pleaded.

This gave McGraw pause, but didn't do anything to abate his anger. "What the fuck are you talking about?!" He demanded, as the shuttle climbed into the air.

"I..." The Gecko struggled for the words he didn't have, "I want help Humans!" He settled on. "Hike Masters!"

McGraw stared at the alien, "what?!"

The Gecko looked at Sanders over its shoulder for an instant, its enormous eyes pleading for some kind of help, which the Ranger delivered. "McGraw, the Invaders work off of some kind of Slave economy, the Gecko is one of those slaves." He explained.

"And how the fuck did you figure this out?!"

"He had a translator, but you shot it." Sanders nodded to the creature's bleeding hand.

"That's my job, Joe! A job I should fucking finish!" He said, emphasizing the last words though he knew the alien couldn't understand them.

"Chris!" Sanders pleaded, as Allen joined them. "Trust me, he's a friendly!"

"How the hell do you know? How the hell do you know if he's not just some kind of turn-coat slave soldier like the Humans we just had to kill?!" Demanded the higher-ranking NCO, as he refused the urge to throw his helmet off, if only because he didn't feel safe next to the bipedal, sentient Gecko right next to him.

"McGraw, just..." Sanders looked to Allen, who had an idea.

"McGraw, you remember the caves? Back in oh-eight?" Allen asked.

McGraw stared Allen down, slowly descending into silence as he nodded, remembering exactly what Allen was talking about.

"This is the exact same thing. We nearly shot this guy just like we nearly shot Tadesh, it's all practically the same thing, the only difference being his DNA." The Ranger said, "you'll have to trust us now as you trusted Fuller then... And if it turns out we're wrong, you can lay us out when we regroup in the Pit." The Ranger said with a grin.

McGraw sighed, pressing his hand against his head, about to comment when their 'friend' began making loud, panicked noises. "Human!" It pleaded, "help! Human! Help!" He pointed to the co-pilot seat.

Fitfully, McGraw took the seat and tried his best to wing it, taking up the controls and helping to stabilize the spacecraft as they rocketed through the air at break-neck speeds. He looked to the other Humans aboard, "he knows where we're going?" He asked, Sanders nodded. "When we get there, I swear on Fuller's grave, I'm going to punch him so hard that fuck-stick Alien Leader will feel it." He growled, making it evident in his tone that he was speaking to and about the alien.

Sanders and Allen, on the other hand, were relieved that their buddy had calmed down. "Alright, you do that, man." Said Sanders, as Allen went back to finish situating Fuller's body. "I'll see you in a few hours." He added, before he joined Allen.

Entry No. 21 (Cont.)

I am literally writing this as that Gecko thing is right next to me, handling the controls for the next hour in a poorly translated exchange for bandages for his wound.

Fuller is dead.

Whyte's been dead.

In a few hours, pretty much everyone in Washington DC will be dead.

A day after that, the United States of America will have died.

As Fuller so succinctly put it:

Fuck.

"Human, human, human!" The Gecko cried, getting louder with each repetition, resorting to kicking the target of his words with his final utterance. "Human!"

"What the fuck?!" The Human in question was awake in a second, pistol in hand and pointed at the alien, "what the fuck do you want, Geico?" Demanded McGraw, using his pet-name for the creature, in place of the creature's 'real' name, which he couldn't remember or pronounce, though he hadn't really tried to.

"Humans!" The Gecko-creature repeated, motioning to the holographic dashboard of the shuttle.

"Yes, asshole, this is Earth, we are Humans, we will kill your people until there are none of us left." McGraw leaned back in his chair, "I've still got five minutes, let me at least try to get to -" He was cut off when he heard, both through the shuttle's radio and his own, Human voices. They were speaking in a language he didn't recognize, but McGraw could guess. "Open the windshield!" He ordered, looking for a button he could press and pray.

Miraculously, his third button worked and the shades on the shuttle's windshields opened up, greeting them to a massive, mountainous landscape. For a moment McGraw thought he had been hearing things, but then two jets passed in front of their own craft, obviously in a threatening gesture. McGraw recognized them immediately: Russian Fighter craft.

"Fuck." McGraw raised his voice, "guys, we've got a problem!" He called back into the cabin, Sanders and Allen arrived a half second later.

"What?"

"The former Soviets want to make good on their promises!" McGraw roared over the radio, "who here speaks Russian?!"

"Fuller does!" Allen said, "fuck!" He realized immediately alongside the other two Rangers.

"Who has their phone?" Sanders asked hurriedly, as another warning went out over the radio, accompanied by a rushed chorus of 'Humans!' from Geico.

"Shut up, Geico!" McGraw roared, "my phone shattered back in Georgia, replacement hasn't been a concern for a while."

"My contract expired." Allen supplied.

"Are you shitting me?" Sanders and McGraw shouted almost simultaneously.

"Okay... Okay okay..." McGraw tried to get an idea. "Uh... Does..." His head snapped up as another warning, this one louder than the others, broadcast itself. "Does anyone know Morse code?!"

"Yes!" Allen shouted, taking a step forward when McGraw looked to the alien.

"Geico, where is the fucking radio?" He asked, the alien looked at him blankly. "Humans!" The Gecko seemed to understand this, "talk!" He pointed outside. "Or we die!" He indicated his gun.

The Gecko must have gotten some idea of what McGraw was saying, because it started nodding furiously and pointed at the center of the dashboard, "humans! Humans!"

"Holy shit, he's actually useful!" Laughed McGraw, as he grabbed the first thing that looked like a microphone and handed it to Allen.

For lack of any better option, Allen took out his knife and held the microphone up to it as he tapped it against a metal surface in the shuttle, making a loud enough 'ting' noise that there was no way the jets couldn't hear it. Several minutes went by in silence, only the repeated taps and tings of Allen's hasty Morse code breaking the silence.

Finally, Russian voices came over the radio, this time speaking English. "Acknowledged, Rangers, follow us to the landing zone."

The tension seemed to vanish in the cabin as the Humans inside realized what had just happened, they all broke into cheers as the jets took up positions in front of them and guided them in to land in a clear patch of snow. The ruse was quickly lifted when they coasted behind the jets and entered a massive, mountainous complex filled with the hustle and bustle of activity, with multitudes of uniforms from various nations being amongst the workers.

When the shuttle finally stopped, the cheers finally stopped, and even the alien seemed to be joyous for a moment, until the sound of a bone-cracking impact resounded through the shuttle, followed by the alien thudding against the dash.

"I fucking warned you, Geico! You can't say I didn't!" McGraw said, victoriously, as he nursed his throbbing, tired fist.

"Who the fuck's Geico?"

Entry No. 21 (End)

Ask and you shall receive:

I asked for an assload of Vodka.

The Russians delivered.

I asked to drink myself stupid after Whyte, and asked to drink myself out after Fuller.

The blessed Russians delivered.

I barely remember anything after handing off the alien, giving the shuttle to the Task Force, and being given the night off by the base's resident American Officer. I think I remember seeing a big fucking bomb, though, but that might be a booze-fueled dream.

Speaking of which:

I very much like Vodka.

I very much like Russia.

I very much hate hangovers.