Alien Nightmare, Part II: The Return
by 80sarcades
Welcome back! The investigation begins...
Side note: although I used a '/' mark in the description of this story (since removed) I would like to say that Hogan and Kinch have no relationship beyond being friends. Thanks to the wonderfully talented Missy the Least for pointing the error out!
Also, due to a review left in another story, I feel compelled to offer the following warning: This chapter contains one (past tense) minor canon character demise as well as two wholly unnecessary and completely pointless deaths of bit characters whose apostrophic names will never be repeated. Just keeping you informed:-)
Have a nice day!
The Investigation, Part I:
The bright sunlight reflecting off the hot tarmac caused General Hogan to blink several times as he exited the aircraft. A Brigadier General, his silver stars gleaming underneath the desert sun, stood nearby with his aide-de-camp. Parked just beyond them were a set of green-colored cars and their enlisted drivers.
Hogan paused, his eyes taking in the spartan scene, before letting a long breath escape his thin lips.
I have a really bad feeling about all of this. Automatically, his force of will propelled him down the short ladder to greet the other officers.
As per protocol, salutes were exchanged. Hogan noted the subtle, yet narrowed, glance General Hammond threw toward his colored aide. Only the presence of the other men - much less the enlisted personnel - kept the senior officer from snapping at the junior one. Verbally, at least.
He's an Army officer, for God's sake! he internally raged. He was putting his life on the line for me while you were sitting on your butt in a cozy office somewhere! Captain Kinchloe, as usual, was unperturbed about it all.
How does he do that?
It was another reason - among others - that he admired the former enlisted man. For the moment Hogan put the unpleasant situation aside before shaking hands with his fellow officer.
"Good to see you, Bobby," Hogan said cheerfully before another fact gratefully entered his mind. "How's Claire?"
"Good, as always," General Hammond replied quickly. His eyes quickly darted down to General Hogan's left hand. "Surprised you're not married yet."
"Oh, they try," Hogan dryly replied. In truth - amazing as it was - he had had few relationships since 1945. Sometimes, in his darker moments, he wondered what would have happened had Tiger survived the war.
But she didn't. She survived everything the Krauts threw at her only to get run over by a truck. A lousy truck!
It's not fair. But what is?
Add to that the nightmares that continued to plague him...
Let's just say I've been close friends with a beer bottle, Bob, and leave it at that.
"This way, sir." General Hammond gestured towards the nearby automobiles. The driver was nothing if not efficient; the two senior officers had barely made themselves comfortable in the backseat before the car hurtled its way down the airstrip. The two aides, following behind in the second car, struggled to catch up. Hogan eyed them through the back glass before glancing over at his peer.
"So what's the story?" he asked, turning to business. "According to the papers you've got everything from a weather balloon to a foo fighter somewhere out here."
Hammond shook his head. "General, all I can really say is that it's the strangest thing I've ever seen," he said candidly. The Major General raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
"Is it Russian? Something else?" For a brief moment an image of Marya entered his mind's eye; he just as quickly shoved it away.
That's the last thing I need right now!
"No, it's not Russian," the Brigadier General responded. "I can tell you that for sure."
"How do you know?" Hogan pressed.
"Because if it is, we're in big trouble," Hammond's voice replied dryly. The rest of the short trip passed in silence.
Minutes later, the two cars pulled up before an olive drab airplane hangar. The only thing that separated it outwardly from its nearby brethren were the presence of Military Police - some in jeeps with .30 caliber mounts - that surrounded the large building. Those nearest the Generals snapped to attention and saluted as the officers exited the car. The two aides, meanwhile, finally caught up with their respective bosses. As their car squealed to a stop Hammond turned to Hogan.
"I can have Captain Michaels take your aide on a sightseeing tour," he suggested politely. Despite his calm tone, Hogan picked up the verbal stress on the word aide. "This might not be the right place for either of them right now-"
"I trust Captain Kinchloe with my life, General," Hogan interrupted quietly, putting his own emphasis on the next-to-last word. "Besides, I'd tell him whatever I saw anyway."
General Hammond stiffened slightly but otherwise showed no other reaction. "Yes, sir," he nodded. With that, the four officers entered the building through the side door. Hogan had barely stepped into the shaded interior when his eyes caught their first glimpse of the object that lay within. He slowed, then stopped; for one of the few times in his life he could say he was completely surprised by what he saw.
The wrecked remains of a blue-green ship - what the hell else could I call it? - lay on the floor of the large hangar. Parts, presumably from the strange craft, lay scattered about in organized rows; the ship itself dominated the large empty space. General Hogan turned to a now-smirking Hammond.
"Like I said, strange," the General commented.
"That's the understatement of the year," Hogan breathed before his voice returned to normal. "Where did you find it?"
"Rancher called it in two days ago," Hammond explained. "We actually caught a break on that one. He and some of his hands were out on a remote section when they saw a trail of debris. The guy actually thought it was one of ours until he saw the crew."
Hogan slowly turned his head towards his fellow General. "The crew?" he parroted.
"Yeah," Hammond said slowly. "They have to be seen to be believed." The Major General raised an eyebrow. He was about to speak when the other officer interrupted.
"Take a look at this." With Hogan and the aides in tow he walked over to one of the lines of debris and to a jagged, almost squarish section of colored metal. He tapped the panel with his wedding ring; a metallic sound echoed loudly around the capacious hangar.
"It looks like metal, right?" he asked rhetorically. "Acts like it too. But if you do this..."
With that, he pushed his hands into the metal plate for thirty seconds before he pulled away. Hogan and Kinch were impressed - even awed - to see the distinct impressions of handprints in the seemingly hard metal. After a few seconds the material returned to normal.
"All of it is like that," Hammond said. "We tried cutting some of this with a blowtorch." He shook his head. "No luck. We can't even leave a burn mark on the stuff."
Hogan whistled softly before he bent down to touch the metal himself. The surface felt almost like cold skin to his disbelieving fingers. To Hammond's visible annoyance he invited Kinch to try his own hand at it before both men stood back up. The senior officer looked at the craft once more.
"And everyone believes this is a weather balloon?" he muttered, shaking his head. The base commander snorted.
"Fortunately, we were lucky," he replied. "That PIO nearly fouled up the cover story but it seems to be holding up now. The only other people that really know are the rancher and his hands. We've talked to them. They'll remain quiet."
"The rancher I can see. The hands, I don't," Hogan challenged. "What's to stop them from walking into the nearest bar and talking their heads off?"
A smug, if not evil, grin crossed the other General's face. "Two of the three were in the Army during the war," he explained. "We told them that the minute they talked we'd recall them to active duty and court-martial them for leaking national secrets. The third wasn't in the service but we put a real scare into him. They'll keep their mouths shut."
Hogan raised an eyebrow at the unorthodox tactics but didn't press the issue. Instead, he turned his eyes back to the alien craft.
"What's it look like inside?" the General asked.
"This way." Hammond led them to the port side of the ruined ship. A steel ramp, its gray surface dully bland against the colored skin, led up into the smashed interior. "Watch the cables," he cautioned, pointing to a nest of long cords that snaked up the ramp before disappearing into the forbidding chasm.
With care, the men entered the alien environment. Dim lights set into the walls - some sort of emergency lighting? Hogan wondered - cast a soft greenish glow on the empty corridors. Oddly, the inside of the ship had a distinctly military feel to it. Strange symbols littered the walls here and there; occasionally a colored door would pop up from the lackluster paint job.
I guess the aliens aren't real big on aesthetics, the Major General thought, amused. This kind of looks like something a low-budget Hollywood show would dream up.
Eventually, the group ended up inside a large circular chamber. Unlike the corridors this room was brightly lit. Portable lights lit the ruined expanse with a harsh, almost blinding glare.
"We think this is the bridge," the General explained. A metallic seat, large and oversized, sat mutely in the center of the room. A number of other seats facing various stations ringed the oval chamber. The ones that caught Hogan's attention were located on either side of the center chair. The first one was stained with what looked like a gallon of greenish paint; the other seat - its mounts sticking lewdly at angles out of the ruined base - lay on its side by a smashed and blackened console.
"At this point we're pretty sure there were only three crewmembers on board," Hammond continued. "All of them were found here. We're continuing to search the area for other survivors just in case."
"What kind of area is it?" Hogan asked.
"Not much to it," the one-star replied. "Mostly scrubland. Some houses here and there." He paused for a moment before going on. "However they were flying it, they came in hard. This one," he said, pointing to the stained chair, "was decapitated by debris. The chair over here - the one on the floor - held the second one. The seat mounts apparently failed and sent the alien into the wall. The third one was knocked out but it's alive. We have it in custody now." He paused for a moment before he pointed toward the center chair. "We think the alien occupying this seat - the one that survived - is the captain. Or whatever they call themselves."
"That's a pretty broad assumption," the former POW warned. "How do you figure that one?"
"Two things," the base commander explained. "First, this seat has no console. All of the others have something before them. Secondly, all of the aliens were wearing some kind of pressure suits. Beneath that, they were wearing uniforms of some sort. The alien we have is wearing a gold colored outfit. The dead ones were wearing uniforms that looked like large red shirts." Hammond shook his head. "Guess rank really does have its privileges," he commented, amused by his dry wit.
General Hogan, his eyes fixed on the green-splattered chair, did not immediately reply. Finally, he began to slowly walk around the shattered bridge. None of the ruined instruments, save for the emergency lighting, were active. On impulse, he pressed what looked like flat buttons. To his disappointment nothing responded. He then looked towards the junior General. "Can we figure these out somehow?" he asked, gesturing towards the darkened consoles. "Find anything we can use?"
The other man shook his head slowly. "The eggheads are hopeful, but..." Hammond shrugged. "I wouldn't bet the farm on it. I'm not even sure if we even have the ability to reverse engineer their technology. Besides which, as far as we can tell, almost nothing works. Hell, we don't even know what powers this thing. The engineering section - if that's what it is - is a total wreck along with the rest of the ship."
"Another question," Hogan prompted before his eyes scanned the ruined chairs again. "What do these aliens look like?"
General Hammond's face grimaced involuntarily with all the look of a man eating a moldy sandwich. "They're not something I'd want to run into," he quickly said. "I can summarize it in three words: green, scaly, and ugly." His lips then tightened into a thin, almost humorless grin. "I used to think my mother-in-law was scary, but this..."
By that point General Hogan wasn't listening. Instead, his knowing eyes met Kinch's even as his mind flashed back to August 1946...
"You really need to get married, Kinch," Hogan's voice slurred.
The junior officer smiled wanly as he reached for another frosty beer. "Maybe later," he allowed. "Right now I'd rather just play the field and see what's out there."
"Wrong answer. Try again." The General took a long draw off of his own cold bottle before looking his aide in the eye. "You should be out there right now instead of getting drunk with me," he pointed out. "Its Saturday night. Go find a nice girl and paint the town red. Get plastered. Do something."
"I'd rather stay here," Kinch grinned. "The conversation's more interesting anyway."
"Except I'm not wearing a dress," Hogan pressed. The black Captain chuckled.
"You know, I still remember when those ladies came into camp," he remembered fondly. "Sometimes I'm amazed you got away with that. A lot of other things, too." He leaned his head back and drained the brown bottle before setting the glass container on the nearby table. "If it's all the same to you, I'll stay," the Captain decided. "Better company anyway."
The General paused, then nodded. "Thanks, Kinch," he said, his subdued voice grateful.
"Anytime," his aide softly replied. For a long moment they sat quietly. The duty week had been hard enough on them as it was. Finally, the former radioman broke the silence.
"Rob," he said quietly. "Do you remember that night we saw that strange light? Back in '43?"
"Yeah," Hogan quickly answered, his now-sobered senses on full alert. "I remember. What about it?"
Kinch paused. For a moment it seemed as if he was debating to go further. "I have...dreams," he said finally, haltingly. "About the light."
His boss stared at him curiously. "What kind of dreams?"
"I..." The Captain shook his head. "Never mind," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Forget it."
"Go ahead," Hogan said, his eyes meeting the other man's. "I won't laugh. Or think any less of you. We've been through too much for that."
After a pause, Kinch nodded. "Okay," he said. He drew in a breath before releasing it in one shuddering rush. "Sometimes, I dream about waking up in a room."
Hogan listened, his impassive face saying nothing.
"I can't move," Kinch continued. "Not at all. All I can do is to stare at this gray ceiling over my head. Every so often I hear this strange noise that sounds like crickets but doesn't." He paused for a moment. "And then, this...I don't know what to call it...monster appears over me. At that moment I wake up." A short, almost nervous laugh escaped his throat. "Crazy, huh?"
"A monster," Hogan repeated dully, his gaze suddenly fixed on the far wall. "With red eyes. Green. Looks like a giant lizard." He glanced over at his aide's shocked face.
"It wasn't a dream, Kinch," he said. Oddly enough, a sense of relief descended over his soul.
Somebody else knows.
Thank God!
"That's impossible," the Captain muttered, his distracted gaze floating to a nearby lamp as his mind worked through the contradictions. "We didn't leave the truck. How...?"
"It's true," the General interrupted. His brown eyes rose to meet those of the younger officer. "It wasn't a dream," he repeated, the tone of his somber voice echoing around the living room. "I don't know how, but they kidnapped us..."
A/N: Every generation is different, but the 1940's were a completely different world compared to now. I sometimes wonder how a modern child would have functioned back then without electronics...and how long it would take for their heads to explode. (Personally, I bet twenty minutes). A black aide to a white general way back then would have been received with only slightly more enthusiasm than the plague.
In practice, you can be recalled to active duty by the U.S. Army for a variety of reasons after separating from the service. This is particularly true for those enlisted personnel in the Individual Ready Reserve (IRR) since the military service obligation (MSO) is for eight years. You can serve four years active duty, for instance, and then transfer to the IRR before you finally become a 100% civilian again...in theory.
Jeeps with weapons mounts were nothing new. Practically everything short of heavy artillery were tested on the frames. However, only the lighter (and smaller) automatic weapons (.30 caliber, etc.) were of practical use. You know us guys: bigger supposedly looks better even if we can't get it to work!
PIO: Public Information Officer. A spokesman, in other words.
Yes, I know: Spock and McCoy wore blue uniforms in Star Trek. However, I couldn't resist a redshirt joke;-)
Thanks for reading!