The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

Despite the travel itinerary they got from General Collier’s aide, it was decided the best way to get from Washington, D.C. to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, was to drive. The distance was only about 140 miles, and the roads were decent. The car was much quieter than a cargo plane cabin with its constant engine and prop noise so it was feasible for Blunt and Hoffman to continue their efforts to mentally talk with Whatsit. Blunt was the most adept communicator because he had spent the most one-on-one time with Whatsit since the day he captured him, but Diane was catching up. Tom LeBlanc joined in the efforts as a way of alleviating boredom during the drive.

Since he had visited the Carlisle Army Barracks several times in his career, LeBlanc took the wheel. Whatsit, wearing his Sombrero outfit, was in the front passenger seat leaving Jim and Diane to share the backseat. They decided to play a silent ‘Count the Cows’ game as they drove through the Maryland and Pennsylvania countrysides, concentrating their thoughts on the simple task of finding cows and counting them.

Whatsit and Diane took the passenger side, and Whatsit turned out to be very competitive. His ability to mentally focus on a task was incredible, and he picked out and accurately counted herds of dairy and beef cattle as they drove past farms.

At one point, Whatsit twisted in his seat and looked at Jim, a sly smile curling his lips and boasted, “It is a shame your brain is so sluggish and muddy compared to my own. You may as well concede your defeat now since I’m so far ahead in cows you won’t be able to overcome my lead.”

Sliding his eyes from Whatsit to Diane, Blunt spoke out loud with a grin, “So this is what we get? A big, green alien lizard bragging about counting cows.”

Glancing at Whatsit, he concentrated his thoughts and projected with a mental smirk, “Oh yeah? Well you just missed 550 cows in the last field.”

Twisting his head to his window, his eyes searching in vain for the herd of cows he thought he had missed, Whatsit stared for several seconds until he picked up a burst of mental laughter. Turning to scowl at Jim, he returned his attention to the passing fields, determined not to miss another opportunity to increase his winning total.

Playing the game during the trip turned out to be a stroke of genius. Whatsit’s competitive nature led to excited bursts of mental shouting as he discovered new herds of cows and added them to his total. Jim, Diane and Tom all discovered constant exposure to the mental projections of the alien lizard sharpened their ability to receive and interpret his thoughts. An added benefit of their endeavors was their headaches were disappearing.

They arrived in Carlisle in the late afternoon and scouted the YMCA. The evening sky filled with thick storm clouds and darkness came fast. Encouraged by the quiet neighborhood and the absence of people at the facility, Blunt decided it was safe to park the car and move into the building.

Grabbing flashlights, Jim and Tom led the way from the car to the three-story brick building housing the indoor pool. The main entryway into the facility was a set of double steel doors with large panes of glass. The doors opened upon a small, covered alcove leading to the western side of a large swimming pool.

The pool was 25 yards long and painted a light blue with eight black lanes on the bottom for competitive swims. Wide concourses bordered it on all sides with the widest concourse on the east side leading to doors marked ‘Men’, ‘Women’ and ‘Manager’. The floating lane lines had been removed from the pool. They were rolled up on large spools propped against the north and south end walls. A four-tiered set of wooden bleachers capable of seating 60 people lined the west wall.

A strong smell of chlorine bit at their noses. The building itself was solid red brick with a flat roof supported by open steel girders crisscrossing 30 feet above the pool area. A series of overhead lights hung from the girders. There were no windows in the walls, and the place felt like a large cavern. As they walked onto the western concourse, their steps echoed.

Jim said, “Tom, why don’t you check the Manager’s office and see if you can’t find the light switches. Diane, please take Whatsit to the end of the bleachers. I would prefer the first thing our guests see is me, not our lizard friend.”

Diane grabbed Whatsit’s arm and guided him toward a seat. As they walked away, three of the twelve lights nearest the south end of the pool area flicked on, and Tom came from the Manager’s office.

“Decided to turn on only those three instead of them all.”

Anything he was going to say next was interrupted when Sergeant George Sanger opened the entry doors. They recognized him from his file photos.

He was of average build and wearing a standard issue khaki shirt and pants with a web belt held by a shiny brass buckle. He had a happy looking face with a large, mobile mouth that smiled easily. His ears stood out, the distance accentuated by his close cut, flat-top hair style. The skin on his face, neck and hands was dark from constant exposure to the sun. His eyes were light blue with internal sparkles. Jim recalled what Diane had said about Sanger during the Pentagon meeting. He was a sniper with sharp vision. He could see something 20 feet away that a normal person could barely make out at 5 feet.

He stood in the doorway a moment and then said, “Hello. I’m here to meet a Major James Blunt. My name is Sanger, Sergeant George Sanger.”

Jim shook Sanger’s hand and introduced himself and Tom. Curiosity getting the better of him, Jim asked, “Sergeant, my briefing says you have a good eye for details. That true?”

“Yes, Sir. I can focus down pretty tight. Sometimes when I’m bored, I help the air traffic controllers at the base by reading the tail numbers on airplanes. I don’t need binoculars. They kinda get in the way.”

They didn’t have time for more pleasantries because the entry doors opened again. In came a man wearing dark sunglasses and tapping a red and white walking cane. He was accompanied by another man who held the door open until both the blind man and he were inside.

Jim recognized John Tripman and his brother, Eli Tripman, from photos taken by military intelligence agents. John Tripman was of medium height with salt and pepper hair combed back over his head with painstaking precision. His complexion was light, as if he never went outside. He smiled, revealing yellowish-colored teeth. Eli Tripman was a larger version of his brother although his skin was tanned, and his black hair had no hint of gray. Jim guessed he was at least 10 years younger than his brother, John.

Jim extended his hand out of habit to John Tripman and then began to lower it sheepishly as he thought, “Idiot, he’s blind.”

He was genuinely shocked when Tripman reached out, grasped his falling hand and shook it vigorously. Smiling, John said, “Major Blunt, I presume. I can tell from your startled look you weren’t expecting me to shake your hand.”

Jim realized his mouth was hanging open, and he snapped it shut. Tripman turned toward Tom and smiled, “And you, good sir, must be Captain Thomas LeBlanc. Love your ’stache.”

LeBlanc followed Blunt’s example and quickly closed his gaping mouth.

“Quit showing off, John,” Eli muttered.

John turned to look at his younger brother and replied, “Sometimes you take all the fun away.” Then he turned to Jim and nodding toward Sanger, asked, “And who is this man?”

Sanger, who hadn’t uttered a word or even twitched his eyelids since the Tripmans entered the door said, “That blind man scam of yours is effective until you blow the whole thing by proving you can see. You’re among friends here so take off the specks and stop the charade. You don’t have to pretend around us.”

John reached up and removed his sunglasses, exposing two, deep, empty sockets where his eyes should have been. The skin inside the sockets was a weathered, light brown color.

All Sanger could utter was a slow, “Well I’ll be damned.”

Smiling at all three soldiers, Tripman replaced the dark glasses to cover his eye sockets. He knew how disturbing they appeared.

Gathering his composure after the raw demonstration, Jim said, “I would like you to come meet the reason I invited you here tonight. But before we do that, I want to assure all of you what you’re about to experience is real. The United States Government is in the process of long-range planning against what is without a doubt the single greatest threat to survival the Human race has ever faced. You’ll know I speak the truth in a matter of moments. Please follow me.”

Having prepared them as best he could, Jim led the group toward the end of the bleachers where Diane and Whatsit sat waiting.

Diane had been keeping an eye on the gathering at the entryway alcove and as they began to walk towards her, she reached over and patted Whatsit’s arm, and concentrating, sent him a gentle thought, “Here they come. Just stay beside me. Everything’s going to be okay.”

She got the distinct impression Whatsit was distracted. He seemed to be pondering some issue that took all his attention. He’d cocked his head in such a way his sombrero was turned toward her so she couldn’t see his face.

***

Three pairs of evil eyes watched as the targets moved from the covered alcove into the kill zone. The kill zone had been chosen for its lack of available cover and the solid brick walls that would bar retreat.

Rasput hid behind the spooled lane lines rolled against the south wall. The spools provided adequate cover and allowed him tactical proximity to the kill zone for the knife throws he would use to take out at least two of the targets. He would go for the military men first since they posed the greatest offensive threat.

Nicosta was more physical in his approach to violence. Concealed in the shadows behind the bleachers, he waited for the attack signal from Bandulog. A satisfied grin crept across his lips as he thought how easy it was going to be to take out the woman and lizard sitting just a few feet away from his hiding place. His fingers balled into tight fists as he thought about the most satisfying way to snuff the life out of his targets.

Grab the lizard by its scrawny neck and wring it as he would any chicken. He almost laughed out loud as he formed a mental picture of the big lizard running around with its head hanging sideways on its shoulders, neck broken, until its body ran out of energy and flopped dead to the concrete. He would bash the woman temporarily senseless with his ham-like fist. Then he could take his time with her. Snapping a woman’s tiny bones was a treat he always anticipated with great pleasure. She would scream with delicious agony until Delmar tired of the noise. At that point he would simply stick her head in the pool and drown the life from her.

Bandulog hid in the steel girders supporting the roof. His black, tactical clothing blended with the deep shadows created when the lights on the south end of the pool were turned on. The lights acted like spotlights in an interrogation, lighting up the targets but leaving him hidden in the dark behind them. Like Rasput, his primary targets were the trained military men. The blind man and his brother could be easily killed after the military targets were eliminated.

He quietly snicked back the hammer on his Colt .45 pistol, confident the silencer he’d attached to its barrel would muffle his shots and not give away his location. Reaching into his pocket, Bandulog pulled out a small, tin clicker. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he pressed it twice. Two double clicks was the signal to attack. In the vast, silent expanse of the pool, they were sharp and clear. Hell broke loose.

Jim’s group had taken a few steps when Tripman stopped dead in his tracks. Turning toward the pool, he lifted his chin toward the ceiling as if he was looking for something which in itself was absurd because he was blind. A couple of seconds later, odd metallic clicks echoed across the building.

Jim heard the clicks and looked back out of curiosity, moving unhurriedly since he wasn’t expecting any danger. Sanger, who was keeping pace with Tom, was focusing his attention on the pretty, blonde woman sitting at the end of the bleachers. He’d caught a glimpse of a green figure wearing a sombrero sitting on the other side of her, but hadn’t gotten a clean look at the fellow. Eli Tripman didn’t react to the sound at all. He had a grip on the left elbow of his brother, concentrating on helping guide him in the direction Blunt was walking. His face showed only mild surprise when his brother suddenly stopped.

Stepping from behind the big spools of lane lines just far enough so he could swing his right arm freely, Rasput let fly his first 7 inch double-edged throwing knife at Sanger’s chest. Then quick as a snake, he flipped the second knife from his left hand to his right and threw it at Tom. The distance from Rasput to Sanger and LeBlanc was around 33 feet and the speed of the twirling knives meant they would strike their marks less than 2 seconds after they left his hand.

Jim’s eyes caught a movement at the end of the pool beside the big spools. It looked like a figure had thrown something his way. The whole thing happened so quickly and unexpectedly, he froze while his brain tried to make sense out of the situation, leaving him standing still as a statue as something whirled in his direction. Fortunately, John Tripman was already moving.

As Rasput eased out from his concealment, his shoes scratched a bit on some discarded granular chemicals used for pool maintenance. Tripman’s chin dropped so it was pointed at the gritty noise. When Rasput threw the first of his knives, Tripman raised his red and white cane and swung it like a batter hitting a pitched fast ball. His swing was well aimed, and it connected with the first spinning knife, deflecting it into the pool where it sank with a skipping splash. He batted toward the second knife but missed as it flashed by him.

The clang of the metal cane hitting the airborne knife broke the spell holding Sanger as he gazed at the woman sitting at the end of the bleachers. Twisting, he saw a man in black clothing standing next to the spools. A spinning knife flashed past him, its trajectory leaving no doubt the man in black had thrown it. Sanger’s combat training took over. Dropping to his knee, Sanger’s hand flashed to the concealed holster strapped to his ankle. In one fluid motion, he pulled a .38 snub nose revolver, aimed at Rasput and fired two quick shots. Rasput’s eyes turned into dark holes and his body fell backward.

When he heard the signal to attack, Nicosta rose from his shadowy concealment behind the bleachers and moved toward his victims. He didn’t consider either of them a threat. Their attention was directed towards the group walking toward them from the entryway. As far as Delmar was concerned, he had the easiest assignment of this operation. A defenseless woman and a big pet lizard wearing a sombrero, of all damn things.

“This is going to be a piece of cake,” he thought.

Nicosta extended his hand to grab the neck of the lizard when the sombrero swiveled around and two large, deep black eyes locked on him. Delmar froze at the unexpected movement. The lizard’s mouth curled into a snarl exposing sharp teeth. Try as he might, Nicosta couldn’t move his arms or legs. His mind was straining, ordering his body to move, but not a single muscle twitched.

The lizard stood and faced him. Helpless, Delmar watched the blonde woman, who had been touching the lizard’s arm, turn to see where it was going. When her eyes fell on the hulking thug dressed in midnight black, arms extended in an obvious move to grab her, she screamed and scrabbled away.

Diane’s scream startled Jim into action. Seeing that Sanger had taken out the man at the south end of the pool, Jim ordered, “Sergeant, protect the civilians. We don’t know how many enemies we’re up against!”

“Tom,” he shouted as he turned but Tom was down, a knife sticking from his chest. Jim dropped to one knee at Tom’s side just as a hole blew itself into the bleacher where his head had been. Splinters from the impact burst into the air. Ducking even further out of reflex, Jim’s experience under enemy fire took over his movements. He shuffled around Tom’s body.

Another shot blasted into the concourse, pocking the concrete and ricocheting away. Sanger now had an idea where the gunfire was coming from and fired into the ceiling rafters, his shots sparking as they struck the steel girders. Acting on the time given to him by the covering shots from Sanger, Jim grabbed Tom and dragged him under the bleachers out of sight of the overhead gunman.

“Tom, Tom, are you with me?” whispered Blunt.

Tom’s eyes fluttered, and he seemed to be trying to focus. Two more shots blew into the bleachers as the gunman tried to force them from their hiding place. The return fire from Sanger echoed in the confines of the pool area.

A spasm of bubbly coughing shook Tom and a thin stream of bright red blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Jim knew from battlefield experience the man’s lung, at the very least, had been punctured by the knife blade. The blade had entered Tom’s upper chest just a half inch from his sternum, missing his heart by maybe a quarter inch. Jim knew he couldn’t remove it without risking an unstoppable bleed out.

Tom’s eyes opened and he seemed to be trying to gather some strength. Coughing up more blood, he whispered, “Flashlight . . . in my pocket.”

Jim ran his hands down the sides of the man’s body, felt the familiar tubular shape of a flashlight in his pants pocket and pulled it out. It was a standard light-steel flashlight you could buy at any hardware store. Standard thumb slide on-off switch with a red button above it. Jim turned it around in his hand looking for something that might hint at a weapon, but he couldn’t see anything unusual. He noticed the light emitting end of the flashlight had two bulbs, a clear one and a black one.

Looking back at Tom, he saw the man had drifted into unconsciousness. Another shot from the hidden gunman crashed into the bleachers, making Blunt flinch. Raising his voice, Jim yelled, ” Sergeant Sanger, I need a few undisturbed moments!”

Sanger yelled back, “Doing my best, Sir!” as he squeezed off another couple of rounds at the ceiling. There was just too much darkness in the rafters, and the silencer was preventing him from seeing any muzzle flash to locate the shooter.

Gently shaking Tom, trying to keep him from losing consciousness, Jim bent over to whisper in his ear, “Tom, wake up! Stay with me! What about the flashlight? What do I do with it?”

With great effort, Tom opened his eyes and stared at him. He seemed to be trying to say something but he was out of breath, and it was a struggle to speak. Jim leaned down and put his ear next to Tom’s lips in an effort to hear him. All he heard was, “... red button.”

Tom smiled, just like that day back in the Pentagon conference room when it was revealed he was the man using the alien ray pistol to slice up the side of beef. Then Tom’s eyes went dull, and a stream of bright red blood flowed from his mouth. Tom LeBlanc was dead.

Seething anger filled Jim as he watched his friend die. Another bullet slammed into the bleachers, this one perilously close to his head. Splinters and dust fell into his hair. He’d had enough. Diving out from under the concealment of the bleachers, Jim tucked into a roll and came up pointing the flashlight at the ceiling. Stabbing his thumb down on the red button, he aimed at the steel framework supporting the roof where he thought the gunman was hiding.

No ordinary white light came from the flashlight. Instead a coherent beam of orange-red light blazed up against the steel framework. The light beam widened from the moment it left the flashlight until when it met the roof joists it was about 6 feet across. Almost instantly, the support girder he was aiming at glowed light-orange. A shimmer of heat waves filled the air around the steel beam as the temperature mounted.

Encouraged by the effect, Jim played the light across the girders, watching as each in turn glowed with intense heat. Another gunshot kicked up concrete at his feet, but this time Jim was staring at the ceiling. He saw a faint movement and recognized it as the ejected shell from the gun. It fell into the pool with a tiny splash.

“Got you now son-of-a-bitch,” he thought as he focused the heat beam on the joist concealing the gunman. It turned a satisfying light-orange and as Jim held the beam steady, the light-orange heated to a crispy red.

Up in the concealing web of steel, Bandulog was feeling trapped and panicky, a new emotion for him. Always the cold, calculating killer, Bandulog had never faced a well-trained, determined and fantastically armed opponent in his life. Yet here he was, facing not one but two combat veterans. One had the uncanny ability to accurately place bullets from a snub-nosed pistol so close he felt like he was standing in an open field. The other was simply pointing a flashlight at him that turned nearby steel supports hot as a pancake griddle. Bandulog had been shocked when Rasput was taken out so quickly. Something was wrong with Nicosta, who just stood and looked at his targets, doing nothing.

Squeezing off another shot at the man holding the flashlight, Bandulog realized the steel support he was lying on was beginning to turn light-orange. The heat rose unbelievably quickly, turning the steel into a skillet with Bandulog lying on it like a hamburger patty. He felt his hand burning, and when he lifted it from its grip on the steel, part of his palm tore away where it had cooked onto the frying hot girder. Thinking wildly, Bandulog saw there was only one escape. He leaped off the girder, diving for the cooling water of the pool.

Jim realized Sanger was yelling at him. “What the hell is that thing?”

“One of the reasons we wanted to meet you, Sergeant,” Jim replied grimly.

Just as his answer left his lips, a man clad in black fell from the ceiling into the pool with a tremendous splash. The man sank to the bottom, weighted down by his armament. Jim released the red button and ran to the side of the pool. The man in black was swimming underwater towards the far side.

Smiling a death’s head grin, Jim aimed the flashlight at the pool and pressed the red button. The orange-red beam touched the water’s surface, and it began steaming and bubbling. Jim kept the light trained on the water, causing it to become so hot it vaporized. The water level dropped 3 feet as it boiled away, and the whole pool area clouded up in a dense, steamy fog.

Sanger’s sharp eyes spotted a black image lying near the bottom of the boiling pool and grabbing Jim’s arm, he shouted, “Stop it, man, you’re boiling him like a lobster. We may be able to get some information from him if he’s still alive.”

Reluctantly, Jim knew Sanger was right. Nodding, he lifted his thumb. The water kept boiling but visibly calmed down as the flow of heat energy ceased. Sanger looked around and spotted a lifeguard’s hook on the south wall. Grabbing the hook, they fished the man from the pool and pulled him onto the deck.

Every inch of the man’s exposed skin was an angry, bright red, and white blisters covered his face and hands. Sanger pressed both his hands on the man’s sternum, pumping up and down in an effort to clear water from his throat and let in life giving air. After a long minute of effort, the man in black coughed as water spurted from his mouth, and he began breathing on his own. A wail of pain escaped his lips as consciousness returned.

Jim heard a faint cry from behind him. He saw Diane kneeling next to Tom’s body, her face white with shock. Behind her on the pool concourse in front of the bleachers was Whatsit. He was standing very still, and Jim could tell from experience the look in the creature’s eyes was one of profound distress. Beside Whatsit was a hulking bear of a man clad all in black, his vacant eyes staring straight ahead, arms hanging limp. Blunt knew the look and what caused it. With a grim smile, he returned his attention to the Human lobster lying at his feet.

Slapping the man’s face, Blunt snarled, “Who are you? What’s your name?”

“Bandulog,” was the pained response.

“Why did you try to kill us? Who sent you?”

Bandulog’s eyes glared. “Devils! Blasphemers!” he croaked. “I am the hand of God come to smite thee and thy beast.”

Blunt’s anger smoldered as he considered the man’s response. He had fought German fanatics in the fields of France and Italy. Experience taught him some enemies are so battle-hardened and dedicated to their cause they became self-righteous, moralistic killers. This man was such an enemy, but he had let slip a clue. He had said thee and thy beast.”

Looking at Sanger and then at the Tripman brothers who had hidden from the barrage of bullets in the alcove, Blunt said, “This guy isn’t going anywhere. Before my party gets crashed again, let’s go meet the reason I asked you here.”

Blunt walked to Diane and pulled her up from where she knelt beside Tom’s body. Tears welled, and she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, crying into his chest.

“Come on, let’s check on Whatsit. Make sure he’s okay,” Jim whispered.

Diane nodded and holding hands, they walked with Sanger and the Tripmans to where Whatsit stood with his captive.

Blunt could tell from the look in Whatsit’s eyes he was very disturbed by the attack on his friends. The lizard held the big thug with a strong mental lock. The killer stood at rigid attention, a line of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. As Jim neared the helpless man, hate filled him. The cowardly ambush had taken Tom’s life and put everyone in danger. Sanger and the Tripman brothers stood back and gawked at the big, green lizard wearing a dark green trench coat, white silk scarf around his neck, black boots and colorful sombrero.

John Tripman was the first to speak. “So this tall lizard is from Mexico?”

In spite of his dark mood, Jim chuckled and replied, “A little bit farther away. Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Whatsit, a fellow who came to our planet in a flying saucer almost a year ago.”

Whatsit cocked his head toward each of the visitors and nodded.

Now that he had Sanger’s and the Tripman’s full attention, Blunt said, “What I’m about to tell you is a United States Government ultra-top secret and can’t ever be repeated by you to anyone for any reason.”

Satisfied they understood the gravity of the situation, Blunt continued, “Whatsit was part of a reconnaissance mission for an alien race known as the Chrysallamans, a warrior breed of big, sentient lizards with technology and weapons vastly superior to those of Earth. The Chrysallamans see Earth as a planet they can easily colonize by killing all Humans. My colleagues and I are tasked with developing adequate means for defending Earth against such an invasion.”

Sanger looked down at the flashlight in Blunt’s hand and pointed with his chin, “I take it your special little lobster cooker there is an example of their weapons?”

Blunt glanced at the weapon in his hand and said, “I think this is an adaptation our scientists created from their studies of the alien weapons we captured. Believe me when I tell you there are other Chrysallaman weapons far more powerful and deadly than this little toy.”

“Good God!” Sanger breathed but whatever else he was going to say was interrupted by Eli Tripman.

“I don’t understand why the guy in black just stands there so still. And why aren’t you tying him up or something. He looks strong enough to rip us all to pieces.”

“Don’t worry about him.”

“Well it’s hard not to,” Eli muttered. “He still has a pistol and knife in his belt.”

Blunt shifted his gaze to Whatsit and projected a thought asking him to disarm the man in black. Turning to Eli, he said, “I just asked Whatsit to disarm the man.”

Nicosta was frightened out of his mind. His quivering terror was a combination of trapped animal and Human claustrophobia. He was bound in death’s embrace, unable to run away or even scratch the tortuous itch digging at the tip of his nose. Watching helplessly, he had seen Bandulog fall from the rafters into the pool and later be dragged out smoking like a burned piece of meat. He watched as the big lizard turned toward him and those terrible black eyes again locked on his. Greater terror dug in the depths of his mind as he felt his hands involuntarily rising to the pistol and knife in his utility belt, lifting them from their holsters and throwing them to the concrete floor. The extreme terror and helplessness was more than he could bear. Something popped inside his head, and he felt a warm gush run down his spinal cord at the back of his neck. Nicosta toppled over dead from a massive stroke, his face crashing onto the concourse with a wet crunch.

Whatsit looked at the dead man and turned to face Jim and Diane. Dropping his head to one side, the lizard shrugged his shoulders in a remarkably Human gesture.

“Good God!” Sanger whispered.

Blunt looked at Sanger and the Tripmans. He knew Whatsit had purposefully killed the Human scum, and he was glad he had. A half grin curved his lips, and he shrugged in a perfect imitation of Whatsit’s gesture.

Diane recognized the opportunity to explain what she needed from Sanger and Tripman. “As you witnessed, the people of Earth are outgunned and mentally helpless against the Chrysallamans. The military has assigned its best scientists to study and try to duplicate their technology.”

Indicating the steaming hot pool water, she continued, “You’ve seen some of our scientific success this evening, but there will be more to defeating the aliens than just hardware. We must develop physical and mental strengths to overwhelm these enemies. My job is to try to develop those strengths.”

“Sergeant Sanger, you have the visual acuity I wish to study in order to find a way to impart your natural abilities to other Humans.”

“Mr. Tripman, despite the fact you are blind, you have an unparalleled ability to visualize your surroundings. Somehow, your body and mind have developed the sensory capacity to see and hear what is impossible for normal Humans.”

“Gentlemen, I beg you to allow me to take a sample of your DNA which is the genetic code giving you the abilities you have. I want to study their unique properties in the hope some of them can be used to help the Human race defeat the Chrysallaman invasion.” Pausing for a moment, she asked, “Will you help me?”

Both men nodded and tears welled again in Diane’s eyes, dripping down her cheeks in a mixture of profound gratitude and deep sadness.

***

It was past midnight when the last military van left the YMCA parking lot. Jim leaned against the brick wall of the pool building just to the side of the steel and glass entry doors, his eyes downcast and his face shadowed in grief. Diane sat on a nearby wooden bench with Whatsit. The lizard had shoved his sombrero off, and it dangled down his back by the draw cord around his neck.

The pool and its concourses had been cleaned, every bullet hole patched, every blood stain wiped away. A military tanker truck had refilled the pool to its normal water level. LeBlanc’s body had been respectfully carried away, and the bodies of the killers had been bagged and thrown in the back of a covered trailer. The man cooked like a well-done lobster had been handcuffed despite his screams of pain and carted away on a stretcher. He was to be flown to a special military hospital housed in a tightly secured area of the Nevada facility. Once he was able to talk, Jim planned a personal interrogation.

Jim listened to Diane cry, her shoulders shaking in grief over Tom’s death. Still angry, he’d been thinking about the details of the ambush and what the burned man said. The attack had been well planned. The killers knew the location, date and time Jim had arranged to meet with Sanger and Tripman. Only two people had known the detailed plans, General Collier and his aide, Corporal Adams. One of those men had betrayed their oath of secrecy and based on his experience with Collier, the arrow pointed at Adams. The other clue from the burned man’s rantings was a religious fervor about beasts.

“I am the hand of God come to smite thee and thy beast,” Jim recalled.

“Well,” Jim thought as he formed a picture in his mind of Corporal Richard Adams, “My beast and I are coming for you, and God will not save you from our wrath.”