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The Others: 1966
#1
Williams' view was fixed on the security guard but his mind's eye was decades in the past.

Camp Mackall, North Carolina, 1966

SILVER WINGS UPON THEIR CHEST
THESE ARE MEN, AMERICA'S BEST

The Special Forces candidates marched in formation on the dusty road, lustily singing Barry Sadler's new hit ballad.  Off the road, Lieutenant-Colonel Richard Williams' jeep was parked.  Rich noted his driver was engaged in animated discussion on the vehicle's radio.

ONE HUNDRED MEN WILL TEST TODAY
BUT ONLY THREE WIN THE GREEN BERET

Williams' driver, an older Specialist Five, came running up.  The Spec-5 had fought under Williams' command in Korea, and Williams both liked and respected him.

"HEY SIR !  WE GOT A MISSING CANDIDATE.  He was part of patrol training, they were told to move along this path ..."

Rich studied the patrol route.  The better portion of it was in the forest across the road from where he stood.  Involuntarily, his mind recalled the odd lights they had seen over the ranges the night before -- floating, and changing in color and intensity.

Flares don't change color.

A sense of alarm he hadn't felt for a long time began to rise within.

"Stay here. I'm going for a walk in the woods."

The Spec-5 studied Williams and knew nothing routine was taking place.  Williams was wearing his war face, a visage the Spec-5 hadn't seen since the fighting in Korea.  Rich took a pair of 30-round banana clips that were taped together end-to end, and slapped one end into his M3 Carbine.  He then clipped two hand grenades onto his load bearing equipment.

Rich crossed the road and headed into the woods, matching the planned route of the patrol.  All the patrol members had returned save Michaels.  Somewhere along the patrol's route, -something- had happened to him in the darkness.  The forests of North Carolina concealed many hazards to Man.  Bears, bobcats, poisonous snakes ... and yet, Rich was filled with a gnawing suspicion that whatever had happened to Michaels, threats native to Earth were not to blame.

Further into the route, Rich began to experience a deep, primal fear.  Bingo, he thought.  Low frequency radiation.  The Others employed it to spook both humans and predatory animals.  The sun was beginning to set over the hardwood forest, and the birds had abruptly become silent.  Rich swallowed the sensation of fear and gripped his carbine tightly.  This time, he thought, the sons of bitches will get it up close and personal.

Almost imperceptibly, an angry moan could be heard, and then faded away.  Rich advanced quietly, stepping over branches and ensuring his footfalls landed on moss or dirt.  The carbine faced steadily forward.  Approaching a small clearing in the dusk, Rich could see Michaels lying prone.  But Michaels was not alone.  A small, reprehensibly ugly grey figure was kneeling beside him.  The grey figure reached, not to, but -into- Michaels, setting off another angry groan.  Michaels was wounded and his wounds were being violated by the grey entity, who was too focused on his actions to realize that Rich was approaching.

Rich felt almost frozen with fear, but years of training took over.  The carbine trained, he expertly fired a three-round burst.  All three rounds struck the entity's cranium and blew its brains out.  The grey monster slumped and fell, its head a disfigured, bloody mess.  Michaels was trying to reach his combat knife that lay a few feet away.

Rich fired two more rounds into the entity's head to ensure its brain stem was obliterated.  He approached Michaels.  The man was clearly dying, but his anguished expression somewhat relaxed when he saw Rich.

Michaels was fading fast, but he looked up.  With a plaintive voice, he spoke. "Tell my mother ... you know ..."  A terrible spasm of pain gripped him, and he tried to cover his torn belly with his hand.  His look at Rich was one of awful pleading.

Rich nodded grimly.  "I know.  I will tell her.  And I will get you out of this godforsaken forest."

As Michaels nodded his head, once, Rich's perception returned to being in Nevada at Area Six.  De Oppresso Liber, he thought.  But against the most oppressive enemy, we have known no true liberation ...
[Image: 14sigsepia.jpg]

Location: The lost world, Elsewhen
#2
minusculebeercheers Very Good  minusculeclap
Once A Rogue, Always A Rogue!
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#3
hahaha I was waiting for some fluffy Bunny Feet !! hahaha Well done salute ! minusculebeercheers
#4
(07-13-2020, 06:04 AM)727Sky Wrote: hahaha I was waiting for some fluffy Bunny Feet !! hahaha Well done salute ! minusculebeercheers

You have to keep me straight on the 1960s Army . . . before my time!

Cheers
[Image: 14sigsepia.jpg]

Location: The lost world, Elsewhen
#5
'66' was a unique year in my neighborhood as a child.  I read your story with interest.

A lot happened here.

Kind regards,

Bally:)
#6
(07-13-2020, 10:37 AM)Bally002 Wrote: '66' was a unique year in my neighborhood as a child.  I read your story with interest.

A lot happened here.

Kind regards,

Bally:)

Share some tales with us ?

Cheers
[Image: 14sigsepia.jpg]

Location: The lost world, Elsewhen
#7
(07-13-2020, 11:41 AM)F2d5thCav Wrote:
(07-13-2020, 10:37 AM)Bally002 Wrote: '66' was a unique year in my neighborhood as a child.  I read your story with interest.

A lot happened here.

Kind regards,

Bally:)

Share some tales with us ?

Cheers

I did.  In Short Stories.  "The mysterious disappearance of Penrite Wilson.  Westall '66'

Kind regards,

Bally:)


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