Jonathan Maberry - SNAFU - An Anthology of Military Horror

It twisted fully around, almost crashing into me. I was barely able to step aside. Instead, it crashed to the floor where it slammed the metal box several times on the ground.

A gleeful laugh was followed by slurping sounds.

I glanced at Harvey as he glanced at me. He shrugged. I did as well. Sometimes this worked and sometimes it didn’t.

I gestured at Harvey.

He bent over and put his hands on his knees. “Can you hear me?”

The Box Man twitched on the floor, minute jerks of its legs and arms.

“We need to speak with you.”

The Box Man stilled.

“You’ve been killed. We need your help finding the—”

The Box Man sat straight up. “Brown and brown and brown and brown,” it said in a deep voice.

I felt elation at the connection, but knew this was only the beginning. How much did the fragment remember, and could it communicate, were the big questions now.

Harvey glanced at me grinning. “What’s brown?”

“All brown.”

“Brown and brown and brown and brown?”

“Yesss. Brown and brown and brown and brown.”

I wrote it down on my pad and nodded for Harvey to move on.

“Tell us what happened.”

It was silent for a moment, then it said, “Broken eyes.”

I wrote that and circled it twice. I should have known.

“Tell me about broken eyes.”

“Broken eyes made me dream. Man with bat hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me-”

Harvey smacked the side of the metal box with the flat of his hand, stopping the fragment’s loop.

“Doctor Adams, concentrate.”

“Kwaj… X-ray flux… Kwaj… X-ray flux… Kwaj…”

Harvey was about to hit the side of the box once more when it let out a blood curdling scream, which resolved into sobbing.

“Prison. Plop plop fizz fizz oh what a relief… I’m dying… can’t breathe… my face is… broken… Plop… plop… fizzzzzz…”

Then the Box Man fell onto its side and was silent.

Harvey stared somberly at the creature curled up on the ground. “Those last minutes must have been terrible.”

“He was bludgeoned. We’re just lucky we have what we have.”

“Make anything of it?” he asked.

“Garbled ghost talk. We’ll give it to Nancy and see what he can come up with.”

Harvey grinned. “You know he hates it when you call him Nancy Drew.”

I matched his grin with one of my own. “I know. That’s why I do it.” I nodded to the Box Man. “Take it home and feed it. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Our offices were on the third floor of the old Transamerica Corporation offices, in a triangular building on the corner of Columbus and Montgomery. I had a corner office whose window was filled with the construction of what promised to be a two-hundred and sixty meter pyramid. As unpopular as it was to the local populace, who feared a repetition of the giant forest of skyscrapers in New York City, the Transamerica Pyramid was important to the defense of America. In addition to protecting against Soviet agents stealing American technology, Special Unit 77 was also charged with the protection and facilitation of the pyramid’s construction. I’d once thought this gig was going to be a snoozer. Little had I known when I arrived that I’d be so busy my wife would find a better life with our milk man.

My telephone buzzed. I depressed the blinking square button and waited.

“Your eight o’clock is here.”

I went to my door and opened it. I had seven men on the floor, and ten desks. The empty desks were for the three I’d sent to work the construction site. I hardly saw them, but had reports on my desk each morning. The others were filled with my agents, including Harvey Goldsmith and Chiaki Chiba, our resident genius whom I referred to as Nancy Drew.

My appointment stood at the reception desk speaking with our receptionist, Doris Morgan. The matronly woman was our own special Cerebus. She had the sole ability to tell if someone meant someone else harm. She was perfect for the job, not to mention she could type. I bee-lined to the desk and stuck my hand out to the young Japanese woman waiting for me.

“David Madsen, chief of Special Unit 77.”

She shook it firmly. “Rachel Nakamura from Lawrence Livermore.” She narrowed her eyes as she glanced around. “I was under the impression that this was a military unit.”

“It is. We are. We just don’t promote it.” I turned to Doris. “Any news?”

She had a friend who worked at Houston space control. Ever since Apollo 11 lifted off two days ago, all eyes were on the sky.

“Nothing new. They’re due to touchdown in two days. Fingers crossed.” She held up crossed fingers.

I did the same, then gestured for Ms. Nakamura to follow me. On the way back to my office, I also pointed at Harvey and Nancy Drew, who both stood and hastened to join me. “If we were to come to work in uniform, we’d have the dregs of Haight and Ashbury on our doorstep with signs and singing flower child songs.”

Harvey frowned. “Careful, now. You’re talking about my people.”

I made it to my desk and gestured for everyone to sit. Since there were only two chairs, Nancy stood in the back, a notepad against his chest. He had close-clipped black hair and the drawn face of someone who looked as if they never slept. He wore a cardigan over a button down shirt and khaki pants, and looked more like a teacher than the stone cold killer he really was.

Ever since his undercover stint, Harvey had gone to wearing bright colored clothing. His bright yellow button down was tucked into jeans. He wore docksiders on his feet.

I wore my usual blue Oxford shirt tucked into khaki pants and Johnston & Murphy shoes. I also wore a safari jacket because I liked its myriad pockets.

As Rachel sat, it was clear she that she was still bothered by our uniformly non-military appearance. I grabbed a framed picture from the corner of my desk and handed it to her. “This is me and General MacArthur.”

She took the picture and stared at it. “Gaijin Shogun. When was this taken?”

“Inchon. 1950. I was a buck lieutenant then and was showing him some destroyed North Korean T-34 tanks. There was sniper fire all around but he was cool as could be. I’d jump every time a round would go off. At least I did until he said, you know they’re aiming at me, right? If they can’t hit me, what makes you think they’ll hit you, lieutenant? I learned more from my interaction with him than I did in the next ten years.”

She regarded me with a smile. I could tell she had a Caucasian father. “Do you bring out this business card often?”

“Only when someone comes in here with expectations we can’t match.” I held out my hand and she gave me back the picture. I placed it back in its place of honor. “I’m Colonel David Madsen, but everyone calls me Madsen. That’s First Lieutenant Harvey Goldberg beside you, and behind you is Gunnery Sergeant Chiaki Chiba, but you can call him Nancy Drew.”

Harvey gave her a youthful grin.

Nancy Drew gave me a withering look, then bowed and said, “Ohayou Gozaimasu, Nakamurasan.”

She stood and returned his greeting. They spoke for a few moments in Japanese, then she sat down and returned her attention to me. “I think I understand now.”

I glanced at Nancy Drew, but he kept his eyes pinned to the floor. “Let’s talk about Doctor Adams.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much to talk about. His work was highly classified, as you understand.”

I gave her my patented do-you-take-me-for-a-fool look. “I can assure you that we have the appropriate clearances.”

“Even so, I’m not at liberty to discuss what he was working on.”