John Davis - The Colony

Lieutenant Strong watched as one of them seemed to bark orders to the others, though he did so in a very strange dialect. One that wouldn’t be possible to replicate with a human tongue.

He realized how advanced the species was, in fact, noticing a special insignia imprinted onto the chest plate of their leader. They were weaponized and militarized, leading Jack Strong to sincerely believe there were hundreds more. If not thousands.

His thoughts were quickly pulled from that of military assessment, however, and back to reality, as the weapon placement fired.

It made the sound of a loud whisper, as if someone was standing over the group and had exhaled deeply. The cylinder tube ejected a single burst, though it looked as though it were made from two different materials. The first was a glowing blue, followed by the second side of the shot that seemed to burn with a crimson red.

“Picking up some type of heat signature sir!” Sayers yelled, alerting everyone inside of the heavily-staffed chopper that was incoming.

“What is it?” Bailey asked with concern.

Before a reply could follow, however, their chopper was struck with the burst of double color. The glowing blue crashed into their spacecraft first, a full-blown EMP which essentially disabled every component of the ship. Then, a split-second later, the dark red burst struck their hull and damaged it greatly. Molten acid eating away everything in its path, including two fine soldiers in Wilson and Martin.

An analog-style alarm began to blare throughout the ship, alerting them to trouble as if a free-fall wasn’t warning enough.

It’s startling how a single moment can change a man. A world of military-trained calm turning into pure chaos as the inevitable becomes clear.

“Going down!” Lincoln yelled, the small chopper taking on heavy rain through a large hole which had eaten its way through the hull.

And though he pleaded with the flight stick, every speck of desperation inside of his arms pulling to gain control; there was simply no way around it.

They were indeed going down. Dropping like a stone filled with praying souls, each of them asking God for the chance to see another day.

“Try,” Bailey yelled, the spin of their chopper forcing harshly against his lungs. “Try to put us down somewhere decent.”

“Can’t do shit,” Lincoln yelled. “I got zero control.”

Wesley had seen the shot from the pilot’s chair of his own chopper. He’d been only yards away from the burst of fire and exploding steel.

And though his prayers were with the crewmen aboard the chopper which fell without regard for those aboard it, Wesley thanked the Gods for allowing him safe escape. Not to mention the children who remained seated inside of the cabin. Each of them struck with complete fear.

“Alright guys, pulling from the atmosphere now. We’ll be aboard a ship within minutes and I’ll have you all in a warm bed eating hot chow.” Wesley commented, though his words were meant to comfort himself as much as the children.

“Shit!” Lieutenant Strong muttered, a bit under his breath but with great authority.

“The children!” Julia cried out.

“The children are fine,” the lieutenant replied, turning to the panic-stricken woman. “But the bastards shot down the rest of my crew,” he added. “Our supplies.”

“What’s our move LT?” Renaldo asked.

Staring out into the heavy rain for a long moment, his eyes never flinching, Lieutenant Jack Strong finally replied.

“Let’s go be soldiers.”

Fuck it. Two tears in a bucket.

He thought back to the original crash, of course. To the feeling he had carried in the bottom of his stomach throughout his entire career. He’d cheated death.

Being the single survivor of a skiff landing gone wrong had made Jack appreciate the things around him so much more. Yet, he had carried a sense of burden as well. Almost as if he felt a touch of guilt with him. Not guilt for the crash, which the authorities had investigated and cleared of any wrongdoing.

He felt guilty for continuing his life while all of those around him had been cemented into a fiery death. Jack felt as though a part of each of their souls remained with him. Even to this day.

Lieutenant Jack Strong had become just that. Strong. At least in terms of soldiering. Professionally speaking, there were none that were stronger. While on a personal level he remained distant to most.

Fear of losing them, possibly, or fear of the other shoe finally catching up to him and dropping with swift judgment. Inflicting pain onto any and all who had become close to him.

And so Jack remained a soldier’s soldier, while keeping to himself outside of the uniform.

“You cannot go out there. You just can’t.” Julia said.

“No choice.” Jack replied.

He’d began to check his weaponry carefully. Knowing in his heart that is was minutes away from being broken in well.

“If you go out there, those things will kill you. Both of you! And we’ll be stuck here to die, just as we were before.” the frantic woman replied.

“If we don’t go out there our supplies are useless,” Jack replied, turning to the woman for a moment. “Assuming they are still intact.”

“Something is,” Renaldo replied, using an electronic sensor that mounted to the side of his rifle in order to confirm it. “Some sort of beacon from what I can make of it.”

“It means Bailey did things by the book. Even under pressure.” Lieutenant Strong said with renewed confidence.

“The son of a bitch was known for it.” Renaldo responded.

“He did his job, now let’s hope Wesley does the same and gets some fucking help in here,” Jack replied. “While we go do our job.”

“It’ll work,” Lieutenant Strong commented, both men having edged themselves out into the rain. “Or at least it should.”

“Let’s hope so.” his sniper replied.

Then, with a deep incline of his right arm, Jack hurled a live grenade nearly out of sight. It digital masterpiece of pain slicing through the hammer of rain and shaking the ground with a thunderous bang nearly a hundred-yards away.

Without so much as a word, both soldiers began sprinting away from the makeshift safe-house and into the direction opposite of the explosion.

They had ran nearly four-hundred yards when Jack motioned the sniper down into cover. Feeling as though they had made enough ground.

“How are we looking on the beacon?” Jack asked.

“As far as I can tell, we’re still nearly a hundred-yards out. And I’m already seeing wreckage?” Renaldo replied.

“You will,” Jack said, skimming his eyes onto the faint horizon filled with rain as his mind drifted back through his years of military service. “I’ve seen a few go down in my time. Brace yourself for the worst, because the odds of someone making it out of the crash alive,” he said with a pause. “They aren’t good.”

“Figured as much.” Renaldo said, skimming the horizon as well, though he did so with the aid of a sniper’s scope.

“Take the bait?” Jack asked.

“Seem to have. I see nearly a dozen of the bastards in my scope. More than likely they will figure it out quick enough though, may have to shoot our way back in.” Renaldo said.

“Be sure to get footage of whatever in the fuck it is we’re dealing with.” Jack said.

“On it.” Renaldo responded, clicking a sequence of two buttons which began to digitally record the findings of his scope into the gun’s internal hard drive.

“I wouldn’t worry too much dear. The lieutenant seems capable of doing a good job.” the general said, doing his best to comfort Julia as they both awaited a sign of hope.