Dead Force Rising

Dead Force Rising

written
by JL Oiler

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We
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They are
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Cover Artist: Carl
J. Franklin

First Edition

©2011, Rebel Ink
Press, LLC

www.rebelinkpress.com

Dedicated to all those who wear the uniform and battle
the real monsters of the world.

CHAPTER ONE

Sergeant John Rose sat on the thin
mattress of the hospital type bed waiting for the doctor to come give him what
he was certain would be bad news. Ever since returning from his third tour in
Afghanistan, the vision in both his eyes had been troublesome. John had not
driven his car for over three weeks now, after he nearly took out a group of
schoolchildren waiting for a bus. Sighing heavily, he ran a hand though his
short, cropped brown hair. When he first signed up to join the Army seven years
ago, he thought he would spend his entire life wearing the uniform. Now he
wasn't certain he would be wearing it another month.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,
Sergeant,” the doctor said apologetically as he entered the small room, a one
star General close at his heels as he pulled the door shut behind them.

This definitely didn't look good,
John decided as he snapped to attention. Since when did the high brass deliver a
medical diagnosis? He didn't recognize the officer, which was odd considering
he pretty well knew everyone on base, especially if they out ranked him, and
it’s not like anyone could miss a six foot mountain wearing a star.

“At ease Sergeant, General Striate is
here in an informal capacity,” the doctor offered as he patted the cot wanting
John to sit back down.

Again, he wracked his brain. The name
sounded familiar. John recalled scuttle about a General Striate and a special
weapons lab. Though John always dismissed such rumors as myth, this certainly couldn't
be that General. What special weapon could he be researching in the clinic?

Pulling two rolling stools forward,
the doctor sat down and then offered one to the general who simply looked at
the man with a
get on with
it gaze.

“Sergeant, you're suffering from
perilimbal
conjunctival
ischemia,” he said matter-a-
factly
as though anyone
in the room understood what that meant other than him.
 

“And that means what?” John finally
asked when the doctor failed to put it in terms he could understand.

“It means you'll receive a medical
discharge due to inability to perform duty. Your vision is shot
and
 
there's
nothing I
can do to fix it. Your vision might come and go for now but shortly it will go
completely. Sorry,” the doctor said from over top his wire-rimmed glasses.

John felt as though someone punched
him in the gut.
 
Uncertain whether to
scream in anger or cry in sorrow, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“So after all this, I get a medical discharge.”

“Perhaps not,” the General interjected.
“If you're up to listening, I have a possible mutually beneficial offer for
you.”

John regarded the blurry image of the
General for a moment. What could he possibly want with a half blind Army Sergeant?
 
Every instinct called for him to leave
it alone, accept his circumstance and try to move on. His pride however, had a
different idea. It screamed for him to fight until the very end.
 

“I’m listening,
General
.
What are you offering?”

“Well Sergeant, if you’re up to a
short trip I would rather show you,” the General told him as the man stood and
headed for the door.

Evidently, they were leaving now.
Good thing
he
 
wasn't
there for something that required him to be in one of those fancy clinic gowns
with the built in rear air conditioner. Jumping from the cot, he dang near ran
to catch up with the old man.

Riding in the Generals Jeep, John
nearly chocked as they pulled up to the Mess Hall. What the hell was this? He
didn’t come here to eat a hotdog. As the vehicle followed the small drive that
circled around the back of the building, he found himself shaking his head at
his own silliness for believing there was anything that could be done about his
condition. He was just getting ready to ask the General what fucking game he
was playing when two armed guards raised a garage door John didn't even know
existed.

“What the hell is this place?” he
asked in complete shock that such a place was on the base and he never knew it.

The interior was covered in silvery
metal, which at first glance he assumed was galvanized, but as they continued
inside, it appeared more like silver plating. Several other vehicles were
parked
inside,
each maxed out in the armor and weapons
category.
 
It looked as though someone
was preparing for war.

“Welcome to the nest, Sergeant Rose.
Home to things most humans believe impossible,” General Striate said sticking
out his chest with pride.

Getting out of the jeep escorted by
the two sentries to an elevator at the back of the garage, the small group
descended in the wire-front lift. John's mind was running a million miles a
minute. Thankfully, his sight was clear enough at the moment to take it all in.
He counted six stories as they continued their downward journey, and each floor
was bustling with action although the elevator was moving too fast to determine
what was happening on any given floor. Finally stopping with a jerk, two more
armed sentries met them.

“This is the heart of our little
operation,” General Striate advised as they began walking down the staunch
white corridor.

John couldn't help but notice the
walls were steel, creating a silent and nearly impenetrable structure. At least
he thought of it as impenetrable until he noted what looked like four large
gouges that strangely resembled claw marks. Running his hand along the metal
peeled back from the deep marks, he wondered what could possibly do such a
thing as he pulled back his hand and looked at the bright red blood beading on
the surface of his finger.

“Best to take care of that before we
go any further,” the general told him, looking at his hand.

“It’s nothing,” John said, sticking
the digit into his mouth.

“Here, blood is always something.”

When they finally reached the only
end of the long hallway, the General punched a code into the lock box and
leaned in for a retina scan to open the doors, which made a swishing sound to
signal the seal was broken. Why would they need an airlock door in a place like
this? Every step in this place brought a new set of questions and confusions,
answers John hoped would be revealed in short order. The two sentries, which had
escorted them to this point, saluted and turned to face the direction in which
they’d just came. Evidently, this was as far as the pair went.

The General led John thru the door
into a large conference type room. A huge oval, wooden table circled by a baker’s
dozen of black office chairs sat in the center. The far wall, glass from floor
to ceiling, revealed what John assumed to be a control center with touch
screens containing digital maps and data. Looking about in awe, John took in
the room's advanced technology, everything was cutting edge or beyond. He couldn't
help but wonder what category they used on the budget to satisfy the number
crunchers.

“Have a seat, Sergeant and I'll
explain this program to you,” Striate told him as the man took a seat in the
largest chair at the table.

Sitting to the man’s right, John
waited silently with his hat in his hands, anxious to know what the hell was
going on down here. Then the room went dark. Only the glow of the glass media
wall illuminated the area.

“We have become increasingly aware of
forces imbedded here in the US which threaten our way of life. These dark
forces were until recent years considered oddities, which rarely impacted on
the day-to-day life of US citizens. They were dismissed as random acts of
deranged minds.”

Images of bloody crime scenes began
to appear on the wall, the images revealing brutally slain victims whose bodies
were torn and mutilated. Some, all female, were misused in sexual manners so
violent John felt as if he might just vomit.

“However, as these incidents began to
increase in frequency, we discovered we could no longer dismiss and cover the
real cause.”