Scareforce (20 page)

“Look, Sarge, this vehicle is inoperative and not repairable in the field. I have already alerted the tow vehicle and he’s
on the way. He should be here shortly to give you and your men a tow back to the base. I know your guys are anxious to get
back and start their breaks. We’ll get you out of here just as soon as possible.”

Washington tried to look into the younger man’s eyes as he explained. He was trying to find out what was wrong. But the man
avoided his gaze absolutely. He was just as afraid as his men. He nodded understanding without a word. When it was apparent
that Washington could think of nothing more to say, he turned and reboarded the troop truck in silence.

Washington was still perplexed as he sat in the cab of the giant tow vehicle sent to retrieve the diesel. Hook, the driver,
was completing some required paperwork.

“Just about finished, Sarge.” The grizzled redhead smiled up from his concentration on the printed form. “Can’t pull a thing
until the weight of the paperwork is equal to or greater than the weight of the load.”

The sergeant smiled at the all-too-true observation. “Hook” was a character, one of the few tolerated by the modern Air Force.
He was tolerated because he was not replaceable. He could drive anything and everything that had an engine and wheels. It
was a widely held consensus that Hook could probably fly most of the airplanes in the Force. It was just that he considered
flying a waste of time. So most of the brass put up with his nonmilitary bearing and his idiosyncrasies. And he was kept away
from those who wouldn’t understand.

“Hook, did you get a good look at the passengers?”

“Yeah, I saw ’em. Never get over all them teenagers with guns.”

“But did you see how scared they were? What do you think is bugging them?”

“Oh, they’re always like that when I drag ’em out of Targa. Been talking to the farmers, I suspect. Them old geezers love
to scare the bejesus out of the kids.”

“How? How do they scare them?”

“I reckon they been telling ’em about the witches.”

Washington had been in the process of climbing down from the high cab of the tow rig. He almost fell from the next-to-last
step.

“What do you mean witches?”

“Why the witches of Targa, Sarge.” Hook waved his arm out the window of the truck in a sweeping gesture that took in most
of the little town. “The place is lousy with ’em.”

Sergeant Washington stood in the street and looked at the town for probably the first time. It was a strange place. Even the
roar of the tow truck engine didn’t disturb the eerie silence that shrouded the village.

“See ya back at base,” Hook yelled over the noise of the vehicle. “Watch your ass, Sarge.”

Washington stood by his vehicle in the sudden silence. There was not a soul visible in the little town. There were no children
playing, no pedestrians, no curious onlookers. The town was not just empty, it was void. But the sergeant couldn’t shake the
feeling that he was being watched. Not just watched but studied, evaluated, examined.

“Witches, my ass,” Washington scoffed. But then he fired up his engine and got his ass out of the town.

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” Washington was sitting at his dining room table surrounded by stacks of maintenance logs.
He stared at the figures and shook his head in disbelief.

“This just doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“All right Senior Sergeant Washington, what doesn’t make any sense?”

The sergeant jerked upright and turned to look at his wife, seated in her own circle of books on the couch. For a moment he
just stared at her as if he couldn’t quite place her. He had not been aware that he was speaking out loud.

“Oh, sorry, hon.” He shook off his confusion. “Didn’t mean to bother you. I know you’re working hard correcting midterms.
I’m just stumped by this data.”

“That’s all right, darling,” said Gina, as she uncurled her long legs from under her. She stretched expansively as she stood.
“I was looking for some excuse to tear me away from all this sophomore history, surprising as it can be. I honestly didn’t
know that the Fascists were an East LA rap group. What’s your problem?“

Washington chuckled then turned serious once more as his wife draped her arm around his neck and looked over his shoulder
at the scattered log forms.

“It just doesn’t make any sense. I have twenty-eight breakdowns in the last three months. All of them break down at about
the same place and all of them are unexplained by mechanical analysis. It’s definitely significant, but significant of what.”

Gina looked at the papers for a minute, then discovered an objection.

“They’re not all unexplained. Look at this one. Cause: loose ignition wire. And this one says the problem was a broken fan
belt.”

“Gina those aren’t the causes. Remember when I fixed your vacuum. I took it all apart and put it back together and it worked
fine.”

“Of course I remember.” She smiled.” You’re my little mechanical genius.” She hugged his neck with some serious intent.

“Be that as it may, I did not fix the incredible sucking machine. I just took it apart, looked at it, and put it back together.
But I couldn’t tell you it fixed itself. Would’ve damaged my reputation.” He ducked under her playful right cross and continued.
“That’s what my mechanics are telling me with these reports. Those findings were manufactured on paper because it’s impossible
to explain to the brass that a truck fixed itself.”

“But twenty-eight trucks fixing themselves in a three-month period is impossible. It has to be something. And they all break
down exactly halfway between the base and Lion Nine Missile Site. Right smack in the middle of Targa.”

“Targa? Did you say they all break down in Targa?” Gina was suddenly wide-awake and very interested.

“Yeah, that’s the place. Does that mean something to you?”

“No… well yes,” she hesitated, obviously unsure how to continue.

“Well tell me. I’m ready to accept anything.”

“It’s just that this is pretty farfetched. The kids use Targa as some kind of spell or omen. They’re always joking about it
and scaring the younger kids with stories about that little town. And I know it’s just high school kidding, but sometimes
it sounds half-serious.”

Washington frowned. “What are the jokes about?”

“About the witches… the witches of Targa.”

“Actually Gina’s students might have a point about the denizens of Targa. The town has quite a history for such a small place.”

The speaker, Edward Teeter, was a rotund, jolly little man with white, flyaway hair. He looked like a casting director’s idea
of a history professor. His looks were perfect camouflage for one of the most incisive and knowledgeable historians in the
country. He had come over to the Washingtons’ house without hesitation at the mention of a mystery concerning Targa.

“Targa was actually settled in the early 1860s. It was built entirely by residents of a similar town in the Caucasus mountains.
Their village, also called Targa, was located entirely in a pass in those mountains.”

“To get to my point, and I will get to my point eventually, I’ll have to tell you a little about those mountains.” Professor
Tecter even bumbled like a movie professor.

“The Caucasus were the traditional dividing line between Europe and Asia. This did not make the region an especially peaceful
region in which to live. Conquering armies were constantly sweeping back and forth through the mountain passes, usually destroying
everything in their way. This activity continued right up into relatively modern times. Many of the little pass towns and
villages disappeared completely, beaten into the dust by the military hordes.”

Gina couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Is that what happened to Targa?”

“Quite the contrary.” Edward smiled at the light of excitement burning in the eyes of his audience. This was his center stage.

“Targa was unique because it was never overrun. Invading armies and retreating hordes gave it a wide berth. This was unusual
because of its position smack in the middle of a wide highway through the rugged mountains.”

“Why would they do that? An army traditionally takes the path of least resistance.”

“Why indeed, Sergeant Washington? I can’t answer that. We have no clear answer to the avoidance of Targa by the armies of
the world. Just rumor and innuendo. Scraps of orders and scribblings remain. All make it clear that Targa was to be avoided
at all costs. They seemed to hint at supernatural fears, but they are as vague as they are serious. Only one gives any cause
for that military fear. Napoleon sent an order to his commanders. It was an admonition not to forget the witches of Targa.
For they, and here I quote the exact text, ‘for they will not abide the presence of warriors within the boundaries of their
town.’ “

“Witches?” Sergeant Washington rose and walked from the table to the fireplace as he contemplated this information.

“What did these witches do to the old-time armies, make their horses vapor lock or something?”

The sergeant’s feeble attempt at humor was disregarded by the little professor.

“Oh, no, Sergeant Washington. If what little remains of the history of old Targa is to be believed, then your people have
definitely been treated very generously indeed.”

Tecter’s eyes rose slowly to the ceiling as if in contemplation of the horror he had to relate.

“The stories talk of terrible battles, real bloodlettings that filled the fields with bones. But they were battles of comrade
against comrade, brother against brother. For the only enemy that the invading armies found were themselves. And they fought.
Fought amongst themselves with every weapon and every bit of strength that they had. And to a man they died. Only a few of
the noncombatants, the camp followers, were spared to whisper rumors of the terrible fate of armies foolish enough to tempt
the witches of Targa.

“Tell me, Sergeant,” asked Dr. Tecter, returning to the present. “Do the men you are pulling from the town ever carry weapons?
Do they carry modern weapons?“

“Yes, the latest.” Washington’s answer was slow in leaving his lips. He, too, was contemplating horror. But it was a future
possible horror, not a remembrance of the past.

“Then, regardless of whether you believe in the rumors of witchcraft or not, I think it would be wise of you to choose another
route for your troop movements. Patience is a temporary thing.”

Washington nodded his head absently. He was trying to catch an idea that was ticking around his mind, just out of reach. Suddenly
he sat bolt upright. Now he knew what it was he was trying to remember. A different type of troop movement was planned in
the near future. A movement that would accompany one of the most feared weapons of all time. A nuclear tipped ICBM was to
be moved to the base from Lion Nine. The route would take it right through Targa.

Sergeant Washington headed through the doors of the Security Police building almost at a run. He was determined to change
the missile movement route. He just didn’t know what he was going to use for an excuse.

As he walked down the main corridor, a familiar person walked out of an office. It took Washington a couple of beats to recognize
the young Sky Cop commander he had pulled from Targa the day before.

Before he knew quite what he was doing himself, he grabbed the young man by the arm and pulled him into an empty lounge room.

“Hi Sergeant Washington. Sorry I didn’t thank you properly for rescuing my troops when our truck a… broke down.”

The young man seemed embarrassed by the memory.

“Forget it, kid. 1 just want you to be truthful with me. I think it might be very important.”

The young man just nodded. He could see the older NCO was dead serious.

“What were you thinking, there in Targa? What were you feeling? I know you were afraid, I could feel that you all were afraid?
But what were you afraid of?“

“Yeah, I was afraid. But I wasn’t afraid of anything. I was afraid of myself; of what I would do if I didn’t get out of that
evil, fucking place.”

Washington was surprised by the intensity of the reply, but he was smart enough to keep quiet and let the young man continue.

“You’ve got to understand, Sarge. My men mean everything to me. We trained together, we live together, we work together. We’ve
been through some of the worst times you can imagine and come out great. We work together like fingers on the same hand. We
trust each other. I probably know those guys better than I know my own brothers. And that’s what makes it so scary.

“Yesterday, out in the middle of that stupid little town, I had the strongest feeling of… I don’t know, it was kind of like
claustrophobia. I felt that the longer I stayed there, the more I wanted to fight, had to fight. I wanted to slam a mag in
my M-16 and shoot everything—and everyone—in sight. I just wanted to kill them all!”

“But there wasn’t anyone there except your men.”

The young man looked up and stared deep into the senior sergeant’s eyes. Washington saw a look that he remembered from a long
time ago and half a world away.

“Yeah, I know that,” the young man whispered. “Didn’t matter.”

Sergeant Washington stood alone in the middle of the street. He just looked. The town was just as deserted as it had been
before. He looked at the empty streets, the empty buildings, the white, well-kept, and obviously empty church in the town
square. He saw no one. But he felt the eyes.

When weapons and guards are moved by the Air Force they always take the most direct route. They always follow a straight line
between Point A and Point B. Sergeant Washington knew that the brass did not believe in witches and such. But some of them
had listened to him. Some had looked at his puzzling data and listened to his history lesson. And then they had talked to
a security police officer who was no longer young.

And after that any straight line that the Air Force used to get from Point A to Point B did not, by definition, pass through
the town of Targa.