Dulce Base (The Dulce Files Book 1) Read online

  Before Colonel Michaels’ body was on the floor several more mind blasts came, each blowing the brains out of an unsuspecting soldier. In a matter of moments the floor was littered with a dozen bodies.

  For the soldiers’ part, they reacted quickly. Machine guns were hoisted and aimed, but trigger fingers suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and wouldn’t move.

  “Their minds!” one soldier managed to shout out, and a second later his head exploded in an unseen blast.

  “Ed…Ed!” another soldier shouted, staring across the few feet that separated him from his nearest companion, Ed Childers, member of Delta Force for more than a year, but now staring with wide and frightened eyes as his arm seemingly moved against his will, pointing the machine gun his companions’ way.

  “Ed…no!” Ben Dean shouted again, but it was too late. Ed raised the gun up and suddenly his trigger finger wasn’t so heavy and was now moving toward its goal, exactly when he didn’t want it to. His eyes began to water as his mind revolted against what he was about to do, but his body couldn’t object. The machine gun fired to life.

  Ben Dean was mowed down as were a dozen soldiers around him. Ed kept firing and crying and trying to say he was sorry but he couldn’t stop. The firing continued and then–

  BANG!

  It was a single shot, but the bullet went right into Ed’s forehead and stopped that finger from firing. He fell to the floor dead and Gus Tine gritted his teeth and reached down to grasp the bullet wound in his side, the one he’d just taken from Ed. He’d been lucky enough to survive, unlike many of his companions now lying dead beside him.

  “Start shooting, our wounds stopped ‘em!” he shouted to the other wounded men around him, just three that looked capable of firing. Of them, two nodded and reached for their weapons, and Gus directed his attention back to the three Grays still standing near the antimatter machine. He took careful aim and–

  “Shit!” Chris Evans said as he saw Gus’s brains blow out the back of his head, another one of those mind blasts from the aliens. He glanced over at Doug Best, who was the only other one down on the ground with him. Doug had his machine gun up and got a few rounds off, right at one of the Grays and then–

  “Shit,” Chris muttered again as Doug’s brains exploded out of his head. He gritted his teeth, raised his pistol up to his eye, aimed, and fired. The Gray ahead of him – its name was beyond human comprehension – had sensed what Doug was doing, but just a hair too late. The 9mm bullet slammed into the small space between its two black eyes and it jumped back a step involuntarily, then began to fall back slowly. It was dead before it hit the cold steel floor of the tunnel.

  A shout went out, but that wasn’t quite right, it was more a mental blast of anguish, and it came from the two remaining Grays. They unleashed their fury at the same time they unleashed their reserves. The door behind them that led into one of the many smaller storage chambers opened up and several Reptilians poured forth, each armed with a flash gun.

  On the floor Doug was able to smile at his kill before his head exploded like an overripe melon, the mental blast from two Grays hitting him at once. Blood and brains showered those soldiers still around, of which there were few.

  The initial firing and mind blasts had taken out more than forty of the scientists and nearly all of the thirty soldiers. The remaining scientists had managed to run back into the tunnels, most heading toward the ramps leading up to Level 1. Some of the soldiers also cut and run, although some were actually pulling back in face of the alien onslaught of mind blasts, trying to protect the fleeing scientists, as was their main duty. Now that Reptilians were pouring forth, and with flash guns, it was a whole new ballgame.

  “Run!” a voice shouted, one of the few soldiers still standing near the antimatter reactor, and immediately he became the target of every Reptilian rushing in. It only took one blast from a flash gun and he was vaporized instantly, not a trace of him but a smote of dust that fell to the floor in a barely discernible pile.

  That pile was trampled over a moment later by the scaled toe on one of the Reptilians’ feet, the large claw-like talons dashing it into oblivion. The thing wore no clothes, just a sort of utility belt that held some of its weapons. Many around it began hitting a small, orange button on those belts, allowing them to vanish instantly from sight. This one simply raised its gun and ran forth, its slit-serpentine eyes shining out as its scaled-body descended upon the mayhem. The creature made a hissing sound and raised its flashgun up, taking aim on another soldier, then firing. The man had been rushing toward the elevator that would lead to the surface, and was vaporized instantly. Several scientists were also rushing that way, and they met the same fate.

  In the truck Reggie could hear the scratching and scraping of the Reptilians’ feet as they ran through the tunnel, hunting down the fleeing humans. The sounds were getting closer, closer to his truck, and he knew he had to do something. His eyes began to move back and forth in a panic as he thought. What weapon is there? What can I use? How can I–

  The door to the cab flew open and Reggie bolted up from where he’d been crouching down on the seat, tears of fear coming to his eyes, ready to spill out over that black teardrop tattoo. A Reptilian was there, its broad snout just inches from his face, its yellow and serpentine eyes showing no sign of emotion. In its hand was a flash gun. Reggie’s eyes went wide. He managed to open his mouth in an attempt to shout ‘no’ when the alien fired…and everything went black.

  Part I

  1 – War

  Back Alleys – Vientiane, Laos

  Monday, December 22, 1975

  Turnicot Dupree ran through the rubble-strewn alley and hoped to hell he’d make it to the LZ. What the hell am I doing this far into the capital, anyways?

  His thoughts were quickly interrupted as a Laotian fighter suddenly sprang out at him from around the next bend. Turn was out of ammo – even though he was still carrying his 9mm – but the soldier didn’t know that, and Turn brought the gun up as if to shoot. The move bought him a few precious seconds as the Laotian soldier dove back the way he’d come, no doubt scared to death of the tall black man in front of him. Turn did have scowling eyebrows and a pencil-thin mustache that covered a pair of sneering lips, lips that’d grown up not taking any Mississippi sass, and lips that sure the hell weren’t going to take any Asian bullshit.

  “Got him!” Turn shouted over his shoulder to his partner Dan, then dashed forward, turned around the corner, and slammed the butt of the 9mm pistol down where he expected the man’s head to be, and where it was. The man crumpled to the ground and Turn reached down to–

  BOOM!

  Turnicot opened his eyes and dust immediately filled them. He closed them again and brought his hands up, rubbing at them for a moment, then opened them again. There was more dust, but at least this time he could keep his eyes open.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he said, disappointed in himself, not believing that he could miss the tell-tale sound of an incoming mortar round.

  He looked over and saw Dan lying there, clenching his leg, or what was left of it, for it now gone and had blood squirting out everywhere.

  “Oh, shit!” Turn said, then began to move over to him. “What the hell just–”

  Turn’s words were cutoff as bullets ripped into their position, one of them striking Dan right in the forehead and causing his eyes to go wide, then lifeless. Turn’s own eyes went wide at the sight, and then he got his head down.

  BOOM!

  There was a massive explosion and the wall of the building next to Turn seemed to just up and shoot into the air. The last thing Turn remembered was a searing pain in his legs, and then everything went black.

  2 – Coming To

  Turnicot opened his eyes and that hazy shade appeared, the one partway between the realm of dreams and the land of the living.

  “Who…”

  “It’s alright, take it easy,” a voice said, one Turn hadn’t heard before. It certainly isn’t one of the docto
rs.

  Turn made to nod but then stopped himself and sat still, fluttered his eyes a bit, cajoled the world into making itself known.

  “Dan?”

  “Dan didn’t make it out of Laos. My name’s General Harry Anderholt,” the man said, closer now – Turn had heard the chair scrape against the floor as he’d dragged it closer, “and I used to be a Major in the Air Force.”

  “Air Force?” Turn said, his brow furrowing despite the slight pain it caused his head wound.

  “What the hell’s an Air Force Major doing interested in an ‘ol jarhead like you, right?” Anderholt said, jovially, and about the closest he ever came to a smile, although Turn didn’t register any of that – his vision was still blurry as hell.

  There was a pause, Turn frowned, and the general did the same before pressing on.

  “They’ve no doubt told you by now that your military days are over, haven’t they, Turn?” and then quickly, “I hope you don’t mind if I call you that…Turn.”

  Turn shook his head that he didn’t.

  Anderholt gave another nod that Turn didn’t see and then launched into it, like he did with all the other prospects. He knew from experience that it’d only take a minute to tell.

  “What if I told you, son, that you could still serve your country, but in a way you’d never believe and could never talk about – would you be interested?”

  “Of course.”

  No hesitation, Anderholt saw. The first step was passed.

  “The chances that you’d die, even on the very first day, are close to 100% - does that dissuade you?”

  Turn’s brows furrowed yet again, although most wasn’t visible beneath the bandages.

  “If I…” a slight pause, “if I was scared of dying I wouldn’t a joined up.”

  Anderholt nodded. “Right.” The second step, complete.

  “Sir,” Turn said, and this time he pushed himself up, ever so slightly, but enough, and more than he was thought capable of in his position.

  “Go head, soldier.”

  “I’ve read a lot of freaky books and seen a lot of wild movies,” Turn said, cracking a smile despite himself, “and it sure sounds like what you’re getting at here is something, oh…I dunno – out of this world, you get my drift?”

  There was a smile on Turn’s face, but the general’s remained impassive. He held his gaze, locked on Turn’s eyes, then finally spoke after several endless moments.

  “There’s a secret U.S. military base under a mountain range in Dulce, New Mexico,” he said, not breaking his gaze at all. “It’s been there since 1947 and ever since that date it’s been used as a base, staging area, and takeover point for an unknown number of extraterrestrial races. In May of last year the base got away from us, a faction of the aliens rebelled, and we’ve been locked-out ever since. We’ve staged over half a dozen missions to retake the base since then, but each of them has failed.” The general sighed. “Turn, we want you on one of our next mission…the one that won’t fail.”

  General Anderholt still held Turn’s gaze and no matter what he did he couldn’t break it. Finally five words tumbled from Turn’s mouth, five words he hadn’t thought about and probably wouldn’t have said if he did: “I’d like to help, sir.”

  Anderholt nodded, rose, and walked to the door. He turned back once more, then gave a slight smile that he had no doubt Turn couldn’t see. Step three, clear.

  3 - Washington

  The Pentagon – Washington, D.C.

  Thursday, May 17, 1979

  The phone rang. General David Jones gave it a sideways look and kept his pen moving over the paper in front of him. It rang again. He finished his sentence. It rang for a third time, and this time he reached over and picked it up.

  “Yeah.”

  “David,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

  General Jones sat up and took the phone from under his chin. “Mr. President.”

  “I want you coming to Vienna with me next month,” President Carter said from the other end of the line, “I want you there when we start the SALT II talks.”

  “But sir…”

  “No ‘buts’ on this one, David – I need you there, I need your expertise.”

  General Jones bit his lip. Why now? Why when we’re so close? he thought, but instead said, “of course, Mr. President,” nodded a few times after that, then hung up the phone.

  He sat back in his chair, the report on aircraft transportation costs forgotten as he stared at the map on the far side of his Pentagon office, the one showing all the major military bases in the United States, and quite a few of the minor ones as well. He stared for a long time, his hands crossed in front of his face, his breath misting upon his knuckles. Finally he picked up the phone, and from memory, dialed the number of one of the few bases not on that map, one of the few that even the man who’d just called him didn’t know about.

  ~~~

  Scott Air Force Base – Illinois

  “We’ve gotta get two placements here and clean up this mess over–”

  “General.”

  General Robert Herres stopped detailing the procurements reports and looked up.

  “General, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is on the line,” Suzy, his secretary, said.

  General Herres looked at the junior officer. “I’ll get on that and come back later,” the young man said, and General Herres nodded, then stood silently over his desk while the man scurried out of the small base office. He nodded at Suzy to close the door, then reached down for the phone.

  “Sir.”

  “The President wants me to go with him to Vienna next month for the SALT II talks,” General Jones said over the phone from Washington, “we’ll need to move the plans up.”

  “Move the…,” General Herres started, then stopped himself before taking a different tact. “Sir, the teams.”

  “I know what we discussed and I know what the plan called for,” General Jones replied in short, clipped syllables, “but I’m telling you, Robert, things have changed.”

  “Just because you’re going to Europe…”

  “With the Russians involved, things heating up in Afghanistan, and the Iranians under new leadership, anything can happen.”

  General Herres nodded. He’d heard it all before, and they’d been over just this eventuality, well, not quite the SALT II talks, but something pretty similar. They’d all agreed the plan would have to go forward no matter what.

  “I know you suffered a serious setback last month when that recon team was discovered,” the Chairman continued.

  “You could call it that,” General Herres scoffed, before quickly adding a ‘sir’ on the end.

  “The original plan called for four combat assault teams,” the Chairman continued, ignoring the tone of the junior officer, or putting up with it more aptly, “and we’ll have four.”

  “Four, sir!” General Herres scoffed again, though he’d leveled his tone somewhat – he was talking to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, after all – “with all due respect, sir, where are we going to come up with another team and train it in under four weeks?”

  “You’re going to transition the team leaders you have now and put in some of the new men on each team.”

  “But sir–”

  “You listen to me, general – we don’t have a choice in this. That attack four years ago has gone unchecked long enough, we all know that. And we all know the extent to which they’ve expanded down there in Dulce too, now don’t we? So you listen to me, son, and you listen real good – we’re going in on the day we planned and the day that moon is right, and we’re doing it with four teams. You’ll have your new men overnight. Is that clear, general?”

  “Yes, sir, it is,” General Herres said before swallowing.

  And with that the Chairman hung up the phone and the commander of the United States Air Force Communications Command at Scott Air Force Base was left wondering what on earth he’d do.

  4 – Kirtland AFB<
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  Kirtland Air Force Base – Albuquerque, New Mexico

  Friday, May 18, 1979

  Brigadier General Harry Anderholt took a sip from his coffee and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  “Pttt!” he spit the coffee out and across his desk, which was thankfully clear this morning.

  “I told you it was hot!” Lucille, his secretary, shouted through the cheap wood-paneled walls.

  Harry frowned and blew onto the coffee and made to make another sip, then thought better of it and put it down. He was just turning to the back of the sports page when the phone rang. He stared down at it as it rang again, then called out to his secretary.

  “Lucille, did a call slip by you?”

  “I don’t know what to make of that, sir,” she called back.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” Harry said, and grabbed the receiver.

  “Harry, it’s Bob Herres here.”

  “Bob!” Harry said, a bit louder than he’d have liked, and he immediately cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “Bob…what the hell?”

  “Harry, I’ve got something big, something I’d like to bring you in on.”

  “Oh no, Bob,” Harry said, already shaking his hand in anticipation of what his sometimes-superior was going to say.

  “I need your men, Harry, your special men.”

  “Not for your mission, Bob, oh no, not for that,” Harry said, “I already know they’ll be wiped out to a man if you need ‘em for what I think you do.”

  “We can’t just let what happened in ’75 go unpunished,” General Robert Herres said from his paper-strewn desk at Illinois’ Scott Air Force Base, “we can’t let those Grays get away with this.”

  “Those aliens should never have been allowed to set up shop here in the first place,” Harry laughed.