After the Wave

Chapter 14
Before the Wave

Chapter Description: In a time-sensitive effort to prevent a second Wave from fucking up the world, a multinational military force goes up against an unknown, unseen enemy.

Chapter XIV: Before the Wave

It took just six hours for every nation on the planet with the equipment and the manpower to wage a land war in Antarctica to gather up their most advanced weaponry and their most distinguished soldiers. It was World War III... except the countries of the world were fighting against a common enemy -- shrouded in mystery as it was -- as opposed to each other.

Russia had perfected the Tsar Superfortress in 2052, a marvel of aeronautical engineering that could release a fleet of invisible fighter jets with the coordination of a 400-man crew. Germany went ahead with the Eiskreuser tank, which boasted the largest-caliber gun ever to successfully function-- two meters. And, not to be outdone, the United States fitted all their ground troops with body armor that could send a diamond bullet clattering to the floor.

All this, and as far as they knew, they were looking for a building.

Perhaps appropriately, Manning was the first to lay eyes on the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station, from the relative comfort of his tried-and-true F-35 Lightning III.

What he saw chilled the blood.

Some of it was still structural. Still comprised of building materials. Anybody who had been familiar with the complex prior to its inexplicable transformation could have probably identified the stacks of the electric power plant, the gaping maw of the hangar, and perhaps even Destination Alpha. But whatever research its scientists had been conducting in there was definitely above-top-secret. And what better place to do it than at the bottom of the world?

What wasn’t structural was biological. Pulsing, throbbing scales, leaking with mucous and pus, coated the exteriors of the research labs. Dozens of giant eyeballs, two pupils and irises apiece, rose from the corners of the roofs on bloody stalks. As he did a flyaround, Manning counted eighteen tentacles and seven claws made out what appeared to be titanium. But the crown jewel of this Lovecraftian horror was the facility’s geodesic dome; the entity had managed to attach itself to it, lift it out of the snowbank, complete its bottom half with donations of its own organic tissues, and flip an enormous, three-story-tall stinger out from it.

“Hey, Shorty,” Manning called through his radio. “You seeing this?”

“No,” he replied sarcastically. “I’m wondering how much it would cost to rent that hangar for public storage.”

The stationary building-creature swatted airplanes out of the sky with ease. Each pilot managed to parachute to safety... with nothing to chase after them, they’d all be going home in one piece.

So, too, would the enormous tanks and armored infantrymen. They kept a prudent distance. But no matter what they threw at the thing, every last piece of ammunition crumpled into junk and fell into a puff of snow.

Suddenly, Manning heard a low rumble. It was not unlike the one he had transcribed onto the plasma paper. It was definitely the thing’s voice.

He glanced out of his right window. A large, vagina-like slit was beginning to open along the globe beneath the stinger. Wider and wider did it open, and though the glow from inside was an almost unearthly red, visible balls of ghostly blue energy were being sucked into it from seemingly nowhere.

Manning swallowed. “Oh, shit, Shorty.”

“What?”

“It’s the second Wave. He’s charging up for it. Right now.”

“How much time we got?” Shorty’s voice had begun to quaver.

“I dunno. The blue spheres of light are becoming more brilliant.”

Shorty was in a panic. “Well, what the fuck are we gonna do!?”

Suddenly, it all came together for Manning. Like the last correct twist on a Rubik’s cube.

Manning banked sharply to the right, heading directly for the horror’s open tail.

“Manning!!” Shorty shouted into his radio. “NOOO!!”

Technical Sergeant Peter S. Manning rolled his jet sharply on its axis, knowing the fighter would fit perfectly into the entry point.

“Infantilize this, motherfucker.”

The entirety of Manning’s jet was inside the globe beneath the stinger before it exploded into tons of twisted metal and burning jet fuel. The creature’s stinger burst apart, green filth launching in every direction, splattering along the packed ice below. The blue globes of energy dissipated into the aether, never to be seen again. Hideous eyeballs on bleeding stalks blinked once, then twice, then collapsed against the side of the building, where the mucous and pus had already begun to dry up. The tentacles and claws were motionless. Whatever that thing had been... it was dead. Forever.

Shorty found a long enough strip of packed ice upon which to land his jet so he could go see the damage of the ruined plane, to hold his friend and partner one last time. He found Manning’s body, blackened with soot, but still in one piece.

He began to sob as he held Manning’s head to his chest. “There were so many things we didn’t get to do together,” Shorty lamented.

Manning coughed twice and opened his eyes. “If it involves a single shower stall, I’m not interested.”

“What the fuck?” gasped Shorty, brushing away a tear.

Peter Manning sat up in the snow and brushed himself off. “Stuck at 18 forever. It has its privileges. You know, it’s ironic, though.”

“What’s that?”

“This... thing I killed had unknowingly granted immortality to the Air Force pilot who destroyed it.”

“And increased revenues in the diaper industry by 100,000%.”

“Well,” said Manning, “that’s not really ironic.”

“No, but the next time someone says the world stinks, they won’t be bitching so much as observing.”

“Can we just get off this continent while I still have a dick?”