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Dark Crimson By Nick P.
Chapter XIV

It was only fifteen minutes later that a dark shadow rose over the horizon. The landscape turned rockier and a mountain hovered in the near distance. Large boulders crept up from the ground and soon held us surrounded. Chef was forced to doggedly avoid each one, and this was rather painstaking because it lowered our progress by a factor of ten. And so, just when we seemed so near, our pace only slowed and made that mysterious dark shadow, surrounded by wicked, sharp rocks, only draw nearer at something that couldn’t quite be called speed. Meanwhile, the sun rose high overhead and engulfed us in its fiery waves of light.

            The rocks started to clear and a road of sorts fell beneath our tires. Rocks crunched underneath while fuel cells whined. The road soon became marked in an eerie way: heads. There were metallic poles protruding from the ground, some slightly tilted while others perfectly upright, but they all pointed generally in one direction: up. They were old and corroded, their once lustrous surface now dulled and fogged. But what lay on top was frightening. There were heads impaled on the sticks, hundreds of heads all lining the road. Most were human; their faces caught in expressions of terror, others in anger, while some seemed confused. But they all had a tint of fear. Their eyes were glossy and white and thick clouds of flies hovered overhead. The buzzing sound filled the air, displacing that of our buggy. Tongues hung from limp mouths and skin drooped off of muscle and bone. Blood fell from some seemingly fresher exemplars of this nightmare.

            And then there were some Strogg heads. Some had grey flesh and black eyes while the mouth and nose remained hidden behind mechanised facemasks. Tubes from the mask dangled downward, severed in very much the same manner as the blood vessels in their necks.

            And meanwhile, the dark shape that had once been far in the horizon had now taken shape into a gigantic and somewhat ominous palace. It was in typical Strogg architectural fashion, with thick bases and walls that all leaned inward as they rose above the ground. This made them look grander and more imposing, a more prominent version of the engineering the Greeks had used in their shaping of buildings millennia ago. Thick base and slimmer top that seemed to be far above in the horizon.

            The palace, set nicely besides a gigantic and bare mountain, rose with walls that had few windows. The building had more area than height. Its walls and steps and all were made of a greyish-red stone, a compressed and processed version of the common Stroggos rock. The front held a courtyard of sorts, behind which rose the steps that led to a covered platform, a terrace behind which was the entrance, marked by a pair of mechanical and rusting doors. Carved into the rock to the side was the keypad. And the entire place seemed deserted, except for one human figure that ran down the stairs and waiting by the side of the road, apparently expecting us.

            And then I saw them, camouflaged against the rock, a gigantic mass of humans and Stroggs, standing still and weapons brought up to bear. Their steely eyes did not look away as we neared, their hands didn’t move. As I watched them, I stopped breathing. They were more dangerous in their imposing visage than in their weapons.

Chef had seen them too and I felt him slowing the buggy.            

“Just keep moving,” I told them as inconspicuously as I could. “Lance, keep your hands away from the gun.”

            Soon we pulled alongside the mess of clothes, skin, and bones. He was a soldier, or had perhaps once been. He was, however, wearing shabby civilian clothes that were undoubtedly smuggled from some news reporter here. His eyes were a pale and ghostly grey, hidden under a mass of hair. He had long hair and a beard, the effect of spending prolonged periods of time away from the rest of humanity. And as the man stood there, he twitched and flinched, rather uncontrollably shaking.

            He started waving has hands, gesturing wildly. “It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re all being approved.”

            “Approved?” said Chef somewhat incredulously. “Shit, man…”

            The pale-eyed man grinned, his smile as wild as the rest of him. “Zap ‘em, zap ‘em with your siren. Come on, man, zap ‘em!”

            Chef moved back to his controls and turned the siren on. The wailing sound that echoed in the valley immediately scattered the group of men and monsters that had been keeping a close watch on them. They disappeared, melting away mysteriously into the rocks.

            “That’s his signal, you know. They know the siren. They’d better watch out for the mines, though. Yeah, mines here, mines there. There’s mines everywhere. And those damned Stroggs, gotta be careful cause they’d still zap you when you ain’t looking. Tear you apart. Yeah, that’s a good one. Come on! Move over here, it’s alright. American here. Or at least sort of. I’m Russian-American, you know? Second generation.” We followed him off the buggy and stopped there. He kept on speaking the entire time. “American, you know, American. Well, not civilian, or I try to be. Fuck the military. Yeah, that’s kind of funny, you know? Hey, you guys got cigarettes? Damn, that’s what I’ve been dreaming of, especially when I heard you were coming, you know?”

            “Who are you?”

            His eyes twinkled and grin widened. “Who the hell are you? Me, I used to be a soldier. Had an outpost, a refuelling station, kept it going with two other guys. Sat there all day, without shit to do. Yeah, guess what? It sucked. Just like the military. Like all that. But then you know what? He came, man. He came. He killed the two others, but then he turned to me. And you know what?” He started violently slapping himself across the chest. “He saw beyond this… this skin, these clothes. He saw what lay beneath. That’s what he does, you know, he sees deeper.”

            “Who were these people and Stroggs that just moved away?”

            He shook his head uncontrollably. “Yeah, well… you know… They think you’ve come to take him away. I hope that isn’t true.”

            “Take who away?”

            “Him. He. Who else? Colonel Kurt. These are all his children, as far as you can see.” He leaned towards me as if he was doing something wrong, bringing along a mischievous smile. “You know what? I’d say those are some ugly-ass children.” He leaned back and started laughing madly. Then he stopped and his smile faded. “Shouldn’t have said that. No, shouldn’t have said that at all. Then again, who gives a shit? It’s funny, you see. Here is this man, more pure than a man of religion, and yet he has thousands of children. Funny, isn’t it?”

            He stopped talking and I examined his twitching figure.

            “What is this place?” I asked, motioning to the palace.

            “It used to be an outlying Karoggon satellite city. And then the war started and all, and the Stroggs abandoned it. Concentrated their troops in Karoggon. Or went off, left a few behind, you know. And then the colonel came and he took over. The few Stroggs left joined him, see, he’s hard to resist. He had promised us, all of his children, shelter. He promises so much, and the way he says it… The way he looks at you. Yes, he’s a great man. He doesn’t lie, he’s honest. If he says there will be food for everyone, there will be… or… or if he says he’ll kill you, he does. No, he wouldn’t lie. He might postpone, but then one day you’ll wake up, you know, and yawn, and when you stop, you’ll find a blaster in your mouth…”

            “Could we talk to Colonel Kurt?”

            The man laughed again. “Hey, man, you don’t talk to the Colonel. You listen to him.” He vividly tapped his temple. “The man has enlarged my mind. He’s a warrior and yet a poet too, see?” His eyes fell hazily to the ground. “I mean sometimes, he’ll, uh, well, you’ll say ‘hello’ to him or something like that, right? And he’ll just walk right by you. He won’t notice. And then… and then a minute later, he’ll come up to you, grab you, and throw you in a corner and ask, ‘What is the one word that can be used to describe life?’ or something like that. And you know what the trick is? You must keep your mind, you’ve gotta keep your head when all the people around you are loosing theirs and blaming it in you. You’ve gotta trust yourself when all men doubt you. Well¾I mean, I can’t¾I’m just a little man. And he, well he, he’s a great man. I’m just worthy of being a six-legged thing crawling over seafloors. I mean…”

            I turned to Lance. “Stay here.”

            And so my feet started strolling across the square and to the palace’s entrance.

            “Hey, uh, don’t go without me,” said the man. “I’ve gotta see this, maybe even get a picture. It’s a hobby, see, making pictures. It’s all about capturing life, or that’s what it should be about. But in the war, it’s all about capturing death.” He started fumbling with a heavy digital camera that was strapped across his neck. “He can be terrible, he can be mean, and sometimes alright. He’s the one fighting the war. He’s a great man. I mean…” His hands made indefinite symbols that showed uncertainty. “I wish I had the words. I can tell you, the other day he wanted to kill me.”

            He paused, pleased that he had found a good example.

            “Why did he want to kill you?”

            “Because I took his picture. He just turned to me and said, ‘If you take my picture again, I’ll kill you.’ And he meant it, that look in his eye, that surge of greatness. I felt it. So what you do is just lay it cool, lay back, just dig it… And then he’ll get friendly again! He really does! And you can’t call him mad or… or… or crazy, or anything like that. You just don’t judge him like an ordinary man.”

            By then, we had climbed up on the massive terrace. Off to one side, a large group of men were lazily lying back. I immediately saw that they were soldiers, Coalition soldiers. And in the middle, I saw a familiar face.

            “Colby.”

            “OK, just watch it,” our frantic guide was saying. “They are Coalition, some are American. Isn’t that great?” He smiled proudly. “It’s just the vibe, the feeling you get here. It’s nowhere else, man. Wait, let me take a picture.” He backed away, raising his cameral. “Say hello, there. Would you hold it for a minute?”

            I turned and saw another wall of stakes and heads that lined the far edge of the platform.

            “The heads. Yeah, you’re looking at the heads. I, uh¾well, sometimes he goes too far, you know¾and he was the first to admit it!”

            “He’s gone crazy!” Chef said.

            “Wrong!” yelled the man. “Wrong! If you could have just heard the man two days ago. If you could have heard him… And you going to call him crazy?”

            “Hell yeah!” Chef retorted.

            I stepped in. “I just want to talk to him.”

            “Well,” he replied regretfully. “He’s gone away. He went off with his people. Patrol or something like that…”

            “I’ll wait for him.”

            “…and you know, he just likes it. He feels comfortable with his people, his children. He often forgets himself with them. He forgets himself…”

            Chef turned to me worriedly. “Captain, maybe we should go wait back at the buggy.”

            I nodded. “OK, Chef, we’ll go back for a while.” And I turned to the still blabbing man. “Would this happen to be yours?” I pulled the old, tattered flight manual out of my pocket. I was hoping it would silence him. That, and I needed to gain the man’s trust. The book was of little value to me, but I knew it meant a lot to him. And I knew that, after giving it, I could trust him, crazy as he was. I didn’t know if it would come to a point where I’d have to rely on him. At the sight of it, the man’s eyes flashed.

            “Oh, thank you! How’d you know? I wanted to go back and take it, but when the Colonel says ‘no,’ you listen…”

            “I found it, thought it was sad to leave it lying there. I saw the writing in the margins, Cyrillic, I think. Couldn’t quite say it was Russian, though.”

            The man nodded. “It’s UBI Revision Cyrillic, still Russian, though. Days were long and wide back in that cabin, you know… But this here, I’ve had it for so long, found it lying around in the mess hall one day… But don’t worry, cause he knows you were coming, he’s known all along, see? Before the Vagga Canyon Bridge, he knew… And he wouldn’t leave his guests unattended for long.”

            And so I left the man behind and headed back to the buggy along with Chef. “Stay with Lance,” he muttered as we jogged. “He’s gone wacko!” There was a tinge of urgency, borne of fear and uncertainty. Our feet carried us swiftly to the foot of the transport. Soon, we climbed back on board and sat down in the back, silently and tiredly discussing all that had just happened and pondering at what would soon happen.

            Lance looked at us both questioningly.

“This colonel guy¾he’s wacko, man. He’s crazy. No, worse than crazy¾he’s evil. I mean, yeah… crazy. That’s it. Just look around. It’s fucking Paganism here! People that strike out in the war on their own don’t do shit like this. He’s gone fucking stratospheric.” Chef shook his head, glancing at Lance. “The heads ain’t nothing. You should see his palace up close. And the soldiers too! He’s lost his shit, man.”

            I looked at him intently. “Then you’ll help me.”

            “Help you?” he asked with an incredulous tone in his voice. “Hell yeah, I’ll help you! I would do just about anything to get out of this joint! We could blow all of the assholes away. They’re all so spaced out they wouldn’t even know it! And those skulls, heads, altars and shit don’t scare me. It’d make sense that, if you die in an evil place, then you wouldn’t reach heaven. But shit, I don’t give a damn where I reach, as long as it ain’t here. So what do you want to do? I’d kill the fuck¾”

            “No, no. All I need from you is to stay here, Chef,” I told him. “I’ll go up with Lance and browse around, check out the location, see if I can find the colonel.”

            He nodded. “OK, so what do you want me to do?”

            “Hang around the radio. If I don’t get back before 2200 hours, call in the airstrike.”

            “Airstrike?”

            “ComSec wanted to do this quietly and efficiently, but this is their plan if my quietness doesn’t suffice. Call them in, code is Black Sun, Sector VI, forty-three by two-one, due north. Here,” I said, handing him a printout. “It’s all on here. Remember, 2200 hours, then if I’m not back, call them and give us a fireworks show.”

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