A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #45

A Year Underfoot


September 2nd, 2033

We watched the base most of the night and came to the conclusion that we’d have to get inside to inflict any real damage. Hitting transports was a waste of firepower when there were so many sweeter targets inside the base.

Like, warbirds and ordinance.


The word hangs in the air.


Inside a Threak air base. Surrounded by all things Threak.

Troopers – weapons – the works.


Inside, – sounds awfully like a suicide mission, doesn’t it?

I dialed in my infrareds on the southern gate of the installation while Bagman kept an eye on the skies. The sun would be coming up soon and the window for getting anything done today was closing fast. I was jumping out of my skin, but Bagman, preaching patience, said if nothing presented itself by sun-up, well, tomorrow was another day. The odds against us were great enough already, why go and force a losing hand?

I knew he was right and was about to tell him so when, from seemingly out of nowhere, the first of the alien shells, – glowing balls of heated matter, slammed into the earth fifty feet short of our position.

They came one after another, – six in all. Pulsating orbs of red matter struck the earth with such force, such impact, that it literally bounced us off the ground and lit up the area for miles in all directions.

I rolled over and checked on Bagman. He was all right, and as the dirt and dust hung in the air, we pulled each other to our feet and ran like hell. We kept our heads low and our feet moving, both of us knowing that as soon as the shelling stopped the warbirds would be up in the air.

Funny thing is, the warbirds never appeared. Not one, not one lousy craft.

Either we’d tripped a security wire, or stumbled onto an ordinance range, I have no idea. Six shells, – that was it.



About paul nevins

Fiction writer, reader and baseball fan.
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