Peace Army

  PEACE ARMY

  Steven L. Hawk

  Copyright 2011 by Steven L. Hawk

  All rights reserved. Except where permitted by law, this book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without the express, written permission of the publisher.

  First eBook Edition: April, 2011

  ISBN: 978-1461100935

  Cover art by Sabrina C. Kleis

  www.SteveHawk.com

  This book is dedicated to the men my sister, Debra, loved.

  Her husband:

  Jeffrey Price, Master Sergeant, US Air Force, Retired

  Her sons:

  Jeremy Price, Machinist Mate First Class, US Navy

  Joshua Price, Staff Sergeant, US Army

  PEACE ARMY

  Prologue

  “Professor Justice, your wife is here.”

  Drew looked up from the financial report he was working on for the department steering committee. His assistant and wife were standing in the doorway to his office. The mutual grins splashed across their faces indicated they had been sharing a joke—probably at his expense.

  Not that he minded. Or had a choice.

  One kept him on track at work. The other kept him on track in life.

  He couldn’t help but grin back.

  “Honey, what are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Came by to see if you had time for lunch.” Natalie’s hands rested on her stomach and the beautiful bulge that had grown over the past nine months.

  The financial report was forgotten. He made his way around the desk and greeted his wife with a grasp of hand and a polite peck on the cheek. It was their standard office greeting. Their standard outside-the-office greeting might have raised eyebrows within the university. Not that a full-body hug and a healthy locking of lips was over the top—not by a long shot, in Drew’s opinion. But some in his department were outspoken on the topic of PDAs—public displays of affection—especially on school grounds. It was an archaic stance, but there was no benefit in flaunting his beliefs in the faces of his older, more conservative colleagues.

  “Thanks, Jan,” he said with a nod to his assistant.

  Jan nodded in return and closed the door behind her.

  “Lunch sounds great, hon. Can you give me five minutes to put some things away first?”

  “Of course. As long as I can sit while I wait.” Natalie waddled to one of the guest chairs situated in front of Drew’s desk. She lowered herself gingerly into the chair, releasing a contented sigh as she settled into the leather-covered padding.

  The time was near. Her due date was less than two weeks away and she was fully in the “let’s just get this over with” stage of pregnancy. The three flights of stairs she climbed to reach his office could not have helped her feel any better. Despite her condition, she refused to use the elevator; insisted she needed the exercise.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  “Besides being the size of a bus, having swollen feet, and not getting any sleep? Just peachy, Drew.”

  The “swollen feet” remark was accompanied by a lifting of her left foot. It was fitted in a flip-flop usually reserved for duty as a house shoe. Drew thought this might be the first time those flip-flops had ever left their house, but he kept the thought to himself. The “let’s just get this over with” stage was tricky to navigate.

  “Well, you look as beautiful as ever, hon,” he said instead. And he meant it.

  In reply, she lifted the middle finger of her left hand and blew him a raspberry, which delivered several large droplets of spit to her overlarge tummy. The sight of his very pregnant wife flipping him off, while spewing spit and dressed in a pair of ragged flip-flops was both precious and hilarious.

  He tried to hold it back, tried to navigate the path, but it was no use.

  He smiled, grinned, and finally laughed.

  She simply smiled, shook her head knowingly, and waited for him to get it out of his system. To her credit, she flipped him off again, this time without the raspberry.

  “Where do you want to eat?” he managed after a minute or so.

  “I’m thinking Pad Thai House,” Natalie replied. The smile on her face hinted at the pleasure those spicy noodles would deliver to her system. Her compulsion for spicy food had grown in tandem with the baby inside her womb. “That sound okay to you?”

  “Sounds great, hon,” Drew said.

  Sounds like another evening of bad gas ahead, he thought.

  Another successful navigation.

  If Natalie wanted spicy, he was more than happy to oblige. At near-term in the pregnancy, she was the one doing the heavy lifting. Even with her occasional crabbiness and regular bouts of gas, he was getting off easy.

  He stashed the finance report and other sensitive papers he had scattered across the desk into the top drawer and locked it.

  “Ready?”

  “Starving,” she replied and held out her hands. “Help me up.”

  She didn’t need the help, but he rushed to her side of the desk and tugged her to her feet. It gave them an opportunity to hold hands, if only for a moment. If there was one thing Drew appreciated most about their relationship, it was that they were happiest when touching. When they were together, it was rare that they weren’t holding hands, sitting side by side, or touching each other in some way. Except here, where he worked.

  Drew was helping Natalie navigate the descent of the stairs when her water broke. The sudden rush of fluid splattered the second floor landing and coated the beat-up flip-flops she wore.

  “Uh oh,” Natalie said. Her voice was calm. “Looks like it’s time for new shoes.”

  Drew stood frozen, staring at the wetness around her feet. He felt the panic rising, but swallowed the feeling and thought through the details of the situation.

  “Is your bag in the car?” he asked in a squeaky voice that he had not used since he was thirteen. Natalie giggled.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Is your voice changing?”

  Drew cleared his throat. Regrouped.

  “Wait here. I’m going to tell Jan we’re heading to the hospital.” He put Natalie’s hand on the railing, made sure she had a good grip, and sprinted up the stairway. He yelled back over his shoulder, “Back in thirty seconds!”

  Drew exited the stairwell door at full speed and charged down the hall.

  “Jan!” he yelled as he ran.

  Jan popped out of her office doorway halfway down the hall. Other heads popped out of other doors and two students flattened against the corridor wall as Drew rushed past.

  “Professor?” she called tentatively. The look on her face registered surprise and worry.

  “Her water broke!” he called, sliding to a stop. “We’re heading to the hospital.”

  Jan’s face beamed with sudden understanding. They had discussed what to do ahead of time. She gave him a thumbs-up. She would take care of things there and get word to his students and the faculty.

  Drew did not wait for further acknowledgment. He turned and raced back to the stairwell.

  He found Natalie calmly waiting for him on the landing. Without a word between them, he helped her down the remaining flight of stairs, across the parking lot, and onto the front seat of their ten-year-old Toyota. Once she was safely inside the car, he raced to his side, jumped into the driver’s seat, and fumbled the keys.

  “Aargh!”

  He was brushing his hands along the floorboard in a useless, back-and-forth search pattern when Natalie placed a hand on his head.

  “No need to rush, Drew. Take your time.”

  She was so calm! How could she be so calm? They were going to have a baby.

  His hand landed on something soft.

  He pulled out a stuffed green elephant. They had purchased it
the weekend before while shopping for the baby. How it ended up under his seat, Drew had no idea. He chucked it over his shoulder without a second thought and went back to searching.

  There.

  He found the keys, selected the correct one, and shoved it into the ignition. He turned the key, checked his rearview mirror, and backed out of his reserved space.

  From now on, he thought, every time I park in this spot, I’m going to remember this moment.

  The thought helped calm him. This was a wonderful day. A baby!

  Drew took a deep breath, looked to the right and left, and exited the faculty parking lot. He turned right and headed for the hospital, three miles away. He forced himself to stay under the speed limit.

  Every baby book she had pushed his way, he read without complaint. For that reason, he knew babies did not come right away. Some, especially a mother’s first, took hours and hours.

  They had time.

  He relaxed just a bit.

  “It’s good to see you’re back with me,” Natalie teased. “For a while there, I thought I might have to drive.”

  Drew released a heavy sigh. Smiled. He had been a little antsy. He felt better now that they were on the way. He checked the side and rear mirrors.

  “Sorry,” he offered sheepishly. At least he no longer sounded like a thirteen-year-old pre-adolescent.

  “S’okay, honey,” Natalie rubbed his arm. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  Drew smiled. She was having a baby, but he was the one being comforted.

  Then the rubbing turned to a rough squeeze. He looked over to see his wife’s face twisted in pain. A contraction.

  “Was that your first?” He waited until the pain left her face before asking.

  She smiled thinly. “No. I had one on the stairs before I reached your office.”

  “What? You were having contractions all this time?”

  “No, only the one,” she explained. “When I didn’t have another one, I thought it was a fluke. Then they started again on the way down the stairs. Now, here we are.”

  “Sheesh. You could have warned me.” He slowed as they approached a four-way stop. He arrived as another car stopped to his right. He waved for the car to proceed, then drove on.

  “I didn’t want you worrying for nothing,” she said. Giggled. “Also didn’t want you talking in your little-boy voice.”

  “Great. I can see I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

  “Not a chance. Is the bag in your car?” she mimicked his voice cracking.

  “Ha ha,” he said. It was kind of funny, he had to admit.

  They were less than a mile from the hospital and his heart rate had returned to something resembling normal. His previous anxiety and fear were replaced by a growing sense of excitement. He slowed and stopped behind a line of cars at a red light. It was time for the lunch rush.

  Drew checked his rearview mirror.

  He saw a large white truck. It was closing the gap and moving fast.

  Too fast.

  Drew watched helplessly as the truck filled the mirror.

  “Natalie—”

  Voices.

  Cold.

  Pain. So much pain!

  Natalie.

  “He’s alive,” a male voice announced. “Rob, check the passenger! I’ve got this one!”

  “Na…Na…”

  “Don’t talk, buddy. Just lie still.”

  “Na…Natalie…”

  “Natalie. Is that your wife? My buddy Rob is checking on her right now,” the Voice explained. “You’ve got two of the best paramedics in Boston on the case.”

  Drew was cold, and an elephant was sitting on his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

  “B…aby.”

  “Don’t talk, buddy.”

  Drew felt the paramedic touching him. The touches brought fresh stabs of agony. He was hurt. Bad.

  “Nata…lie,” he managed. The elephant had not moved. It took all his breath and strength to whisper those three syllables.

  “Rob?” the Voice asked.

  Rob did not answer.

  Even the elephant knew that was not a good sign.

  “Na…Nat…”

  “Shhh, buddy. Save your breath.”

  Drew marshaled his strength.

  Opened his eyes.

  The Voice hovered above him, a blurry apparition. But not so blurry that Drew missed the tell-tale shake of head the Voice gave after looking to Rob. He knew what it meant.

  “Ba…by.”

  The Voice leaned down.

  Locked eyes.

  “We’ll do everything we can, buddy.”

  Drew closed his eyes and the elephant returned. But this time it was soft.

  A stuffed green elephant.

  * * *

  “Uhggn!”

  Grant jerked up with a start.

  The ragged breathing and staccato pounding of his heart that always accompanied the nightmare welcomed him to the darkened room.

  He was sitting in his bed.

  A quick glance showed Avery still sleeping. He had not woken her.

  This time.

  This was the fourth occasion in the past two weeks that the story of his mother’s death had come to haunt him. The nightmare had lain dormant for years – safely buried under the detritus of everyday life and the usual concerns of a grown man and professional soldier.

  Then the threat of another Minith mothership headed toward Earth raised its demonic head.

  And so had the nightmare.

  His father first told him the story on his tenth birthday. After the requisite party of friends, presents, and cake ended and quiet filled their house again, his dad sat him on the couch. He offered a short prelude about how Grant was old enough to handle what he was about to tell him. Drew Justice then calmly informed his son of the events that led to his mother’s death and his subsequent birth by emergency C-section.

  It was an emotionally difficult story for his father to tell, but he fought through his pain and told Grant every detail he could remember. He cried during parts of the story, laughed at others, and Grant saw how much it hurt him to be reliving that day. When the story was over, he closed his eyes and lay back on the couch. Grant took his father’s hand, thanked him for telling the story, and comforted him as best he could. He then promised his dad that he would “handle it” well.

  And he did handle it well. For three years.

  When his dad was taken by cancer the day before his thirteenth birthday, the nightmare about his mother’s passing visited Grant for the first time.

  The dream offered random, recurring interruptions to Grant’s sleep for the next five years. It came when it wished, replayed the ghoulish events of his father’s worst day, and left a shaking, tattered soul in its wake.

  The dream finally passed into the realm of just another bad memory when Grant joined the army. It was then that he finally rediscovered his sense of belonging—his sense of family. On the field of battle, he found brothers-in-arms. They became his new family, and they kept the dream at bay.

  Until now.

  The warrior swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and left his sleeping wife. He turned on a light in their tiny kitchen, then made his way across the apartment to his son’s room.

  Grant stood quietly in the doorway and felt his heart skip. Eli was sleeping peacefully. He was turned on his side and one leg was uncovered by the blanket, as usual. At five years old, he was becoming more and more like his mother every day—smart, good-humored, and extremely full of energy.

  Grant was no psychiatrist, but he knew himself well. He understood why the dream had returned. It had everything to do with the alien ship. It drew closer to Earth with every passing moment. And with every passing moment, the threat to his family grew.

  He ran a hand through his sleeping son’s hair, leaned down, and gently kissed his brow.

  “They’ll never take you from me, son,” Grant whispered. “I promise.”

  Part I

 
; Father First, Soldier Second

  Chapter 1

  Grant strode purposefully down the half-mile length of the First Square hallway, slowing only as he neared the door to Treel’s room. He wondered how Treel would take the news.

  He had delayed informing the alien about the object headed toward Earth until they were positive what it was. Just that morning, the probes they had placed on Mars two years previously had sent back very clear images. The visual identification confirmed their worst fears.

  The approaching object was a Minith mothership.

  They had suspected it for weeks, ever since the fast-moving object suddenly appeared. Their search efforts scanned the sky at all times, looking for anomalies, blips, and motherships. A third of their systems detected the object at the same moment. One second, nothing. The next, a tiny blip marked the presence of a new object on the outer boundary of the solar system.

  Senior Scientist Tane Rolan surmised the ship had slowed from faster-than-light speed at, or just before, the moment it was detected, but no one knew for certain. What they did know was, at its current speed, the ship would reach Earth in less than a week.

  Treel was the sole survivor of the previous Minith occupation force. He had been captured by the men and women of Violent’s Prison after a failed raid of the prison by the alien force. The other Minith on the planet had been killed, many by Grant.

  Over the past six years, Grant had come to trust the former Minith soldier. Somehow, he could relate to Treel in ways other humans could not—and in ways that he could not relate to other humans. As an ancient soldier, forged by the norms of a society six hundred years in the past, Grant was just as much an anomaly in present-day Earth as was the alien. They were both trained soldiers. Neither feared killing or showing violence when the need arose. Both were driven by a need for discipline, accountability, and an ingrained code of honor.