The Four Corners Hole – Women’s World (III) Conveyance (1136 hits)
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Rating: 1.73 on 17 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2006-04-25 17:19:01 EDT
Intro http://www.ubersite.com/m/74452
Pfc. Weyms http://www.ubersite.com/m/75620
theholetruth.com http://www.ubersite.com/m/75708
Emergence - http://www.ubersite.com/m/76672
Women's World (I) http://www.ubersite.com/m/77102
Divulgence - http://www.ubersite.com/m/78495
Women's World (II) http://www.ubersite.com/m/81641
The Four Corners Hole - Women's World (III) Conveyance
Berger heard the snap and crack of his chute unfolding a moment before he was jerked in his harness like a puppet on strings.
As he began his descent he looked up. He saw the moon, and the trail of smoke left by the Tough Cookie. At the head of the trail was the aircraft that had gotten him through so much, beat to hell and burning as she fell towards the earth.
A quick recon of his surroundings told his things were good, and bad. The good was the three white drifting balls that told him Packard, Grossman and Covington had bailed out safely. The bad was the herky-jerky motion of little cones of light below. Vehicles would be meeting them when they touched down. Berger didn't have a clue who might be in those vehicles, but the fact that they had been shooting at the Cookie meant a warm welcome was doubtful. Somewhere between good and bad was the thought that Long, that creepy piece of work from the Compound sent to eyeball them, was still on the plane.
Below was, what from the layout anyway, locked like a modern military base, and one big goddamned hole in the ground.
We went into that, he thought. And came out again.
Berger looked up at the bomber and shook his head in wonder as the Cookie hit an updraft and leveled out a little before disappearing behind a ridge of rock, and then a gust of warm of wind filled his chute and raised him up into a haze of moonlit cloud.
*
Long got to his feet and looked out one window, wiping blood from his lacerated scalp out of his eyes. He had to fight to focus, and once he was seeing straight he gasped. In an instant, all was revealed to him.
He saw the mouth of Hell gaping far below, and even as he prayed that the Lord use him to deal with this gateway to eternal darkness he felt the breath of the Lord lift the front of the plane, and then the aircraft was gliding beyond jagged ridges of rock and out into the desert, descending toward a level plain.
*
Berger was lost in a silvery mist. He told himself it was just atmospheric haze illuminated by the moon, but the glow surrounding him was breathtaking. He felt as if he was being suspended in the air as well. There wasn't the familiar sensation of his bodyweight pulling down against the straps of his chute. This was more like a moment of freefall, when your balls all but disappeared inside you and your torso and not your head became the center of all creation. Updraft, Berger told himself. It's just an updraft.
And that was when he heard the voice.
"Johnny," it said.
*
There were two trucks directly below, and Grossman was falling fast. He counted three other chutes and hoped to Christ that it was that strange egg named Long left behind on the plane.
The trucks were kind of strange looking, but he could hear the engines roaring and he knew that there were combustion engines under all that fancy metal and paint.
He started waving his arms, what the hell were they, idiots? They were right in his way!
He tugged on the straps of his chute but it was too late. He hit the ground and one of the trucks swerved.
Gonna get clipped, the young man thought, as the trucks blew by him and his right leg erupted with pain.
He was thrown back into the air, a short ride this time. He chewed dirt and rolled onto his back.
"It's a man. An injured man."
This was said by a cute little thing in a jumpsuit so tight and revealing it made Grossman forget his pain for a brief moment. She got down on one knee and looked at him like she'd never seen a GI before.
Just before the pain swallowed him whole and everything went black, Grossman heard another woman say a single word.
She sounded frightened and angry and weirdly enough, offended.
"Insurgents."
*
"Johnny. You must listen now, cause what I got to tell you is important."
Berger knew that singsong cadence as well as his own voice.
His Gramma was speaking to him. But Gramma died when he was twelve years old. He remembered seeing her in her bed that last summer morning. She had not wanted to go to this hospital. She had wanted to die at home, with the window open and birds singing outside and a breeze wafting across her weary, lined face. Her gray hair had been fixed into two long braids, and she wore her old necklace made of beads and feathers.
"Johnny," his Gramma of back then had said. "I'm gonna die now, okay?"
Berger could remember how hard it was to breathe then, his chest painfully tight. "Gramma?"
The war in Europe was over, and an unforeseeable depression was years away. John's dad was making good money as a stunt flier, John was getting up the nerve to ask his dad if he could learn how to fly, and all was well with the world. And now this.
The old woman had been the one constant in his life. Berger had been born in 1909, and his mother had died as she had gone into labor, in the home Gramma would die in one day. The maternal side of Gramma loved to tell the story of how her daughter loved John Berger so much she had given her very last breath, the last beat of her heart, her last thought, to him. It had not been enough. The tough-as-nails survivor side of Gramma loved to tell how she had taken a knife and cut a squalling John Berger from his mother's womb, placing the baby on the dead woman's chest so he might feel a little of her warmth before it was stolen away.
John's dad had spent a great deal of time working jobs that kept him out of the house and he seemed almost relieved when he had the chance to go and fight the Kaiser's boys in France. When the man returned to America his crazy new career as a barnstormer kept him away from home. The only thing John and his dad could enjoy together was flying. When they were in the clouds they laughed together. When they were on the ground, his dad always looked at John as if the boy were hurting him.
"He sees your momma in you," Gramma had once told him. "And it breaks his heart. So don't hate him for loving her too much."
Gramma raised John. She bathed him and fed him and slapped his behind when he did something stupid. She taught him about where he had come from, and taught him that a man should be paradoxically humble and strong, that women should be treated with kindness and a gentle hand, and that everything had a spirit worthy of respect.
John grew up proud of the fact he had come from a line of fighters. He cold knock down almost any kid at school, but rarely got in fights. He treated the local girls like ladies, and always avoided causing unnecessary pain, even if it meant stepping around an anthill in a field while playing with friends who would gleefully smash the anthill flat.
As a man caught up in a second World War, John had followed his orders and delivered bombs in the Tough Cookie. And he always said a silent prayer as the bombs fell. He knew the fight was the right one, but he did not enjoy the killing.
"I see you shaking your head," his Gramma of back then had said. She had taken his hand and held it.
"Everythings gotta die, Johnny. That's the way. We move on to spirit and make way for the young."
"But Gramma—"
"There's no buts, Johnny. You are a man now. A warrior. You have to make your mother and I proud. Honor your father, and your country, and your people."
The old woman had wrapped her fingers around her necklace. "I made this just after you were born. The beads are made from the clay of the earth. The feathers come from birds of the sky. This is you, Johnny. Earth and sky."
Berger stared into the clouds, remembering that day.
Remembering how Gramma had pulled free the largest feather attached to her necklace and placed it in his hand, and told him to listen to the wind. She had known how much he'd come love flying even before he did.
"I don't got time to waste, Johnny," his Gramma's voice said in the here and now. "So pull your head out of the clouds."
She laughed then, and that laugh told John Berger that however strange this turn of events was, it was real.
*
Packard hit the dirt and went down on his knees even as headlights surrounded him. He crawled free of his harness and realized that his right sleeve was soaked in blood. His head drooped and he felt groggy.
"Lousy shitheel," he said, hoping Long was torn into a million pieces of meat when the Cookie crashed down and came apart at the seams.
He heard boots against hard earth and looked up, seeing boots all right, but what the heck... silver-gray boots, with stiletto heels?
Pack raised his head and saw that he was surrounded by women. Women with guns. Women who were practically naked, wearing uniforms that hugged their curves like paint.
If this is an invasion, he thought, the krauts have been saving the best for last!
He struggled to stand. He was gonna do this right. He was a soldier, God damn it, and he'd act like one! Name, rank and serial number was all...
A woman stepped in front of him. She blonde and blue-eyed, and was wearing the same uniform as the others, but Pack's eyes widened as he looked her up and down. Every inch of her was perfection.
Hubba-hubba, boys, a voice in his mind hollered, this Aryan angel could make a potato sack look good!
Reacting without thinking, Packard whistled and said, "Baby, you're a barn-burner!"
The woman popped Packard right in the chops, and as he spun and dropped all he could think was, 'What a dame!'
*
"Gramma?"
"Yeah, it's me, Johnny."
"How—"
"I told you the last time we talked that we go to spirit. Did you think I was lying?"
Suspended in the clouds, John Berger shrugged.
His Gramma laughed again. "Johnny. Look how handsome you got. That black hair just like I had once, so big and strong, and I bet those dark eyes have the little girls melting when they see you, huh?"
"Jesus, Gramma, I—"
"I'm just kidding, sonny. Always so serious! Anyhow, time is short even though something bad is happening throughout time, a long ways forward and a long ways back. You got to listen close, Johnny."
*
Covington was convinced he was going to come out of this absolutely as right as rain. He had seen the boy and the engineer land in the midst of soldiers, uncommonly attractive soldiers, yes, but gun-toting soldiers nonetheless, and he was sure he would not be seen by these luscious and shapely women in skin-tight gray uniforms that flashed almost white when they passed in front of the headlights of their motor vehicles, had no doubt whatsoever that the light breeze carrying him beyond their flashy transportation would deposit him in that wood just ahead.
He thought that right up until he was twenty feet above the ground and falling fast, and realized he could see his own reflection, feet first.
He had only time for one bitter thought —it's a bloody great greenhouse!— before his boots smashed through the glass of the structure and he was cut by gleaming shards and battered by tree limbs as he fell to earth.
He stopped moving and blood rushed to his head.
He heard trucks approaching and female voices calling out commands
"Bugger," Covington said, hanging upside down from an apple tree, wrapped in parachute silk like a cocoon. As a boy in Merton he had often delighted in watching caterpillars transform into moths. The irony of his current situation was not lost on him.
*
"You can't hang in the air forever, Johnny. Even a feather got to fall. You still got what I gave you?"
Berger unzipped his sheepskin jacket and reached into his shirt. On a length of steel chain were his dog tags, and a tattered feather.
"Lookit what you done to that beautiful feather!" Even in mock outrage Gramma's voice had the singsong cadence of her people. "I bet when I was dead you just used your feet to shove me into a hole in the back yard, huh?"
"Gramma, that's mean!"
Christ, Berger thought. I sound like a little kid.
Gramma laughed again and then spoke in a somber tome.
"Okay, here's the message I got for you, boy. I—"
"I loved you Gramma. I don't think I ever told you enough—"
"Yeah, okay, boo-hoo, Johnny. One day long time from now when you're dead and here with me we can waste time on all that tomfoolery, but listen now, time is short."
Chastised, Captain John Berger said, "Okay, Gramma."
"You come from a long line of warriors. They are standing behind you now, and will give you strength when you need it. Your journey to the Deadrock has not even begun, and the first step on that journey is yet to come, but have faith, Johnny. Have faith when you are in the dark, cause there's light at the end."
Berger waited for more.
"What... what does that mean, Gramma? What—"
Berger began to fall. He looked up and saw a tear in his chute. The billowing silk was still slowing his descent, but he was going to hit hard.
As he dropped out of the pale mist and saw the ground rushing up at him, he heard his Gramma's voice once more, from far above.
"Uh-oh! Outta time, Johnny. Be good, my boy, and remember, that first step is a doozy!"
Berger hit and rolled and lay on his back a long while, catching his breath.
He was blinded by headlights and heard the roar of a truck engine draw close, and then the engine was shut down.
He struggled to his feet, wincing as pain flared in his ribs. He shrugged out of his harness and raised his arms, waiting for the soldiers, or whoever had been shooting at the Cookie, to start barking orders.
The only thing he heard was crickets.
The truck headlights were extinguished, and under the light of the moon Berger saw a small woman in khaki pants and a cotton shirt approach him.
The look on her face was one of childish awe, as if he was a circus freak and a clown rolled into one.
"You're a man," she said, her voice full of wonder. "What... what's your name?"
"Berger," he replied, ignoring for a moment how flat out strange this was. "John Berger."
"I'm Persephone," the woman said with a smile. "You can call me Seph."
User Reviews
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-05-01 16:19:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-05-01 13:19:21 PDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Stop linking to yourself all the time, Jesus.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-05-13 00:39:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WHAT UP, FOO'??
I like the direction you're going in, with John's dead Grandma and the mysterious history there. Very interesting. You're good at casting the lure.
On the other hand, why didn't you link my little contribution to your Four Corners saga? OMG I THOUGHT U LOVED ME!! * weeps *
http://www.ubersite.com/m/81729
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2006-05-04 14:23:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-04-28 18:21:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
glad you revived this
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-28 03:53:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I hate seeing beautifully constructed, well-written and interesting stories with 12 reviews.
Fucking lame.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2006-04-26 17:09:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"and then the aircraft was gliding beyond jagged ridges of rock and out into the desert, descending toward a level plain"
***
thank you
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2006-04-26 09:30:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2006-04-26 09:10:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great fun. It's been awhile waiting for the continuation of this series but heartily enjoyable.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-04-26 08:55:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by The_Cyst_Master (user info) at 2006-04-26 01:17:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I will never read one of your posts. Ever.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-04-25 23:27:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
not as good as some of your more recent work, but solid.
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2006-04-25 23:15:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This series is awesome. This could easily be fleshed out to a novel sized story. There is an incredible amount of time inbetween posts though. Could you do me a favour and make part four come out sooner rather than later?
Do you watch Futurama? This vaguely reminds me of an episode where they crashed on a planet filled with giant amazonian women. The males were all sentenced to death by snu snu. It would be an interesting way to go.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-04-25 21:21:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
needs less of whatever this was about and more zombies and vampires and Variant Cs and zombie/vampire/Ceevee hunters.
Submitted by OneCheapGeek (user info) at 2006-04-25 21:04:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
2 on 3. Seems you stretched it out too far and no one knows what's what anymore.
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-04-25 19:37:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Sweet, as always.
Can't wait for more!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-04-25 17:59:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I wish I could win the lottery.
I'd just sit around all day and write shit like this.
And play with myself.
Okay.
Who am I kidding?
I wouldn't get much writing done if I won.
Gotta stop buying lottery tickets, right now.
Submitted by Yes (user info) at 2006-04-25 17:47:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
curiouser and curiouser...