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Chapter One
The Ardennes, France, January 1945
The soldier skittered into the double wide foxhole as a deafening, concussive 88 round exploded in the treetops, splintering the massive pines into a hail of fragmented burning branches. Pine oil, burnt powder, and a blood haze swirled together, drifting over the ground, coating the men of the 117th Infantry Regiment cramped low in their protective furrows with a stench they would never be able to clear from their memories.
The soldier nudged the man whose foxhole he’d just invited himself into and held up a cigarette.
“Hey, bud. Got a light?”
The foxhole’s owner raised his head, bringing his face from the shadows below the protection of his helmet.
“That would be Sergeant Bud to you, corporal. Just hold your hand up. Something burning will pass by quick enough.”
Another volley of 88s shook the ground and filled the air with calamitous starbursts, putrid smoke, and the agonizing shrieks of men rushing to death. The torrent of cannon fire continued at such a cadence, it seemed to be one long uproarious tone. Earth tremors took on a pacifying vibration. The cacophony of light and sound overrode conscious thought, inducing a compelling desire to sleep.
The sergeant’s eyes fluttered closed and the hellacious world surrounding him faded away into a harmonious pattern of colorful lights wavering by, accented in the changing mood by sudden jolts of pointed musical notes. Then, as if the paper score in a player piano had run out, silence became the void, a peculiar silence filled with a high pitched whine. The battlefield smell was the first to register. The sergeant opened his eyes.
The corporal’s helmet butted up against his, the man’s open eyes staring directly at him, but not seeing. The sergeant shifted enough to bring up a hand and push the soldier back. His helmet rolled off and fell into his lap. A jagged tear sagged in at the top. The sergeant looked up past the man’s serene face to his arm, still reaching up for a light to his cigarette. His hand was gone.
Wriggling himself free of the corpse, the sergeant stood up. The entire shaded woods of thick pine were open to the threatening snow-gray sky. A few errant rays of morning sun somehow pierced the thick, contiguous clouds. The floor of the forest, once white with six inches of fresh snow, was now covered with an equally thick layer of pine needles and shattered branches. Small fires burned in independent patches, giving the desolate landscape a surreal animated texture. Rivulets of melted snow ran beneath the new ground covering and poured into the foxhole.
The sergeant looked down at the water about to creep over the tops of his boots.
“Shit.”
With some effort, he pulled his pack from beneath the dead corporal, slung it and his M1 Thompson over the rim of the foxhole, and scrambled out of his home of the last week. He stood alongside his flooded pit and looked around. Every man still alive had done the same as he. All stood erect in the buzzing silence, looking around like ground hogs coming up to predict an early spring. It seemed to him that only about half the ground hogs had surfaced.
As if searching for stations from his dad’s old crystal radio set, muffled voices came in and out of clarity. They coincided with arms waving in the air and people inexplicably running in all directions. The air itself seemed to be full of bees zipping past his ears. Pieces of bark flew off the trunks of the pines still left standing. Men fell this way and that, screams caught in their throats.
The sergeant hit the ground alongside his Thompson, pulling it to his chest like a lover. The bullets were flying everywhere at random which meant to him that soldiers were firing while running. In a scurry, he slithered behind a decimated tree trunk and peered around the side. Silhouettes of the enemy were backlit against the smoke of their own weapons. They made good targets.
With his weapon set to semi-auto, he took down several silhouettes before it became obvious his position was about to be overrun. This knowledge seemed to have occurred to every GI along the line at the same time. Retreating was an option long since denied to them, for their position was surrounded. As if on cue, everyone sprang from their limited cover and charged straight for the oncoming enemy troops, their heralded screams mingling with their carbine and machine gun fire.
The sergeant clicked his Thompson to full auto. He ran in a zigzag pattern, cutting between the strings of white-clad German infantry saturating his woods. They were all around him now as he swiveled and spun, letting out quick bursts of lead at the ghostly shapes moving through the fog of smoke. Bodies crumpled or twisted away, shouts of surprise or pain following. Tendrils of red hung in the air momentarily, then faded away.
Bullets zinged all around him like angry hornets. Running through the ruined forest became a horrid dance as the sergeant flung himself in circles, firing at the ever-tightening noose of men around him. He twirled and twirled, his index finger pumping away at a lifeless trigger. The world seemed to suck in on itself as if the forest unexpectedly contracted, then in one explosive moment expanded into a blinding white light.
He was lifted into the air and thrown back as if by a mighty wind, colliding with several German infantrymen, all of them flipping over to be scattered amongst the fallen debris of the trees. The sergeant didn’t pass out, but his own breath in his ears was the first thing he noticed. No other sounds. It reminded him of hearing his voice through his head when he had a cold.
From the white, his vision returned. He was staring straight up into the trees tops. This part of the forest wasn’t as depleted of life, for green branches still brushed against the sky. He struggled up onto his elbows. No movement came from in front of him. With some pain, he managed to swivel his neck to glance left and right. All the soldiers who had been descending upon him were in the same state as he, all scattered throughout the woods, flat on their backs.
The sergeant reached for his Thompson several feet away. He looked around again. Then up. He wasn’t the only one looking up. The German sitting not ten feet away brought his eyes down and looked directly at him. He was looking for confirmation. The sergeant and the German soldier gazed back up into the boughs of the trees.
Not for a second did he think the contraption he stared at was a downed plane of any sort. Its amorphous shape was a tangle of graceful curves that seemed to wrap around themselves, interleaving at various levels. Maybe it was about twenty yards long and half again as wide, but it was hard to tell because a radiant white light pulsed from its exterior.
As strange as the object appeared to be, what made it frighteningly unique, was that it hung about halfway down the height of the trees, stuck within three massive pines that pierced its hull. It was as if the trees and the object had combined, for the trunks went clear through the body of the thing as if molded in place. Even branches and pine needles were unaffected as they stuck out of the glowing skin.
Hesitantly, men from both sides pulled themselves up. The nearby German lowered his weapon and made a hand signal for the sergeant to do the same, then turned back to the sight before them. Soldiers from both sides made a cautious advance, gazing up in wonder at this marvel hanging in their midst like a supernatural Christmas ornament. Fifty to sixty men, mostly German infantry, circled the base of the trees as if waiting in silent prayer.
The pulsing light grew dimmer, then stopped. Though the object was close, maybe thirty feet up, it was impossible to focus on, for the surface was hazy, like a thick fog.
The German standing by the sergeant pointed up and spoke.
“Was ist das?”
Like an ink stain spreading across a pocket on a white shirt, a dark shape appeared on the underside of the object. Every man squinted, trying in vain to focus. It formed into a globule of sorts, then broke away. Everyone jumped back a few feet as the blob landed in the snow with a dull thud.
The sergeant and German soldier glanced at one another and seemed to form an unspoken communion. Together they started forward, their weapons raised just enough to aim at the foreign shape. At close inspection, it seemed jelly-like, about five feet long, and translucent. The sergeant pointed with the barrel of his Thompson.
“Looks like somebody’s inside that thing.”
The German nodded. “Yah.”
The thing moved. Both explorers took a step back. The gelatinous surface suddenly turned to liquid and flowed into the snow leaving the shape of a person huddled in the fetal position and covered entirely in a seamless light blue suit. It seemed adult size with an overly huge head. Its extremities were unusually long and thin. No features appeared upon its face.
The circle of soldiers began to move in for a closer look. The figure stirred and everyone stopped. It made an effort to sit up, but couldn’t accomplish the task. Compelled by something beyond reason, the sergeant took cautious steps to the being and knelt beside it, laying his gun in the snow. He glanced back at the German, who nodded, and came up beside him. Turning back to the figure, the sergeant leaned in and slipped his arm under its back, helping it to a sitting position.
When he pulled his arm away, his sleeve was soaked in blood. Red blood. The body began to go limp again and the sergeant embraced it, cradling it in his arms. Like a photograph coming to life in a darkroom, the face materialized through the suit.
The eyes were large, angelic-like, with irises of multicolored, radiating hues. The skin had a satin texture and held a similar blue tinge to that of the suit. The nose was small, but well-formed and the faint pink lips wide and thin. The lips moved in an effort to speak, but no sound came. Slender fingers from one hand reached across to the opposite forearm and made some gestures. The suit lit up wherever it touched. The soldiers closest, who could see, took an extra step back.
Again, the lips formed to speak, but this time a soft, musical sound emitted. “Water.”
The creature looked past the sergeant to the German soldier. “Wasser.”
The soldier pulled out his canteen and handed it to the sergeant. Gingerly, the sergeant brought the canteen to the creature’s lips. The face covering was gone. The creature’s own hands attempted to help and covered that of the sergeant. After a few sips, it pulled the canteen away and smiled at its two helpers.
The musical voice came again. “Thank you. Danke schön.”
Another musical tone, gratingly harsh, wafted through the forest, clanking and clanging with intermittent growls of a diesel engine. Roaring into view, a German Tiger tank parted the ring of men and clattered to a halt some twenty yards from the rescuers and their charge. A ten-man squad trotted up behind them. The soldier in the turret turned his mounted machine gun on the sergeant. The helpful German raised his hands and spoke in German to his comrades in an effort to subdue the situation.
An officer sitting on the back deck of the tank jumped to the ground, stared up at the object in the trees, then briskly strutted up to the sergeant and fallen creature. He leaned over, peering down on them as if inspecting an unappetizing meal.
“What is it?” he said in nasally English.
“Don’t know,” the sergeant replied, “But he’s not from our neighborhood.”
The officer glanced around at all the men from both sides of the conflict. He straightened his stature, took a few steps and called out in harsh, accented English.
“The German forces make secured this zone. All American fighters will put down their weapons at once and gather in a group by my Tiger.”
No one moved.
“Excuse me, major Sturmbannführer, sir,” the sergeant said, “But this fellow, or whatever, is wounded and could do with some medical care.”
The major spun around and stared at the sergeant in disbelief. He pulled his Luger sidearm as he stomped back to the belligerent American.
“You, stand up and tell your men put down their arms or I will make every one of them shot, starting with you!”
The helpful German stepped between the major and the sergeant, hands up in acquiescence, speaking in his native tongue.
“Major, please. There’s no need for such conduct. The fighting has stopped. Can’t you see what we have here?”
“What? You dare to talk to an SS officer in such a way? Stand aside or I will shoot you.”
The major turned back to his tank and barked an order. The ten-man squad rushed around the tank and encircled the tiny confrontational group. With the wave of his Luger, the major initiated his order.
“Arrest this schütze, and take these two on the ground to the regimental command post immediately.”
Two soldiers turned their weapons on the helpful German, while three more advanced on the sergeant and the wounded creature.
The sergeant shook his head, and with sorrowful eyes looked down on the defenseless being.
“Sorry, old buddy.”
The creature raised its arms: instantly a white flash radiated from them, buffeting through the woods, staggering everyone on their feet. The advancing soldiers who were in the midst of reaching down to grab their prey, shrieked and leapt back. The major jerked around from tongue-lashing the private. Even he needed no explanation now. Two of his three soldiers writhed on the ground screaming, blood spraying across the undisturbed snow, both their hands gone up to mid-forearms. As if a giant ice cream scoop had gouged out a section of earth and part of the adjacent tree, a perfectly smooth concave hole was all that remained of where the American and creature used to be.
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