"Attack of the Bat Creatures"
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dochermes"Attack of the Bat Creatures"
6/21-6/22/1957
I.
Colonel Savage! Drum repressed a smile at the melodramatic name. He had done some research through his sources and had learned that the man's real name was Edward Lewis Collins. But the facts were impressive enough regardless of the alias. Collins had started as a sergeant in the Army Rangers, been a Lieutenant in OSS during the second half of the War and had then moved over to the new CIA. Now there were rumors he was working for some shadowy group within the Department of Justice called 'the Mandate.' Drum wanted strongly to learn more about that obscure unit.
Seated in a comfortable chair in Drum's parlor, Colonel Savage looked around with his single eye. The left one was covered by a white leather patch and scar tissue surrounding that patch suggested that it was best that the eye be concealed. Savage seemed fascinated by the curios in that room. In fact, since Drum's marriage two years earlier, many of the more unsavory artifacts had been put away.
There was no longer a shrunken head with blond hair kept under a glass dome on a pedestal, nor was an assegai with suspicious rusty stains on the blade mounted on the wall next to three wooden masks with agonized features. The oil portrait of a stern-faced Puritan in black still hung over the fireplace, though, glaring down at visitors. A glass-fronted cabinet displayed items ranging from small bronze idols to what looked like a wolf skull.
As Savage looked around at the room, Drum took in his impressions of the man. Physically, the colonel was of medium height but sturdy, with wide shoulders and a thick torso. He was about Drum's age of fifty, with plenty of grey in the bristling black crewcut. The crisp black business suit with narrow lapels and a knitted silk tie was immaculate, and the man's grooming down to the clean fingernails was professional.
But Drum saw deeper than mere eyesight could reveal. As a Blue Guide with decades of Tel Shai training, his mystic perception followed the patterns of this man's very lifeforce. Savage burned with intense vitality that was channeled along rigid discipline. This was no poser, no office drone putting on an act. This was a shrewd, dangerous man.
In turn, Drum was aware that the colonel had turned his gaze upon him. Well known for the past twenty years in the overlapping worlds of both international espionage and the Midnight War, Mark Drum lived up to his legend. Four inches over six feet in height, wearing black slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the collar open, Drum was slim but muscular. The narrow face showed its Scots ancestry in the pointed nose, thin severe lips and shaggy brows over a pair of remarkably pale grey eyes. Those eyes made most people ill at ease immediately.
Here in Drum's home in Greenwich Village in New York City, at ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, the two seated themselves and regarded each other like tigers meeting over a waterhole.
"I'm going to be blunt, Mr Drum," said Savage. "I know your record. You have done outstanding work for your country since 1933. Your campaign against Axis spies and saboteurs during the war was impressive, very impressive indeed. Yet, I have to say that many influential people in high positions have lost most of their trust in you."
For the first time, an edge came into the Scots burr. Drum suddenly seemed menacing without trying to be. "Because of my marriage?"
"Yeah. Not only did you marry a Russian gal, she happens to be the daughter of one of America's greatest enemies... Igor Petrov, the Red Blade himself." Savage made a scoffing growl. "If you hadn't been the one to kill Petrov and end his threat, I doubt if your wife would ever be allowed to enter the States, let alone become a naturalized citizen."
Drum's pale eyes stabbed at the colonel with inexplicable lambent glints as if lit from within. Although Savage had no way of knowing, the Blue Guide was gathering gralic force into himself like liquid lightning through his veins. "That gal, as you call her, is the love of my life," Drum said. "We went through hell to be together and I'll tell you this, colonel.. If the government stood in our way, I'd live with her on a desert island if I had to!"
"Hey, hey, I was married myself," Savage said, raising his open hands. "I hear you. Until you really fall in love, you got no idea what it means. But my point is, you have not been taking any commissions from Uncle Sam this past year."
"I'm sure you know we're expecting a baby," Drum told the man in an easier tone. "Naturally, that's where my priorities lie."
"Right you are. But listen, Drum, I wouldn't have been sent here if there wasn't something bad brewing. You know that. In the past, you were cleared for Top Secret in light of the urgency of the Big One. Even now, when some in congress see you as compromised, they recognize they have to be realistic and ask you to help."
The long craggy face was still cold. Mark Drum said, "I shouldn't be surprised by the ingratitude! But I did what I did because it was right, not to earn medals or rewards. You might as well go ahead, colonel."
Despite his claims of being blunt and direct, Edward Savage hesitated to get to the point. "For the last two years.. fourteen months, actually.. there have been some mighty weird events in the Southwestern states. I'll come out and say it, Monsters with a capital M. Giant insects ten times bigger than normal. Bizarre people. Sightings of creatures that belong in, I dunno, Greek myths. And they have been killing people."
That softened Drum's attitude. "Really."
"Yeah. I thought some wiseguys in the agency were pulling my leg. Then I talked to witnesses and you never heard such fear in voices as in theirs. I became a believer. Here. I brought something to convince you."
From an inner pocket of his military jacket, Savage drew out a manila envelope held shut with yellow tape across its flap. He slit that open with a thumbnail, scanned the room cautiously and took out a stack of glossy 8X10 black and white photographs. Typed on the back of each was location, date and time taken. Slowly, he passed them to Drum one at a time to be studied.
"Outside Reno, Nevada," the colonel said. "Last February 20th." The first photo showed two grizzled hunters in plaid shirts and hats with ear flaps. They were standing next to a scorpion as big as either of them was. The giant creature was clearly visible in full daylight, with a gaping shotgun wound in its thorax showing how it had died.
"Next, Winslow, Arizona," Savage narrated. "May 30th." This photo was the first of five which showed a bizarre animal, obviously alive and caged. It resembled a dark-hided African lion with the head and forelimbs of a baboon. The beast was glaring at the camera with murderous intensity.
More pictures followed. There were ants eight feet long. A Gila Monster the size of a man, walking upright and holding a stick in its front paw. Finally, there was a nearly naked man with exaggerated muscular development. His conical skull, brow ledge and tusks in the lower jaw marked him as other than Human.
Eighteen photos, each numbered in the upper right corner. Edward Savage kept a protective eye on those pictures. He was careful to arrange them all in the proper sequence and seal them back in the envelope, which he placed in his inner jacket pocket before speaking. "These photographs were taken either by our Mandate agents or by law enforcement officers on the scene. As far as our whiz kids in the lab can certify, they're genuine."
I agree," Drum said. "I didn't see any sign of tampering or trick photography. Of course, I'd need to examine the negatives to be certain."
The single blue eye fixed on Drum. "You seem to accept the, shall we say, unusual nature of these creatures easily."
"Oh, I've seen some strange things in my time, colonel. There is one aspect that worries me."
"Yeah?" snapped Savage, "And what might that be?"
"All of this activity took place in a limited area. New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, Arizona. Something has been going on that corner of the country for the past few years that might be connected."
"Come out and say what we're both thinking, Mr Drum," the colonel said. "The tests. A-bombs have been going off like a Fourth of July fireworks display getting bigger and more impressive each time. Bigger, louder."
"And with more radiation and more fall-out over a wider area, too," the Blue Guide said. "I understand now the atomic bombs have become outdated and they're only used to set off nuclear explosions? What next?"
"It's playing with toys we don't understand, that's for sure."
Drum cocked his head. "You don't seem very gung ho, Colonel Savage."
"Don't get me wrong. I love America. Hell, I lost an eye and a marriage and twenty-six years of my life defending this country. I want us to be the strongest nation on the planet but these bombs.. there's something deeply WRONG about them."
Going over to the windows, Drum pulled the heavy curtains open to let in brilliant sunlight. It was a gorgeous May morning, everything in Nature sprouting and growing and turning the land green. But here they stood discussing the most terrible weapons ever made. "So. These weird creatures. Do you think there's a direct connection with the testing?"
"How would I know? I'm a simple dogface used to digging in and shooting at human enemies. This stuff is beyond me. Even our so-called geniuses can pretend they really know what radiation does. Make bugs as big as horses? Turn a man into a rampaging brute that bullets don't stop? Sure looks like it."
Drum swung around to face his visitor again. "Out with it, colonel. What is it you haven't told me?"
"All right. All these things in the pictures were dead or dying. The bodies are being dissected and studied. So they're closed files. But there is something in the Southwest right now that we know is alive."
"Wait. You've captured one!"
"Damn right. The few who know called it the Bat Creature. Everyone who has seen it face to face is terrified."
As the Mandate officer said that, a change came visibly over Mark Drum. Without moving, he seemed taller, more massive, more imposing. Suddenly his presence filled the room with intense energy. Even the mundane mind of Edward Savage reacted to this change.
"There have been four sightings in the last month, and the latest one was yesterday," the colonel grumbled. "Two civilians are dead and one critically injured. A State Trooper suffered some broken bones but he's expected to be released shortly. He shows worrying signs of emotional trauma, though."
Drum had a gloomy face at the best of times but now he was actively scowling. "These Bat Creatures, what do they look like?"
"I was hoping you might want to go see for yourself. Yeah, they caught one. It's being held at a research facility outside of Lane Fox, New Mexico."
"All right, I'm sold. I'll go," said the Blue Guide. He rubbed his bony hands together with an eagerness he was not consciously aware of. "I can assume you have planned on me accepting."
"Oh yes. There's a jet waiting for us at Idlewild. My driver is waiting outside."
"Hold on," Drum said with an upraised hand. "Not until I speak with my wife. I will not have her come home to find only a note on the door. Especially in her condition. Sonia should be home in a few minutes. How about some coffee?"
"Not a minute too soon," said Savage. "I missed my morning cup in the rush."
The ritual of brewing and consuming coffee took up the next few minutes with nothing of consequence being said. The colonel also accepted an English muffin with honey and was finishing his second cup when Sonia entered her home.
Rupert, the servant and acolyte of the Blue Guide, escorted her into the living room. When he saw Colonel Savage seated, Rupert drew himself up to his full height and only relaxed when he caught a reassuring nod from Drum. The former Royal Commando was a British veteran of the Burma campaign and his huge bulk was not as intimidating as his assurance. "Orders, sir?"
"At ease, Rupert," said Mark Drum. "I will be leaving on a short trip but there is no danger to us. Please escort our guest to his car."
Five months pregnant, wearing a loose cardigan over a white blouse and dark pleated skirt, Sonia Petrovna Drum was handsome rather than gorgeous. She was tall, almost five feet ten, with a strong jawline and an aquiline nose. Although her glossy black hair was done up in a bun at the moment, it normally reached past her shoulders when loose.
As soon as she had seen the gleaming black car outside and walked in to find a man in uniform talking to her husband, Sonia had not feared that she was in trouble herself. She had known with cold certainty what was going on.
"You are being called away again, no?" she asked. Well educated and widely traveled, she had not lost her Georgian accent but had refined it. "Still another crisis which only you can resolve?"
Drum watched the door close behind Rupert and Colonel Savage before he answered simply, "Yes."
As she stepped closer and placed her palms high up on his chest, Sonia studied the depths of those iron-grey eyes. "I should not be selfish. I knew I fell in love with a man of honor and duty. A Blue Guide, a Tel Shai knight. And yet, we have both of us sacrified so much already."
"We have indeed," he told as he led her to the couch to be seated. "We have suffered to find this happiness."
"How much more can be expected to us?" she asked in a whisper. "Don't we deserve peace? Quiet years to raise our son, to grow old together and be content? I do not think that is asking too much of life."
He dropped down beside her, his head bent as if by a great weight. "It's not too much, Sonia. I have turned down many requests by the government or by old friends to investigate strange events. But these... phenomena in the Midwest trouble me. I am worried they are harbingers of much worse to come. I have to at least have a look."
"Telling you to be careful is like telling the leaves not to turn color," she said, leaning her head against him. "But now more than ever, I must tell you exactly that."
Drum took her hands in his. "I don't think I will be in any personal danger. I swear I will return safely and we can make our plans. You know somehow it will be a boy?"
"Yes. One can tell." She lifted their intertwined hands and kissed them gently. "Do what you must, my love. We will be waiting."
II.
From the rear seat of the F-11 jet, Mark Drum had been able to study the HCE facility as they circled before receiving clearance to touch down on the landing strip. Still not used to jets after being in prop planes during the war, Drum felt as if the pilot was deliberately heading straight down into the ground but the landing was smooth and uneventful enough.
Ninety miles from the nearest small town, a mere crossroads named Lane Fox, the facility stood isolated on the fine-textured sands of New Mexico. Its blacktop parking lots and cluster of one-story brick buildings sprouted in the desert without preamble. There were six long structures in a rectangular pattern with enclosed walkways between them and over thirty cars and trucks parked nearby.
"The Human Capability Enhancement Project," Colonel Savage announced as they clambered out of the jet and down a wheeled ladder that had been brought over for them. "It opened barely a year ago. A civilian show but with military contracts and government connections. Up to date as all hell, like some crazy Buck Rogers stuff."
"HCE," repeated Drum as he tugged down his suit jacket and adjusted his tie. "Medical research?"
Savage raised a shaggy eyebrow. "Mostly. To be honest, I've been briefed but that science lingo is over my head. I think they're preparing for future space travel, seeing how astronauts can be made tougher and faster at healing. There was something about the blueprints in our cells that make our bodies work the way they do. Don't quote me."
"I see," Drum said. "Hmm. Why is this so-called Bat Creature brought here again?"
"Frankly, our regular medics wouldn't be up to the task. My superiors at the Mandate figure these eggheads have a better chance at learning something useful. The administrators here do have security clearance as needed and they sure seemed eager to check that monster out."
The whine of the powerful turbines had slowed to a halt. A tech came over to confer with the pilot, who was making a report over the cockpit radio.
An open Jeep was waiting, with a young man in a tan jumpsuit getting out to greet them. "Hi, Jeff Burroughs here. I'm just a sort of roadie here. Hop in and I'll take you to our Director."
"What about the pilot?" asked Drum.
"He'll be picked up and taken to another building. He has some debriefing to do before getting some rest and leaving on the return trip." The young man got them seated in the rear of the Jeep, swung it around and sped across the blacktop under a blazing white sun in a cloudless sky.
As they reached the front doors of the nearest building and were admitted by the driver, Mark Drum felt uneasy. First, the Mandate. Those creatures in the desert. And now this HCE Project. He realized glumly he was losing touch with the secret worlds where the Midnight War and the Cold War intersected. Once he had felt fully informed but recently he had gotten a feeling of being left behind. As if his era had passed.
Fine, he thought with sudden relief. Certainly he had done more than his share of fighting. Let a younger generation take up the struggle. Drum reflected he could look forward to a long and peaceful life with Sonia and their child... with maybe a second one in a few years.
Inside, the air was cooled enough to verge on being uncomfortable after walking in the sun. The lobby was spare and utilitarian, with two couches and several metal-tube chairs. A magazine rack stood at one wall under a clock and there were a few expected signs about 'No Smoking,' pointing out fire exits and a listing of departments. The Director of Special Projects met them. He was a man about thirty years old, just over six feet tall, wearing a white lab coat over a dark business suit. Leonard Slade had regular features that were presentable if not exactly handsome, smooth olive skin and jet black hair cropped short. His dark eyes regarded them with interest, but his entire manner was subdued and unemotional.
Even though he moved with deliberation, Slade somehow gave the impression of unusual strength and vitality just under the surface, as if he was holding himself back the way an adult does when playing with toddlers.
"Let me make the introductions," Colonel Savage said. "Leonard, this is the famous Mark Drum from New York City. Leonard here is a Research Director of this facility, meaning he supervises a dozen experiments about improving human biology. Lots of medical tests and attempts to make people more durable, more resistant to weather extremes, that sort of thing."
Drum held out his hand and Slade shook it agreeably enough.
"Listen, I need to make a few calls. In private," the colonel said.
Slade pointed to an enclosed cubicle down the hall. "There is a secure line in there. Dial 9 for outside calls."
As Colonel Savage tromped down the corridor and slammed the cubicle door behind him, Mark Drum smiled. "He doesn't know about you, does he?"
When Slade made no response, Drum continued, "Come on. I am a Blue Guide. I can see the lifeforce circulating in your body. Your signature is more than Human. I knew as soon as I saw you. You ARE a Trom, right?"
Slade nodded almost imperceptibly and did not smile in the slightest. "There are good reasons why Colonel Edward Savage should not learn that, Mr Drum."
"Ah, you can trust me. Imagine, a Trom in the flesh. All my years in the Midnight War and I've only met one for a few minutes. He was an observer in Berlin at the end of the war and he was as closed-mouth as a bear trap."
"I believe you understand the true purpose of this facility?" asked Slade in his low tones.
"I guess it's an... interface? Where Trom and Humans can interact without public attention?" Drum was still smiling at the revelation. "Of all the Seven Races, yours is the most secretive."
"Exactly," Slade said. He turned his head as Savage emerged from the cubicle and came to rejoin them. "We will discuss this at some more appropriate time."
The colonel was fussing with the wrapper on a cigar. "God, I hate red tape. Okay, Mr Slade, what about this Bat Man thing? We just flew two thousand miles to get a look at the damn thing."
"Follow me," Slade said. He had been holding a clipboard with a thick stack of papers on it and now he tucked his pen into its clip on the board. He led them down long, chilly white-tiled hallways lit by overhead fluorescent panels. Doors on either side had frosted glass panels which read 'BLOOD WORK ANALYSIS' or 'COMMUNICATION IMPLANTS' or 'ELEVATED REGENERATION OF BONE MARROW.'
As they approached each door ending a section, there was a buzz and the door unlocked before they reached it. No one was present. Whether they were being watched on hidden cameras or whether Slade was somehow unlocking the doors by some signal from his person wasn't clear.
"I don't have to ask if security is tight?" Savage said.
"You are correct." Slade paused as they reached the end of a long hallway where a particularly solid pair of double doors did not react to their presence. The secret Trom Monitor tapped a lengthy sequence into a keypad and pressed his right thumb to a glass panel before the doors unlocked with a deep clunk. A green bulb over the door flashed three times.
Slade pushed the doors inward and escorted his visitors in a lab where a horror not born on this world was being held.
On a raised platform in the center of the glaringly bright lab was a cage ten feet to each side, constructed to steel bars thick as a man's arm and set close together. Snapping to attention as their boss entered were a pair of sentries in khaki uniforms bearing the HCE logo. Each had a holstered sidearm and carried a Browning automatic rifle. A short pudgy man in a white lab coat was writing furiously on a clip board, oblivious to the world.
Pacing within that cage was the Bat Creature.
It had a Humanlike body, seven feet tall with a lean sinewy build. The hide was leathery and a dark tan in color. Stretching out from between its shoulder blades were a pair of batwings with a five foot spread, tough membrances stretched taut over ribs. The beast had wicked talons on both hands and feet, a long ropy tail ending in a flat barb and bony hooks on both elbows and knees. Any genitals were evidently retracted into the pelvis.
The monster's head was that of a giant hound with upraised ears and a long muzzle packed with fangs. Its red-irised eyes followed the men as they entered and narrowed shrewdly with obvious intelligence.
As Slade appeared, the creature roared, "Nagash! Baruk nagash ku!"
"Language? If you can call it that," snorted the colonel. "I've heard parrots sound better."
"There is structure and meaning in its sounds," Slade contradicted. "So far we have logged twenty distinct words but that is too small a sample to support conclusions."
"Ah. Hello, Leonard," said the older man, coming over to them. "I'm disappointed that the specimen so far has not repeated any words we say to him. As a completely subjective guess, I'd say he's demanding we free him and threatening us if we don't. But that's my interpetation."
Taking the clipboard, Leonard Slade studied its pages. "Interesting. Have this transcribed and added to the files, Dr Buono. Please return to your regular duties for the moment."
"Certainly."
As the researcher hurried from the lab, Mark Drum exchanged stares with the Bat Creature. No one there had the mystic perception to tell, but Drum had used his Blue Guide skill to locked onto the beast's lifeforce. He siphoned some of that vitality off, bringing a degree of calm as the agitation lessened. In a moment, the wings folded flat against the creature's back and the eyes lost some of their fury
"I'll be damned," Savage remarked. "Seems as if you have an effect on our pet, Mr Drum."
"Yes. Has he been fed?"
"We have offered him a wide variety of food," Slade replied. "So far he has consumed raw veal and pork, and he drank two liters of plain water. A urine sample is still being analyzed but it contains ammonia and sulphur."
Drum stepped closer to the cage, holding up his empty hands in a placating gesture. Under the flourescent lights, a faint blue haze shimmered around those hands. "Hear me, Kulan. You are safe for the moment. Rest. Sleep. Lie down and sleep." The creature blinked, then got down on the cage floor. It curled up like a dog, rested its face on its forearms and let out a deep breath.
"What did you do?" whispered Savage.
Drum shrugged. "I made him feel safe. He'll sleep for a few hours. Maybe that will make him easier to deal with." He moved back away from the cage and gestured for the other two men to follow him to the other side of the lab.
Colonel Savage still hadn't lit his cigar and it seemed as if he never would. He chewed on it with repressed anxiety. In the brightly lit lab with all that gleaming chrome and white enamel, he seemed ill at ease.
"Dim the lights," ordered Slade. "Security, remain on duty but try not to agitate the specimen."
As his orders were obeyed, Slade led his two guests to an enclosed office in one corner of the lab. Behind the door with its frosted glass window was a desk free of clutter and several simple metal frame chairs. Neatly arranged manila folders and sheaves of papers were in place. Two telephones on the desk and a typewriter on a foldaway shelf completed the decor. There were no photos of family, no personal nick-nacks, not even a wall calender.
As he seated himself behind that desk, Leonard Slade unfastened the collar of his smock and opened the top button of the white dress shirt he wore beneath. This small humanizing gesture comforted Drum somehow; it was a hint of informality in the emotionless Trom. He realized Slade would make uneasy company.
Without asking, Savage discarded his soggy cigar butt into a waste paper basket and began to toy with another one from his breast pocket. His hands seemed steady but the way he fidgeted in his seat gave away the stress he was under.
Watching the uneven flow of the man's life force with his Blue Guide training, Drum decided that Savage was badly shaken. That was understandable.
"Gentlemen," the colonel began. "Let's get some cards on the table. In small words, please. What the hell are we dealing with here?"
Leonard Slade sat bolt upright, palms flat on the desk in front of him. He never showed any nervous mannerisms like drumming his fingers or tapping a pencil on the desk. "I do not believe that this creature or other specimens we have examined recently are the result of atomic mutations as you suggested."
"Yeah? Go on, tell me more."
"Mutation does not work in such a manner. Radiation in dosages sufficient to cause radical genetic changes would more probably result in death by cancer, leukemia, cell destruction and infection. Even if a life form received a minimal dosage enough to prompt genetic change, generations would have to pass before results were viable."
Savage grunted, "I asked for small words, mister. But I guess I follow you so far."
"Our specimen in that cage," Slade continued, "as well as the giant scorpion, the glowing dogs, the lion-ape hybrid-- are all adult specimens. They were born before atomic testing began in this immediate area. The explanation that these were normal animals changed by exposure is so close to impossible that it can be dismissed."
The colonel turned his single baleful eye to Drum. "And what do you got to say about all this?"
"I'm not a geneticist, but what Mr Slade says certainly makes sense to me. These monsters appear unrelated to each other but they have all turned up in the Southwest in the past few years. There must be a connection."
"Which would be?"
Drum frowned. He studied his clasped hands in his lap before answering. "Colonel, I know the answer to all this but I am not sure it will make sense to you."
"Aw, give it a try," Savage said. "Who knows, I may not be as dim-witted as you two seem to think I am!"
"Fair enough," Drum conceded. "I suspect these various monsters are appearing into our world because the A-bombs are opening doorways. Those explosions are hellishly intense concentrations of primal energy. There have been cases where lightning has opened portals to the adjacent realms, even volcanic explosions have done so. Why wouldn't atomic blasts open gates? They're hotter than the surface of the sun, more destructive than anything ever seen on Earth before."
"Portals? Gates?" repeated Savage. "To where? Other planets?"
"Not exactly," Drum said. "I'm not sure I can explain the Adjacent Realms, colonel."
"Are you telling me these monsters are from Outer Space? Mars? The Moon?"
"Oh, no, not at all," said Drum. "This world we know is surrounded by forty adjacent realms. Other pieces of reality that are not accessible by normal means. Mystics and warlocks can sometimes travel to those realms and the creatures there can occasionally cross over into our world."
"You mean other dimensions? I've read a few of those crazy science fiction pulps." Savage scoffed. "It's a hard pill to swallow."
Slade interrupted with quiet authority. "The creature in that cage should be convincing enough, sir. Obviously, such a being never evolved in our world. There are no six-limbed vertebrates. You cannot believe such creatures have remained undiscovered by people until now."
Colonel Savage shook his head and snorted. "I get it, I get it already. As long as the bombs keep popping, we're going to find more critters like that little sweetheart sometimes wandering into peoples' backyards?"
"The situation is much worse than that," said Drum. "That is a Kulan, a soldier demon from Fanedral. There are millions of them in service to Draldros. They have loyalty to each other. They take care of their own, colonel."
The lone blue eye narrowed. "You don't mean--"
"Others will come to rescue him," said Mark Drum.
III.
"Don't do it! That's an order, mister!"
Back out in the lab, Slade regarded the colonel with infinite patience. "This is a civilian facility. I am not under your command."
Savage swung around to confront the man in the white lab coat. "Dammit, I'll have the joint shut down if I have to. National security. Eminent domain. Your job, no, your very liberty is on the line, son. I have my orders."
Although he did not explain, Slade knew that he answered to the Trom Council who exerted great influence behind the scenes. Any attempt to interfere with a Trom-run facility would meet unexpected derailment. His calm stare and refusal to be intimidated only enraged Savage more.
Intervening between the two men, Mark Drum said, "We have to return that demon to his own realm. If a squad of Kulan are sent to rescue him, there will be slaughter. These creatures have been bred for thousands of years to be aggressive predators. Draldros has used them as a marauding army since before history."
"What kind of talk is that?" demanded Savage. Beneath the white eyepatch, his face was growing redder in contrast. "Give me some answers, mister. You've known more about these monsters than you've let on, haven't you?"
"Oh yes. I have fought these beasts before," Drum said. "They're strong and fast and difficult to harm, let alone kill. They can fly. Some of them can emit torture-flame. They have the personality of wolverines with rabies. Take a good look at that thing. Can you imagine an army of them chasing people through the streets?"
"Give me a minute. Let me think..."
"It is imperative to act without delay," Slade said. "My staff will move that cage outside now."
Colonel Savage abruptly unsnapped the flap holster on his belt and drew a Colt .45 automatic. He thumbed the safety off, whipped the weapon up.. and had it snatched away with such strength and dexterity that for a second he wasn't sure what had happened. "Huh? What?"
"That is uncalled for," Slade told, him, ejecting the magazine from the butt. He stowed the automatic in one pocket of his lab coat and the ammo in another. His actions were as smooth as if he had rehearsed them all his life. "We are in possession of knowledge you do not have, sir."
The Mandate officer squared his fists and set his weight to take a swing, but prudence held him back. He was rational enough to realize that trying to hit a man who could disarm him so easily wouldn't end well. "You have no idea what you're challenging, Mr Slade. You're messing with Uncle Sam."
Seeming not to have heard, the Trom turned his attention to Drum. "Mark, can you sense anything yet?"
"I'm afraid so," replied the Blue Guide. The Scots burr in his voice was more evident in 'afraid.' He gestured up at the sky with an open hand. "Gralic force is boiling right over us. Listen. Feel with your skin. It's like a thunderstorm about to break on a muggy day. Can't you sense it?"
"No," Slade said. "I have never been able to develop gralic perception."
After an uncomfortable silence, Colonel Savage mumbled, "Maybe I shouldn't admit it... but I sure can feel something. The air is tingling. Hell, I haven't survived so long without learning to trust my instincts."
"Exactly," Drum said. "Any minute now."
Savage lit a thin black cigar and took two puffs, then held it in one hand and apparently forgot about it. He followed Drum and Slade as they headed outside, scowling his worst but being unable to intimidate them in the slightest. The colonel was torn with rare indecision. While he had these two strange men outside, he might duck back into the facility and call for back-up. But here in the wastes of New Mexico, it could take hours for troops to arrive and that was assuming that his Control in Washington would agree to authorize it. No. There had to be another way.
Savage had one other weapon on him, a flat .25 Beretta in an ankle holster under his right cuff. But that wouldn't make any difference. His mind worked furiously, trying to find a solution that wasn't there.
As he fumed, Slade and Drum supervised a group of HCE technicians pulled the cage outside on a wheeled skid. Behind the stout bars, the bizarre creatures snarled and paced but showed no signs of trying to claw at the apprehensive men. The cage was placed twenty feet from the door of the facility. As Slade signalled they could leave, the techs gratefully hurried back inside.
The Colonel glanced back at the HCE building and saw anxious faces at every window. Well, he couldn't blame them. It meant keeping this under wraps and out of the papers was going to be impossible. Savage tossed his cold cigar to the blacktop and loosened his tie as he settled down to wait.
Twenty minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. Mark Drum seemed quite content to watch the winged demons. Slade was receiving reports and giving instructions to his staff through what seemed to be a flat electronic device no bigger than a cigarette case. A walkie-talkie that size? wondered Savage. All of Slade's gadgets seemed too small to be real but they functioned perfectly. Savage was starting to be curious about just how advanced this HCE Project really was.
Finally, Drum began watching the skies. He saw the angry grimace on Savage's face and said reassuringly, "Not much longer, colonel. Gralic force is gathering. A portal to Fanderal is ready to open any second now."
Coming over to join them, Slade handed over the Colt which Savage snatched away gracelessly. "I must suggest, colonel," said the Trom, "That you go inside now. This will not be safe."
"Oh, you think so, do you?!" snapped Savage. "I fought the Nazis and the Japs and the Reds. If you think I'm gonna run from these goddam Batmen animals, then you got another think coming--"
Drum held up a hand to interrupt. "Here it comes!"
Thunder exploded directly overhead, deafening at such close range. Thirty feet above the blistering hot parking lot, a red fireball exploded and twenty of the winged demons flew down through it into the world.
IV.
Hardened by years of combat and espionage as he was, even Colonel Edward Savage froze into place. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. Whatever he had been expecting, it could not match this invasion.
The demons were not all identical in appearance. Their leathery hides ranged in color from dark grey to tan and even a light pink. Much like Humans, some were bigger or smaller than their fellows. Some had wings with an extra rib, one had canine fangs with reached up beyond the closed lower jaw. They were armed with short stabbing spears or wide-bladed swords tied to harnesses across their chests. None wore real clothing.
Their obvious leader was bigger and more powerfully built than his squad. His hide was a bright crimson that flashed vividly in the sunlight and made him stand out, a figure from ancient legend brought to life.
Of them all, only Mark Drum knew the lore of the Midnight War. This creature with the crimson hide was one of the Red Slashers, chosen personally by Draldros to serve as a honor guard. He would have been given the additional power of summoning torture-flame to engulf his enemies.
Drum's thought wandered for a moment to dwell on Sonia and his unborn child, waiting in their home on Bleeker Street thousands of miles away. He sighed, straightened his shoulders and strode over to the cage as calmly as if twenty ferocious Kulan demons were always aching to get at him.
The Red Slasher drew back blinking in surprise. Drum tapped in a code on the keypad and the door unlocked with a clunk. The Blue Guide pulled the heavy door open and took a step to one side.
Just out of arm's reach, Leonard Slade watched steadily, no flicker of alarm showing on his stoic face. In one hand, he felt a flat electronic device and now he adjusted a dial. The beam projector was set to the photon ram at maximum intensity. The Trom was as ready for the worst that might happen as he could be.
Beside Slade, Colonel Savage stared open-eyed at the monster. The automatic in his hand suddenly seemed small and ineffectual. He had seldom felt before that he was in over his head in a situation he couldn't dominate.
Drum waited, hands down by his side, making his stance as unthreatening as he could. The Kulan emerged hesitantly from the cage and stepped out into the brilliant sunlight. Much bolder, the red-hided demon came up to his temmate and sniffed at him to determine that no harm had been done. The Red Slasher rumbled deep in his chest with satisfaction.
The desert air shimmered directly above the Kulan. Ten pairs of ribbed batwings snapped open and the demons leaped upward to vanish headlong into the portal. Last to leave was the Red Slasher. He paused to leer at Mark Drum with a fanged grin that was anything but reassuring. The demon raised his clawed index finger and waggled it from side to side in a gesture of reproach.
The powerful wings beat once. The Red Slasher shot upward and passed into the portal just before it closed with a crash of thunder. A surge of searing hot wind blew over the men watching below and the Bat Creatures were all gone.
Wiping his sweating face with the back of a hand, Mark Drum turned toward Slade and Savage. "Well. I can't deny THAT was a tense moment."
"Is that all you have to say?" yelled the colonel. "We faced twenty monsters from Hell! I'll never be the same after seeing them. How will I sleep at night?"
"It's a stranger world than most people realize," Drum told him. "And it's not going to get better. The A-Bomb tests are not going to end anytime soon. I think you are going to find worse beasts than those Kulan coming through into our world.".
Leonard Slade agreed. "The current political climate will not allow the testing to be halted. If any of us were to try to persuade the government to stop these explosions, we would be regarded with suspicion and anger."
"Yeah, I know congressmen would label anyone trying to stop the tests as a Communist and a traitor," Savage said. "I guess we just have to keep our eyes open and capture these critters as they show up."
"You may bring any such specimens here to the HCE Project," Slade offered. "We will study them and return them to Fanedral if possible. I suggest it would be better if the general public does not learn about these invaders."
Savage lowered his battered head, suddenly seeming old and tired. "Yeah. Good point. This is a time of awful fear in America. The Reds, the A-Bomb, civil instigators, there's definite hysteria in the air. Just under the surface. It wouldn't take much of a spark to ignite a nation-wide panic that would get completely out of control."
Arms folded, Mark Drum regarded the man thoughtfully. "So, it seems like you may have found your real mission in life, colonel. Monster control. You could lead a Mandate task force, capturing strange creatures like these before they do much harm, keeping the citizenry unaware and happy. And specialists like myself can send them back."
"Yeah." Colonel Savage tugged a cigar from his breast pocket, bit off the end and spit it onto the ground before digging for a match. "And you know what? I like the idea."
10/8/2000-Rev. 3/5/2018
6/21-6/22/1957
I.
Colonel Savage! Drum repressed a smile at the melodramatic name. He had done some research through his sources and had learned that the man's real name was Edward Lewis Collins. But the facts were impressive enough regardless of the alias. Collins had started as a sergeant in the Army Rangers, been a Lieutenant in OSS during the second half of the War and had then moved over to the new CIA. Now there were rumors he was working for some shadowy group within the Department of Justice called 'the Mandate.' Drum wanted strongly to learn more about that obscure unit.
Seated in a comfortable chair in Drum's parlor, Colonel Savage looked around with his single eye. The left one was covered by a white leather patch and scar tissue surrounding that patch suggested that it was best that the eye be concealed. Savage seemed fascinated by the curios in that room. In fact, since Drum's marriage two years earlier, many of the more unsavory artifacts had been put away.
There was no longer a shrunken head with blond hair kept under a glass dome on a pedestal, nor was an assegai with suspicious rusty stains on the blade mounted on the wall next to three wooden masks with agonized features. The oil portrait of a stern-faced Puritan in black still hung over the fireplace, though, glaring down at visitors. A glass-fronted cabinet displayed items ranging from small bronze idols to what looked like a wolf skull.
As Savage looked around at the room, Drum took in his impressions of the man. Physically, the colonel was of medium height but sturdy, with wide shoulders and a thick torso. He was about Drum's age of fifty, with plenty of grey in the bristling black crewcut. The crisp black business suit with narrow lapels and a knitted silk tie was immaculate, and the man's grooming down to the clean fingernails was professional.
But Drum saw deeper than mere eyesight could reveal. As a Blue Guide with decades of Tel Shai training, his mystic perception followed the patterns of this man's very lifeforce. Savage burned with intense vitality that was channeled along rigid discipline. This was no poser, no office drone putting on an act. This was a shrewd, dangerous man.
In turn, Drum was aware that the colonel had turned his gaze upon him. Well known for the past twenty years in the overlapping worlds of both international espionage and the Midnight War, Mark Drum lived up to his legend. Four inches over six feet in height, wearing black slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the collar open, Drum was slim but muscular. The narrow face showed its Scots ancestry in the pointed nose, thin severe lips and shaggy brows over a pair of remarkably pale grey eyes. Those eyes made most people ill at ease immediately.
Here in Drum's home in Greenwich Village in New York City, at ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, the two seated themselves and regarded each other like tigers meeting over a waterhole.
"I'm going to be blunt, Mr Drum," said Savage. "I know your record. You have done outstanding work for your country since 1933. Your campaign against Axis spies and saboteurs during the war was impressive, very impressive indeed. Yet, I have to say that many influential people in high positions have lost most of their trust in you."
For the first time, an edge came into the Scots burr. Drum suddenly seemed menacing without trying to be. "Because of my marriage?"
"Yeah. Not only did you marry a Russian gal, she happens to be the daughter of one of America's greatest enemies... Igor Petrov, the Red Blade himself." Savage made a scoffing growl. "If you hadn't been the one to kill Petrov and end his threat, I doubt if your wife would ever be allowed to enter the States, let alone become a naturalized citizen."
Drum's pale eyes stabbed at the colonel with inexplicable lambent glints as if lit from within. Although Savage had no way of knowing, the Blue Guide was gathering gralic force into himself like liquid lightning through his veins. "That gal, as you call her, is the love of my life," Drum said. "We went through hell to be together and I'll tell you this, colonel.. If the government stood in our way, I'd live with her on a desert island if I had to!"
"Hey, hey, I was married myself," Savage said, raising his open hands. "I hear you. Until you really fall in love, you got no idea what it means. But my point is, you have not been taking any commissions from Uncle Sam this past year."
"I'm sure you know we're expecting a baby," Drum told the man in an easier tone. "Naturally, that's where my priorities lie."
"Right you are. But listen, Drum, I wouldn't have been sent here if there wasn't something bad brewing. You know that. In the past, you were cleared for Top Secret in light of the urgency of the Big One. Even now, when some in congress see you as compromised, they recognize they have to be realistic and ask you to help."
The long craggy face was still cold. Mark Drum said, "I shouldn't be surprised by the ingratitude! But I did what I did because it was right, not to earn medals or rewards. You might as well go ahead, colonel."
Despite his claims of being blunt and direct, Edward Savage hesitated to get to the point. "For the last two years.. fourteen months, actually.. there have been some mighty weird events in the Southwestern states. I'll come out and say it, Monsters with a capital M. Giant insects ten times bigger than normal. Bizarre people. Sightings of creatures that belong in, I dunno, Greek myths. And they have been killing people."
That softened Drum's attitude. "Really."
"Yeah. I thought some wiseguys in the agency were pulling my leg. Then I talked to witnesses and you never heard such fear in voices as in theirs. I became a believer. Here. I brought something to convince you."
From an inner pocket of his military jacket, Savage drew out a manila envelope held shut with yellow tape across its flap. He slit that open with a thumbnail, scanned the room cautiously and took out a stack of glossy 8X10 black and white photographs. Typed on the back of each was location, date and time taken. Slowly, he passed them to Drum one at a time to be studied.
"Outside Reno, Nevada," the colonel said. "Last February 20th." The first photo showed two grizzled hunters in plaid shirts and hats with ear flaps. They were standing next to a scorpion as big as either of them was. The giant creature was clearly visible in full daylight, with a gaping shotgun wound in its thorax showing how it had died.
"Next, Winslow, Arizona," Savage narrated. "May 30th." This photo was the first of five which showed a bizarre animal, obviously alive and caged. It resembled a dark-hided African lion with the head and forelimbs of a baboon. The beast was glaring at the camera with murderous intensity.
More pictures followed. There were ants eight feet long. A Gila Monster the size of a man, walking upright and holding a stick in its front paw. Finally, there was a nearly naked man with exaggerated muscular development. His conical skull, brow ledge and tusks in the lower jaw marked him as other than Human.
Eighteen photos, each numbered in the upper right corner. Edward Savage kept a protective eye on those pictures. He was careful to arrange them all in the proper sequence and seal them back in the envelope, which he placed in his inner jacket pocket before speaking. "These photographs were taken either by our Mandate agents or by law enforcement officers on the scene. As far as our whiz kids in the lab can certify, they're genuine."
I agree," Drum said. "I didn't see any sign of tampering or trick photography. Of course, I'd need to examine the negatives to be certain."
The single blue eye fixed on Drum. "You seem to accept the, shall we say, unusual nature of these creatures easily."
"Oh, I've seen some strange things in my time, colonel. There is one aspect that worries me."
"Yeah?" snapped Savage, "And what might that be?"
"All of this activity took place in a limited area. New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, Arizona. Something has been going on that corner of the country for the past few years that might be connected."
"Come out and say what we're both thinking, Mr Drum," the colonel said. "The tests. A-bombs have been going off like a Fourth of July fireworks display getting bigger and more impressive each time. Bigger, louder."
"And with more radiation and more fall-out over a wider area, too," the Blue Guide said. "I understand now the atomic bombs have become outdated and they're only used to set off nuclear explosions? What next?"
"It's playing with toys we don't understand, that's for sure."
Drum cocked his head. "You don't seem very gung ho, Colonel Savage."
"Don't get me wrong. I love America. Hell, I lost an eye and a marriage and twenty-six years of my life defending this country. I want us to be the strongest nation on the planet but these bombs.. there's something deeply WRONG about them."
Going over to the windows, Drum pulled the heavy curtains open to let in brilliant sunlight. It was a gorgeous May morning, everything in Nature sprouting and growing and turning the land green. But here they stood discussing the most terrible weapons ever made. "So. These weird creatures. Do you think there's a direct connection with the testing?"
"How would I know? I'm a simple dogface used to digging in and shooting at human enemies. This stuff is beyond me. Even our so-called geniuses can pretend they really know what radiation does. Make bugs as big as horses? Turn a man into a rampaging brute that bullets don't stop? Sure looks like it."
Drum swung around to face his visitor again. "Out with it, colonel. What is it you haven't told me?"
"All right. All these things in the pictures were dead or dying. The bodies are being dissected and studied. So they're closed files. But there is something in the Southwest right now that we know is alive."
"Wait. You've captured one!"
"Damn right. The few who know called it the Bat Creature. Everyone who has seen it face to face is terrified."
As the Mandate officer said that, a change came visibly over Mark Drum. Without moving, he seemed taller, more massive, more imposing. Suddenly his presence filled the room with intense energy. Even the mundane mind of Edward Savage reacted to this change.
"There have been four sightings in the last month, and the latest one was yesterday," the colonel grumbled. "Two civilians are dead and one critically injured. A State Trooper suffered some broken bones but he's expected to be released shortly. He shows worrying signs of emotional trauma, though."
Drum had a gloomy face at the best of times but now he was actively scowling. "These Bat Creatures, what do they look like?"
"I was hoping you might want to go see for yourself. Yeah, they caught one. It's being held at a research facility outside of Lane Fox, New Mexico."
"All right, I'm sold. I'll go," said the Blue Guide. He rubbed his bony hands together with an eagerness he was not consciously aware of. "I can assume you have planned on me accepting."
"Oh yes. There's a jet waiting for us at Idlewild. My driver is waiting outside."
"Hold on," Drum said with an upraised hand. "Not until I speak with my wife. I will not have her come home to find only a note on the door. Especially in her condition. Sonia should be home in a few minutes. How about some coffee?"
"Not a minute too soon," said Savage. "I missed my morning cup in the rush."
The ritual of brewing and consuming coffee took up the next few minutes with nothing of consequence being said. The colonel also accepted an English muffin with honey and was finishing his second cup when Sonia entered her home.
Rupert, the servant and acolyte of the Blue Guide, escorted her into the living room. When he saw Colonel Savage seated, Rupert drew himself up to his full height and only relaxed when he caught a reassuring nod from Drum. The former Royal Commando was a British veteran of the Burma campaign and his huge bulk was not as intimidating as his assurance. "Orders, sir?"
"At ease, Rupert," said Mark Drum. "I will be leaving on a short trip but there is no danger to us. Please escort our guest to his car."
Five months pregnant, wearing a loose cardigan over a white blouse and dark pleated skirt, Sonia Petrovna Drum was handsome rather than gorgeous. She was tall, almost five feet ten, with a strong jawline and an aquiline nose. Although her glossy black hair was done up in a bun at the moment, it normally reached past her shoulders when loose.
As soon as she had seen the gleaming black car outside and walked in to find a man in uniform talking to her husband, Sonia had not feared that she was in trouble herself. She had known with cold certainty what was going on.
"You are being called away again, no?" she asked. Well educated and widely traveled, she had not lost her Georgian accent but had refined it. "Still another crisis which only you can resolve?"
Drum watched the door close behind Rupert and Colonel Savage before he answered simply, "Yes."
As she stepped closer and placed her palms high up on his chest, Sonia studied the depths of those iron-grey eyes. "I should not be selfish. I knew I fell in love with a man of honor and duty. A Blue Guide, a Tel Shai knight. And yet, we have both of us sacrified so much already."
"We have indeed," he told as he led her to the couch to be seated. "We have suffered to find this happiness."
"How much more can be expected to us?" she asked in a whisper. "Don't we deserve peace? Quiet years to raise our son, to grow old together and be content? I do not think that is asking too much of life."
He dropped down beside her, his head bent as if by a great weight. "It's not too much, Sonia. I have turned down many requests by the government or by old friends to investigate strange events. But these... phenomena in the Midwest trouble me. I am worried they are harbingers of much worse to come. I have to at least have a look."
"Telling you to be careful is like telling the leaves not to turn color," she said, leaning her head against him. "But now more than ever, I must tell you exactly that."
Drum took her hands in his. "I don't think I will be in any personal danger. I swear I will return safely and we can make our plans. You know somehow it will be a boy?"
"Yes. One can tell." She lifted their intertwined hands and kissed them gently. "Do what you must, my love. We will be waiting."
II.
From the rear seat of the F-11 jet, Mark Drum had been able to study the HCE facility as they circled before receiving clearance to touch down on the landing strip. Still not used to jets after being in prop planes during the war, Drum felt as if the pilot was deliberately heading straight down into the ground but the landing was smooth and uneventful enough.
Ninety miles from the nearest small town, a mere crossroads named Lane Fox, the facility stood isolated on the fine-textured sands of New Mexico. Its blacktop parking lots and cluster of one-story brick buildings sprouted in the desert without preamble. There were six long structures in a rectangular pattern with enclosed walkways between them and over thirty cars and trucks parked nearby.
"The Human Capability Enhancement Project," Colonel Savage announced as they clambered out of the jet and down a wheeled ladder that had been brought over for them. "It opened barely a year ago. A civilian show but with military contracts and government connections. Up to date as all hell, like some crazy Buck Rogers stuff."
"HCE," repeated Drum as he tugged down his suit jacket and adjusted his tie. "Medical research?"
Savage raised a shaggy eyebrow. "Mostly. To be honest, I've been briefed but that science lingo is over my head. I think they're preparing for future space travel, seeing how astronauts can be made tougher and faster at healing. There was something about the blueprints in our cells that make our bodies work the way they do. Don't quote me."
"I see," Drum said. "Hmm. Why is this so-called Bat Creature brought here again?"
"Frankly, our regular medics wouldn't be up to the task. My superiors at the Mandate figure these eggheads have a better chance at learning something useful. The administrators here do have security clearance as needed and they sure seemed eager to check that monster out."
The whine of the powerful turbines had slowed to a halt. A tech came over to confer with the pilot, who was making a report over the cockpit radio.
An open Jeep was waiting, with a young man in a tan jumpsuit getting out to greet them. "Hi, Jeff Burroughs here. I'm just a sort of roadie here. Hop in and I'll take you to our Director."
"What about the pilot?" asked Drum.
"He'll be picked up and taken to another building. He has some debriefing to do before getting some rest and leaving on the return trip." The young man got them seated in the rear of the Jeep, swung it around and sped across the blacktop under a blazing white sun in a cloudless sky.
As they reached the front doors of the nearest building and were admitted by the driver, Mark Drum felt uneasy. First, the Mandate. Those creatures in the desert. And now this HCE Project. He realized glumly he was losing touch with the secret worlds where the Midnight War and the Cold War intersected. Once he had felt fully informed but recently he had gotten a feeling of being left behind. As if his era had passed.
Fine, he thought with sudden relief. Certainly he had done more than his share of fighting. Let a younger generation take up the struggle. Drum reflected he could look forward to a long and peaceful life with Sonia and their child... with maybe a second one in a few years.
Inside, the air was cooled enough to verge on being uncomfortable after walking in the sun. The lobby was spare and utilitarian, with two couches and several metal-tube chairs. A magazine rack stood at one wall under a clock and there were a few expected signs about 'No Smoking,' pointing out fire exits and a listing of departments. The Director of Special Projects met them. He was a man about thirty years old, just over six feet tall, wearing a white lab coat over a dark business suit. Leonard Slade had regular features that were presentable if not exactly handsome, smooth olive skin and jet black hair cropped short. His dark eyes regarded them with interest, but his entire manner was subdued and unemotional.
Even though he moved with deliberation, Slade somehow gave the impression of unusual strength and vitality just under the surface, as if he was holding himself back the way an adult does when playing with toddlers.
"Let me make the introductions," Colonel Savage said. "Leonard, this is the famous Mark Drum from New York City. Leonard here is a Research Director of this facility, meaning he supervises a dozen experiments about improving human biology. Lots of medical tests and attempts to make people more durable, more resistant to weather extremes, that sort of thing."
Drum held out his hand and Slade shook it agreeably enough.
"Listen, I need to make a few calls. In private," the colonel said.
Slade pointed to an enclosed cubicle down the hall. "There is a secure line in there. Dial 9 for outside calls."
As Colonel Savage tromped down the corridor and slammed the cubicle door behind him, Mark Drum smiled. "He doesn't know about you, does he?"
When Slade made no response, Drum continued, "Come on. I am a Blue Guide. I can see the lifeforce circulating in your body. Your signature is more than Human. I knew as soon as I saw you. You ARE a Trom, right?"
Slade nodded almost imperceptibly and did not smile in the slightest. "There are good reasons why Colonel Edward Savage should not learn that, Mr Drum."
"Ah, you can trust me. Imagine, a Trom in the flesh. All my years in the Midnight War and I've only met one for a few minutes. He was an observer in Berlin at the end of the war and he was as closed-mouth as a bear trap."
"I believe you understand the true purpose of this facility?" asked Slade in his low tones.
"I guess it's an... interface? Where Trom and Humans can interact without public attention?" Drum was still smiling at the revelation. "Of all the Seven Races, yours is the most secretive."
"Exactly," Slade said. He turned his head as Savage emerged from the cubicle and came to rejoin them. "We will discuss this at some more appropriate time."
The colonel was fussing with the wrapper on a cigar. "God, I hate red tape. Okay, Mr Slade, what about this Bat Man thing? We just flew two thousand miles to get a look at the damn thing."
"Follow me," Slade said. He had been holding a clipboard with a thick stack of papers on it and now he tucked his pen into its clip on the board. He led them down long, chilly white-tiled hallways lit by overhead fluorescent panels. Doors on either side had frosted glass panels which read 'BLOOD WORK ANALYSIS' or 'COMMUNICATION IMPLANTS' or 'ELEVATED REGENERATION OF BONE MARROW.'
As they approached each door ending a section, there was a buzz and the door unlocked before they reached it. No one was present. Whether they were being watched on hidden cameras or whether Slade was somehow unlocking the doors by some signal from his person wasn't clear.
"I don't have to ask if security is tight?" Savage said.
"You are correct." Slade paused as they reached the end of a long hallway where a particularly solid pair of double doors did not react to their presence. The secret Trom Monitor tapped a lengthy sequence into a keypad and pressed his right thumb to a glass panel before the doors unlocked with a deep clunk. A green bulb over the door flashed three times.
Slade pushed the doors inward and escorted his visitors in a lab where a horror not born on this world was being held.
On a raised platform in the center of the glaringly bright lab was a cage ten feet to each side, constructed to steel bars thick as a man's arm and set close together. Snapping to attention as their boss entered were a pair of sentries in khaki uniforms bearing the HCE logo. Each had a holstered sidearm and carried a Browning automatic rifle. A short pudgy man in a white lab coat was writing furiously on a clip board, oblivious to the world.
Pacing within that cage was the Bat Creature.
It had a Humanlike body, seven feet tall with a lean sinewy build. The hide was leathery and a dark tan in color. Stretching out from between its shoulder blades were a pair of batwings with a five foot spread, tough membrances stretched taut over ribs. The beast had wicked talons on both hands and feet, a long ropy tail ending in a flat barb and bony hooks on both elbows and knees. Any genitals were evidently retracted into the pelvis.
The monster's head was that of a giant hound with upraised ears and a long muzzle packed with fangs. Its red-irised eyes followed the men as they entered and narrowed shrewdly with obvious intelligence.
As Slade appeared, the creature roared, "Nagash! Baruk nagash ku!"
"Language? If you can call it that," snorted the colonel. "I've heard parrots sound better."
"There is structure and meaning in its sounds," Slade contradicted. "So far we have logged twenty distinct words but that is too small a sample to support conclusions."
"Ah. Hello, Leonard," said the older man, coming over to them. "I'm disappointed that the specimen so far has not repeated any words we say to him. As a completely subjective guess, I'd say he's demanding we free him and threatening us if we don't. But that's my interpetation."
Taking the clipboard, Leonard Slade studied its pages. "Interesting. Have this transcribed and added to the files, Dr Buono. Please return to your regular duties for the moment."
"Certainly."
As the researcher hurried from the lab, Mark Drum exchanged stares with the Bat Creature. No one there had the mystic perception to tell, but Drum had used his Blue Guide skill to locked onto the beast's lifeforce. He siphoned some of that vitality off, bringing a degree of calm as the agitation lessened. In a moment, the wings folded flat against the creature's back and the eyes lost some of their fury
"I'll be damned," Savage remarked. "Seems as if you have an effect on our pet, Mr Drum."
"Yes. Has he been fed?"
"We have offered him a wide variety of food," Slade replied. "So far he has consumed raw veal and pork, and he drank two liters of plain water. A urine sample is still being analyzed but it contains ammonia and sulphur."
Drum stepped closer to the cage, holding up his empty hands in a placating gesture. Under the flourescent lights, a faint blue haze shimmered around those hands. "Hear me, Kulan. You are safe for the moment. Rest. Sleep. Lie down and sleep." The creature blinked, then got down on the cage floor. It curled up like a dog, rested its face on its forearms and let out a deep breath.
"What did you do?" whispered Savage.
Drum shrugged. "I made him feel safe. He'll sleep for a few hours. Maybe that will make him easier to deal with." He moved back away from the cage and gestured for the other two men to follow him to the other side of the lab.
Colonel Savage still hadn't lit his cigar and it seemed as if he never would. He chewed on it with repressed anxiety. In the brightly lit lab with all that gleaming chrome and white enamel, he seemed ill at ease.
"Dim the lights," ordered Slade. "Security, remain on duty but try not to agitate the specimen."
As his orders were obeyed, Slade led his two guests to an enclosed office in one corner of the lab. Behind the door with its frosted glass window was a desk free of clutter and several simple metal frame chairs. Neatly arranged manila folders and sheaves of papers were in place. Two telephones on the desk and a typewriter on a foldaway shelf completed the decor. There were no photos of family, no personal nick-nacks, not even a wall calender.
As he seated himself behind that desk, Leonard Slade unfastened the collar of his smock and opened the top button of the white dress shirt he wore beneath. This small humanizing gesture comforted Drum somehow; it was a hint of informality in the emotionless Trom. He realized Slade would make uneasy company.
Without asking, Savage discarded his soggy cigar butt into a waste paper basket and began to toy with another one from his breast pocket. His hands seemed steady but the way he fidgeted in his seat gave away the stress he was under.
Watching the uneven flow of the man's life force with his Blue Guide training, Drum decided that Savage was badly shaken. That was understandable.
"Gentlemen," the colonel began. "Let's get some cards on the table. In small words, please. What the hell are we dealing with here?"
Leonard Slade sat bolt upright, palms flat on the desk in front of him. He never showed any nervous mannerisms like drumming his fingers or tapping a pencil on the desk. "I do not believe that this creature or other specimens we have examined recently are the result of atomic mutations as you suggested."
"Yeah? Go on, tell me more."
"Mutation does not work in such a manner. Radiation in dosages sufficient to cause radical genetic changes would more probably result in death by cancer, leukemia, cell destruction and infection. Even if a life form received a minimal dosage enough to prompt genetic change, generations would have to pass before results were viable."
Savage grunted, "I asked for small words, mister. But I guess I follow you so far."
"Our specimen in that cage," Slade continued, "as well as the giant scorpion, the glowing dogs, the lion-ape hybrid-- are all adult specimens. They were born before atomic testing began in this immediate area. The explanation that these were normal animals changed by exposure is so close to impossible that it can be dismissed."
The colonel turned his single baleful eye to Drum. "And what do you got to say about all this?"
"I'm not a geneticist, but what Mr Slade says certainly makes sense to me. These monsters appear unrelated to each other but they have all turned up in the Southwest in the past few years. There must be a connection."
"Which would be?"
Drum frowned. He studied his clasped hands in his lap before answering. "Colonel, I know the answer to all this but I am not sure it will make sense to you."
"Aw, give it a try," Savage said. "Who knows, I may not be as dim-witted as you two seem to think I am!"
"Fair enough," Drum conceded. "I suspect these various monsters are appearing into our world because the A-bombs are opening doorways. Those explosions are hellishly intense concentrations of primal energy. There have been cases where lightning has opened portals to the adjacent realms, even volcanic explosions have done so. Why wouldn't atomic blasts open gates? They're hotter than the surface of the sun, more destructive than anything ever seen on Earth before."
"Portals? Gates?" repeated Savage. "To where? Other planets?"
"Not exactly," Drum said. "I'm not sure I can explain the Adjacent Realms, colonel."
"Are you telling me these monsters are from Outer Space? Mars? The Moon?"
"Oh, no, not at all," said Drum. "This world we know is surrounded by forty adjacent realms. Other pieces of reality that are not accessible by normal means. Mystics and warlocks can sometimes travel to those realms and the creatures there can occasionally cross over into our world."
"You mean other dimensions? I've read a few of those crazy science fiction pulps." Savage scoffed. "It's a hard pill to swallow."
Slade interrupted with quiet authority. "The creature in that cage should be convincing enough, sir. Obviously, such a being never evolved in our world. There are no six-limbed vertebrates. You cannot believe such creatures have remained undiscovered by people until now."
Colonel Savage shook his head and snorted. "I get it, I get it already. As long as the bombs keep popping, we're going to find more critters like that little sweetheart sometimes wandering into peoples' backyards?"
"The situation is much worse than that," said Drum. "That is a Kulan, a soldier demon from Fanedral. There are millions of them in service to Draldros. They have loyalty to each other. They take care of their own, colonel."
The lone blue eye narrowed. "You don't mean--"
"Others will come to rescue him," said Mark Drum.
III.
"Don't do it! That's an order, mister!"
Back out in the lab, Slade regarded the colonel with infinite patience. "This is a civilian facility. I am not under your command."
Savage swung around to confront the man in the white lab coat. "Dammit, I'll have the joint shut down if I have to. National security. Eminent domain. Your job, no, your very liberty is on the line, son. I have my orders."
Although he did not explain, Slade knew that he answered to the Trom Council who exerted great influence behind the scenes. Any attempt to interfere with a Trom-run facility would meet unexpected derailment. His calm stare and refusal to be intimidated only enraged Savage more.
Intervening between the two men, Mark Drum said, "We have to return that demon to his own realm. If a squad of Kulan are sent to rescue him, there will be slaughter. These creatures have been bred for thousands of years to be aggressive predators. Draldros has used them as a marauding army since before history."
"What kind of talk is that?" demanded Savage. Beneath the white eyepatch, his face was growing redder in contrast. "Give me some answers, mister. You've known more about these monsters than you've let on, haven't you?"
"Oh yes. I have fought these beasts before," Drum said. "They're strong and fast and difficult to harm, let alone kill. They can fly. Some of them can emit torture-flame. They have the personality of wolverines with rabies. Take a good look at that thing. Can you imagine an army of them chasing people through the streets?"
"Give me a minute. Let me think..."
"It is imperative to act without delay," Slade said. "My staff will move that cage outside now."
Colonel Savage abruptly unsnapped the flap holster on his belt and drew a Colt .45 automatic. He thumbed the safety off, whipped the weapon up.. and had it snatched away with such strength and dexterity that for a second he wasn't sure what had happened. "Huh? What?"
"That is uncalled for," Slade told, him, ejecting the magazine from the butt. He stowed the automatic in one pocket of his lab coat and the ammo in another. His actions were as smooth as if he had rehearsed them all his life. "We are in possession of knowledge you do not have, sir."
The Mandate officer squared his fists and set his weight to take a swing, but prudence held him back. He was rational enough to realize that trying to hit a man who could disarm him so easily wouldn't end well. "You have no idea what you're challenging, Mr Slade. You're messing with Uncle Sam."
Seeming not to have heard, the Trom turned his attention to Drum. "Mark, can you sense anything yet?"
"I'm afraid so," replied the Blue Guide. The Scots burr in his voice was more evident in 'afraid.' He gestured up at the sky with an open hand. "Gralic force is boiling right over us. Listen. Feel with your skin. It's like a thunderstorm about to break on a muggy day. Can't you sense it?"
"No," Slade said. "I have never been able to develop gralic perception."
After an uncomfortable silence, Colonel Savage mumbled, "Maybe I shouldn't admit it... but I sure can feel something. The air is tingling. Hell, I haven't survived so long without learning to trust my instincts."
"Exactly," Drum said. "Any minute now."
Savage lit a thin black cigar and took two puffs, then held it in one hand and apparently forgot about it. He followed Drum and Slade as they headed outside, scowling his worst but being unable to intimidate them in the slightest. The colonel was torn with rare indecision. While he had these two strange men outside, he might duck back into the facility and call for back-up. But here in the wastes of New Mexico, it could take hours for troops to arrive and that was assuming that his Control in Washington would agree to authorize it. No. There had to be another way.
Savage had one other weapon on him, a flat .25 Beretta in an ankle holster under his right cuff. But that wouldn't make any difference. His mind worked furiously, trying to find a solution that wasn't there.
As he fumed, Slade and Drum supervised a group of HCE technicians pulled the cage outside on a wheeled skid. Behind the stout bars, the bizarre creatures snarled and paced but showed no signs of trying to claw at the apprehensive men. The cage was placed twenty feet from the door of the facility. As Slade signalled they could leave, the techs gratefully hurried back inside.
The Colonel glanced back at the HCE building and saw anxious faces at every window. Well, he couldn't blame them. It meant keeping this under wraps and out of the papers was going to be impossible. Savage tossed his cold cigar to the blacktop and loosened his tie as he settled down to wait.
Twenty minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. Mark Drum seemed quite content to watch the winged demons. Slade was receiving reports and giving instructions to his staff through what seemed to be a flat electronic device no bigger than a cigarette case. A walkie-talkie that size? wondered Savage. All of Slade's gadgets seemed too small to be real but they functioned perfectly. Savage was starting to be curious about just how advanced this HCE Project really was.
Finally, Drum began watching the skies. He saw the angry grimace on Savage's face and said reassuringly, "Not much longer, colonel. Gralic force is gathering. A portal to Fanderal is ready to open any second now."
Coming over to join them, Slade handed over the Colt which Savage snatched away gracelessly. "I must suggest, colonel," said the Trom, "That you go inside now. This will not be safe."
"Oh, you think so, do you?!" snapped Savage. "I fought the Nazis and the Japs and the Reds. If you think I'm gonna run from these goddam Batmen animals, then you got another think coming--"
Drum held up a hand to interrupt. "Here it comes!"
Thunder exploded directly overhead, deafening at such close range. Thirty feet above the blistering hot parking lot, a red fireball exploded and twenty of the winged demons flew down through it into the world.
IV.
Hardened by years of combat and espionage as he was, even Colonel Edward Savage froze into place. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. Whatever he had been expecting, it could not match this invasion.
The demons were not all identical in appearance. Their leathery hides ranged in color from dark grey to tan and even a light pink. Much like Humans, some were bigger or smaller than their fellows. Some had wings with an extra rib, one had canine fangs with reached up beyond the closed lower jaw. They were armed with short stabbing spears or wide-bladed swords tied to harnesses across their chests. None wore real clothing.
Their obvious leader was bigger and more powerfully built than his squad. His hide was a bright crimson that flashed vividly in the sunlight and made him stand out, a figure from ancient legend brought to life.
Of them all, only Mark Drum knew the lore of the Midnight War. This creature with the crimson hide was one of the Red Slashers, chosen personally by Draldros to serve as a honor guard. He would have been given the additional power of summoning torture-flame to engulf his enemies.
Drum's thought wandered for a moment to dwell on Sonia and his unborn child, waiting in their home on Bleeker Street thousands of miles away. He sighed, straightened his shoulders and strode over to the cage as calmly as if twenty ferocious Kulan demons were always aching to get at him.
The Red Slasher drew back blinking in surprise. Drum tapped in a code on the keypad and the door unlocked with a clunk. The Blue Guide pulled the heavy door open and took a step to one side.
Just out of arm's reach, Leonard Slade watched steadily, no flicker of alarm showing on his stoic face. In one hand, he felt a flat electronic device and now he adjusted a dial. The beam projector was set to the photon ram at maximum intensity. The Trom was as ready for the worst that might happen as he could be.
Beside Slade, Colonel Savage stared open-eyed at the monster. The automatic in his hand suddenly seemed small and ineffectual. He had seldom felt before that he was in over his head in a situation he couldn't dominate.
Drum waited, hands down by his side, making his stance as unthreatening as he could. The Kulan emerged hesitantly from the cage and stepped out into the brilliant sunlight. Much bolder, the red-hided demon came up to his temmate and sniffed at him to determine that no harm had been done. The Red Slasher rumbled deep in his chest with satisfaction.
The desert air shimmered directly above the Kulan. Ten pairs of ribbed batwings snapped open and the demons leaped upward to vanish headlong into the portal. Last to leave was the Red Slasher. He paused to leer at Mark Drum with a fanged grin that was anything but reassuring. The demon raised his clawed index finger and waggled it from side to side in a gesture of reproach.
The powerful wings beat once. The Red Slasher shot upward and passed into the portal just before it closed with a crash of thunder. A surge of searing hot wind blew over the men watching below and the Bat Creatures were all gone.
Wiping his sweating face with the back of a hand, Mark Drum turned toward Slade and Savage. "Well. I can't deny THAT was a tense moment."
"Is that all you have to say?" yelled the colonel. "We faced twenty monsters from Hell! I'll never be the same after seeing them. How will I sleep at night?"
"It's a stranger world than most people realize," Drum told him. "And it's not going to get better. The A-Bomb tests are not going to end anytime soon. I think you are going to find worse beasts than those Kulan coming through into our world.".
Leonard Slade agreed. "The current political climate will not allow the testing to be halted. If any of us were to try to persuade the government to stop these explosions, we would be regarded with suspicion and anger."
"Yeah, I know congressmen would label anyone trying to stop the tests as a Communist and a traitor," Savage said. "I guess we just have to keep our eyes open and capture these critters as they show up."
"You may bring any such specimens here to the HCE Project," Slade offered. "We will study them and return them to Fanedral if possible. I suggest it would be better if the general public does not learn about these invaders."
Savage lowered his battered head, suddenly seeming old and tired. "Yeah. Good point. This is a time of awful fear in America. The Reds, the A-Bomb, civil instigators, there's definite hysteria in the air. Just under the surface. It wouldn't take much of a spark to ignite a nation-wide panic that would get completely out of control."
Arms folded, Mark Drum regarded the man thoughtfully. "So, it seems like you may have found your real mission in life, colonel. Monster control. You could lead a Mandate task force, capturing strange creatures like these before they do much harm, keeping the citizenry unaware and happy. And specialists like myself can send them back."
"Yeah." Colonel Savage tugged a cigar from his breast pocket, bit off the end and spit it onto the ground before digging for a match. "And you know what? I like the idea."
10/8/2000-Rev. 3/5/2018
