Spectral Ops

1

SPECTRAL

OPS

The Darkness has been defeated, the monsters plaguing mankind driven back into the shadows, defeated time and again by Detachment 1039, a covert unit of soldiers, psychics and scientists all dedicated to defeating evil wherever it appears. But even as the Detachment pursues mankind’s supernatural enemies off-Earth, a new threat has arisen, filling the paranormal power vacuum...

SPECTRAL OPS

C.E. Martin

Copyright 2016 by C.E. Martin

www.SpectralOps.com

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places, and events are purely fictional and not based on any real event. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is an amazing coincidence or intended as parody.

All Rights Reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without the express written permission of the author, Detachment1039@gmail.com, with the exception of excerpts for the purposes of review or discussion, as explained in the Fair Use Act.

Dedicated to Zak, Aaron and the gang:

Thanks for 10 Seasons of spooky fun!

WARNING:

This story contains extreme violence and pulp action that may be too intense for some readers.

CHAPTER ONE

Moyenne, France, April 8, 2017

From this height, Adolph Laurent thought the strange mist rising from the ground far below didn’t look all that unnatural. But it was unnatural–very unnatural. A thick, milky vapor, like the cream he had poured into his café au lait that morning. It was a dense blanket of whiteness covering the thousands of bird corpses littering the green landscape of the wind farm Adolph worked on. And it was very out of place on such a beautiful, bright, sunny morning, with the sun shining overhead and a pleasant breeze rustling the bright green grass covering the idyllic landscape below.

Moments before, it had been just another day for the Frenchman. Climb a tower of the local wind farm where he worked and conduct an inspection of the generator housing, ensuring no bird nests had been built and that the system responsible for keeping errant avians away was working. Then a cacophony of shrill bird shrieks had filled the air around him.

The flock was huge–one of the largest Adolph had ever seen. Black birds, ravens, all heading west, toward Paris. They were so numerous, they almost blotted out the sky. The flock had driven on, straight through the wind farm, meeting their end as the slowly turning blades of the modern wind generators and smashed them to pieces.

The flock was like a black wave smashing against the rocks, sweeping on despite the many dying. Adolph had ducked down, glad he was tethered by a safety line to the top of the generator he had climbed. He felt birds bounce off of him as they swept past, like heavy, horizontal rain.

In moments, it was done–almost the entire flock lay far below, dead and broken. Only a few dozen managed to somehow pass through, unmolested. They vanished rapidly from sight, flying on toward Paris, unphased by the loss of their companions.

That had been strange, but not as strange as what followed. Despite the clear sky and bright, late-morning sun, a thick mist began to rise from the ground, swallowing grass and bird corpses. Adolph had never seen anything like it.

He pulled the radio from his belt, trying to call the control center for the wind farm. The radio crackled once, then went dead. The small battery light faded out. The unit was drained of all power–despite having spent the night on a charger. A faint, sweet smell, like perfume filled the air around him, and his breath came out in a cold plume, as though it were Winter, and not early Spring.

Adolph did not want to leave his perch high above the strangeness, but something urged him on. A feeling in his gut, and the hairs on the back of his neck, perhaps. He turned in place to head back to the hatch that led down into the generator housing. He turned in place and froze, a chill creeping up his spine.

The French technician was no longer alone atop the generator housing. A woman now stood nearby, watching him. She was pale and white, with long flowing wisps of what looked like cloth covering her body. And she was translucent, the morning sun shining through her.

He blinked several times, confused and frightened, watching the slowly turning blades of other generators in the wind farm nearby–visible through the figure before him. Then she swept forward, silent, like smoke carried on the wind. She extended a hand toward him.

Adolph wanted to run, to scream, to do anything. But fear had gripped him and he remained rooted in place, sweat forming on his brow, his body trembling as his heart raced.

The apparition thrust her hand into Adolph’s chest. It was like cold water, causing him to inhale sharply. Then he was wracked with pain as the deep cold, and the ghost’s hand, reached his heart.

Adolph collapsed to his knees, clutching at his chest as the cold spread to his extremities. The translucent figure before him knelt as he fell, keeping her ethereal hand inside his chest. She stared at him with dark eyes, her face as emotionless as when he had first turned toward her. It was the last thing he ever saw before he was swallowed by the darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

James Fitzgerald Kane jolted in his seat, eyes snapping open. He blinked several times, looking around to get his bearings and then cursed to himself. He had been dreaming he was back in Miami, on the beach with his wife–a much better place than where he actually was.

The interior of the modified B-1R bomber was filled with his squad, all resting in the oversized leather chairs that ran down the port side of the plane. Ten seats sat in a neat row from front to rear, but only five were filled for this mission.

At the forward end of the compartment that should have held bombs or missiles instead of troops, a red light slowly winked on and off–the indicator they were nearing the drop zone. The plane trembled slightly, the engines throttling back from near super-sonic flight to a slower speed better suited for airborne release.

Up and at ‘em, Kane! the General called out from the rear. His deep voice boomed over the noise of the plane.

Kane unstrapped and stood slowly, the rest of his squad already doing the same. The thin, average height blonde with short hair and brown eyes looked around at the squad, wondering as always if they’d all make it back from yet another dangerous mission.

There was the red-headed doctor, Laura Olson, her long hair held back in a non-regulation pony tail, her skin pale. She was touching up her makeup in a small mirror. Victor Hornbeck was nearly as pale, with dark hair that hung down over his face almost covering one eye. A few years older than Jimmy, Victor had the same lean, borderline scrawny build as Kane. The second-most muscular member of the squad was Jimmy’s wife, Josie, with tan skin and a serious face peeking from under a jump helmet she had fastened tightly under her chin. Finally, there was the General–an enormous man with broad shoulders, thick arms and an always-present dour expression. He stood towering over everyone else, tan skin still not showing any signs of aging despite decades of service to his country. Unlike Victor and Josie, Kenslir wore no jump helmet, his jet black, close-cropped hair and a pair of oversized tactical goggles being all that covered his head.

All of them, Jimmy included, wore black combat fatigues and assault vests, with parachute harnesses. Ammo carriers hung down on each thigh, and the squad were each loaded with enough ammunition and equipment Jimmy could barely move.

Have a good nap, hon? Josie asked from her seat nearby. She had pulled on her own goggles and was checking over her M4 rifle.

Of course, he did, Laura Olson commented, stepping past the couple, headed toward the rear of the plane. He’s been snoring the whole way. Unlike the others, Olson didn’t have her parachute on, nor did she carry any rifle.

Laura gave Jimmy a sideways smile, her green eyes twinkling mischievously as she passed. As always, the wise-cracking, pale-skinned doctor was looking for a chance to engage Jimmy in a back and forth exchange