[JimmyDimples]

(Thanks for the comments, guys.  ;D I was going to include this in my original 800th post, but it blew the character limit wide open.  Here's the rest so far.)

Part 4:  Strike

Lifting up and carrying the car-sized pod like it was a kitchen table, the Eugenian warriors loaded it into the skiff. Energy arrows still nocked, the watchful bowwomen then slowly tightened up the perimiter, and backed into their own skiff one by one. Finally satisfied, the last trooper unwrinkled her cute, small nose, stepped back inside, and let the ramp/gate swing back up and shut. And kicking up clouds of dust and grass, they ascended into the air statefully, looped around, and took off with no further shots fired from either side.

The web camera slowly dipped and panned left. The Sudanese troopers stared up at the departing craft in the sky, jaws dropped all the way. Then finally, the leader saw the cam was on them, and with some swearing in his dialect, he angrily swatted it off.

Wes, Craig, and Xavier did their own codfish-mouth staring.

"Whoa," Xavier went at last.

"Soooo," went Pastor Craig tenatively, "so much for the bug-eyed monster."

"Dang," Wes said. "Those girls are ENORMOUS!"

"Not exactly harsh on the eyes, either," Xavier muttered unthinkingly. Wes and the pastor quickly gave Xavier a quick turn-and-stare. "What? I never did like the pencil-thin waif look."

Wes glanced back at the flash vid screen. "Well, got a good bit of junk in the trunk, and their cups runneth over, but yeah."

The pastor twiddled with his collar, and Xavier thought he saw him sweat a little. "How tall you reckon they are? Ten feet? Eleven?"

Just then, the phone rang. Pastor Craig picked up. "Yes, Dolores? Oh, sure, sure, he's still here. Right here, in fact, I'll put him on." He held out the receiver to Wes. "It's your wife."

Wes took it. "Hi Lucille, what's up? Uh huh? Yeah? He is? Tonight over at the VFW Post? Sure, I'll be there… yep, OK, tell 'em I'm coming. OK, love you too, honey." He hung up. "Sorry, I gotta cut this short. Lucille sez there's a get-together over at the VFW tonight at 7:30. Most of my huntin' buddies are meeting tonight about organizing a community watch group."

"Who's leading this thing?" Xavier asked.

"Gene Gray."

Xavier grimaced. "That crook?!"

Craig's forehead wrinkled. "Crook?"

"Yeah, crook. I'd know; he ripped my mom off with a brake job for $450 worth. And when I got my car inspected at his garage before I left for Taiwan, my windshield wipers were shot, and the mechanic tried to tell me that replacements woulda cost $30 because my car was a Korean import."

Wes' eyebrows arched up. "Well, you didn't let him, did you?"

"Nope. The guy at AutoZone sold me a pair for ten bucks, made in the USA, and even put them on for free." Xavier folded his arms. "And I came back, paid the inspection fee, and told him to invest it well, because I wasn't gonna ever buy even a pack of Nabs from him." He glared. "I wouldn't trust him any further than I could spit at him."

Wes sighed. "Well, Xave, that crook also happens to own the military surplus shop and gun store. And half the convenience marts in this county. So much for asking you to come, then?"

Xavier grunted. "I'd rather get an unneeded root canal."

"Fair 'nuff." Shrugging, Wes fished in his pockets for his keys. "Guess I'd better pack up, head to the house, and see my sugar dumplin' before I go. Sorry I gotta jet."

"Hey, thanks for helping out," said the pastor.

***

At 5 o'clock, Xavier headed for the exit. "So what do you think you'd do if they marched up to our doorstep?"

"The aliens, you mean?" Pastor Craig asked.

"Yeah. If they came to this church."

Craig spread his hands with a smile. "What else? Invite 'em in, say hi, show 'em a good pew, and tell them the Good News about Jesus."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not." The pastor's face turned very serious. "Look, that big fancy speech from Summa Cum Laude–"

"Summa Matrei, Pastor."

"Whatever. Anyway, that speech shows they got some idea of right and wrong, to say the least, right? I mean, it's holding humankind's feet to the fire. Pretty close to a classic Old Testament heavenly judgement."

"What, you're saying they're sent by God? They're angels?"

"No, no. I don't know what idea they have on God and all, or what or even IF they worship. But I'm pretty sure if they can speak our language, that they'll figure it out soon enough. And if they got questions…" And he held up his Bible: "we gotta give them answers. Besides, I don't want them, or ANYbody, to miss heaven because nobody ever told 'em about it."

"Well, I guess."

"Guess? Me, I KNOW."

"Hey wait a sec… what's that?"

Down by the doorway outside was a small brown vinyl wallet. Xavier scooped it up and checked the ID. "This is Wes's."

"Must've dropped it when he pulled out his truck keys," said the pastor. "I'll lock it up in the office."

"No, no," Xavier said. "I'll deliver it to him at the VFW hall tonight."

"I thought you didn't want to go."

"I don't. But I don't want him to get a ticket for driving with no license. I'll just find him, hand it over, and get outta there."

"All right, fair enough. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

***

After coming home, snagging a quick dinner with Mom, Dad, and Keith, and filling up the gas tank with her reminder, Xavier pulled onto the gravel lot filled with a whole bunch of other pickups. Peeking in the window searching for Les, he saw lots of older guys seated around the main meeting room harrumphing. And right at what looked like the head of the ring stood a late 40-ish/early 50-ish man with thinning combed-over sandy brown hair. Gene Gray. Xavier could just barely make out his speech.

"I'm telling ya, boys," he harangued, "we gotta get some sort of watch together to keep the comunity from goin' looney if those Big Bertha Battle-Axes from Planet Broomhilda hit us. I'm talkin' supplies, neighborhood patrols, an inventory of who's armed–"

"But Gene," a fat bearded guy in bib overalls protested, "what are they gonna hit US for? We're a bitty town out in nowhere!"

"We're on an interstate highway, with a high tech electronic factory–"

"Which is shutting down and going to Mexico!" somebody snapped.

"– and an Air Force Base about 45 minutes from here! That's too close for comfort! And what if those namby-pambies in Washington actually fork over our weapons, stick this country's bare butt out, and hand them Martian feminazis the Vaseline? Those hulkin' she-males'll be free to just waltz on in and violate your sons!" He narrowed his eyes. "Or your daughters or wives."

The crowd murmured at that. Gene took a breath. "Tell you what. I know your nicotene craving's kicking in, and the VFW won't let us light up in here. What say we take ten, step outside, and I'll show you guys what I got outlined when we come back."

Amenable to that, the men got up, stretched and filed toward the exits. Knowing Wes didn't smoke, he waited until all the others filed out, and headed on in. Wes' eyes lit up when he saw him step into the big meeting room. "Oh, hey, Xave. You changed your mind, huh?"

"No, not really. Just came to give you this."

"Aw, thanks, man! I didn't know it was gone until I was on the way here." He pocketed it. "So you just get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Caught the Big Bertha Battle-Axes bit."

"Oh yeah. And the violating our families part, too."

"Yeah." Xavier rolled his eyes. "Man, kinda funny, a guy like him playing the family values card when he threw out the arcade games in his stores to make way for a bigger X-rated section in the magazine racks."

"Hey," said someone behind him, "Free speech, and a free market. Folks want it, and it makes money."

Xavier glanced behind him, and he autonomically grimaced: it was Gene Gray. He looked back to Wes. "Better be on my way."

"Hold it, hold it, aren't you related to that guy, Keith Francis, works in the Litchfield Street store?"

"Uh… yeah…"

"You're that kid brother Roggin in college, aren'tcha?"

"No, his name's Hogan. And I'm his other brother Xavier."

"Ah, yeah. He's talked about you. You're teaching in where, China?"

"Taiwan."

"So what, you got tired of teaching the commie kids English and gonna teach here?"

"No, I'm on Chinese New Year's holiday. Visiting home for a couple of weeks."

Gene snorted. "Shoot, with the aliens, I'll be amazed if you can still get a flight to Atlanta, let alone Red China."

Xavier bristled. "It's TAIWAN. They're not part of the mainland."

Wes held up his hand, trying to keep things peaceful. "He just came here to bring back my wallet. I'd lost it at the church."

"Well, good for him," muttered Gene.

"And now that I have," said Xavier, "I'd better get back to the folks. Excuse me."

"Hold on, there," Gene said, sticking out his arm in front of him. "Y'know, you really oughta stick around and sit in on the meeting. We gotta have some sort of town defense."

"You kidding? I can't even play Time Crisis 4 at the arcade. Besides, I got my family, and I'm wired in with the church. Maybe you should speak to them about it."

Gene squinted, as if he were a 5 year old child offered a plate of broccoli. "Maybe," he said tenatively. "But as Stalin said, how many tank divisions does the Pope have?"

Xavier scowled. "And then he died, and the Soviet Union fell apart. I gotta go."

And he marched out down the hall to the exit. But not before Gene called out at him, "Hey! We just MIGHT not be there if the aliens show up at your house! Whatcha gonna do then, huh? Rebuke 'em with Bible verses? Cuss at 'em in Chinese?"

***

Sitting in bed, Xavier leafed through some old gasoline ration stamp booklets left over from World War II. He remembered how Greatgranny talked to him about it when they pulled weeds in her vegetable garden back when he was 14.

"And they boo-hoo about how gas is a quarter more a gallon," she grumped. "Beh. Let me tell you, back in the Big Deuce, we couldn't even GET gas at home. First, you had to go to the OPA to tell them and swear to high heaven you absolutely NEEDED the gas, and didn't have more than 5 tires for your car. They confiscated any extras. And after that, you had to put a sticker on your car's windshield, and show a certificate, and peel 'em off a stamp from your booklet. And THEN, you could buy only three or four gallons at a time. Period." She threw the weeds into the garbage can. "And it wasn't just gas, Xavier. We had rationing on all sorts of stuff… tires, shoes, clothes, meat, butter, cheese, canned fruits and vegetables… and sugar. That was one of the first things to go. We had to improvise our desserts with raisins, dried fruit, and Karo syrup." Xavier tossed a dandelion root and spring onion toward the can, but she caught it like an NBA player blocking a shot. "I can wash and use that."

"Ewww," went Xavier.

"Don't ewww me," she said. "We had to save every bit. Make it last, wear it out, make it do, or do without." She leaned back and her joints popped. "I know it's old hat comin' from me, and I'm not sayin' it against you, but I'm not so sure if the Baby Boomers, never mind this electronic generation, could hack it if there was a full scale invasion today."

"Maybe I should join the military," he said.

"Beh. You'd probably serve them best by stayin' out of their way. You're not grunt material." Greatgranny looked intently at him and smiled. "Don't look at me like that. You're too sweet and smart. You'd do me proud and your country best by being smart, sweet, honest and honorable. Lord knows, this nation ain't much on any of it."

Xavier nodded. "Thanks, Greatgranny."

She grunted. "Now let's wash up, and make you some raspberry preserves."

He looked wistfully at the booklet. Greatgranny had died a year after that, and eating the last jar of homemade preserves saved from her cupboard felt like finishing a bottle of Dom Perignon 1969. He'd never again taste anything like it again.

Putting the memorabilia on the nightstand, he turned out the light and decided to snooze before the tears came.

He almost made it.

***

RATTATATTATATTATAT! The sergeant blasted away with the .50 machine gun through the hole in the stucco wall. KABOOM! A cypress tree fell back and landed atop it, peeking over where there wasn't any roof.

"Francis! Need belts! Now!"

Xavier looked around. He was in a restaurant complete with Italian garlic cloves and overturned tables, chairs, and smashed bottles of vino. He looked down at himself. He was in a drab olive battle dress uniform, complete with steel helmet, bandolier, pineapple grenades, and an M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle.

"SOMETIME TODAY, CORPORAL!"

Searching around furtively, Xavier finally spotted some steel ammo boxes alongside some empty olive oil tins. Grabbing two, he flipped open the one on top and hurried over there. Wsssh-BOOM! A blast sent rocks and asphalt over the wall. Forgetting to panic, he hunkered down, and duck-walked over with the ammo, and streamed the belt out. The sergeant looked at it, then at Xavier in disgust. "Other way!"

Xavier cringed. He'd pulled it out backwards. Flipping the box around, he got them bullet tips aimed WITH the gun. Chambering the first one, the sergeant resumed firing away at the enemy. Ducking back behind the wall, he searched around for a place to see what they were shooting.

A jet rocketed overhead. That made him blink. What were German Messerschmitt Stormbirds doing this far south?

"Incoming!" SMASH! A big heavy vehicle sailed right through the wall to his right, forcing him to leap and splay to the ground. Spitting the asphalt out of his mouth (and what was THAT doing here?) he turned around and saw a twisted, totalled… LEXUS?!

Then a shadow came up. It was the silhouette of a hulking, towering Eugenian warrior, shield up, and door-length sword at the ready. Without thinking, Xavier chambered a round into his auto rifle, aimed and pulled the trigger. Krak-krak-krak-krak! He hit her shield. Unhurt, she backpedaled away quickly, and ducked behind the broken wall. Zipping up, he took cover behind the wrecked luxury car, and looked the way the Amazon came.

Then what he saw finally snapped everything into place. The F-15 Eagle in the sky. The flying skiff and Apache helicopter swapping autocannon fire and energy arrows. The Blockbuster Video store in flames. The Eugenian warrior nocking her energy arrow in her bow, and sending a blast into the candy apple red Hummer in the parking lot. The cordon of 10-foot-tall female soldiers dashing from the supermarket across the street, screaming with swords raised.

This wasn't an Italian village's ristorante! This was the Jones Meadow Shopping Center's Macaroni Grill!

***

Xavier snapped his eyes open with a gasp. Then he exhaled, and slowly rose from his bed. "Just a nightmare," he whispered.

But that jet flying overhead wasn't from dreamland. Neither was the stirring in the hall. He checked the clock. 5 AM. And Keith was actually up? He pushed the covers off, stood up, and trudged out of the bedroom into the hall.

Coming out of his own room was Keith. And he was in his National Guard battle dress uniform, heading toward the family room. Right there stood a furrow-browed Dad and teary Mom.

"Keith?" he asked befuddledly.

His brother turned to him. "Xave… my unit's been activated."

***

"But you just did a tour in Afghanistan," Hogan said drowsily, as the family piled out of the Buick and into the N.G. Armory's parking lot.

"Global emergency," Keith answered. "Besides, it's just an alert."

"But you drive a fuel truck, man!"

Mom cringed. Xavier kicked Hogan sharply in the calf, prompting him to shut up.

"I'll see if I can get you guys a few more gallons for the car," Keith said chipperly. "Oh, that reminds me." And he fished in his pocket, and tossed him the keys. "Take care of the Wrangler for me, and keep the rubber side DOWN."

Logan stared at the Jeep keys. "Uh… thanks."

"Welcome." And they hugged. "Oh, that means you give Xavier HIS keys back now."

"Oh," said Hogan absently. "Yeah."

Mom looked up tearfully at her son. "You be smart and safe, okay, pumpkin?"

"Promise," said Keith.

"Call us when you arrive safely, if you can," said Dad.

"Will do." And he reached over and hugged both his parents. Then he turned to Xavier. "Xave… I'd like to officially apologize for all the times I picked on you and given you crap."

"Uh, yeah," Xavier answered. And tenatively as guys do… he hugged his brother.

"Don't let Hogan jerk you around, 'kay?"

"Hey," Hogan sniped.

A sergeant bellowed. Another jet roared overhead. Keith turned to his whole family one last time. "Gotta go, love y'all!"

And he shouldered his duffel bag, and hurried into through the gate, past the red "Off Limits to Unauthorized Personnel" sign.

***

Xavier sat at the kitchen table, in a funk. He couldn't sip his coffee. He didn't watch the news which droned on the little TV by the toaster. He couldn't talk to Mom or Dad, since they had to go off to work. Then he felt a rap on his shoulder. Hogan. "I thought you'd be in bed again, bro."

"Bah. That's what classes are for Xave," Hogan replied. "Look, Keith wouldn't want you to sit and mope. I don't have any classes today, and you seem to have beaten the jet lag. What say we go down to the mall and bum around? Y'know, get some books, CDs, games, maybe an overpriced coffee or two?"

Xavier shifted. "I guess."

"And hey," Hogan added, fishing up the keys to the Wrangler, "I can teach you how to drive a stick."

***

"Hokay," went Xavier in the checkout line. "Monty Python Sings and Dr. Demento compilation CDs, check. Bruce Almighty, Spider-Man 2, School of Rock on DVD, check. Oh My Goddess! and Y: the Last Man graphic novels, check. Okay, and method of payment…"

Just then, Sister Sledge's "We Are Family" sounded on his cell phone. Mom.

"You need me to get that for ya?" Hogan offered.

"Your hands are full," Xavier said. "Just let me set this down… hokay." And he fished up the phone and hit the button.

"Hello, Big Xave's Palace o' Ecstasy," he goofed huskily.

"Xavier?" His mother sounded very alarmed. "Where are you and Hogan right now?"

"In Borders. Why?"

"All right. Don't waste time. I'm gonna send a grocery list right now on SMS. Get going to Wal-Mart NOW. I'll reimburse you when you get home."

"Uh, sure, right after we check ou–."

"NO. Not after you check out. Go NOW. And have you gassed up the Jeep?"

"It's about half full…"

"Do it."

"Right." To Hogan: "Dude, Mom says get going to Wal-Mart and go shopping."

"Uh… OK…"

"She means NOW. As in dump our stuff and haul at-double-dollar-signs."

Hogan stared at him. "And turn on the radio, right?"

***

"You better let me drive, man."

Xavier nodded. "That goes without saying."

Hogan put the keys in the ignition, cranked up, and the obligatory digital verve station came on. Xavier switched it to the news/talk AM station.

"–ported seen flying from the surface of northeastern Iran, and another from central North Korea. These projectiles reportedly hit a Eugenian saucer spacecraft each, one 200 miles southeast of Mashhad, Iran and the other–"

The rest was drowned out by the squeal of the Jeep tires burning rubber.

***

Xavier had no idea how he willed himself to keep moving. Everything in his body wanted to rush and take the whole shelves into his cart. His dazed, numb mind didn't want him to move at all. But ultimately, mind and body canceled each other and he absently, almost ethereally checked the list and put the items in the cart like it was a Tuesday evening errand for Mom. Every store TV monitor didn't show any bargains, smiley faces, specials, or the obligatory "Thank you for shopping with us" message. Each screen, tuned into CNN, showed the repeated glaring flash. The mushroom clouds flaring off the Eugenian saucer, lighting up the night. The mighty craft shuddering. The big round gashes where the explosions were. And finally… the vessel statefully beginning to dip to the side, and fall to the Earth.

He saw both city-size spacecraft, in Iran and North Korea steadily plummeting to the ground, leaving a huge plume of fire after them, crashing grandly in the mountainsides.

Instantly, all the world leaders, representatives, and authorities, from Bush, Blair, Putin, and Hu down to the tinpot dictators of the "-istan" countries, soundly, thoroughly, resolutely condemned the actions, and pleaded for cool heads as they resolved to deal with this abomination.

Another camera, meanwhile, showed a picture on the streets of Tehran, with local men cheering, waving assault rifles in the air, and flashing the victory sign. Xavier felt a dread and a sickness right at the pit of his stomach.

But right on the camera… all those celebrants then had a bright harsh light shine down on them, like they were floodlit from a fluorescent tube over their heads. The light got brighter, and brighter until it was too bright for Xavier to look at. But in the blink before he shut his eyes, he could make out the faces, which had switched from cheering, to bewilderment… and didn't have quite enough time to go all the way to terror.

Then static.

Xavier kept on moving, getting the canned vegetables, meat, fruits, and dried fruits and nuts… stuff that wouldn't spoil. He started noticing a few more women were starting to stream into the store, too. He picked up the pace on filling his cart. He was hardly aware of the commentator's report.

Then he noticed that his brother Logan was hoarding a lot of stuff in a cart, too. He looked up to the monitors again. On the replay, he saw an observatory's camera had scanned another city-saucer… and that it had shone a column of light on a base. Like in the Tehran streets, the beam got brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until it was the only thing that he could see on the screen.

Then it faded. And the base grounds were completely flat as glass. No buildings. No vehicles. No people. Not even a stone or bush or even a blade of grass.

Soon the reporter had said that these saucers had done this all throughout North Korea and Iran, shimmering its searing light on some bases, while ignoring others. Some were on spots smack dab in the middle of nowhere. And the capital cities, Pyongyang and Tehran, also were in the light. And when it faded, everything that was in it was totally gone. Not devastated. Not demolished. Not a pile of rubble or slag or ashes. Simply gone.

Xavier looked around the store… and he saw dozens of shoppers simply staring up at the TV screens, jaws all the way down, numb, and speechless.

Then the commentator touched his ear, and an even more panicked look. They sent a graphic, and showed a world map. And pretty soon, there was a pinpoint of where a light was shining. Then another. It first dotted in Russia. Then in Israel. Then India. France. The United States. Great Britain. China. Pakistan. And other nations around them. Also some spots in the oceans and seas. The whole planet then looked like a pincushion.

Hogan scratched his head. "Why the middle of the Atlantic and Pacific?"

Xavier shrugged. But then seeing how a lot of pinpoints were centered around the Dakotas in the USA, he then drew the conclusion:

"They're targeting the nukes."

And just then, nobody knew how, but Summa Matrei's voice sounded through the television speakers:

"Those of you in the light: you have ten minutes. Flee."

To Be Continued

[JimmyDimples]

Well, FWIW, I was originally into giantess stories; that's what roped me into the "bigger girl" genre in the first place.  But while I was looking around the internets for them, I noticed there was a lot of female muscle growth stuff as well. 

I believe there's room for both in our hearts. 

Well, maybe just enough to squeeze 'em both in. 😉

[JimmyDimples]

:'(

I'm sooooo disappointed in most of youse guys.  Acting all apathetic/international and all.

Your mothers would probably be unhappy, too.

Even STRONG BAD'S showing more spirit… well… sorta… kinda…

http://www.homestarrunner.com/mother.html

[JimmyDimples]

Now THAT'S what I call tech support. 😛

[JimmyDimples]

More Silliness!  Great!

Like to see where things go with Tommy.

[JimmyDimples]

As per the drawing of Mia Fey, my legal counsel has advised me to respond THUSLY.

[JimmyDimples]

Heh.  My thoughts exactly.

On dropping him, that is.  Not the dessert toppings. ^^;;;

[JimmyDimples]

4. Starch. They use starch.

And Scotchgard and Febreze.  Don't forget Scotchgard and Febreze.

[JimmyDimples]

I had this sent to me in an email.  Pretty funny and VERY TRUE.

I agree about VERY TRUE.  On "pretty funny," though…

::)It would be funnier if it weren't.

[JimmyDimples]

Admirable thing you're doing for a friend in need.

[Author]

Posts