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A Writer's Web Corner    John Achor

Excerpt - Assault on Reason

Back cover blurb:

Major Alex Hilliard begins a temporary assignment that should be an enjoyable respite from his Alaskan flying duties, and afford him the opportunity to rescue his marriage. He discovers he is in a desperate battle to save his wife and son from ... unless he can identify the who and what, his family and the U.S. as a world power may not survive.

First three pages:

"Hey, Sam. Wait for that sample to cool down." Marine biologist, Wilson Boswell elbowed his partner Sam Masters away from the specimen container.

"Shit, Willie. I wasn't going to steal your thunder."

Boswell tightened his jaw. "You call me that one more time, and I'll send you down in fifteen thousand feet of water on the next dredge run."

Their ship, the Glomar Explorer, had been on station in the South China Sea for nearly four months. The mineral samples brought up by the deep-water dredge had been interesting, but not of much value to the owners. The company was looking for enough return on their investment to make the stockholders happy.

Along with the solid minerals, they had discovered some sort of life forms recovered from the superheated water three miles down. One of the organic samples was on their lab table still in the container that brought it to the surface. Steam rose as the hot water in the container struggled with the surface temperature outside.

"Wilson, you opened all the other samples. When do I get a chance to take a look at what we've got here?"

"As soon as it's isolated and we're sure it's safe. Now get outside the lab and observe through the window."

Sam held up his hands in protest, but Wilson ordered, "Out."

Sam watched the process for fifteen minutes wishing they had some method of communicating from this room to the lab. He knew Wilson would be recording his actions, but he wanted more. He wanted to be in on their big discovery, if it really was a big discovery.

Through the window, he saw Wilson stiffen, then slouch onto the lab stool and finally slump forward on the table. He shouted and screamed his name, but Wilson didn't move. Gathering his nerve, he eased the lab door open and entered. Talking to Wilson all the way, he approached the table. Wilson's head rested on the lab table as if he'd worked too long and was taking a nap. He reached for Wilson's neck.

A few seconds later, he snatched up the inter-ship communications phone, "Bridge, Lab ... help me."

"Bridge, aye. This is the Captain speaking. What assistance do you require?"

"God help us, I don't know what we need. But right now I've got a dead man down here."

Brigadier General Watson, the Deputy for Operations, 15th Air Force hung up the red phone on the credenza behind his desk. He spun his chair around and faced his aide who was standing in front of his desk. "Archie, they've got something weird going in the South China Sea. The Pentagon wants some kind of samples flown from there back here to California. And then shuttled on to Washington."

"Do we have someone here who can handle it?"

"Don't think so. The pilot will need air refueling experience in addition to the security clearances." Watson leaned back in the high backed leather chair and rubbed his chin. Then he leaned forward and stabbed the intercom button that connected him with his secretary. "Mildred, get me that file on Alex Hilliard and bring it in here please."

Alex looked at the letter lying on the table near the front door. He had opened it yesterday. As soon as he saw the Spokane return address, he reached for the letter opener. The blade made a clean slit of the envelope and he removed the contents. He felt he knew the essence of the words he would find. Then ... he placed what looked like five or six pages, from his wife Ellie, back on the table where it remained unread.

Major Alex Hilliard had been awake about four hours. He banged around the empty house, starting a load of laundry, and fixing breakfast. He turned on every light in the house as he cursed the darkness, the emptiness and the loneliness.

It was time to head for the air base. He eased his six-foot frame into the Class B shirt and trouser uniform and knotted the blue tie. Finally, he pulled all his cold weather gear on over his uniform, and started for the back door. Alex stopped, thought for a moment and decided to take the long way around to his car. He passed the table in the entrance hall, scooped up the letter and stuffed it into the pocket of his parka. With the front door locked behind him, he mushed through the snow around the house and made his way to the garage.

Even now the sun barely penetrated the dark as he got into his car for the twenty-six mile drive to work. The road from his home in Fairbanks to Eielson Air Force Base wasn't new. The base lay along the road southward toward Anchorage. He'd driven the route countless times-today there was a weight bearing down on his shoulders ... sorrow. Twelve miles down the road, the clock on the dash told Alex it was ten in the morning. A brilliant red neon EATS sign shone for a few seconds and just as quickly faded into the background, as he passed through North Pole-a tiny village, not the geographic point at the top of the world. The sun wrestled the darkness into a gray twilight. That's as good as anyone could expect today, Alex thought. The day would only last about an hour, then it would fade back into twilight and the blackness would return. Alaska's like that, he thought, in the third week of December, barely two-hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle. Alex smiled to himself. His thoughts sounded strangely like the lyrics of the title song of the John Wayne movie, North to Alaska.

© 2003-2004 John Achor