Chapter 2: Anomalies
Field Station Delta: A paranormal military thriller.
Welcome to Field Station Delta. This novella is a paranormal military thriller that I am releasing as a serial for my readers on Substack.
Day 1, 09:25
Colonel Malik Nolan’s craggy features betrayed nothing of his unease as he leafed through Senior Airman Metzger’s file. The Commanding Officer of ATLOG Field Station Delta sat at his stark aluminum desk, bare except for a landline telephone and his personal computer. The rest of his workspace was just as spartan and functional—two spare seats, a filing cabinet, the American and USAF flags standing proudly together in a corner. The colonel, more comfortable in fatigues and combat boots than the standard service dress, was plain spoken and fair-minded, but he had no patience for fools. In this last point, at least, he was not so different from the woman seated opposite him.
Dr. Helen Cartwright was, despite surface appearances, a formidable presence and she knew it. Just north of sixty, and an inch short of five feet, with well-worn features, round spectacles, and dark shoulder-length hair streaked with silver, Cartwright resembled a university president or a clinical psychologist. In point of fact, she held a PsyD, among many other advanced scientific degrees. But it was above all her self-assured demeanor and an uncanny ability to read people that secured her current position of influence in the upper echelons of ATLOG.
Nolan knew this quite well. While it sometimes grated on him that Cartwright acted, on her increasingly frequent visits, as if she were an independent authority on his field station, there was no denying that she seemed able to move heaven and earth to requisition the personnel and resources that the colonel needed to accomplish his mission.
Today it was Cartwright’s latest personnel transfer that was troubling him. Nolan’s frown deepened.
“You seem pensive, Colonel.”
Nolan met Cartwright’s keen gaze and let Metzger’s service file fall open on the desk. “I don’t like this new transfer, Doctor. Not one bit.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t believe Airman Metzger is a good fit for this unit.”
Cartwright arched an eyebrow slightly. “You don’t think she’s qualified?”
Nolan paused and glanced over the transfer papers again. Metzger had solid credentials, no argument there: Senior Airman Emily Metzger, Tactical Air Control Party Specialist, formerly of the 315th Special Tactics Squadron, FOB Messina, in Fayzabad, Afghanistan. Metzger was part of an elite cadre who had the physical stamina, mental acuity, and technical skill to pass the grueling TACP requirements: the Special Warfare Candidate course; TACP training; Airborne School; Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) training; and the two-phase Combat Field Skills course. She had served with distinction in the Afghanistan-Pakistan borderlands, effectively calling in close air support during several key joint-forces operations.
But Nolan had deep misgivings about this assignment, nonetheless. He flipped through the ULTRAVIOLET section of the file. There it was—the after-action report from Metzger’s last mission. “Operation: White Phantom,” he said.
Cartwright sat impassively and waited for him to continue. Nolan chose his next words carefully.
“I don’t think it’s wise to introduce someone with Metzger’s unique potentiality into Field Station Delta’s threat environment. There’s too much risk. Too many unknown variables. My standing orders are to observe and study only.”
“I’m well aware of your mission parameters, Colonel. And I believe Airman Metzger could be a critical asset.”
“Or she could be a dangerous time-bomb. You know, as well as I do, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Your concerns are duly noted, Colonel Nolan. But I have Washington’s backing this time. Emily Metzger will be posted to Field Station Delta until I decide otherwise.”
Nolan's voice was hard as flint. “Remember, Dr. Cartwright, that Delta is my command, and its personnel are my responsibility. Tell your friends back in DC that this isn’t a game of toy soldiers. We’re playing with fire out here.”
Day 1, 09:30
Metzger hated infirmaries. And she especially hated this one. The Ranch’s medical staff gave her a complete physical—an EKG, blood tests, a urine sample, the works. And that was just for starters. “Only a few more routine tests,” they said. “No need to be concerned.”
Yeah, “concerned” doesn’t even begin to cover it, she thought. Nothing about any of this seemed routine at all.
The doctors treated Metzger more like some kind of lab specimen than a patient; poking and prodding her with various unfamiliar gizmos and doohickeys until she wanted to break something in frustration. Now she was almost certain they were scanning her for radiation. At any rate, the boxlike device that was pointed in her direction made a steady clicking noise just like a Geiger counter.
This piece of tech was not operated by the Air Force medics but by a civilian scientist. He had unkempt sandy blond hair and wide-framed glasses. He wore a long lab coat, jeans, and a pair of scuffed, low top sneakers. The very picture of the nerdy lab-scientist type. Metzger guessed he must be one of the “Blueshirts.”
After consulting some readings on a small tablet device, the scientist flashed a toothy grin. “Good news, Airman Metzger; all of your ‘zap’ readings are within normal range. And no hitchhikers.”
Huh? Is this guy crazy? Metzger was now thoroughly confused and frustrated. “Zap? Hitchhikers? What are you talking about?”
“Zap—spelled X-A-P—stands for Exotic Anomalous Phenomena,” the scientist said, apparently unfazed by Metzger’s abruptness. “It’s our little catchall nickname for the strange energies and entities that manifest here on the Ranch.”
Entities? Her mind flashed back again to that night in the Afghan mountains, to her squad-mates lying dead in the snow. And there, standing among the scattered corpses, was a tall, pale figure, an almost-but-not-quite-human. . . thing. She saw her death reflected in its dark eyes.
Metzger winced and wrenched her focus back to the present.
The Blue Shirt was still rambling on, apparently oblivious. “The local epicenter of XAP-iness is the Medicine Wheel. People who spend time up there tend to. . . well . . . sometimes they bring invisible things back with them. Newcomers are particularly susceptible; the details are still poorly understood. We call it the ‘hitchhiker phenomenon.’”
Metzger frowned, taking it all in—exotic energy, invisible entities. What were Cartwright and her pet scientists really up to out here? The more she learned, the less she understood. She felt like Alice in Through the Looking-Glass; a pawn maneuvered on a life-size game-board for the amusement of others.
The scientist snapped his fingers and shook his head. “Oh, of course, I’m forgetting my manners! My apologies” he said, shaking her hand vigorously. “Dr. Jacob Groenke, Director of the Applied Research Group. Come, allow me to show you around our toy box!”
The infirmary was set up in the same building as the main ARG laboratory, which occupied a large space at the end of a long corridor of offices and storage rooms. When Groenke and Metzger entered, they found that Alicia Bradford was already there. The three of them walked over to a workstation where several computer monitors were hooked up to a bulky machine. A young woman sat staring intently at the screens; her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
“This is Cathy Doyle, my graduate student assistant,” Groenke said.
Cathy smiled pleasantly, but before she could say a word, Groenke was already gesturing to the big machine. “This,” he was saying, “is the RADIS—Remote Anomaly Detection and Imaging System. You’ve probably noticed that we like our acronyms here!” He grinned. “I’m sure you saw the big dish and the cluster of antennas on the roof? Those are the eyes and ears of RADIS. The receivers are in constant contact with a powerful imaging satellite in geosynchronous orbit. If there’s a significant shift in baseline XAP energy anywhere within a thirty-mile radius, we’ll know about it within minutes.”
Metzger was incredulous. “So, what you’re saying is, this setup is some kind of spooky radar?”
“In layman’s terms, that’s not far off,” Groenke said.
“I can show you a bit about how the RADIS works if you’d like,” Cathy said. “We’ve been tracking an atmospheric anomaly all morning. You can see a timelapse tracking its progress on the monitor here.” On the screen Metzger saw a real-time graphic that indeed looked a lot like the radar weather forecasts on TV. A purplish blob, apparently representing the XAP anomaly, was expanding slowly over a topographical map of the surrounding environs.
“Hey, is that thing going to be right over the base?” Metzger said in alarm.
“In a few minutes, yes,” Cathy confirmed. “If you went outside, you could see it. But to the untrained eye it would look somewhat like a formation of ordinary storm clouds. This anomaly first manifested over the Medicine Wheel about thirty minutes ago. I’m running a predictive model now to try and forecast its behavior over the next several hours. That can be a bit tricky, though. After all, the behavior of anomalies can be . . . anomalous.”
Metzger tensed. So those threatening clouds she had seen out by the artifact had been more than just ordinary weather. “Are we in any danger?”
Cathy looked uncomfortable. “Well—”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Groenke broke in. “Nine times out of ten, these things fizzle out within a few hours.”
“And when they don’t?” Metzger pressed.
“Oh, well, I suppose that’s why we’re so fortunate to have you and the other airmen of the Anomaly Response Division field team.”
Metzger frowned. That wasn’t really an answer. But she decided to change the subject. “You mentioned ‘entities’ earlier. Can this RADIS detect anomalous creatures? I mean things that seem almost human but aren’t?”
Cathy opened her mouth as if to speak but quickly shut it again. Groenke laughed nervously. “Reports of such beings are certainly not uncommon at the Ranch,” he said. “We observe and measure the phenomena as best we can, but at this stage actually summoning an extra-dimensional intelligence is far beyond our limited technical capabilities.”
“I never said anything about summoning one,” Metzger said.
“What? Oh, of course not!” Groenke chuckled. “I was just speculating off the cuff.”
Metzger’s BS detector was now in high gear, but she figured she might as well leave the tough questions for when she knew these people a bit better.
A new program window popped up on the imaging monitor. Cathy Doyle stared at it in silence for a long moment. “Oh… that’s unusual,” she said.
“What?” said Metzger.
“These projections indicate that the anomaly above us will intensify and head southeast. It will arrive right over Van Cleef within the hour.”
Metzger’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t sound good,” she said.
“Well, it’s—” Cathy hesitated. “It’s certainly unusual behavior—unusual even for what we deal with.”
Bradford spoke up then. “We’ve observed that these localized weather anomalies have a kind of territorial range centered on the Medicine Wheel. They rarely stray beyond the confines of the Ranch property, and never as far as the town before.” She paused and looked meaningfully at Groenke, who shrugged.
“We’ll have to find a way to inform the locals to expect some intense weather,” Bradford continued. “Dr. Groenke and I will see to that. In the meantime, I’m told you had some kind of food-based plans later on with the shooters, right?”
“Yeah, that…” Metzger forced a smile. “They’ve arranged a welcome party of sorts for the new kid on campus.”
“Enjoy,” said with a pleasant smile. “We don’t get decent food around here very often. And Airman Valdes is an excellent cook. Take advantage.”
Metzger smiled herself, more sincerely this time. “It was nice to meet you both.”
“Likewise. Just make sure you save some slices for us nerds.”