Chapter 3: Rumors
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, 10:25
Mary Bonds absently scrubbed the scuffed vinyl countertop with a mostly clean rag when the harsh jangling of the bell above the front door startled her out of yet another daydream. She looked up just as Scott Jansen entered Heller's General Store and Bar. At twenty-four, Scott was two years older than Mary, and the pair had been friends their entire lives. After all, only a handful of families still eked out an existence near the forlorn crossroads known as Van Cleef, and there weren’t many kids between them. Scott's father operated a horse ranch a few miles down the road from “town.”
“Did you hear that chopper go over this morning?” Scott asked as he plopped himself down across the counter on one of the bar stools.
“Sure. How could I have missed it? As I was opening up the shop this morning, the whole place shook like it was an earthquake. Made me jump.”
Scott shook his head. “That's the third one this week to fly out to the old Medicine Wheel place.” He paused. “What do you think they really do out there?”
Mary frowned and glanced out the window. “Who, the Air Force? I don't know. Maybe it's a radar station.”
“Nuh uh. It's gotta be something super top secret. And what about those Air Force soldiers stationed there?”
“What about them?” Mary shot back, with a little more heat than she intended. “Some of them seem like nice people.”
In fact, Airman Valdes had stopped by the store more than once. Mary liked Valdes. He was polite and handsome. They had chatted about cooking, which they both enjoyed. He told her he was from Tampa, and Mary had plied him with questions about the Gulf Coast. She often fantasized about starting a new life somewhere exciting and lively, far away from the cold, empty Wyoming cattle country. Not like Scott. He was a rancher’s son through and through. He would probably remain in Van Cleef for the rest of his life.
“Sure, nice enough maybe,” Scott was saying. “But have you gotten a close look at their uniforms? No unit patches. Those guys are black ops. What would a special forces outfit be doing in Van Cleef, Wyoming?”
“Maybe they use the old ranch as a training ground for overseas missions?” Mary said, trying to keep her growing impatience in check.
“That sounds like it would be a good cover story,” Scott said with a self-satisfied smile. “Remember, this is the Pentagon we’re talking about. Deep black budgets and all that. Van Cleef is one of the smallest, remotest towns in America. The perfect place to set up shop for some experimental project. I’m talkin’ real X-Files stuff. There’s a spot on my family’s land where you can just make out the base. I've been up on that ridge a few times at night. You can see lights moving around up by the Medicine Wheel bluff. And I don't mean headlights or searchlights or anything like that. Bluish globes of light that wink on and off. Made my skin crawl.”
Mary made a face. “You're just trying to freak me out.”
“No, I'm serious. Just ask my dad; he's seen the lights too.”
At that moment, Fred Heller, the portly middle-aged proprietor of Heller’s General Store and Bar, emerged from his office. “Are you here to buy something Scott Jensen? Or are you just avoiding honest work on a fine morning?” he said with feigned annoyance. Mr. Heller was a widower with no children of his own and he acted like a kindly uncle to the few young people who remained in Van Cleef.
“Actually, Fred, my dad sent me over to ask Sam if that part has arrived yet.” Besides the general store, bar, and gas station, Heller’s place boasted a small garage for fixing up vehicles and light tractors. Sam Brewster, the mechanic, was Fred’s only employee besides Mary.
“Not yet, but I should have it by the end of the week. Now, what’s all this about blue lights?”
“At Medicine Wheel Ranch,” Scott said. “Have you ever been up there? Before the Air Force moved in, I mean?”
A strange look crossed Fred’s face. “No, I haven't,” he said. “That was old Ted Sheridan’s land, before he sold it to some private research firm and moved out. I saw him just before he left. Said he and his family didn’t feel safe. He told me he never wanted to set foot within a hundred miles of the Medicine Wheel ever again.”
“Why?” Mary exclaimed.
Fred shifted uncomfortably. “When I was a boy, my father told me that the Indians say the Medicine Wheel is haunted by evil spirits.”
“You’re kidding,” Mary said. “Do you believe that?”
“I’m not a superstitious man myself. But I know what Ted Sheridan believed. He didn’t say much, but I’ve never seen a man that scared before or since. He was just plain terrified. If you ask me, it was no accident that the Feds muscled their way onto that ranch only three years after the Sheridans left.”
“You see?” Scott said, turning to Mary. “Whatever the Air Force has going on at the Medicine Wheel, it’s definitely not a Boy Scout camp.”
Mary sighed and stared out the window again. There was some ominous weather gathering in the direction of the Air Force base. And the clouds were strange—not like normal thunderclouds at all but twisted into eerie forms. And they seemed to be reaching out like groping fingers towards Van Cleef. She shivered.
“Looks like there’s a storm coming,” Mr. Heller said.
“Nah, shouldn’t be,” said Scott, whipping out his phone. “The weather app says it’s all… clear skies…” He stared out the window in silence for a long moment. “Whoa.”
“So much for your app,” Mary teased. But the joke fell flat. She struggled to shake off a growing sense of unease. And she couldn’t stop staring at the clouds. They were growing larger and darker.
“Maybe you ought to lock up early, Fred,” Scott said.
“Yeah, you might be right. You two should head on home. Scott, if you leave now you oughta be able to make it back to your place before the weather breaks.”
Mary lived with her parents just half a mile off the main road, so she wasn’t too worried. Bluish flashes, almost like lightning, danced in the lowering sky. But there was no sound of thunder. She watched the lights, fascinated…
“Mary!”
She blinked and looked over at Fred. “Hey, where’d Scott go?”
“Honey, he left a few minutes ago,” said Heller, frowning a little. “Are you okay?”
“I just—I guess I kind of zoned out, that’s all.”
“Well, come on, let’s close the place up. I’ll walk you home. Storm’s gonna be here soon.”
Day 1, 18:40
Metzger held back a sigh as laughter rippled through the small, crowded rec room. She leaned against a wall in the corner by the door, nursing a can of Coke. A greasy paper plate sat on a small side-table next to her. Steam rose from a slice of Airman Valdes’s home cooked Sicilian pizza. She’d barely touched it. Metzger wanted to enjoy the party. And if she gained a rep on her first night on station as the aloof, sullen newbie, that impression would be hard to shake off. But it would take time for her to bond with the new squad.
The new squad…
She found herself, unwillingly, thinking about Afghanistan; about a similar night in “Salvo City” — Forward Operating Base Messina. Someone (Marty Chavez, maybe?) had been sent a cache of DVDs in a care package from the States. The entire unit had gotten together for a Kurt Russell double-feature — Escape from New York and Big Trouble in Little China. They’d had a blast.
Metzger still had frustrating gaps in her memory from the weeks leading up to the doomed Nuristan op. But, for whatever reason, she could remember the smallest details of that particular night with unsettling clarity: The buttery smell of cheap microwaved popcorn, the corny jokes they’d made, the flickering light of the TV screen on her friends’ faces.
The doctors called it a “chance neuronal pathway.” Metzger called it bullshit.
Chavez. Blake. McClure. The faces of her comrades lingered before her mind’s eye like a home movie in slow motion. Metzger winced. They’d seen friends blown to bloody shreds by IEDs or cut down by Taliban snipers. The common traumas had welded them into a kind of forlorn family. The movie nights, the shared in-jokes, the nicknames—“Ginger Spice” is what Ollie Blake had always called her—these things had helped the squad cope with the insane stress and the mounting losses as best they could.
Superstition helped too—Ollie was always fond of his “good luck charms”—while others prayed. Metzger wouldn’t describe herself as particularly religious, but every once and a while, she had gone to Mass at the base chapel. Chaplain Adamski had been a decent guy, as padres went. She’d never had the chance to speak to him—or to anyone other than Dr. Cartwright—about what happened on the mountain. But even if she had, what could she have said? Would anyone in their right mind have believed her?
Laughter swept the room again. Metzger gritted her teeth and tried—abysmally—to look casual. Could she accept the risk of becoming attached to these people? She was no stranger to loss. She’d always accepted the realities of war. Friends died; often without purpose. Yet only a few weeks ago, the prospect of watching her closest friends be callously slaughtered like animals had seemed inconceivable to her. Now she knew better. There were things in this universe that disposed of human life as easily as squashing an insect under your shoe. She suppressed an involuntary shudder.
“Heyyy there, girlfriend! Penny for your thoughts? Or, given inflation, a dollar for them?”
The voice wrenched Metzger out of her waking nightmare. A slender redhead in civilian attire had sidled up to her while she’d been busy brooding. In contrast to Bradford and Doyle’s business casual look, this other woman—just about Metzger’s age—was in a white tank top and a stylish, black cotton skirt.
“Violet Olstead. I work with Dr. Cartwright.” Violet extended a tanned, willowy arm and they shook hands. Her grip was light and quick.
“Emily Metzger. I work for Dr. Cartwright, apparently.”
Violet smiled. “Like, totally. Everyone here does. Even the Colonel.”
I wonder if he’s aware of that fact. “Are you a scientist?” Metzger asked. Violet hadn’t dropped a Doctor prefix in front of her name and, to be honest, looked more like a fashion model or a cheerleader than an engineer or academic.
Violet rolled her eyes dramatically. “As if. I’m an enhanced intelligence collector. 1N151X.”
“I’m sorry… what?” That wasn’t any Air Force Specialty Code Metzger had ever heard of. Is this some kind of prank on the new recruit?
“Hey Violet, ease off of Metzger. She only just got here this morning” Valdes joined them in the corner. He lowered his voice conspiratorially and grinned. “Ms. Olstead here is our psychic spy.”
Violet put her hands on her hips and pouted. “Like, rude! I prefer remote viewer.”
“You’re kidding. That’s a real thing?” Metzger asked. She supposed she shouldn’t be too surprised. What else was the Air Force hiding from the rest of the country?
“It’s real. I’m real, and I’m spectacular.”
Metzger tried not to grimace. Well, at least now she understood why Cartwright employed a Valley girl straight from central casting. “So, what’s going on with the weird cloud that was heading towards town earlier today?” she asked.
“What’s that?” Valdes asked.
“Groenke and the Blueshirts detected some kind of strange storm front heading straight for Van Cleef.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Metzger said. And they didn’t like the readouts of their radar gizmo one bit. A warning was supposed to go to the folks in town, but I haven’t heard anything about it since. Whatever’s happening out there, it can’t be good.” Metzger turned back to Violet. “Why not remote view Van Cleef?”
“Why not…?” Violet smirked and shut her eyes—but only for a few seconds. She gasped and looked around; a wide-eyed, fearful expression crossed her face.
“Hey,” Valdes said with a look of concern, “What’s wrong, Vi?”
“I—I need to talk to Cartwright,” Violet stammered before scampering out of the room. They watched her go, then everyone turned and looked at Metzger. There was an awkward silence.
“What? What’d I do?” Bravo, Metzger; you just blew up the party…
I'm a little worried about what's been happening at Van Cleef for the last 8 hours!
Loving the vibe!