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  SAME SELF

  Brad Raylend

  Aura Libertatis Spirat

  SAME SELF

  Copyright © 2017 by Brad Raylend

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places or incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Braveship Books

  www.braveshipbooks.com

  Aura Libertatis Spirat

  Edited by Monique Happy Editorial Services

  www.moniquehappy.com

  Cover Artwork & Design by Didi Wahyudi

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64062-015-5

  Published in the United States of America

  DEDICATION

  For your greatest enemy. Yourself.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  T.D. Cunningham — Adjusting the gain and depth of both night vision goggles, your bobbing head slowly came into focus. It was standard operating procedure to switch on the Infrared strobes strapped to the back of our helmets once we were two minutes from exiting the aircraft. However, the interior of the plane was now flashing with a bright white light amongst the dark green hue, causing everyone to start looking around in efforts to identify the source.

  One would assume that you had earphones in beneath your Peltor headset; most likely playing the soundtrack to a Quentin Tarantino film. In reality, nobody ever knows what’s going on in the mind of T.D. Cunningham. In the years I’ve known you, I have come to the conclusion that your mind continuously goes through a process of analyzing the latest scheme you have developed in order to take advantage of “the system” and/or your common man.

  I am fortunate enough to be included in the great unraveling of these elaborate yet usually grounded ideas, which typically teeter between questionable morals, ideals, and fucking downright Neil McCauley bounding through the streets of LA-type shit. I reached up and flicked the switch, turning off your headache-inducing IR light. You didn’t seem to notice as you continued to bob to the voices in your head.

  The jump master came over the radio, informing us we had ten minutes until we were over the drop zone. Your head stopped bobbing and your hand clenched your push-to-talk button. “Yo, could you imagine if—when we landed—it was the Old West … and there were Apache warriors charging us?”

  I can’t help but wonder if that was what you were thinking about the whole time. Or if that was just some crazy thought that popped in while you were planning your infiltration of the Louvre. Thank you for all your help in the last few years. You are a great writer, mentor, and friend.

  Ted Nulty — You took me under your wing in the early stages of the publishing process. You had a lot on your table with the success of your own work, yet took the time to sit down and do a line-by-line read through, as well as setting me up with an editor. I have the upmost respect for you and admire your professionalism and experience. I look forward to working with you in the future.

  PROLOGUE

  July 14, 1967

  She held her small hand out toward me, calling upon the dark figure which (for all she knew) had brought about the destruction of the world around her.

  I hadn’t realized that I had disengaged the cloaking system a few moments earlier, but when her eyes met mine, I could see the fear and hopelessness inside her. It was clear that she was acting out of pure desperation, or perhaps she simply didn’t know what else to do.

  I could end her suffering, her pain, her small and brief existence at that very moment. The ripple of her death would have no more effect on the future than pulling a blade of grass from the ground. She was not the first casualty of war I would leave to fate. If anything, it would be safer to let her die, considering that I had nothing to do with her death and perhaps she was always meant to die. However, I could at least provide her with a quick exit from this world.

  I raised my weapon, the targeting reticle in my HUD leveled on her head. She didn’t flinch or make a sound. I knelt beside her, pushing my rifle to the side. Her eyes widened as she saw herself in the reflection of my dark visor. Blood pooled in the creases of her dirty face. She once more reached out her hand.

  I opened my visor, and she looked into my eyes. I had endured the worst this world had to offer and yet her eyes made me feel a level of pity that was unshakeable, and to this day lingers in my mind. I could hear the distant thumps of the rotors of Huey helicopters. The Marines were coming to finish what they had started with their artillery bombardment. She would not be another tally-mark of a mass grave. She would live.

  I carried her in my arms through the jungle for nearly three hours. The whole time, her eyes stayed locked on me. She couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old.

  I could hear the sound of grenades and smell the burning vegetation behind me as the Marine grunts cleared out the village. The occasional pop of a 5.56 round meant they were putting the survivors out of their misery, or at least that’s what I told myself. I found a nice spot in a clear meadow where I set her down and began treating her wounds. I applied trauma gel to the large hemorrhaging wounds on her body caused by the artillery. She cried in pain as the natural clotting solution disinfected her wounds and slowly closed the broken skin. I bandaged her up and gave her some of my field rations.

  She looked at the small squeeze containers containing the gooey protein-and-carbohydrate-packed food supplement with curiosity. She actually ended up liking the stuff once she finally convinced herself to eat it. I gave her the rest of my rations, I hated that shit anyway. Little did she know it would be almost sixty years before the stuff she was eating would be invented.

  I pulled up some basic Vietnamese on my MTX and did my best to talk to her. I asked her what her name was. She replied “Suong.”

  Her voice was so damned innocent.

  I held out my hand. “Hello Suong, my name is Todd.”

  She hesitated for a moment; the carbon-fiber-padded gloves most likely looked alien to her. Eventually, she reached up and placed her little hand in mine.

  THE SECOND

  Never in a million years would he ever have thought it would end this way. Todd York lay next to three of his fallen teammates, taking in the weight of his predicament and the decision he was about to make. This war was like no other. It was ending as fast as it had started, and it had taken more lives than all the conflicts of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, combined.

  One pinnacle blow to the enemy was all that was needed to turn the tide of World War III. What lay before him, however, was a choice, one that his entire life had led up to.

  Nothing could have ever prepared him for this moment, but now the world and possibly all of mankind was about to reap the consequences of his actions. He thought of the people he cared for—what few of them there were—and the choice began to weigh on him heavily. He’d never hesitated before when putting his life on the line for others, never needed a push through that door to face what was on the other side. This though, was different. Nuclear devastation of this city was what it had come down to, and there was no turning back. As he laid in a pool of his own blood, mixed with that of men who had been like his brothers, everything slowed down.

  His body trembled as he slowly rose to his knees. The dark reddened sky loomed over him like the eyes of a million angry souls looking down upon one of the many tools of
war that had assisted in their demise. Getting his feet under him proved to be difficult, and blood streamed between his gritted teeth and clenched fists. With a blackened face, he sat back on his heels, gazing at what was left of an entire city.

  Thick smoke rose into the sky, escaping the hail of bullets and explosions riddling the streets below. Dark chunks of pavement and building were scattered around him like a shrine of destruction. The cracked holographic screen of the CPD11 on his wrist displayed the status of the satellite fitted with ORMs (Orbital Rocket Munitions), which was transiting into position over the East Coast of the United States.

  “00:02:02” was all that was left of the battle, the city, and Todd’s life. Like every soldier, he had imagined his death many times. He foresaw his whole life flashing before his eyes, all the brief moments of happiness and joy that had occurred during his brief existence making one last appearance to assist in a peaceful sign-off. Now that he had arrived at this moment, his heart weighed heavy, for all he felt was sadness and the loneliness that he had always ignored. His mind didn’t recall the smiles of good friends and loved ones that had filled his life. All he saw was a lonely broken man on his knees, surrounded by his dead comrades, beaten by the world.

  “00:00:41.” This man, who had accomplished the unimaginable in the opinion of a select few, had received the best training any military could offer. He had survived conflicts many had not, and although he had lived a solitary life, had done so to the best of his ability. A man he knew better than anyone and had followed so closely his entire life—himself—was now only seconds away from death.

  “00:00:10.” He blinked slowly, fighting back any possible tears. Moved his right hand to his left wrist, the deploy button flashing red, taunting him. He extended his index finger and it trembled above the pulsing screen. He closed his eyes, ready to accept whatever was to follow, and pressed the icon. Small objects reflected off what little light the moon could provide through the thick overcast. Like falling stars, they descended behind the D.C. skyline. He winced, ready to feel the extreme heat of a nuclear blast, but it never came. His mind went dark and drifted into a blur of memories and confusion. He felt his body slipping away into a bottomless state of unconsciousness, taking with it the fear and pain.

  REAWAKENING

  Blinding light was all he felt against his tired face as it painfully seared through his heavy eyelids. It was then that he came to grips with the reality of the pain, and the truth that was attached to it: This wasn’t over.

  His eyes tried to adjust, and slowly the view of an overhead light within a sleek white room came into focus. He could hear pulsing beats from an EKG; no doubt relaying his slow heartbeat. Then the sound of unfamiliar voices; nothing intelligible though, or maybe it was. The voices were whispers, sounding concerned and rushed. He tried to make out what was being said. He rolled his head slightly to the left and noticed two individuals standing at a doorway in the far wall. An older man was speaking with a young woman, both of whom stood out among the rest of the individuals gathered that were wearing white scrubs and blood-smeared latex gloves. The girl was warmly dressed, and she looked concerned and attentive.

  “He … is so much younger-looking,” she said, intensely focused on Todd, who lay on an operating table, blood-stained bandages on every limb.

  Todd jerked his head, trying to become more involved in the two individuals’ conversation.

  “He’s coming around. We need to put him back under,” said one of the doctors while tapping the screen of a clear holographic monitor that displayed O2 and anesthesia levels.

  Todd could hear the hiss of the cool air rushing into the mask covering his nose and mouth. His eyes glazed over, but before he drifted off into the abyss, he felt the room shake slightly. It felt like an earthquake, or perhaps turbulence. He caught one last glimpse of the young woman off to his left. Her face showed sympathy, or maybe concern. He once again felt his mind and body slip into the darkness.

  THE FACILITY

  It was the discomfort in his lower back which woke him. His eyes opened to the same white light that he had seen earlier. He moved his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. His hands froze at the soft hum of heat coming from the vents above. His vision finally came into full focus and he took in his surroundings. He found himself in a room, maybe ten by ten square feet, with dark steel walls. Filtered LED lights shone down and reflected off what was probably a two-way mirror on the far wall. A cool steel table stood before him; the chair he sat in was similar in design, and obviously not crafted with comfort in mind.

  “Where the hell am I?” he asked, hearing the pain in his voice.

  He looked down at his attire; he was wearing an olive-drab one-piece flight suit, similar to those worn by aircrew in the U.S. military. Thoughts began to rush into his mind. He wondered whether he had been captured. He looked at his hands and feet, noticing he was not bound or restrained in any way. He looked up at the mirror across the table and studied the few small bandages on his face.

  An airlock door slid open behind him. He jolted to his feet, ready to face some Russian or Chinese soldier. Instead, standing before him was an older Caucasian man in his mid-sixties, wearing a white lab coat. He carried a large manila folder under his right arm, and a cup of coffee in his left hand.

  “Good evening, Mr. York. How are you feeling?” His voice was booming, definitely not foreign, and quite possibly from the southern United States.

  Todd stared at him intensely, watching every move with extreme caution. Years of training were taking over and making him feel on edge. He watched the door, waiting for more people to enter to assist with interrogation, but there were none.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Mr. York. You are not in any kind of danger. In fact, you are currently in the safest place in the world,” the man said as he walked around to the other side of the table, eyes not meeting Todd’s.

  “Where would that be?” Todd asked, standing with a look of confusion and eagerness matched by his posture.

  The man sat down and placed his coffee on the table along with the folder. “You are currently in what is soon to be the only free land remaining on Earth … the North Pole,” he said, removing his glasses from his face and using the collar of his coat to wipe the lenses.

  Todd looked at him in disbelief. “The North Pole … what the hell are you talking about? I was just in D.C.” His anger was evident in his voice.

  “Yes, you were … and the Allied Communist Forces were invading the capital, and the United States was about to suffer its greatest loss and most definitely the war itself. You were suffering from multiple gunshot and shrapnel wounds and were moments away from your death.”

  Todd’s eyes widened and a sick feeling crept into his stomach. “I … don’t understand.”

  The man put his glasses on his nose and placed his hands on the table, fingers interlocked. His eyes met Todd’s with a look of utter seriousness. “What I am about tell you may be hard for you to believe.”

  Todd sat down in the chair, keeping his eyes locked on him. The man took a quick breath; the type of breath someone takes before they inform somebody of the loss of a loved one.

  “On February 29, 2031, at 9:43 p.m. exactly, before bleeding out from a number of massively hemorrhaging wounds, you launched eleven nuclear warheads from space—destroying the entire Eastern seaboard of the United States, killing over sixty million people … one of them being yourself.”

  Todd was a statue; his eyes burned a hole through the man. His hands were tight fists in his lap, palms beginning to sweat. He tried to speak, but his mind was unable to process anything. The man finally interrupted the silence.

  “You’re not dead,” said the man. “You are very much alive.”

  Todd swallowed hard then finally worked up a sentence. “Can you please stop talking in fucking riddles? Why am I here?”

  The man brushed his left hand down his coat and offered his right over the table to shake Todd’s hand. “I’m sorry,
please excuse me for being so indirect.”

  Todd hesitantly reached out and returned the gesture.

  “I’m Professor Brian Albrecht. I am in charge here in this facility.” His massive hand swallowed Todd’s.

  “What exactly is this … facility?” Todd asked.

  “To call it a research facility … wouldn’t quite do it justice.” Albrecht leaned back in his chair, placing his hands in the pockets of his white coat.

  “You said we’re in the North Pole?”

  Brian smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”

  Todd’s face remained expressionless. “Bullshit.”

  Brian laughed. “That’s what you said the first time.” He stood up, grabbing the manila folder and his cup of coffee. “Follow me.”

  Todd stood, confused by the last remark and surprised at how this interrogation had not ended with him brutally beaten or water-boarded. Over twelve years of Special Operations training and never had he been sitting in a room such as this for nothing more than a friendly chat that didn’t involve being slapped around by some Navy sailor trying his best to portray a Russian interrogator. Brian walked around to the airlock door and pressed a small holographic screen beside it, the door hissing as the pressurized locks released and slid open.

  The two men stepped out into a long, white-walled hallway lined with large windows on each side. As he followed Brian down the long corridor he looked through the windows to his left and right.

  He saw large rooms filled with holographic monitors manned by people in white coats. Professor Albrecht strolled casually, sipping his coffee. Todd trailed behind, studying the various personnel working in the rooms behind the windows. A few of them noticed him and quickly motioned for the others’ attention, until nearly the entire room was staring at him as he walked past. They came to the end of the hall where a thick steel door presented a keypad. Albrecht began punching in a five-digit number, which Todd was sure to take note of.