A Few Seconds More

By Andre Ford

Aden was a humble warehouse worker from a little town called Pine Cove. In August of 3022, humanity was attacked by a ravenous insectoid species determined to destroy everything in their path. Aden's life changed when the New Coalition of Systems drafted him to fight the threat.

    A Few Seconds More is Aden's account about events such as The Culling, Operation Goliath, The Battle of New Philadelphia, government scandals, and global riots.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andre Ford
• Release date: May 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223980568

Andre Ford

Andre is a freelance writer for his local newspaper and is interested in good logical stories, technology, science, aviation, history, and video games.

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Copyright © 2023 Andre Ford All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover Art Credits:

Photo by Staff Sgt. John Bainter

Air Force Public Affairs Agency

The appearance of U.S. Department of Defense (DoD) visual information does not imply or constitute DoD endorsement.

Photo Licensed Under Public Domain

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Country Boy

A Little Train Ride

First Action

Rocheuse Valley

Operation Goliath

A New Day

Leg Day

Battle of Rocher Prime

Footwork

Cookout

Tipping Point

Momentum

Rest and Relaxation

The Siege of Grandville

The Lie in Believe

Met Her by A Brook

Reunion

Revelation

All or Nothing

Borrowed Time

Sweep and Clear

Silence

The Riots of 3028

Pine Cove

About The Author

Books By This Author

To my Aunt Felicia, and Uncle John.

Thanks for the many lessons you have taught me, and the memories that I will always cherish.

A Few Seconds More

Country Boy

They’ll see the color of your skin before they’ll ever notice your uniform.

-John Marks

August 12th, 3022 started like any other day for me. I rolled out of bed, got dressed, and headed to work to make ends meet. I was still groggy when I strolled into Marty’s. It’s a little convenience store and restaurant down the road from where I worked. The smell of coffee and bacon cooking on the griddle helped me wake up a little more.

I ordered my usual meal which is biscuits and gravy with a side of bacon. The food lacked flavor, but it was cheap and filling enough until lunchtime. While one of the employees was putting the meal in a to go container, I browsed around and looked at the various miscellaneous items that were for sale.

The Hydro-Power Sports drinks were on sale, buy one get one free. I grabbed a couple of their fruit punch flavored drinks. It’s hard for me to pass up a good deal. Besides, it was supposed to be ridiculously hot that day.

I saw a few of the fellas I work with walk in to get their breakfast. Their grey hair spoke of the many years they’ve spent on this planet. I paid them no mind, until one of them spoke to me.

Good morning, Mr. Jackson, Mr. Rutherford said, and he did so with an unusual level of deep respect. That man hardly said anything to me outside of work and when he did, it was always with a level of disdain. I usually kept my distance from him.

Good morning, I responded. Shoot, I figured the man probably won a nice chunk of change from a scratch off ticket.

I paid for my breakfast, the sports drinks, and made for certain I got the receipt. Even though it’s 3022, some people still treat me like I’m a slave from the south. It sucks that my skin color still makes some people uncomfortable. It’s not that I’m ashamed to be black. It’s just that my rights to exist are still a subject for debate. Sure, glass ceilings have been broken, there’s a slew of pronouns suitable for all genders, we have starships, wonky teleporters, and thriving colonies in three solar systems. And yet, black, and other non-white people are still viewed as second-rate citizens, and treated accordingly.

Honestly, I believe that the political and economic leaders want racial inequality. Got to give the people something to fight about amongst themselves. Something to distract them from the shady stuff the politicians are doing.

Good morning fellow citizen, a completely random white dude said to me while I was on my way out of the store.

I nodded toward his direction. Good morning citizen, I said slowly. Now I know something is up.

At that time, I had been on the Earth for 24 years and have learned one universal truth. When random white people treat you like a human being – you’re either rich and famous, or they need you for cannon fodder. Seeing as how I was working at a T.H. Wilson Distribution Center, in a country town called Pine Cove … kind of narrows it down, doesn’t it?

I hopped into my scraper (a beat-up old hover car that scrapes the ground occasionally), and turned on the radio as I drove down the road toward work. At 5:30 on a Monday morning, there was nothing on but a bunch of pre-recorded gospel shows. I cut the radio off, found a parking spot, and scarfed down my cheap breakfast.

Then I jogged to the security check-in. Big Rob, and his little brother aptly named Little Rob, were holding down the fort when I got there. Their station afforded them a view of the parking lot, and anyone walking through the doors. Security camera video monitors surrounded them along with various communication equipment – so nothing hardly got by those two.

What happened? I asked when I held up my badge so it could get scanned.

Big Rob shrugged his big broad shoulders when he verified my access. I don’t know what you’re talking about, brotha.

Rutherford, is acting like I’m somebody special right now, I said.

Big Rob’s eyes grew wide. Rutherford? the disbelief in his voice confirmed my own suspicions. The obviously, and quite proud of his racism – racist … that … that Rutherford?

I nodded in reply.

I’m going on break! Big Rob announced.

He and I went to the breakroom that was designed to mimic a diner. It was big enough for five hundred people to be comfortably seated in it. The room was packed with people leaving night shift, and those coming in for the day shift. Every TV in the room was turned up loud, and everyone was staring at a charismatically pleasing news anchor.

The alien invaders, called the Egout, have invaded our colonies in the Alpha Centauri System, and on Titan, the anchor said in a neutral tone. Our military forces on Titan have stopped the creature’s advance for now; however, they fear that more of the Egout invaders are on the way.

Did she say aliens? I couldn’t believe it. Humanity has something other than itself to fight for a change. Yesterday, everyone was concerned about Alpha Centauri’s demand for independence. Now we have some large locust looking things to worry about. The news anchor went on about things such as the impact on the supply lines and the economy and all that.

We’re now going live to the capital for an address by President Susan Holt, the anchor announced.

I stepped to the side as more people crammed into the break room to watch the coverage.

Susan Holt is a short lady that’s been dubbed one of the most popular leaders in history. So says the analysts. I couldn’t help but notice that the opportunities she talked about never trickled to my neck of the woods. Still, the people revered her because the lady did have a way with words. I didn’t buy into any of her nonsense.

I have yet to find a cause worth dying for. The decisions for peace and change are made by the people, who sit way above us plebes. They’re so far up that our cries of agony on the battlefield, or chants out in the streets, are barely heard from where they sit. On top of all that, money whispers louder than people shout. I don't get involved with trying to fix the world. I would lose my mind fighting to change an intentionally flawed system.

President Holt looked into the camera in a way that made it seem she was looking a person in the eye. As if she could examine the depths of our souls from where she sat.She delivered the news that sacrifices would need to be made and all that. Then she called upon every man, woman, and eir to fight the new threat.

I’m ready to fight! some white boy with a mullet from night shift announced. Then he crawled up on one of the tables and stood on top of it with his mud-covered shoes – well I hoped that it was mud.

Folks in the breakroom applauded him and a blue light illuminated under the TVs. The next thing I know, there was a little image of Mr. Mullet plastered at the bottom of the news feed. ‘Rick Thompson from Pine Cove stands ready to fight. Who’s with him!’ After that other people stood on tables and pledged their willingness to jump into a meat grinder. I ducked out of the room and Big Rob was right behind me.

I hope they didn’t see us on that two-way, Big Rob said.

Shoot man, me too, I replied. I thought that stuff didn’t work until dude stood on the table.

Two-way TV is something George Orwell wrote about. People obviously forgotten the man’s warning. Good thing is that it only worked on select TVs, when it works. Fortunately, there was a lot of people that were standing up and wanting to be seen, so we probably made it out without getting caught up in some sort of nonsense.

I looked around at the maze of storage racks, packed with freight, to make sure no one was lurking nearby in any of the isles. I tell you right now, I’m not going to the military, I said. My grandaddy said that’s the hardest way for black people to serve the man. And war is nothing but a rich man’s game where poor people die.

Big Rob chuckled. "Not only that, but you know they’ll put black people right on the front line."

◆◆◆

Despite the drama of the invasion, my day was going well. I almost made production for the day and it wasn’t even lunch time yet. If anyone talked about the war and or joining one the military services, I just simply said all the right buzzwords and moved on.

I was glad there were a lot of people interested in throwing their bodies into the meat grinder too. That meant there’d be a skeleton crew left to do the bulk of the work. I knew how to use most of the machinery in that warehouse, and that meant I would certainly get some extra money in my pocket.

My favorite piece of equipment to use is called a loading bot, and it’s used in a section of the warehouse dubbed Big and Tall. Afterall, the freight in that section is the size of a railcar, or larger. Anything from standard supplies to agricultural equipment was handled there. The loading bot is used to place those items or equipment onto a metallic plate called a skid. Once the skid is loaded with the requested freight, it gets teleported to a cargo station orbiting Earth.

I had just finished teleporting some skids when some military dude walked into my work area. He looked like one of those skinny and perfectly fit action movie stars. Fortunately for him I was ready to shut it down and go to lunch. Otherwise, I would’ve told the dude to step off, per OSHA regulations and company policy.

He smiled at me and pointed to my loading bot that was in its charging rack and said, Is that an old Z series? I love that model.

I nodded and scanned his shirt for a preferred pronoun tag. He didn’t have one and appeared to be in his mid-forties.  Yes, sir it is an old Z Series, I replied. Everyone says it’s a dinosaur that should go to the scrap yard, but I think it’s the best one out here.

The dude nodded. Best one on the whole planet, he said with a heavy Texan accent. Z Series has been the foundation for many mech units.

Here we go, I thought. The pitch.

No pitch was made. All Captain Hale and I did was talk about mech units and nothing else of importance. The captain seemed like a standup fella and, more importantly, he was very direct. I liked that he didn’t waste time mincing words or beating around the bush.

Rick’s little dramatic show of patriotism inspired others to rise up and fight for the almighty New Coalition of Systems. Since the whole warehouse was oozing with patriotism, the military had set up a recruiting booth outside of the various breakrooms that collectively serviced two thousand employees.

HR reps were passing out information pamphlets about the NCS armed forces and promised everyone they would still have a job when they returned from the war. HR made holding up the laws protecting veterans sound like they were doing a favor for those interested in joining up.

For about half of a second, I thought Captain Hale blindsided me. But one look at his face, that seemed to have been carved from stone, said that the man was just as annoyed about the drama as I was.

We continued our conversation, once we were inside the crowded breakroom, and never touched on anything important. We just swapped funny stories about using old loading bots. It turned out that he worked at another distribution center to fund his college education. When my meal break was over, he and I went our separate ways without neither of us talking about the war against the Egout.

I was glad there were a lot of people who were hopping on the hype train. It would reduce my chances of getting drafted.

ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION

The President of the New Coalition of Systems,

To: Aiden Scott Jackson

Order No. 1021020221055

Greetings:

Having submitted yourself to a local board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service in the armed forces of the New Coalition of Systems, you are hereby notified that you have been selected for training and service in the: Army.

You will report to the local board at: NCS Armory 145 at 6:30 am, on the 1st day of November, 3022.

The local board will furnish transportation to an induction station of … blah, blah, blah.

They got me.

I was just about to turn 25 and be free from the draft, but they