Fighting in a Winter Wonderland

Snow poured out of the darkening sky, covering the branches of the pine trees that lined Paul Mullen’s backyard. His floodlights illuminated the fenced in area, where Sam ran in circles, grabbing snow flakes with her tongue. The rottweiler pittie mix served over there with him, and all those years in Afghanistan left some scars on both of them. Now, it warmed his heart to watch those horrors forgotten, at least for a moment, while she goofily snatched white powder falling from the heavens.

Paul raised a cup of cocoa to his lips, steam tickling his nose. The boys would have probably laughed at him, a green sweater instead of camos covering him, and not sleeping on rocks and dirt out in the field. He remembered joking about civvies enjoying this beverage after whining about the military, while sitting around an MRE oven freezing his ass off in some god forsaken Afghan mountain forest. The guys all busted a gut, but Paul knew that a small part of them all wished that it was them in the warm house, with the hot cup, and nobody shooting at you.

Sam ran up, and onto the porch, wagging her tail violently, pleading for Paul to come out and catch snowflakes. “Nah, girl, its nice and warm in here. I would have thought you were done with the cold when you retired.”

Sam shook her body, clearing the snow off of her, and ran back out into the white. He could get used to this. After doing his twenty, most of that with the teams, it was a good time to take a few breaths and put down some roots. Maybe even find a human companion.

His neighbor, Mrs. Clarkson, certainly wanted to be considered for the role. She had requested Paul’s services at least twice a week for various handyman jobs around her house. Paul swore that she must break stuff just to have him over. She divorced Mr. Clarkson nearly three years ago, and in the four months since Paul had retired and moved in, a dozen men had made a call to her home. Paul wasn’t interested in making that a baker’s dozen.

He opened the sliding porch door, and stuck his head out, “Sam, time to come in!” Sam bounded across the snow, features expressing absolute joy. She barreled towards him full speed, but managed to dexterously squeeze through the open door, nails clicking on the hard wood as she headed for the kitchen. Paul closed the door behind her, comfortable to leave the winter wonderland outside where it belonged.

Paul went over to his living room couch, the leather warmed from the gas fire in the fireplace. He clicked on the TV, and scrolled through the offerings. “What should we watch tonight Sam?” Sam responded by galloping over to the couch, and jumping into Paul’s lap. Sam was almost seventy five pounds, but still very much a lap dog. A big slobbery licking of her lips was her official answer. “Sounds good Sam.”

He settled on a British baking show, settling into the soft plushness of the couch as Sam rested her head underneath his stroking fingers. She fell asleep best with her ears being lightly scratched, especially when those nights where the tour followed you home. Unfortunately, she couldn’t scratch his ears in the same way, but she always knew when things were getting hairy, and she would hold his gaze as if to say everything is okay.

Paul’s eyes were getting heavy when he heard a low growl from Sam. The baking show was still on, and outside in the dark white still fell. He couldn’t even see across the street his neighbor’s porch light on, the snow was that heavy. She picked her head up, the warning from her emanating from deep within her belly.

Sam once before growled like this. In the Stan. That preceded the largest ambush he had ever been involved in. Sam’s warning saved his life and the lives of his men. Paul trusted it, and her. “What is it girl? A bear? A mountain lion? There couldn’t be someone outside in this weather.” Paul got up, and located his weapons.

His sidearm was next to his bed down the hall. His rifle was out in the garage, at his workbench. That left his Benelli M4 Super 90, tucked into a holster he built onto the side of one of the kitchen floor cabinets. Inside the cabinet were at least two boxes of shells. Sam jumped down from the couch, and growled directly at the ceiling. “It’s up there, what’s up there?”

Paul started to move towards his weapon, keeping his eyes on the wood paneling above him. He took only six steps when a loud crash impacted his roof. Sam barked once, half a yelp, and pinned her ears back and bared her considerable weapons. Paul dashed towards his weapon when another crash hit his roof, and penetrated through it. It landed between him and his kitchen.

Whatever this was, Paul had never seen it before. Covered in a metallic exo-skeleton, it had two legs, two arms, and out of its back there were four wriggling tentacles covered in a shiny fabric. His face shield was opaque, so Paul couldn’t look into its eyes. It stood nearly eight feet tall, and in its hands it held a rifle of unknown manufacturer.

He needed to get by the creature, and fast to get to his own weapon. Fortunately, his kitchen block was sitting next to him, and Paul pulled out a chef’s knife. He decided to attack, not wanting to find out how effective that weapon was, and lunged over her fragments of shingles, drywall, wood panels and now fresh falling snow that came from the large hole in his ceiling. “Sam, sic ‘em!”

Paul grappled with the invader, stabbing at the joints and between the metal plates that covered large sections of the creature. To his dismay, the creature shucked him to the ground with minimal effort. Before he could re-engage, Sam struck.

Leaping over the counter, she sunk her teeth into one of the tentacles. Her bite strength of three hundred pounds per square inch destroyed whatever protection it possessed, and she ripped the flailing appendage off, spraying green ichor all over his kitchen.

Their enemy unleashed an unearthly mechanical howl that Paul was certain contained every bit of pain he had suffered in his own lifetime all at once. It twisted its body around, ignoring Paul to focus on the mortal threat of Sam. Trained for war, Sam didn’t hesitate, and dove at its leg, and pulled with everything she had.

With that suit, it must have weighed more than five hundred pounds, so Sam wasn’t going to bring it down. But the move let Paul roll over to his shotgun, and he unholstered it. As the invader’s gun was brought to bare on Sam, Paul fired a shot point blank center mass.

It was enough to stagger their enemy, and then Paul could here the sounds of gunfire coming from outside. One of the reasons he moved here was the high levels of gun ownership. So it isn’t just my house. “Sam, clear!” Sam skedaddled.

Paul fired another round center mass, this round clearly penetrating the breastplate. Emerald fluid leaked from the cracked metal. It still stood on its two feet, however, and raised his own weapon to fight back. Paul fired two more shells into it, slamming it into the wall and it dropping to the ground.

He tried to kick away its weapon, but it appeared to be attached to the arm mechanically. Paul fired one round into the elbow joint, severing it. The creature fell over onto its side.

Paul was about to lean over to remove its helmet when the flesh on his back sizzled. He spun around to see another one in the hole in the ceiling. Its shot had missed, burning a sizable hole into his granite counter top. Even a close miss burned. And there was little to no real cover against laser fire in his kitchen. He decided that meant he needed to attack, and quickly. Paul crouched behind that same counter top, reached into his armory cabinet, and pulled out those boxes of shells.

He had finished reloading his shotgun, instinctively ducking when another blast whizzed by his head and burned a round black hole into his new floor. Bastard. He aimed his shotgun at the invader, when a heavy weight struck him and pinned him down.

What a rookie mistake. Paul was angry with himself, for not finishing the job with certainty of the one on the ground with him. It began striking Paul with its remaining fist, each blow like a professional boxer’s punch. Paul wasn’t going to last much longer under the punishment.

Sam struck again. Paul could see some now exposed hoses from the helmet that the violent shotgun slam against his kitchen wall had dislodged. Sam’s jaw closed around one, and in a swift motion meant to break the spine of prey, Sam twisted her neck to eviscerate it. The creature managed to strike Sam with a remaining tentacle, shoving her up against the cabinet, but the damage was done.

A sickening gurgling noise emanated from the suit, foul gases escaping into the kitchen as it sounded like it began to choke. Paul managed to grab his shotgun, and thrust the barrel into its neck. He pulled the trigger.

Green rain mixed with snow, complete with chunks of metal, flesh and what he assumed were bone fragments. The shot echoed in his ears, and Sam ran around to the other side of island. Fire from above resumed, destroying even more granite.

Fortunately for Paul, the now dead corpse landed mostly off of him, allowing him to extract his feet, and aim for the other one. He fired the five remaining shots quickly, hitting the invader each time. At the fifth one, it fell into Paul’s house, crashing into his island, and causing Sam to run to the living room to avoid being crushed.

Paul loaded six more shots, and moved to look this thing over. He used the barrel to remove the visor, and what appeared would have shocked him just ten minutes ago, but now...it figured. The alien had a face like a flayed Teddy Ruxpin, beady eyes staring back at him. It clearly didn’t agree with Earth’s atmosphere, as it started to panic once it realized that its air supply had been removed.

His training took over. He should have just killed it, but Earth needed prisoners. A movie scene popped in his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the line. He, however, did punch it square in the jaw, to all intents knocking it unconscious. He reached into the helmet, and pulled out the breathing tubes, jamming them into its mouth. “Sam, hold!”

Sam trotted over, and mouthed the Ruxpin’s throat. Paul needed to reconnoiter the neighborhood, and Sam could guard this one. “Sam, wait for me to come back.” She whined only a little, but she was always a good warrior.

Paul grabbed a bag, and loaded the rest of the shells into it. He also grabbed his fleece, and his rifle on his way out. The Benelli possessed the firepower to put one of these things down, so he stayed with it as he left his garage by the side door, and moved towards Mrs. Clarkson’s house.

The sounds of battle were muffled through the snow storm, making this now nightmarish scenario even more surreal. It did give him a significant advantage, as there was zero visibility. These Ruxpins didn’t know the area, he did.

A rustling in the nearest tree paused Paul. He looked up and saw one of them tangled up in the branches with its parachute. Paul switched to his rifle, the MK 17, as he needed to test how effective it was against their ex-skeletons. It took an entire magazine for it to stop moving, but it did a lot of damage to the softer parts of the Ruxpin.

He switched back to the Benelli for the breach into Mrs. Clarkson’s. He opened her back patio door, covered in a snow dusting. There was one hole in her ceiling, but no Ruxpin. He swept back to her bedroom, where he found them.

Paul didn’t hesitate, he fired a round at the back of the Ruxpin’s head, and when it turned round, he sent the second into its visor. Its head gone, its body slumped over. Mrs. Clarkson was dead, the Ruxpin having burned multiple holes into her. Apparently it was trying to figure out how to kill humans, just like he just did with the one outside. He knelt next to her body, and closed her eyes. Paul gave a silent prayer for her soul, and left to find someone he could help.

Across the street, James Patterson had put up a fight. Paul came upon three dead Ruxpins in his front yard, the snow quickly covering the evidence. The front door was gone, and Paul hugged the frame, scanning the interior. “Anyone alive in the there? Its Paul Mullen.”

“Paul! You alive?” A weak but determined voice called from the darkened room.

“Yes sir. May I enter?”

“Watch your step, there may be a couple of those bastards that aren’t quite dead in the living room.”

There were four more Ruxpins mangled in the remnants of the living room. They had been punctured with so many holes they were leaking their green blood everywhere. One moved its arm, so Paul put a shell into its head. “James, we could have used you in a couple of scrapes in the Stan.”

Paul entered the kitchen, and saw James slumped against his cabinets, his wife bandaging his shoulder and his two high school boys pointing high powered rifles at the door. James was a veteran right after 9/11, and left the service nearly a decade ago. “Their lasers hurt something fierce Paul. How many did you get?”

“Only one dead James, but I captured one alive. Sam’s guarding him.”

James winced and chuckled. “Almost feel bad for it. Almost. You have any idea on what the hell is going on?”

Paul shook his head. “Nope. Nothing on the TV when all hell broke loose. James, I got to go check on the rest of the neighborhood. You think you can reach out up the chain to let somebody know about whats going on here?”

“Consider it done. Patty, get my phone. I got my old CO’s number in the there. Paul, you should have started with everyone else. I’m armed to the teeth over here.”

Paul softened his grimace. “I did. Mrs. Clarkson didn’t make it.”

James nodded, “Boys, keep those rifles ready. Those bastards may try another rush. We’ve got to show them just how much they fucked up messing with Earth.”

Paul moved to James’s back door, and moved silently through the snow to his next neighbors house. And then the next, and the next. Some had fought them off. Others hadn’t. Any Ruxpins he found he killed.

Paul continued until he heard sirens, echoing off the snow flakes. He returned to his own house. Sam was still holding the Ruxpin by the throat. The creature had woken up, and was smart enough to not fight Sam. She wagged her tail violently as Paul came over, and crouched down next to the two of them.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t understand me, but I’m gonna say it anyway. You are now the property of the U.S. government. If that's too much to bear, well, twitch and Sam will resume her dinner. You and your friends killed some of my friends and neighbors, people who did nothing to you. So, its only my professionalism that prevents me from killing you. You aren’t human, so the rules of war don’t apply to you. You also trespassed and destroyed my home, so there is that.”

Paul heard his front door open, and Sam wagged her tail faster. “Captain, I see you have things well in hand here.” Paul looked over his shoulder, and an army lieutenant he didn’t know was standing there.

“LT, you may want to grab some MP’s. I got a trespasser here I need to put into your custody. Bastards didn’t even use the door when they came in. Also, if Washington doesn’t already know, you might want to inform them.”

The lieutenant gulped when he saw the Ruxpin’s face. “Right away, sir. I mean Captain.”

“Don’t worry about it son, I’m retired. But I think that I might be needed again.”

The lieutenant left as abruptly as he came. Paul looked down at Sam. “You know girl, for a pair of old timers, we did pretty well,” Paul looked up at the hole, snow lazily drifting through it to cover up the ruins of his kitchen, “what do you think about putting in a skylight?”

Paul could have sworn that Sam smiled, and her entire butt wagged. He guessed she was for it.