Himmler's War

VHF channel two not only exclusively received Walter Cronkite, but was also the best channel to receive the interference field generated by this flying saucer defense mechanism.

While that defensive energy screen was activated, the craft from hell was totally impervious.

As long as that television screen remained aglow, an invisible, invincible wall surrounded that spacecraft.

Nothing on Earth could touch it.

Without warning, the ill-boding glow of the television UFO detector faded out with the exception of a few broken lines zipping helter-skelter across the picture tube.

Trembling slightly, the figure in black depressed and locked the movie camera's trigger as a droning buzz saturated the night air. A hatchway facing the camera yawned slowly open and a ramp of weird design expanded, lowered, and touched down. The camera was softly buzzing too, insuring that the coming events would be indelibly recorded on the color 8mm-movie film.

Being careful to stay low and out of sight, Himmler moved out, made a wide circle behind the vessel from hell to a small grassy knoll selected yesterday on a preliminary reconnaissance. Baby pines and maple saplings encompassed the four-foot-tall mound of earth and stone.

A very hot war was waiting.

Reaching the perimeter of the knoll unseen, a shadow flung itself into position, strained its senses to absorb every new development. The mood was all "ice and purpose," knuckles whitened as tight fists strangled that fancy, hand-checkered walnut stock and forearm.

Two thin humanoids emerged through the hatchway and descended the steep ramp, began a process of searching the terrain with what appeared to be sparklers or cheap fireworks of some kind. They were identical in size, shape, and proportion. Each a little over four feet tall with extraordinarily long arms, longer than the extremities of an ape. It was difficult to observe distinctive features clearly due to their distance from the knoll. Not to mention that they were but stark silhouettes against the intense glare emanating from the ship.

Himmler didn't need to see their alien mugs clearly tonight. He knew damned well what these "Grays" looked like. After receiving corroborating descriptions matching this particular UFO and "occupant" from widely separated points around the globe, every cell in his brain recalled the finer points of these sightings. Many of those incidents did not end well for the locals.

What might seem to others a major setback proved a blessing in disguise for him. Being superimposed on that backdrop of fiery crimson made the creatures excellent targets - - dark wiry shadows that were sharply defined.

So okay, anyway.

Refining the focus of the Redfield riflescope, a UFO investigator seething with hatred caught the lead creature dead center in the crosshairs. The bulbous head became a discarnate figure which somehow managed to insinuate itself inside the lens, hideous, without emotion. The creature's big black eyes appeared to glow and Himmler hesitated just a moment.

Would they call this murder?

What would the legal ruling be on murdering an entity not of this world?

What were the civil rights of extraterrestrials?

Three more aliens disembarked and descended the ramp. The first UFOnaut, the one unknowingly staring down twenty-two inches of large-bore rifle barrel, wheeled about and called out to the others. If you could call that speech. An unearthly, grotesque grating, it was more like a coarse rasping on wood. Then the extraterrestrial continued back on course... straight for the small knoll... straight for the one-man "Welcome To Earth" reception committee.

Himmler could feel himself going soft.

It really ate at his guts.

WOULD THEY CALL THIS MURDER?

"It's trying to kill us!" A charred and broken cinder that was once blonde and beautiful screamed somewhere inside Himmler's tortured mind. The gruesome remains of two bodies he had identified at the city morgue took position along his left and right flanks.

Himmler didn't just show up here tonight on a goddamned whim.

"For all of my beloved dead," a not-quite-so-alone figure sandwiched between two maple saplings whispered solemnly, dutifully brought back the pump forearm and slammed it home, locking a messenger of death in the chamber.