transport from a location thousands or millions of miles away. What did they want? They were not wearing any suits, which meant they were capable of breathing the Earth’s air. They probably came from an environment similar to this one. What did it all mean? Were these two a precursor of what was to come or had they arrived here accidentally? The light blue alien chirped something incomprehensible. The second more human-looking alien did not reply. It tilted its head back and forth in a swaying motion. He wanted to call out and announce his presence, but the words stuck in his throat. Charles had to do something. He was not a helpless civilian. He was a member of the most elite naval special warfare unit on the planet. It was time for him to get past his fear and act. The second alien drove its hover-train towards the edge of the fence. The alien shook violently and screeched as its tendrils grabbed the fence. The light blue alien began to jump up and down on its four legs and shrieked in unison with the other alien. “What the hell?” Charles shook his head. He had to get help. *** Navy SEAL Ensign Peter Estabrook sat behind his desk listening to the sob story of First Class SEAL trainee Pappalardo. He had no time for this nonsense. Not everybody was cut out to be in the SEALs. Peter had discovered that firsthand when more than three quarters of his training class dropped out. They only wanted the very best, and not everybody could cut it. He had known many good men who did not make it through training, but to whine and complain on your way out like Pappalardo was pathetic. According to Pappalardo, it was everybody else’s fault but his own. “The instructors aren’t giving me a fair shake, sir,” Pappalardo said. “I mean I could do this stuff. They just aren’t being fair.” Peter tried to hold back his anger. He felt like grabbing the kid by his throat. If Pappalardo couldn’t make it through this stage of the training, there was no way he would make it through Hell Week, where many strong men folded under the pressure. “I can assure you that none of the trainers have treated you unfairly,” Peter said. “We only accept the best and don't make apologies for our high standards. I am sure that there are other careers with-
in the US Navy that would be more suitable for you.” “Hey, I can be a SEAL, sir,” insisted Pappalardo. “I’m better than a lot of these other guys. They ain’t got nothin’ on me.” Peter gritted his teeth. “You have some kind of nerve, Pappalardo. You come into my office making all kinds of demands. I was trying to let you off easy, but you want to push it. Do you have any idea of what it means to be a SEAL? Do you?” Pappalardo stammered but did not reply. “Let me tell you, son, I have served as a Navy SEAL in two wars and more combat missions than I can remember. It means sitting in a lake for hours hoping you don’t get discovered, waiting to ambush your enemy. It means diving off of a plane four miles up in the air and trying to land on a moving target. It means going into enemy territory in the middle of a firefight and rescuing a POW. Do you have any idea what it would be to have an Al Qaeda officer interrogate you? You make me sick. Do the right thing and drop out, because I can assure you that things will get worse, and you'll experience hell unlike anything you've ever known. I'll start the paperwork to get you transferred. Go pack your bags.” Pappalardo started to argue, but Peter ushered him out of his office. He shut the door and returned to his desk. Thinking of Pappalardo made his stomach turn. Being treated like dirt was the norm in the Navy SEAL program. That had been going on since JFK had first commissioned the teams. It was necessary because battlefield conditions were worse than training conditions. In his day, nobody complained to the officers unless they lost a limb. A knock on the door caused Peter to groan. If that was Pappalardo again, he was going to strangle the kid. "Come in." First Class Torpedoman Charles Amato stood at the door. His face was flushed and he was perspiring heavily. He shook as he spoke. “Sir, I have a situation that requires your immediate attention.” Peter sighed. “What’s the problem?” “Sir, I need you to come with me immediately.” Amato’s voice wavered. Peter's face tightened. “Gain control of yourself. What's the problem?” “Sir, I can't even begin to describe what I witnessed by the vehicle storage area. Please follow me.”