What the Willow-Warbler Saw

By Michael Teasdale

The cold, moonless night found a solitary willow-warbler perched on a rocky outcrop of the mountain, gazing up at the vast silver shape that hung in the sky.

What a strange looking creature, sang the bird. I wonder what it wants.

Commander Becket chomped down on a fresh cigar as the hologram lit up the brightly buttoned uniforms of those gathered on the viewing-deck.

“Lephoria VI,” he explained to his crew. “A class 3 planet in the Gamma Quadrant. Satellite imagery identifies an invasive hostile force; origin unknown. We have authorized temporal transport to access a point before the hostiles’ arrival and safely extricate the target.”

The image changed to a befuddled-looking, cross-eyed bird with billowing green plumage.

“Aww…” said a voice.

Becket grimaced. “Quiet!” he snarled. “This is a mission of extreme scientific importance! The Lephorian willow-warbler secretes a potent psychoactive property used to instill raging blood-lust in our troops. If harnessed and controlled, it could turn the tide of the war. Our efforts to retrieve it have nothing, I repeat, nothing, to do with its…” He squirmed. “Cuddly appearance!”

“Fluffy boy,” cooed another voice.

“Silence!” barked the commander, spitting out his cigar. “Ready Marine Corps 1 for temporal transport!”

Alarms blared as Becket, beet-red and breathless, strode into the chaos of the medical bay. “What happened?” he yelled.

“An ambush, Commander,” said the charred and groggy marine captain. “I barely made it back to the transporter. The others…”

Becket raised an eyebrow. “Ambush?” he snarled. “Impossible! We sent you back to a time before the hostiles arrived! Don’t tell me the blasted birds attacked you?”

The marine stiffened. “No, sir! Laser fire. Category 4! We barely got off one round in response.”

Becket raised a fist. “A deliberate interception from the enemy!” He hammered his hand down on a nearby dashboard. “Clearly they too have plans for the willow-warbler!” He swiveled and barked, “Lieutenant! Ready a second unit for temporal transport. Send them back an additional twenty-four hours, with orders to intercept and eliminate the hostiles before they can strike.”

“Yes sir.” The lieutenant squirmed “But shouldn’t we—”

“Blast it! Who’s giving the orders here? I want any hostile shot on sight!”

“What do you mean, ‘All of them’?” bellowed Becket.

The lieutenant flinched. “There was a firefight a day after arrival. The marines eliminated all but one hostile, then suffered casualties when attacked by a second team. Details are scarce, sir, but I think I may—”

“No time, Lieutenant! We must strike back quickly.”

“But, sir!”

“No buts! Ready Marine Corps 3 and 4 for transport. Give them forty-eight hours’ head start this time. Blast it, we’ll beat them with sheer numbers. Fire on sight! No prisoners.”

“Sir, don’t you think it could be possible—”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant!”

Commander Becket sat slumped at his desk. Bags drooped under his eyes.

The lieutenant entered. “Bad news, sir.”

“Give it to me straight, Lieutenant.”

“I’m afraid we’ve lost contact with Marine Corps 120 and 121, sir. They disappeared around the area where Corps 51 and 67 fell to the hostiles three weeks ago. There’s worse news. The willow-warblers… They’re… gone, sir.”

“Gone?”

“Extinct. According to all recent temporal adjustments, records now show that the last of the species were destroyed in the battle that took out Corps 71, 84, and 103.

Becket wilted. “Then we’ve failed, Lieutenant. No matter how many men I send, the conflict only worsens. New hostiles seem to sprout up from the blasted soil! Where do they keep coming from? Will this war never end?”

“Sir, permission to voice a theory?”

Becket sighed. “Permission granted.”

“We sent Marine Corps 1 back to a time period when the planet was hostile-free.”

“And yet hostiles appeared anyway!”

“Yes… And remember how, right after that, you ordered a second corps to be sent?”

“I do.”

“And you instructed them to shoot on sight.”

“Yes… I mean…”

“And, of course, you’ll remember how each unit has been issued with similar instructions. And well, there’s the whole psychoactive bird secretions to contend with—the raging bloodlust and all.”

The commander narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”

“Well, sir… Please understand that I propose this with the greatest of respect, but…”

“Get on with it, man!”

“What if the hostiles were… well…”

“Yes?”

“What if the first soldiers encountered the second squadron that you sent back to protect them, only they mistook them for the enemy and opened fire, causing the second squadron to retaliate?”

Becket crumpled back into his chair. The color drained from his face.

“What if the third squadron heard the commotion and, hopped-up on warbler secretions, made the same mistake? What if… there never were any hostiles? What if the hostiles are… well… us, sir? The one hundred and fifty plus squadrons we’ve now scattered through time with the intention of stopping an enemy who’s turned out to be other squadrons of our own paranoid, blood-crazed marines?”

After a moment, the commander rose from his chair and straightened his tie. Then he spoke. “I see only one way to save the birds now.”

“Sir?”

“Ready the temporal transporter, Lieutenant. Arm our laser cannons. We’ll make one more jump, back to the start of all this.”

The cold, moonless night found a solitary willow-warbler perched on a rocky outcrop of the mountain, gazing up at the vast silver shape that hung in the sky.  Its eyes widened when, moments later, a second shape—identical to the first—warped into view. The bird jumped as a beam of golden fire emerged from the new shape, colliding with the first and lighting up the sky.

The first shape shattered and disintegrated under the molten glow. After a moment the second shape wobbled, then winked quietly out of existence, leaving only the empty canvas of the starfield behind.

What strange creatures, sang the willow-warbler. I do hope there aren’t any more of them.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Teasdale is an English author whose stories have appeared for a variety of publications including Novel Magazine, Litro, Wyldblood Magazine, The Periodical, Forlorn, and Shoreline of Infinity. He lives in Transylvania, Romania with his partner and three cats and has recently begun dabbling with Twitter.

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