The Fifth Battalion (excerpt)

This excerpt is from my sci-fi novel The Fifth Battalion. Here the protagonist, Norman, is undergoing regression therapy with a psychiatrist, Dr. Jane Rosenthal. They are discussing a meeting with Norman’s friend, Bill. 

-----------

“The truth?” back then, in his kitchen, Bill furrowed his eyebrow. With a sigh, he got more comfortable in his favorite chair and reached for his special-recipe steaming half-cognac Arabica. “Are you sure you want the truth? Isn’t it too thick for you right now?”

Tortured by premonitions, I stared into my coffee. Black.

“He was about to tell me the truth,” I told Jane. “I was sitting there, all worried.”

“I understand,” Jane assured me. If she thought I was crazy, she hid it well. A true professional. Sure, she sees nuts like me here day in and day out. Even on weekends. “What did he say?” Dr. Rosenthal seemed genuinely interested.

Should I tell her? What if they whisked me straight to the loony bin? Water cooler in the waiting room outside Jane’s office burped out a bubble. I took the plunge.

“He said we were all members of some military unit, a battalion, I think.” I stopped, searching for any signs of derision on Jane’s face and finding none. “He said, long time ago, we landed on this planet as a part of an invasion force in the Andes somewhere. But Earth turned out to be our enemy’s prison or something like that. The guards stayed low to uphold the illusion that this wasn’t a prison, since the inmates weren’t supposed to suspect they were incarcerated. Apparently, we didn’t even know the Guards were here. We thought this was another Stone Age planet. But the guards took our landing as an act of war and wiped us all out in an ambush. Supposedly, we’ve been reincarnating here ever since. We can’t get out. Nuts, right?” I grinned to make less of this “truth.”

“How did you feel about it?” Jane seemed non-committal.

“I felt anger. I slapped the table and spilled my coffee. I said ‘You think I’m crazy? You’re an extraterrestrial from some invasion five thousand years ago? Enemy prison planet? You expect me to believe this crap?!’”

“Were you hiding anything from Bill? Perhaps something important that he should’ve known about?”

“What could I be hiding? Well, maybe just that I kept seeing the same taxi cab with a number 3415 on the roof. Seemed I was being watched. Is that something I should’ve told him? How would I know if I should have or shouldn’t have?”

“When did the surveillance start?” Casual as usual, Jane was overdoing it now. Even I saw the news tensed her up.

“Probably two days prior. Maybe earlier. Who knows. Why?” I snapped.

“We are all in the same boat, Norman. We are helping you get back on line.”

She said “we.” “What, you too? No idea anymore. What am I supposed to think?”

From her chair Jane walked around the desk and stood right over me. She leaned toward me. Her cleavage threw me off but only for an instant. Jane peered deep into my eyes. “I feel for you, Norm. None of this is easy. But you must make an effort. You’re under surveillance, so you’re already in the middle of it all. We don’t have much time.”

“Who’s we?” I asked.

“That military unit that Bill told you about, the 5th Battalion, is real. Bill, you, me, we are all a part of it. Do you understand me?”

I nodded, kind of numb. This was really too much. Jane stood straight and smiled. “Okay, let’s take a break. Help yourself to some sandwiches in the waiting room. I’ll make coffee. You’re welcome to Perrier in my fridge, too. Then we reconvene, okay?”

Munching on my tasty sandwich, I remembered our first meeting the day before. Dr. Rosenthal made quite an impression on me then.

If there ever was a stereotypical psycho-therapist, Dr. Rosenthal, wasn’t it. First of all, I expected a he, but he was a she, and, second, she was one sexy lady. In great shape, with the air of confident, sophisticated femininity about her, she made no attempt to hide her slender legs or obscure the perfect curves of her body. Her gleaming green eyes brimmed with intelligence. I liked the way her shiny, shoulder-length auburn hair framed her elegant face and neck. Dr. Rosenthal slowly touched the front of her dress with her immaculate fingers, adjusting the sapphire necklace. I caught myself staring. Dr. Rosenthal was quietly watching me watch her.

Slightly intimidated, suddenly I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I stuck them in my pockets. “Are you a sex therapist, Dr. Rosenthal?” I asked. “Just making sure I have the right office.”

“No, I’m simply myself. Call me Jane. Do you like me being myself?”

“I sure do.”

“I want you to be yourself,” Jane showed her perfect teeth. “Do you want to be yourself?”

“Do I have to? Can I be you? Educated, nice legs and all…”

“Don’t you like your own legs? Just think, wouldn’t that be wonderful if you really liked yourself? Let’s work together to find the causes of why you’d rather be someone else. Let’s start with who you are. Who are you, really, Norman?”

“Who, me?” The question took me by surprise. “Name’s Norman Bolstad. I’m almost twenty-seven, six feet, size eleven shoes. What else?”

“Almost twenty-seven? Like twenty-six and a half? Size eleven shoes, you said?” She chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s try again. Who are you really? Look deeper.”

I looked deeper. I thought harder. I shrugged. “I guess you’ll tell me.”

“I’ll do better. I’ll help you find out. Is that all right with you?”

I nodded. Not even five minutes into my therapy, and I had already gleaned something here. First, it was okay to be myself. Who knew? And, second, I had no idea who I really was.