The Fortunes of Nigel by Walter Scott (good summer reads txt) 📕

conventional weapons simply weren’t going to work. And he had a troop of eager young men who were anxious to go monster hunting, charging into battle, all of whom were going to die the instant they opened fire.

“Pull them back,” Ross said woodenly, ignoring the fact that he was standing in front of a microphone. “Lieber, pull them back.”

“All Laramie units, this is C2,” Lieber promptly said into the comm unit. “Pull back. Do not engage subject Bruce Banner; repeat, do not engage.”

Run run they run smash ones who run smash them smash smash . . .

Colonel McKean of the Sixth Laramie unit led the retreat as, per orders, the men fell back. They hadn’t yet seen what it was they were supposed to attack, but they heard the roars reverberating down the corridors, and McKean had to think they had just dodged a serious bullet. He would never know how literally correct he was.

They dropped back past the metal barricade doors, the ones that C and C had worked so hard to open, and the instant they were clear, the doors slammed shut again. McKean quickly touched base with the other Laramie units as well as with Bravo, getting a ground-level assessment of the situation. Then, confirming his findings with C and C, he said briskly into his microphone headset, “C two, this is Laramie 06, Laramie units pulling back. Subject inside Sector Yolk, Level Four.”

The voice of Thunderbolt Ross came in on his headset, issuing orders to call, taking the designation “Laramie 01,” to establish that he was at the top of the chain of command. Any command with 01 in it, whether he himself was saying it or it was being relayed as such, was understood to be coming straight from the top. “Concentrate containment on Sector X-ray, Level Three, Frame 185, out.”

McKean immediately reaffirmed and rebroadcast the orders to any other Laramie units on line. “Break . . . break . . . all Laramie units, this is Laramie 01, concentrate containment on Sector X-ray, Level Three, Frame 185, out.”

“Six, roger,” Ross’s voice confirmed, “Laramie 01, activate all fail-safe mechanisms. He goes anywhere near Two Foxtrot we know what we have to do. He could make an awful scary mess down there.” That was, of course, an understatement. Foxtrot missiles were stored in the underground facility, and armed with nuclear warheads. If the monster started ripping into those, the unleashed radiation alone could kill everyone in the place the moment it hit the air ducts—and that wasn’t even considering the possibility of a nuclear detonation.

McKean heard the order, but despite the fact that it originated from 01, it wasn’t his primary concern. What worried him was the massive door he was facing that appeared, against all possible rational expectations, to be buckling from the pounding of . . . massive fists. “C two, six, roger that, sir,” McKean confirmed, his eyes riveted on the spectacle of the bending door. “But be advised he’s not going down there. He appears to be coming right at us, over.”

“Six, C and C, roger,” shot back Ross, as more troops poured into the main hall. “Prepare active denial and stand by.”

. . . grab tear rip destroy destroy so much pain hurts hurt them hurt them all smash them all . . . SMASH THEM ALL . . .

And suddenly the door blocking the main hall from the monster within was torn to shreds, and the Hulk smashed his way in. In the future, when those who survived the altercation would speak of it, their descriptions of the size of the being attacking them would vary from account to account, situation to situation. Ironically, they would all be correct. The Hulk’s size fluctuated depending upon his mood and the degree of opposition he encountered.

Immediately the men scattered, no one wanting to be the first one to take on this inhuman threat, all of them sensing that they were hopelessly out of their league. McKean fell back as well, but not in a panicked retreat. He simply took a few steps and watched warily as the Hulk raised his arms over his head and unleashed a bellow of rage and hatred. As this happened, Ross’s voice was heard over the comm unit. “Oh one, C and C, initiate strobes, over!”

“Break, break!” shouted McKean, and he prayed that his men would be able to hear him over the bellows of the outraged behemoth. “All units, goggles down; light up the strobes, over.”

Each of the troops put huge goggles on. Each pair was equipped with electric shutters timed in syncopation with a massive strobe light array that had been wheeled into the main hall. The strobe was switched on. Instantly disoriented, the Hulk threw his hands up to his eyes. Through their goggles, the soldiers saw the Hulk in flickering white light, stumbling back toward the entrance tunnel. It looked for all the world as if they were watching an old-style movie serial starring the Hulk.

. . . lights . . . hurt . . . hurt eyes . . . hurt . . . make stop . . .

A team ran up and shot nets, which spread instantaneously in front of the Hulk.

. . . stop . . . can’t stop . . .

He jumped, grabbed the edge of one of the nets and flung it back at the men. They scattered, desperate to get out of the way, and he grabbed up random pieces of equipment and hurled them at the troops.

“C two, four, he’s still on the move, over!” one of the soldiers reported.

“Four, roger that, C and C . . . break, break . . . six,” said Ross.

. . . make light stop!

The Hulk jumped and pounded the ceiling. Huge support beams crumbled and fell across the length of the hall; one destroyed the strobe array. The Hulk landed, hit the floor, still disoriented,