Invasion: The complete three book set

by J. F. Holmes

  “I’ll tell you all about it, if you can show me where I can take a bath.”

  Chapter 105

  “So yes, we’ve been up here for about the last six years. Survivors, just doing what we could to get by. And yes, occasionally taking potshots at the Invy.”

  They were sitting in a comfortable cabin, high up on the sides of a mountain, with people pulling guard shifts outside. Blake was actually starting to relax after the events of the afternoon, but he kept seeing the grin on the dead guy’s face, and when it changed into a realization that he’d been shot. Only for an instant, then the second bullet had hit him, and he went down. Saw it every time he closed his eyes.

  “Yeah, I can tell. You aren’t a killer. At least, you don’t enjoy it,” said Kim. In front of them sat a large plate of venison steaks and potatoes. Eric ate ravenously; the wild game was better than anything he’d gotten in town. Ever.

  “So, what’s your story?” he asked her. He’d already brought all of them up to speed on events in Puget Sound, and the rest of the world as far as he knew it.

  “Well,” she said, “you remember how the Invy just let us stew for a couple of years after the fleet battle? I was, believe it or not, getting my Masters in Gender Studies at UW after serving in the Peace Corps.”

  He almost laughed, but then again, why piss her off? She smiled, though, when she saw the expression on his face. It was, all in all, a pretty interesting smile. “Go ahead, laugh. I was actually just going through the motions at that point. I served in the Peace Corps in Liberia, after their what, fifth civil war? I had come to know how much all our First World obsession with gender and political correctness was so much bullshit. Anyway,” she continued, taking another sip of some homemade wine, “I ditched all my shithead friends and headed to the mountains. Long story short, we were doing fine until Roger and his buddy showed up about a year ago.”

  “So I did do you a favor,” he said.

  “In essence, yes. We needed him; the kid grew up pretty much in the ruins of Tacoma and knew how the Invy worked.”

  “Then he knew the CEF existed. He must have come across the Main Force unit there, they would have loved a recruit like him.” Then again, thought Blake, they tended not to recruit assholes. Security risk.

  “Maybe. But he gradually took over here, slow like, him and his dipshit buddy Tommy. That was another favor you did me.”

  Blake nodded. “That’s how abusers work, worm their way in and next thing you know, bam!”

  She smiled again and said, “Now what?”

  “Now, well, I assume the fighting will continue. My son volunteered to do some crazy thing with some old Navy ships. I’m worried to death about him, but what can you do?” He was, too, but his son had had manhood thrust upon him. “It’s the old days, when people had to do what needed to be done. I know nine billion dead is a horrible thing, but maybe it beat some spine back into the survivors.”

  “Maybe,” she said. Then she leaned in and gently kissed him. He was startled, and drew away.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long time. Since my wife died in the Invasion.”

  “Me too,” Kim answered, gently holding out her hand, “but the past is the past. I think she would understand.”

  After a moment of indecision, he took her offered hand in his and led her upstairs.

  Chapter 106

  The road up ahead was clear for several miles, and Blake spurred the horse he was riding into a gallop. It had replaced the alcohol-fueled motorcycle, with grass being a better guarantee ahead than refined spirits. Life felt damn good after last night. In his pocket was a map that showed where several isolated farms were, and once over the pass, it was downhill to Yakima.

  As he rode, being careful to avoid falling into another situation like yesterday, he looked around at the countryside There had been little development here before the war, but occasionally there were, or had been, small logging towns. He passed through them now, marveling at how quickly the wilderness had reclaimed them, even at this high altitude. From driving through here before the war, he knew that, once past this range of mountains, the land would turn to scrub and high desert. The big difference was that Yakima Valley was now being farmed by Invy slaves instead of machinery. Or it was.

  His horse heard them coming long before he did, and when the animal’s ears pricked up, Blake slowly edged him off the road. Eventually he heard them too, a loud rumble of ill-maintained diesel trucks and the air-cushioned whine of an Invy ground-effect vehicle. From where he hid in a small copse of wood, he could see down to where the road descended into a valley. It was two trucks, looked like old US Army LMTVs, accompanied by one Invy APC and a ground-effect cargo hauler. Following them were a ragtag collection of diesel pickups and farm equipment. He started to edge further back from the road, but then looked a little bit closer. From a whip antenna flew two flags, on top the Stars and Stripes, and underneath, the Black and Gold of the CEF.

  He goaded the horse into a walk and continued down the road. Eventually the vehicles came up to him and slowed, but didn’t stop. On the bed of the trucks were dozens of men and women, all armed to the teeth with a motley assortment of weaponry. As they passed him by, he raised his carbine in salute, and they cheered. Standing in the turret of the Invy APC was a man he suddenly realized he knew, someone who had been a young LT when Blake was a PFC in the Rangers. Now, the man’s hair was close-cropped and silvered, and he bore the rank of lieutenant colonel. Doubting that the man would recognize an old troop after so much time, he stood as high as he could in the saddle and yelled, “RANGERS LEAD THE WAY!”

  The man’s head turned to look at who had shouted, and when he saw the horseman dressed in a CEF uniform, he stood straighter and shouted back, “YOU’VE COME A LONG WAY FOR A FUCK UP, PRIVATE BLAKE!” with a huge grin. Blake grinned back, saluted, and then held it as the rest of the convoy drove by. On the side of the cargo hauler was written ‘PORTLAND OR BUST’ and one of the LMTVs had two Dragon’s heads mounted on top of the cab on spikes.

  For a moment, he was tempted to spur his horse, wave them down, and join them. Only for a moment, though. His fight had been a decade long, and he had his own mission to accomplish. Getting things together to provide supplies and food was just as important as fighting, if not more so.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a screaming wail from overhead as two Invy interceptors dove at the small convoy, walking plasma cannon across the road. The horse reared in terror and bolted, carrying him away from the attack site. Her heard rifle and machine gun fire, but by the time he was able to get the animal under control, the convoy was out of sight around a bend. All he could see was a column of oily smoke.

  The attack craft, ungainly with their stubby wings, arced around for another run, but a streak of white, and something detonated just off to one side of the lead attacker, followed by another. The stricken craft tumbled and then heeled over, plunging into the ground. Its wingman turned and fled south down the valley, followed by a pair of robin egg blue F-15s. One rocketed up and then turned over, diving down toward the earth, while the other tried to stay on the tail of the madly twisting Invy, firing short cannon bursts. The distracted alien never noticed the plane plunging down from above, and died from a burst across the cockpit, crashing to the valley floor.

  Both planes slowed, flew over, and waggled their wings before climbing back into the sky. Blake rode hard toward the convoy and didn’t stop until he’d pulled up to the wreckage of the Invy cargo hauler, burning fiercely. Bodies lay scattered about, and the few wounded were being loaded into the back of one of the LMTVs, presumably to head back to Yakima. Blake found the colonel still up in the APC, talking on a radio. He waited until the man was done and asked if there was anything he could do to help.

  “Hell no. It’s war, Blake, and shit happens. That’s the second time they’ve hit us since we started out, and those zoomies were waiting for them. I’m pissed, but like I said, shit happens. Maybe we’ll h
ave a smooth ride from here on out.” He stopped and wiped his forehead with a bandana, then put his tan beret back on. “You just keep doing whatever spooky shit you’re doing.”

  “Just raising the Shire, Sir! And scouting for supplies.”

  “Yeah, the ODA Commander in Yakima told me they were expecting you. MOUNT UP!” he yelled. There was one final pistol shot as a medic gave a blessing to someone who wasn’t going to make it anyway, and then the convoy drove away.

  Chapter 107

  He’d almost felt like stopping in Yakima would be a waste. The town showed heavy effects from the fighting, from the eroded giant crater scarring the ground at the old Army training center, to the more recent fires and bullet holes. The people there, well, any that had any fight were on the convoy headed to Portland. The Operational Detachment had also left, headed over the mountains to organize the fight for Spokane, and there was a general attitude of ‘what the hell do we do now?’

  Blake checked in with the highest-ranking militia member he could find, a seriously old first lieutenant who must have been pushing seventy. He sat behind a desk with his head in his hands, and barely looked up when the sergeant entered the repurposed Invy administration building. There was a splash of blood on the wall behind him, human blood, that no one had bothered to clean up.

  “Thank God you’re here!” said the man, and he tiredly stood up, coming around the desk. “There’s so much for you to do!” With that, the officer launched into a litany of complaints, most of which seemed to revolve around getting anyone to actually do anything to prepare for the coming winter.

  He let the man rant for a bit, and then said, “What exactly do you want me to do, Sir? Haven’t they formed some kind of civilian leadership? A council or something?”

  “What? No! The military is in charge here! Why should they?”

  “Aren’t you the military?” asked Blake, both amused and appalled.

  That seemed to befuddle the old man. “I’m … I’m just a militia officer! My last service was in Iraq in 2003! They know me here, they won’t take me seriously.”

  “Then I suggest you shoot some to make an example,” said the Special Operations soldier.

  “Can’t you?” he asked, “Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

  “I’m here to hand out these,” answered the NCO, giving Lieutenant Sharply a bunch of flyers.

  That seemed to deflate him even more, and Blake felt sorry or him. “Listen, Sir, I’ve got to hit the road north, can’t stay. Orders, you know. But if you want, I’ll go out and talk to them. You have some way to signal everyone?”

  Eventually, everyone that wanted to be there was there in the center of town, in front of the old courthouse. Blake mounted the steps, trying to look as menacing as he could while walking next to the stooped and defeated old man. When they reached the top of the stairs, the sergeant gestured for Sharply to speak.

  “Uh, hello everyone,” he said weakly, “thanks for coming.”

  Crap, thought Blake, this isn’t going to work. “I got this, Sir,” he said politely and stepped in front of him.

  “LISTEN UP!” he called in his best NCO voice. They ignored him, still chattering and talking. He pointed his carbine in the air and, despite knowing that the bullet had to come down somewhere, fired a shot, hopefully in the direction of some farmland. That got their attention, and a hush fell over the crowd. “My name is Staff Sergeant Erik Blake, and I’m from a recaptured town just south of Olympia. I came here to bring you some news about what’s going on, and to let you all know that the CEF will be coming through here soon, looking for food and supplies to continue the war.”

  “FUCK THE CEF! AND FUCK YOU!” shouted a man toward the back.

  Blake walked forward, down the steps, and through the crowd toward the man who had spoken. The crowd parted in front of him, and he came up to the shouter. It was a man in his forties with tangled hair and shabby clothes. For a moment, the sergeant stared at him, fingers tapping on the stock of his rifle.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the man finally asked.

  “Trying to decide if I should shoot you or not,” was the calm reply.

  The man’s face went pale, and he stepped back, saying, “You can’t do that!”

  “I can, but I won’t. Martial Law has been in effect since the Invasion, so I could. Probably should. You look pretty well fed. Hung out with the Invy, did you? Maybe shared some meat with them at times?” A circle seemed to form around them as if by magic, people stepping away rather than be implicated by association.

  “How is it that people like you always turn up when the fighting is over?” Blake turned and walked away, back up the steps. The circle around the man remained; Blake figured he would leave town that night, one way or another.

  “I’m not here to shoot anyone,” he said to the crowd, “but make no mistake, we need your help. I understand many of you can’t fight, or are just in shock from recent events. I know I am.” He turned to Lt. Sharply and asked, “Do you have weapons here?” When he got an affirmative, he looked back at the crowd.

  “We’re not in the business of running things in the CEF. We just want to win the war. To that effect, and I don’t know why they didn’t do it before your OD Team left, we’ve been putting town councils together. You’ll get a chance to have regional elections in April, but if you don’t get your shit together before winter, there’s going to be a whole lot of dying.”

  He turned back to the LT again and asked, “I need you to pick five people out of the crowd to form a council. You know these people; I don’t. I’ll stay here today, back you up, and ask them to delegate a town police force. The Operational Detachment will be back here soon enough, or someone else from the CEF will.”

  “OK, Sergeant. This is a little outside my lane, I was a banker.”

  “Yes, but what were you in the service?” he asked.

  A little bit of pride showed in the old man. “I was Cavalry, and got wounded in the push up the Euphrates with the 3rd ID. Medically discharged.”

  “Well, somewhere that brash young soldier is still in there. Did you do good?”

  “I did. Didn’t lose a man. Now, let me see…John Templeton! Regina Sanchez! Billy Chu!” People started stepping out of the crowd, and Blake went forward to meet them, shaking each puzzled person’s hand and thanking them. They had no idea for what, but it disarmed them.

  When all five had gathered, three men and two women, all older, on the steps, Blake raised his hand for silence again. This time he got to it immediately. “This is your new town council. If anyone has a problem with it, see me. If you have an actual problem, see them.” He turned to the new councilmen, er, councilpersons, and smiled at them.

  One of the new leadership, obviously Billy Chu, smiled back and said, in purest rancher drawl, “You son of a bitch!”

  Blake laughed and said, “If you have any security concerns, see Lieutenant Sharply. Anything else is your problem. I suggest you have shit organized and get in contact with CEF Logistics up at SeaTac if you don’t want them to scavenge you dry. Prior Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance, pardon my language, ladies. Now if you’ll excuse me, the LT and I are going to start interviewing for a police force, since your entire militia left to go fight in Portland.”

  With that, he strolled off back to the converted Invy admin center, which he suspected would soon become the new Town Hall, followed by his new best friend, Lt. Sharpley.

  Chapter 108

  After a week on the horse, he was ready to go home. The mountains were beautiful in the fall, but his ass hurt from the saddle, and he was tired of shell-shocked stupid people. Blake had met other CEF soldiers, even company-sized Main Force elements moving on the road, but he’d heard more rumor than news. He did know that there’d been a big battle down by San Francisco, and the Navy had lost some ships, but no word of his son, of course. He was desperate for information and pushed the horse as hard as he could through Snoqualmie Pass.

 
I-90 was still in decent shape, maintained by Invy machinery and slaves, and there were now occasional trucks, mostly CEF military vehicles coming down out of storage in the mountains, but occasionally big eighteen-wheelers carrying massive generators and compact-fusion power plants. They’d all been in storage, supposedly under decent conditions, and the electric motors were hooked directly into the power plants, but he still didn’t trust that one wouldn’t lose its brakes going down the long inclines. In fact, he did pass one that had gone off the side of a cliff, on an uphill. He figured the driver must have fallen asleep and gone right down the three-hundred-foot embankment. It also took his horse some time to get used to vehicles; it hadn’t been born yet the last time a big truck rolled down this highway.

  A day later, he approached an overlook that faced northwest, and slowed, stopping the horse. He’d been here to picnic before, with his wife, young daughter, and baby son. Back then, the view of Seattle had been hazy, covered with smog and the omnipresent rain. Still, it had been a nice sight to see, with Puget Sound a dull smudge on the horizon. Today, though, the view was sunny and crystal clear, one of those rare, bright, Pacific Northwest afternoons that he so loved. If only Angie could be here…but there was no going down that road. The past was literally dead and buried. Maybe he would bring Kim here someday, and that thought brought a smile to his face.

  Raising a powerful set of digital binoculars to his eyes, Blake swept the length of Puget Sound. In the north, a large Navy ship sailed slowly toward Bremerton. He recognized the distinctive silhouette of a World War Two battleship, and his heart pounded in his chest. Zooming in, he saw that the ship had incredible battle scars, including holes directly through the hull, a cracked turret, and a gaping wound where he assumed the bridge was. Or had been. He hoped like hell Alex hadn’t been on that ship, because sure as shit, it had taken casualties. A sense of pride, and a thrill, ran through him as he saw the red, white, and blue fluttering from the communications mast. Wherever they’d gone, the Invy had known they were in a fight.