Disintegration ba-1

by Anthony DeCosmo

  "Where?"

  "Eagle Two is on its way over the mountains and east to Blakeslee. Dunston is to the south below Hazleton."

  Trevor sighed and said, "Okay, where do you need us?"

  "Could you head north above Scranton to the Mid-Valley area?"

  Trevor realized Dante sought reconnaissance in three different directions.

  "Home Plate, what’s going on?"

  "Um, Eagle One, I need a follow-up on reports we got from ground scouts."

  Trevor asked, "What are we looking for?"

  Silence.

  "Dante, for Christ’s sake what did the scouts tell you?"

  "Trevor, we have armies come at us. Three of them."

  – At twelve noon on June 1, Eagle One with Trevor Stone at the controls soared over the northern suburbs of Scranton. Below them, the ground moved like a slowly rolling tide: Red Hand tribesmen swarming south like locusts.

  Thousands of them.

  – They landed on one of the newly built pads by the marina on the far side of the lake. Nina and Trevor transferred to a Humvee and drove for the mansion.

  "Three armies at once? I don't buy that as a coincidence. There must have been two thousand of those Red Hands. Probably take-hey, you awake over there?"

  Nina’s head rested against the side window with her eyes shut.

  Trevor skidded to a stop along the shoulder of the road.

  "Nina! Hey, Nina!"

  She bolted upright. "What? What’s wrong?"

  Trevor’s heart pounded as he told her, "You were out."

  "Oh. Guess I fell asleep."

  She refused to face him; her eyes focused ahead.

  He asked, "What is it? Are you feeling okay?"

  She redirected, "C’mon, get going. We have to find out what’s going on."

  "Jesus Christ, Nina, has this happened before? Are you fainting?"

  "Look, no big deal. I’m just not sleeping well."

  "Bull shit. I sleep next to you. How many times has this happened?"

  "Just get us-"

  "How many times, damn it!"

  She stared at her hands saying, "Three or four times, in the last two weeks…I think."

  "Have you talked to Johnny about this?"

  "Listen, maybe I’m not eating right. Just a little light-headedness. We can talk about it later. I’m just saying we’ve got more important stuff now."

  Trevor glared at her and said, "We’re going to get you checked out."

  "Yeah, sure, whatever, but let’s get moving."

  – Trevor, his council, the inner circle of military minds, and the pilots returning from reconnaissance missions packed into the Command Center.

  Dunston, a slender black man from Prescott’s group with a background in flying med-evac Blackhawks for the Army, relayed what he had seen before fleeing anti-air fire. Trevor listened while his eyes studied the map spread over the desktop.

  "They’re humanoid and marching in loose formations. They had some carts or something pulled by animals. Like horse and wagon stuff, except they sure weren’t horses."

  Trevor asked, "Nothing motorized?"

  "Couldn’t tell for sure. I didn’t see any air support, either. I did see something that looked like a catapult and that made me think of them as Vikings, but that's really not right." The pilot chuckled and explained, "I guess it's getting harder and harder to come up with new names for everything we run in to."

  "How many?" Brewer asked.

  "At least a couple hundred, but they did a good job of staying under cover. I mean, until they popped out and started hitting me with something."

  Trevor called, "Omar, get over to check out what hit Dunston’s Eagle." Trevor then spoke to the pilot again: "What way are they coming?"

  Dunston leaned over the map and traced a line along Interstate 81.

  "Heading north in the woods alongside the highway."

  Shep asked Trevor, "And the Red Hands?"

  "They’re coming south down Route 11."

  Prescott said, "Maybe these Red Hand guys will fight it out with the Viking things."

  Trevor asked the other recon pilot, "Bragg, what did you see?"

  Bragg, another addition from Prescott’s group with experience flying Apaches and now alien air ships, stepped forward. He relayed his information in a firm, no-nonsense voice that matched his firm, no-nonsense appearance.

  "Sir, some nasty shit coming our way from the east, Sir."

  "Let’s hear it, soldier."

  "Never saw anything like them, Sir. Some sort of machines. I don’t know if there’s anything inside of em’ or if they’re just…well, I think they’re robots, Sir."

  The information nearly sounded funny, particularly coming from a man who had managed to keep his army crew cut perfectly sculpted even after a year on the run.

  "Car-sized, Sir. Like robotic cockroaches or something. Six legs each. Got some sort of machine guns on them. Wouldn’t want to be standing toe to toe with them, Sir."

  Brewer asked, "Any artillery? Heavy weapons? Air cover?"

  "No, Sir. I think each of these things packs a good wallop on its own. And the

  Grenadiers, well, they can’t take a bite out these things. Sorry, Sir."

  Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Stonewall asked, "Did you ascertain their number?"

  "I think seventy-five to one hundred, Sir. They were in the open pretty good but scattered across a wide front. They’re heading right along Route 115. Coming this way, slow but sure."

  Trevor traced his fingers over the map.

  Brewer said, "These Viking things and the robots are on a path that’ll bring them together outside the Wyoming Valley Mall where 81 and 115 intersect by the expressway. The Red Hands are coming down along the river."

  Dante hoped, "Maybe they’ll run into each other and start fighting."

  Trevor sighed but it was Nina who said what was on his mind: "Look, they’re not going to fight each other. They’re going to meet up and march right out here; one big happy army."

  Evan Godfrey interrupted, "You don’t know that! They might just pass us by."

  Once again, Nina spoke for Trevor: "They’re coming for us. This isn’t a coincidence."

  Evan moved from the crowd into the limelight of the conversation.

  "Yeah, you’d just love that. Another reason to have another war. Can’t we go negotiate with them? We’re talking about intelligent races."

  Trevor replied, "No."

  Nina said, "These things meet up-what? — two days from now then they head out here."

  Shep voiced what they all realized: "Reckon they would just overwhelm us."

  "Dante," Trevor commanded, "get your scouts out. I need updates on movement and headings and everything. Get them going. Now."

  "Yeah man, no problem."

  Stonewall said, "May I make a suggestion? Some say the battle of Gettysburg was won on the first day."

  Jon Brewer’s knowledge of history forced him to correct, "That was a three day fight."

  Stonewall conceded, "Yes, but on the first day the confederate army's fate was sealed."

  Brewer followed Stonewall's thinking: "The Union army occupied the high ground outside of town. The confederates spent the next two days attacking those positions."

  "Indeed," Stonewall agreed. "History may have recorded a different outcome if General Lee had secured the high ground for the Army of Northern Virginia that day."

  First Trevor, then Brewer, then Shep leaned closer to the map.

  Trevor said, "We sure as hell can’t let those armies come together."

  Brewer echoed, "Wow, yeah. That’d be bad."

  "Get those scouts out and the Eagles flying. We need info. Prescott, get me an up to date listing of armaments and munitions. Garrett, put together your best skirmishers."

  Stonewall bowed.

  "People, I think things are going to get interesting over the next forty-eight hours; if we have that long. I don’t want those a
rmies converging. I’m going airborne to check some things out and I’m mustering every K9 I can find."

  As the meeting dispersed, Evan said to Trevor, "Let me try negotiating."

  "They’re coming for us. I’d love to send you to negotiate but you’d never come back."

  "Okay then, what is it you want me to do?"

  "What do you want to do?"

  Evan replied, "I guess I’m going to fight."

  Trevor’s wide eyes and gape revealed his surprise.

  Evan muttered, "You think because I don’t agree with you I’m a coward? You don’t know me. Just because I don’t like the idea of fighting for the rest of my life doesn’t mean I won’t stand up when I need to."

  "Okay then. We’ll get you assigned somewhere. In the meantime, round up any transportation, fuel supplies and anything else we might need. Think creative. Who knows what this is going to take."

  Evan Godfrey walked away.

  Nina joined Trevor.

  "You two making friends?"

  "No. Sometimes you pigeonhole someone then you learn that was a mistake. Mark it down; Evan’s not afraid to put it on the line."

  "Good. I’m just saying everyone is going to have to fight."

  "Yeah," Trevor watched Evan leave the room. "Sooner or later everyone fights for what they believe in."

  – Trevor told Nina to get an hour’s rest and something to eat while he planned to take an Eagle to analyze the topography to the east and south.

  He walked out of the mansion’s front doors with Tyr by his side and stopped.

  The white wolf paced frantically just beyond the northern fence.

  Trevor, his eyes on the Old Man’s familiar, had one more order to give before he could answer the call from his benefactor. He told Tyr, "Complete assembly. As soon as possible."

  As the dog bolted off in one direction, Trevor went around the fence on the perimeter road to follow the wolf as it hurried off into the woods.

  The forest turned the day dark. New leaves waved in a brisk spring wind. The old, dried leaves from last fall covered the ground in dried rot.

  The Old Man paced along the rim of a flickering fire and sneered, "’Bout damned time."

  "I got here as fast as I could."

  Trevor tried to sound annoyed at the interruption, but he lost any edge as he saw the expression in the Old Man's eyes: as he saw the fear- out right fear — there.

  The Old Man’s next words changed Trevor Stone’s world forever.

  "You can’t be with her." The man’s wrinkled, crooked hand trembled as he waved it toward Stone. "I didn’t see this thing comin’ but this here is the way it is. Had I known earlier this would of been easier."

  Trevor cocked his head. "Huh? What are you talking about? Does this have something to do with the three armies?"

  The Old Man repeated, "You can’t be with her."

  Trevor came to understand the Old Man’s meaning.

  "What? Are you talking about Nina? Who I’m with is none of your business."

  The Old Man pumped a shaky fist that appeared more afraid than angry.

  "I told you, you walk a path. You can either do what you’re supposed to be doin’ or you fail and things end."

  "Take your riddles somewhere else; I don’t have time for this shit. I have three god damn armies of nasties coming at us."

  "And that don’t mean diddly! You think I don’t know what’s comin’ down the pike? But that don’t mean nothin’ if you don’t listen to me now!"

  Trevor shot, "I’m doing everything you told me to do. I’ve fought the fight. I’ve been through a living hell. I’ve been beaten and tortured and felt pain like no man should ever feel. I have nightmares that would give Freddy Krueger the creeps. Sometimes I can still feel those friggin’ bugs crawling in my skin. So I find one little ounce of happiness in this world and you tell me no? Well screw you and all your shit. If you don’t like me with Nina then go find someone else for the job."

  Trevor started to walk off.

  "Somethin’ bad gunna happen to her."

  Trevor turned with the devil in his face.

  "I don’t know what you are, but I will spend the rest of my life and all my time in Hell getting my vengeance if you hurt her."

  The Old Man placed a hand on his forehead and spoke with a tone of frustration and, perhaps, a touch of pity.

  "Oh Trevor, you just ain’t hearin’ me cause you in love. I told you. You walk a path. She ain’t on that path, Trevor. I can see where it goes. She ain’t with you. You don’t have the brainpower to understand what this be all about. You don’t have the mental ca-pacity."

  "What do you have against Nina?"

  The Old Man grimaced.

  "Damn it! You fool! I didn’t see her comin’. I didn’t know you two were makin’ hay and talking about riding off into the sunset together. Break it off, Trevor. Stop it now whilst there’s still time. If you love her, then you’ll send her packin’ and then maybe she’ll be just fine. But you go tryin' to take her with you arm and arm like a couple honeymooners then sometin’ gunna stop you. I don’t know what. Sometin’."

  Trevor pointed at him.

  "Now you listen to me. I’ve done everything you asked. I survived, I fought, I…"

  He caught himself.

  "That’s right," the Old Man grinned in a mean way. "I warned you. Thought it’d be as simple as taking a shot for your buddy, didn’t you? Or maybe givin’ up cable TV was your big sacrifice. Truth is, right now you’d rather die than give her up."

  Again, a hint of compassion slipped into the man’s tone. A hint.

  "This ain’t ‘bout you. Never was. You just a link in a chain. You can’t do what you got to do with her ‘round. She’s a good fighter, though. Probably serve you well killin’ and whatnot."

  Trevor walked away.

  "You got no choice. End it before sometin’ happens that you’ll blame yourself for!"

  Trevor walked faster.

  "SHE’S NOT ON THE PATH WITH YOU!"

  He ran.

  – Despite his visit with the Old Man, Trevor spent two hours in one of the captured alien shuttles now named "Eagles" scouting the turf between Wilkes-Barre and Hazleton. He found big, rolling, wooded mountains on either side of Interstate 81. Good defensive ground.

  During his return flight, he received a radio update from Dante.

  "Eagle Three was hit by some kind of small artillery shell. Omar thinks it just sorta skimmed the ship or Dunston would have been blown up."

  Trevor sat in the pilot’s seat, guiding the Eagle toward the lake through big alien navigation goggles. He heard Dante’s words but did not react. Too much clouded his mind.

  "Trev? Hey man, you there?"

  "Yes."

  "Omar patched it up no problem. As for the other bunch of cyber…robot…roach… whatevers, the scouts say they’re held up at Blakeslee for a bit, kind of a pause. Looks like they’re killin’ anything that moves. Even, shit, like squirrels and stuff."

  Trevor grumbled, "They’ll be coming soon enough."

  "What’s that? I didn’t copy that."

  "Never mind. Go ahead."

  "The Red Hands are at Scranton. They’re camped out by the old Viewmont Mall there and it looks like they’ve sent out hunting parties and shit. Probably hanging out for a while."

  Trevor knew they would be coming, too.

  "Okay, Dante. Tell everyone to get together at the mansion. I’ve been thinking a few things over and I’ve got some ideas."

  "Okay man, roger that and all."

  Several minutes later, Trevor parked Eagle One at the marina landing-zone and drove to the estate. As he walked inside the mansion, all eyes fell to him. He knew why, too.

  It would be his plan. Sure, Jon and Shep, Nina and Prescott, maybe even Stonewall and Dante would have ideas. In the end, he led and they followed. It rested on his shoulders.

  His path to walk.

  When Trevor pushed open the doors to the Command Center, he fou
nd Jon Brewer and Jerry Shepherd kneeling on the floor over the unconscious body of Nina Forest.

  30. Warning Signs

  Trevor examined the map again, trying to focus on the battle plan and not on Nina who was en route to General Hospital after having remained unconscious for five minutes.

  He asked Stonewall, "Your brigade ready?"

  "Most certainly, Sir. Stonewall's brigade will ride again."

  Woody Ross, in the corner, let out a quiet ‘hoo-rah’.

  "You understand your mission?"

  "Cavalry circles. I shall ride rings around the approaching enemy, fill his head with confusion, and make him wonder what spirits haunt his flanks. His progress will be slowed while you prepare the main lines."

  Trevor corrected, "While General Shepherd prepares those lines." He explained, "You are my Generals. Stonewall, Shep, Prescott and, of course, Jon," he rested a hand on the latter. Dante stood aside, a step apart from the 'Generals'. "We have fought together for almost a year. The sad part is, if we win this time it will not be the last battle. But if we lose…"

  Prescott said, "Pardon my French but, shoot, I thought I was going to die a long time ago. Everyday from now on in is just icing."

  Trevor pointed to the south of the map.

  "Okay, one more time. Stonewall, you guys ride out before dawn and get those Viking-things looking over their shoulder. That gives us three good mountains to use as defensive points. Shepherd, you start laying em’ out."

  Shep said, "Seems to me the bear is going to go over them mountains and he’s going to keep seein’ the same thing. Me."

  "Jon," Trevor went on. "You’ve got a big nut to crack: the cyber-bot-roach-things… the…shit, just call them the ‘Roachbots."

  Jon spoke for all of them when he said, "Now that name just plain sucks."

  "Best we can do for now. Roachbots it is. Make sure Anita gets a sketch of these things into the hostiles database."

  "What does it matter?" Prescott asked. "We lose, we won’t be needin’ that thing."

  Trevor told him, "No, but maybe the next batch of survivors could use it."

  "Anyway…" Jon steered the conversation forward.

  "Anyway," Trevor echoed. "Jon, you’ll be in a tough spot with these things. You can have two of the Redcoat artillery pieces. I think the Abrams will be yours, too. That means Prescott here will ride shotgun with you."