Empire ba-2

by Anthony DeCosmo

  He saw cities carved into the sides of blue-rock mountains and homes grown from glowing crystals.

  Then he saw Earth, the beautiful blue and white globe that had become a battleground.

  Then he felt the gateways being shut down.

  Felt it.

  The invaders were cut off.

  The orbs released Jon’s hands but they were not yet done with their work.

  A roar of energy built around the runes. Ghosts of images from other worlds danced about; but they were only ghosts, flickering images echoing across dimensions.

  Strange creatures. Some of which he recognized from five years of fighting, others he had never seen.

  They were not there in the enigma; they were on their home worlds but for a short time the door between those worlds and dimensions became more a window.

  Jon tried watch but he was interrupted. The Viking warrior had recovered from his pummeling. He was not happy and he was not a ghost.

  The shorter alien smacked Jon hard with a fist, then another, then reached up and grabbed Brewer’s throat.

  The General struggled to pull the hands from his neck but could not escape the alien’s potent grip.

  As he felt his wind pipe crush, Jon Brewer saw the face of his wife, Lori, and heard her words.

  You come home to me and your little girl. You come home.

  He had not traveled thousands of miles by air, in a submarine, and across the Arctic Circle…done battle with skyscraper-sized demons and subterranean sharks…only to choke to death in the hands of one short little alien bastard.

  No. I’m going home today.

  He brought a knee into the extraterrestrial’s gut then butted his aching head into the enemy’s poncho just above the goggles.

  This time the grip released.

  “Fuck…” Jon landed a solid left then a devastating right hook. The alien staggered as its goggles slipped crooked from the blows. He then kicked his big boot into the shorter alien’s chest.

  “…YOU!”

  The kick sent the Viking backwards hard and fast and between the pillars.

  Jon watched in amazement at what happened next.

  As the alien stumbled between those pillars, his body broke apart atom by atom and then disappeared. A moment later, that same Viking warrior joined the collection of ghostly images around the runes.

  Jon got it. He understood.

  The runes might control-and now shut down-the gateways coming to Earth, but they also served as an exit home. A one-way ticket for aliens to their point of origin.

  He gaped at the runes and mumbled, “Wow.”

  Then another surprise.

  A wall of energy blasted out from the runes in all directions, encompassing the entire city-sized structure and expanding even further…

  …Outside on the ice cap, Captain Fink and his men as well as the remaining Wraiths and Vikings saw this wall of energy roll out from the obelisk as if it were a tsunami. He instinctively raised his hand and a scream escaped his lips as the force enveloped the human camp as well as the aliens to either side.

  It passed through him and continued on for another mile or so across the frozen wastelands before evaporating.

  “What in the name of Jesus was that?” He spoke aloud but even before he finished the words something more interesting grabbed his attention.

  The Wraiths. The Vikings.

  Gone…

  …Everything went silent. The gears and wires and pendulums froze. No energy flowed in the complex except for whatever powered the lights.

  The enigma was solved. The walls of the structure locked open. Cold air filtered in from outside.

  Brewer saw his hand print forever sealed in the top of each orb, marking this world for humanity.

  The General collapsed to his knees, then to the floor, and rolled over on his back.

  At first it sounded like a sob but as it grew in volume it became a laugh. A laugh from Jon Brewer’s lips.

  With the machinery now silent, he heard the voices of the surviving members of the entry team. He also heard the unmistakable voice of Reverend Johnny somewhere on the ridge above tending to Cooper: “Easy does it…easy does it…you’ll be okay, praise the Lord.”

  Jon Brewer closed his eyes and saw his daughter’s face.

  “I’m coming home, sweat pea. I’m coming home.”

  24. Ten ‘Til Midnight

  “The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil water-way leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky-seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.”

  — Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

  A long-term storage facility served as the center point of the Hivvan supply depot at Dillon.

  Stonewall directed his division’s advance in multiple prongs, with the main force using a railroad line as its avenue of approach. His troops penetrated deep into Dillon uncontested and then charged at the dome-shaped alien structures that served as a Hivvan logistics hub.

  A rearguard of two Firecats and fifty or so light infantry remained, but the alien defenders broke, ran, or were killed by one of General Garret McAllister’s famous cavalry charges.

  The 2 ^ nd Mechanized Infantry Division secured Dillon moving block to block and house to house where they found nearly one-hundred human slaves alive and in hiding. They found three times that number dead in the street, executed minutes before liberation.

  McAllister’s men also searched those dome-shaped warehouses that had channeled materials north and east for the lizards’ Grand Army. They found an impressive stock of ammunition, energy cells, vehicle spare parts, and Hivvan military clothing; a sign that the matter transfiguration equipment in Columbia produced a tremendous quantity of materials.

  Stonewall dismounted his horse in the parking lot of the Dillon Church of God where his headquarters unit set up camp. Benny Duda supervised the unloading of equipment from a cargo truck while others hurried inside to establish an aid station as well as a communications center.

  Kristy Kaufman, flanked by cavalry soldiers, approached, dismounted, saluted, and reported, “General, Sir, we have established checkpoints around the perimeter of the city and have completed the first wave of neighborhood sweeps. We killed two Hivvan snipers down by the cemetery, but otherwise our men faced no opposition within the city limits.”

  “And Captain McBride?”

  “Dustin’s patrol went as far south as Latta where they spotted the remainder of the Hivvan rearguard. He says they showed no signs of looking for a fight.”

  “It is good news all around then. Splendid.”

  “Mission accomplished, General,” Kristy said, and then added with a wry smile, “Maybe next time they’ll give you something a little more challenging.”

  “Oh, now, let’s be careful what we wish for, Captain Kaufman. Our victory here will be short lived if General Shepherd does not-how should I say this? — get his ass moving. We still must march to the sea to seal the pocket once we receive word that Conway has been occupied.”

  “Now General, Sir, that is tomorrow’s worry. Today we can take satisfaction in yet another victory.” She then deepened her voice in an imitation of Bear Ross and shouted, “Three cheers for the General!”

  The cavalry soldiers and headquarters staff raised their voice and pumped their fists.

  “HOO-RAH!

  “HOO-RAH!

  “HOO-RAH!”

  Their General was, after all, the one and only Stonewall McAllister.

  While Nina Forest spent the day shopping with Denise Cannon and Jon Brewer fought his way through a city-sized machine, Trevor Stone walked along Route 17 toward the enclave of New Winnabow.

  He traveled alone with no dogs, no soldiers, no planes or tanks.

  As he neared the settlement, he saw a new, more robust checkpoint complete with crude tank traps made from scrap metal and razor wire slung haphazardly over wood supports.

  New Winnabow, it seemed, prepared f
or battle.

  Rifles and pistols cocked and aimed as he approached the checkpoint. Trevor saw the hands holding those weapons shiver. He walked alone and unarmed toward their barbed wire and their loaded guns yet they were afraid of him.

  How ironic, he thought considering how much New Winnabow scared the Hell out of him. He wondered, what kind of monster am I classified as in their Hostiles Database?

  “Halt!”

  He did so, and raised his empty hands in the air.

  The guards would not let him pass. Instead, Robert Parsons came to the checkpoint. The two leaders stood face to face in the center of the road under an afternoon sun.

  “I am giving no more tours, Mr. Stone. Unless you have come here to bid us farewell, you are not welcome.”

  “You know why I am here.”

  “Ah yes, this would be the point at which you threaten us, correct? Now you will tell us how much destruction you will visit upon our town if we do not relent.”

  Stone corrected, “No, I’m here to beg you. To ask your permission to allow us to march through your village for a good cause. What does it take? We have reached the end. The clock will soon strike midnight. This must be resolved here, now.”

  “I have told you, we shall not let you pass. This is our home and we control what happens here. No army shall march on our streets. We would become a part of your war and it would be the first step on a path we refuse to follow. It would be the beginning of our end.”

  Trevor did not debate, he only said, “You are giving me no choice.”

  The older man’s eyes widened. Clearly Trevor’s words angered him. “You have a choice! Stop being so arrogant for a moment and listen to yourself.”

  “Arrogant?” Stone matched Parson’s anger. “Who is arrogant?”

  “You are! You arrogantly assume that your needs-your goals-are loftier than ours. You want us to put aside what is important to our community to make way for you. That is arrogance!”

  “You far surpass my vanity,” Stone said in a subdued voice conveying a mix of anger and sadness. “You say I am arrogant? Look at yourself. You know what might happen to your city. Yet you put your own pride above the good of your people. A leader must have ideals, this is true, but a leader must also know what battles to fight, and when to stand down.”

  Parsons scoffed, “You would say anything to have your way.”

  “I would say anything to save my people. I will do anything to further the cause. If that means retreat, then I will retreat. If that means attack, then I will attack. If that means to demean myself or risk my life or give up what I value most…well I have done all of that already. But you…you are obviously not willing to sacrifice anything for the greater good.”

  “The greater good means nothing without principles.”

  “Wrong,” Trevor corrected. “The survival of our species is at stake. The only greater good that matters right now is ensuring we do not go extinct. That is the responsibility I bear. If that means I must destroy your city, I will do so.”

  “And there is the threat.”

  “Not a threat, Mr. Parsons. A forgone conclusion.”

  “And so it begins again. Congratulations, Trevor, you will start the first human on human war of the new world. I wonder how your people will take to that? How will history remember the name ‘Trevor Stone?’ If you attack, we will defend ourselves. My people are united on this. My council has given me their unanimous consent. We have guns and bullets. Your side will suffer casualties, too.”

  “I know.”

  “That blood will be on your hands. All that happens here will be your burden.”

  “I have…” Trevor thought, “…many such burdens.”

  “Go away, Emperor. Go away and do not come back. Not only for the sake of my people, but for your sake. I do not think you are a bad man, Trevor, but if you do this thing then you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

  Stone watched as Parsons turned and walked away, passing the checkpoint and returning to town.

  Trevor felt sorry for Robert Parsons and the people of New Winnabow because they did not comprehend the horror at their doorstep. He felt sorry for his own damned soul because he did.

  Shepherd walked out of his command tent on the afternoon of Wednesday, September 2 ^ nd and stood at the side of Route 17. His division had been encamped at Spring Hill for more than a week.

  At first, his men welcomed the respite after the fighting at Raleigh and the fast march to Wilmington. Those who did not have relatives following in the gypsy-like caravan of ‘groupies’ to the division’s rear used the time to write letters home. Others indulged hobbies such as art or music. Impromptu comedy acts and even plays popped up across camp. Whatever the choice, the first few days served as a nice rest for the boys.

  However, the time dragged and morale suffered. Nerves frayed. Touch football games turned into tackle, poker games deteriorated into brawls, and boxing matches replaced talent shows.

  Shepherd knew his men were restless. They had fought their way south. They had survived the battle of Raleigh. They had continued forward, poised to strike into the heart of the Hivvan holdings on Earth. Their bodies and minds remained tensed for combat.

  If the order came through to stand down for re-fitting and R amp;R, great, the men would know that the action was over for a time. A brief rest for some chow and sleep? Also great.

  But they had none of that surety. They only knew that they were supposed to be marching, but did not. They knew they should be engaging the Hivvans, but instead remained stationary in the middle of no where with no purpose, no goal, no sense of what was to come.

  Shepherd rolled his neck around on his shoulders to work out a stiff spot, a sign of his own nerves. Those nerves came from intelligence briefings.

  Recent reports clearly showed that the Hivvans had found their footing inside the pocket. Several formations had regrouped and were re-supplying via convoys from Conway. While 1 ^ st Mech waited at Spring Hill, the enemy corps changed from bands of defeated stragglers wandering in the wilderness of central North Carolina, to combat groups mustering for a fight.

  The balance of power was shifting. If the supplies from Conway continued to flow, the idea of a Hivvan counter-attack on Raleigh could become a reality. At this point, and with the 1 ^ st and 2 ^ nd Mechanized Divisions in their current positions, such a blow could set the war back a year; maybe two.

  Shep closed his eyes and envisioned the colored markers on his strategic maps. He saw an invigorated Hivvan force reverse direction from retreat to attack. He saw them smash the garrison units at Raleigh and the frantic recall of both himself and Stonewall before it was their divisions cut off from supply.

  The front would completely collapse and the aliens might push as far as the Virginia border before reserve forces or maybe Prescott‘s 1 ^ st Armored could be called in to plug the leak, assuming enough fuel and supplies remained to allow operations of that scale.

  Shepherd opened his eyes and spoke aloud to no one but himself.

  “Easy…easy does it. Just wait a second.”

  He reminded himself that one fundamental truth remained in his favor. The Hivvans depended on one supply point now. If Shepherd took out that junction, the enemy would be choked off. They could not move toward Raleigh. No matter how well organized, every army-even alien armies-needed food, bullets, artillery shells, and fuel. They would be trapped and subjected to artillery bombardment and a tightening noose of infantry.

  He could reach Conway from New Winnabow in a day or two and finish the job they started, but only if they got moving. Shep knew Stone had flown to Parson’s town that afternoon and he expected the situation would be resolved today.

  Cassy Simms ran toward him calling, “General Shepherd!”

  “Yes, Captain, what do you got?”

  “Sir, I just got off the horn with T-A-C. They told me Eagle One cleared local air space heading back north.”

  “What? Why the hell didn’t he stop
here? We’re just sitting around waiting for orders and he skips right over us and flies home? Did you receive any news?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “This is god damn ridiculous! We can’t sit around here any longer. We’ve either got to go forward or turn for home.”

  She said, “No orders came through. The only reason I even heard about this is because T-A-C had to coordinate air cover for Eagle One through our sector.”

  Shep clenched his teeth and grunted. Cassy Simms retreated a step, perhaps afraid the General might literally explode.

  He told her, “I need air transport, now.”

  “Where are you going, General?”

  “To the estate to talk to Trevor Stone. One way or another, this has to end.”

  The white airship codenamed Eagle One landed in a paved parking area adjacent to the cluster of single-story buildings comprising the Belville Elementary School. A white wooden fence and big green lawns around the school gave the place more the feeling of a retirement ranch or country-themed motel than a school. However, the smashed windows and the overturned bus chased away any peaceful ambiance.

  Route 133 ran by the school’s front entrance. On the opposite side of that road was another parking lot for a boat launch accessing the Brunswick River. A Blackhawk transport helicopter had landed there; three soldiers milled around under the silent rotors.

  Captain Nina Forest walked alongside Trevor Stone as the two paced the center line of Route 133, the middle ground between their respective rides. The sun hovered just above the horizon, prepared to make its final journey into twilight. That, combined with the isolated location, the thick forest to each horizon, and the nature of their discussion, made the time feel more like night than day.

  “Do you understand your orders?”

  Nina nodded.

  He thought, do you understand that I am using you again? The only thing you can give me now is your killing nature.

  Trevor knew she did not remember the time five years ago when he unleashed her to slaughter the Red Hand tribes infesting northeastern Pennsylvania and threatening his estate. He had been mean to her then; cold, punishing her for the blackness in his own heart.