Now he felt regret, even guilt, for sending her on a mission such as this. Since the theft of her memories, she was merely a tool in his arsenal.
My sword.
On his orders, she had killed countless aliens. He wondered if she would see the task at hand in a different light.
“Captain Forest, do you have any reservations about the objectives or parameters of this mission?”
Judging by her reaction, his words smacked her nearly as hard as a punch.
“Sir, of course not, Sir.”
“Those aren’t Hivvans out there, or Red Hands.”
Nina asked him an interesting question: “Are they your enemies?”
That gave him pause. She did not ask if they were enemies of humanity but if they were Trevor Stone’s enemies, a more personal consideration. He nearly said ‘no’ but that would have merely been a nice lie. From the moment Robert Parsons decided to place New Winnabow between Trevor Stone and the cause he served, they had, in fact, become his enemies.
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll get the job done. You can count on us, Sir. Have the other arrangements been made?”
“Yes,” Trevor told her. “You may hear some chatter from local commanders between now and morning. Ignore it. They’ll have their answers soon enough.”
She understood.
Nina saluted, turned around, and returned to her side of the road.
“Nina,” he surprised her by speaking her first name. “Good luck.”
A few moments later, the Blackhawk and the Eagle lifted from the ground and went their separate ways.
25. Midnight
Trevor sat back in his chair and gazed at the maps and written orders and statistics scattered across the top of his huge desk. All the trappings of an Emperor. His power measured in letters and numbers.
Outside the balcony doors, the sky remained pitch black although dawn would soon rise.
Inside his office on the second floor of the mansion, the only light came from the desk lamp, the glow of which cast over the gray mustache and hair of General Jerry Shepherd as he stood before his Emperor.
“Trevor, did you hear what I said?”
He answered in a mumble, “Yes, I heard you. I understand completely.”
Among the papers and maps on Trevor’s desk sat the most recent intelligence report. The Hivvans inside the pocket now received massive resupply through Conway. With these supplies and improving communications, that alien army would certainly strike at Raleigh in a few days.
Shepherd repeated, “If Parsons lets us through today, we can still complete the mission in time. Otherwise we have to pull back now so we don’t get our asses handed to us. I flew all the way up here because I have to have an answer, one way or the other.”
Trevor did not answer. He looked at the papers, he looked at the glowing lamp, he looked at the place on the floor where the half-brother he had not known existed died a few days ago.
For every Sir Lancelot in your blood, there’s a Genghis Kahn.
A soft rap on the door drew both men’s attention. Dante Jones walked into the glow of the desk lamp.
“I heard you were in town,” Jones said to Shepherd. “Then I saw the light.”
“Good, you should be here,” Trevor said and he stood up from his chair.
Jones’ eyes narrowed. He looked to Trevor to Shepherd, then back to Trevor again.
“Wait a second. Trevor, you can’t be considering blasting through New Winnabow. Are you? You can’t do that.”
Shepherd said nothing. Trevor asked, “Why’s that, Dante?”
“No…no,” the idea horrified him. He ran a hand over his forehead as if the temperature in the room suddenly rose to sauna levels. “I’ve been there. I’ve seen them. They’re people. They are human, like us. There has to be another way. We can find an alternate route. Maybe negotiate with them.”
Trevor’s voice remained calm as he replied, “We’re out of time, Dante.”
“Trevor, I know you. I knew you back when you were Richard. The man I’ve known all my life can’t murder innocent civilians. Not for any reason. You have to find another way.”
“The Dark Wolves are already in the air.”
Again Dante alternated his eyes between the silent General Shepherd and Trevor.
“What? Wait. Look, Trevor, Nina can’t take that town by herself. You need an army to do that. Trev, don’t do this.”
“It’s already done.”
Dante paced out of the glow of the light and then back in. He held his hands up as if trying to grab an idea that eluded him. He gasped in frustration, but then his eyes widened and he asked Shepherd, “Have you received marching orders?”
Shepherd’s answer came in the slow shake of his head ‘no’.
Dante looked to Trevor again and said, “There’s time. Shep’s army is still camped at Spring Hill. You can recall the Wolves. Stop this!”
Trevor gazed vacantly at something the other men could not see and told them, “I have more than one army…”
…The wind roared in Nina’s ear as she and her human team members dropped out of the night, exiting the airplane at extreme altitude and holding their chutes until the last possible moment in a tactic known as a H.A.L.O. drop. An old school insertion technique for a new type of war.
As the air buffeted her body in freefall, she felt a sense of euphoria, as if liberated. An illusion, she knew; gravity still held her in its grasp even if that grasp did not feel so strong.
Her goggles and gear wiggled and a few soft clanks and clings managed to reach her ear despite the roar of wind. Her body cut through a curtain of misty white clouds giving her the sensation of falling through a floor. On the other side, she faced a void of black stretching off in all directions, making any visual estimate of altitude impossible. She relied, instead, on the instruments strapped to her forearm.
As she and her fellow wolves descended, a few pinpricks of lights appeared below. She knew one to be a watch tower, another a gate, yet another torches outside the council chambers’ entrance.
Not much, but enough to provide guidance to their landing zone.
At the right moment- the last possible moment — the chutes deployed.
It was an abrupt end to a glorious fall that had felt more like flight. The harness straps pulled at and bruised her shoulders. Her equipment jingled and jangled from the sudden deceleration.
Unseen in the black of night, the four figures drifted to the ground far behind the check points on the road, far behind the guard posts and watch tower. One by one the Dark Wolves landed inside the stadium at the center of The Commons in the heart of New Winnabow…
…Trevor’s office door pushed open. Jorge Benjamin Stone’s tiny frame staggered in wearing powder blue pajamas adorned with smiling teddy bears. He held his stuffed rabbit-Bunny-wrapped in its tiny blanket close to his chest as he stepped into the room, stopped, and yawned a big wide yawn.
Then the little boy’s eyes grew sharp and his lips clamped together tight as he looked at each of the three men in the room one after another. His survey complete, JB walked quickly behind the desk next to his father and spoke to Dante Jones and Jerry Shepherd.
“There’s nothing left to say… you should go.”
In another time or another place, such a bold statement from a three year old child would not go unchallenged, but in that dark office at that dark time, his words were accepted because, in truth, the boy was right.
Shepherd tapped the desk top with his finger and tried to make eye contact with Trevor, but the Emperor kept focused on the desk. So he patted Dante on the shoulder before exiting the office on his way back to his division.
Dante held his eyes shut for a moment and then walked for the door. He paused before leaving.
“You know you were right. About our name; what to call us. I think I finally realized that it really does fit.”
Trevor turned and gazed out the balcony doors. The clouds in the distance started to
glow in soft orange, but it was not yet sunrise…
…Oliver Maddock’s face hid behind a balaclava and he wore black BDUs to make him just another shadow in the dark as he moved through the tight alleys of The Commons.
Crickets chirping, an occasional gust of breeze causing something to rattle, the beat of his heart, these were the sounds that came to his ears. Most of the people of New Winnabow still slept, particularly in The Commons area. That would not last, however. The people here often woke at first light.
Soft drops of dew formed on the black metal of his silenced MP5 and a chill in the air turned his exhales a frosty white.
Maddock slipped across a small intersection and into another cramped side street, this one behind the main council building. He crept flush against one wooden wall of a barn-like structure until he came to a long, sliding door. A soft light slipped out from underneath.
Oliver raised his weapon in one hand and found a grip on the metal door handle with the other. He took a deep breath, and then rolled the door open.
A lamp burning some type of improvised oil lit the chamber inside. Two men sat at a folding table, rifles at their feet and a chess board holding their attention. A third man stood nearby with his foot atop a locker and his arms crossed as he watched the match.
Maddock immediately recognized the standing man as Brad Case, the youngest member of the New Winnabow council.
All three turned to the door with smiles, expecting a friendly visitor. Before they fully realized the mistake, a series of sharp pops came from the intruder’s gun.
A forehead shattered, a neck exploded, and a chest turned red from a shot through the heart.
Maddock dimmed the lamp to off, slid the door closed, and returned to the shadows…
…Elizabeth Doss stepped out the back door of the small house she and her husband called home. She had helped build the place with her own hands, starting with searching the scrap of old Winnabow for usable materials, and then hammering, sawing, bolting, and painting alongside the rest of the work party.
In turn, she helped other families raise their homes, turning empty land into a colony.
She wore a heavy sweater knit by a friend who ran a clothing swap on the outskirts of town and walked in boots scavenged from an Army amp; Navy store.
Each morning the councilwoman awoke before her husband and tended to the tiny garden in their back yard where rows of white and yellow flowers struggled to survive. She saw the flowers as a symbol of the community and as such devoted many morning hours to their care.
In the center of her yard stood a round stone well dug by city engineers last spring. It saved her a half-hour round trip to the main community well. She thanked those engineers by growing them fresh tomatoes this past summer, although half the crop fell victim to rabbits (which, in turn, made for good stew).
She admired her flowers for a moment and then moved to the well, a lullaby hummed from her lips.
As she reached for the water pail, a cord pulled taut around her neck, drawing blood as it dug into her skin and coiled across her windpipe.
No air could escape; no sound, no breath. Her life drained way as Vince Caesar dragged her body toward the tool shed next to the back door.
With no one to water them, the flowers of the garden would eventually wither and die…
…A creak in the old staircase caused Carl Bly to pause his ascent in case the noise alerted the house to the intruder. He waited and watched his surroundings through night vision goggles. The home stayed dark and, judging by the nasal snore coming from behind the door at the top of the stairs, his target remained sound asleep.
Bly wondered, if they did wake up, what would they do? Scream? Sound the alarm? Raise the garrison?
None of that could save Gunther Faust. None of that would stop the chain reaction already in motion.
Bly risked another step. No creak this time. He felt it safe to complete his task.
He reached the bedroom door at the top of the stairs and slowly turned the brass knob. The latch clicked and a squeak came from the handle as he opened the door a crack, just enough for the long silencer attached to his pistol to poke into the master bedroom.
Gunther Faust stirred awake, blinked his eyes, and raised his head from the goose-down pillow.
A solitary silenced shot hit the elderly councilman in the head. His brains splattered against the oak bed board, the remaining half of his skull dropped to the pillow, a crimson stream dribbled over the white linens.
His sleeping wife instinctively rolled near and draped an arm across her husband’s dead chest…
…Dawn threatened.
The first streaks of light reached over the eastern horizon and made the drifting clouds glow white and orange.
Below those clouds in the middle of a golden field lived the enclave of New Winnabow. Its wood and brick and stone structures appeared both old and brand new at the same time, like a historical village preserved as a tourist attraction.
The residents stirred awake to a chilly September morning. They left their homes and dormitories to tend to farmland, open stores, and feed livestock. For a few more minutes, New Winnabow remained a serene scene; an image of what could have been.
All of that meant nothing to the eyes watching the town.
Two observers stood atop a rise where the golden field met the forest. Their black and gray bodies blended well with the shadows and the brush. Their nostrils exhaled puffs of white, and dew matted the outer layer of their thick fur coats.
Odin and Tyr did not watch New Winnabow with just their eyes. Their noses and their ears told them far more than vision could. They heard voices call out greetings, garage doors swing open on squeaky hinges, and wagon wheels roll on cobblestone drives. Scents ranging from crude soaps used for washing to the aroma of percolating coffee blends drifted across the field.
They watched and waited…
…Nina Forest crawled across the roof top on her chest. The seal there must have been some poor attempt at tar, flakes of black stuck to her BDUs and the coating smelled like mud.
Regardless, she found a good angle on the target window, raised her sniper rifle, adjusted the scope, and scanned the target area…
…The kitchen flickered with light as Robert Parsons ignited the wall lamps. The sun’s rays started to reach over the town but it remained too dark inside to fumble around in the kitchen without extra light.
He tightened the draw string on his robe, yawned, and opened the ice box. There he found a pitcher of apple cider. Perhaps he would warm it in the fireplace.
As he did every morning, the leader of the council of New Winnabow gazed out the big kitchen window to enjoy the panoramic view of his beloved community.
To his surprise, last night brought only two false alarms; Parsons had expected more. But he expected only false alarms. In his heart, he believed standing firm to Trevor Stone was the best thing to do. He had looked into the young man’s eyes. He saw pain there. He saw a maturity beyond his years, but he did not see evil. There was no way that young man would send people to kill people.
A glare caught his attention; a flash in the light of dawn. He squinted and saw something on the roof across the way.
In the last second of his life, Robert Parsons realized how wrong he had been.
He did not hear the shot but he did hear a tink as the bullet broke through the glass on its way into his throat.
The man who often quoted Socrates and Aristotle in council meetings… the man who had laid the first cornerstone of New Winnabow…the man who believed that violence had brought Armageddon to Earth…slumped to the floor with his eyes wide open in shock and his hands clutching at the gory hole in his neck.
Instinctually, he tried to call out but the bullet severed his vocal cords, the only sounds from his dying lips came in gurgles of blood.
He lay on the kitchen floor kicking and rolling before finally growing still and cold…
…Trevor opened the doors and stepped onto
the balcony overlooking the front grounds of the estate. He could also see the boathouse and dock where Jerry Shepherd had ‘drowned a few worms’ often in those early days.
Those simpler days.
Above all of that was the sky; a sky lonely for the sun, and it would soon come. It always came. Like so many things in the universe, it was inevitable.
JB stood inside and studied his father as that man waited for the inevitable…
…Beautiful golden fields surrounded New Winnabow. Beautiful golden fields of tall grass sloping up to meet the woodlands.
As dawn rose above New Winnabow, Trevor’s army came from those woods.
First a few…then more. Trotting forward at a steady pace neither rushed nor slow.
The mass of K9 Grenadiers swarmed from the forest and into those golden fields. Their paws stamped and flattened the grass. Breath from panting snouts sent clouds of frost into the sky like steam rising from machines.
Killing machines.
They came.
Not dozens. Not hundreds.
More.
As they descended the slope, their pace hastened…
…A hand reached down and grasped Nina’s reach. Vince pulled her up and off the ladder to the loft in the barn where the rest of the team gathered.
She did not need reports; she could tell by the expression on their faces that each had completed their mission. They would not celebrate as they had when chasing off the platypus-like aliens outside of Pittsburgh or collapsing the Hivvan walls at Raleigh. Neither would they mourn. They had done their job, nothing more.
Now they waited.
Nina moved to the front of the loft and found a shuttered window. She opened one of those shutters the tiniest bit, just enough to let in the first rays of sunshine. Just enough so she could see the people of New Winnabow coming out of their homes to begin their chores, take their children to school, to build the next new home.
The streets filled quickly and she knew that, by now, the bodies were being discovered. She also knew that even if they sounded the alarm now, it would come too late…
…Jorge Benjamin Stone, the extraordinary three year old boy wearing powder blue pajamas with teddy bears, walked onto the balcony next to his father. He gazed at him curiously as the man stared off into the distance.
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