Empire ba-2

by Anthony DeCosmo

  “Yes.”

  He smiled, a little, in a conciliatory fashion.

  “Teach that to Denise,” he told her. “Teach her to be strong.”

  “She’s half way there already.”

  “Oh and Nina, if you allow it, you might just learn something, too. You never know.”

  Nina took a step forward, placed a hand on his neck, and then put her lips to his in a gentle kiss that took him by surprise.

  “Goodbye, Jim. I hope you find your place in all this.”

  I know I have.

  Nina Forest walked away from Jim Brock.

  He touched his lips and wondered. He wondered, could anyone get through that tough skin and find a way into that heart?

  And what did it all mean?

  What had it been for?

  Trevor Stone needed that answer.

  He could not find that answer-he would not find that answer-sitting behind his desk at the estate. He would not find that answer behind the veils of his Emperor’s title or gazing at a map.

  He sought that answer in the thick of the fight.

  When Shepherd’s second brigade stormed the Hivvan hard point at a strip mall outside of Rowan, North Carolina, Trevor Stone fired the first shots.

  When infiltrators were needed to circumvent enemy picket lines around the juncture of Routes 87 and 701 south of Bladen Lakes Forest, Stone led the way.

  When the largest group of Hivvan forces-more than 2,000-were caught on the move headed toward Fayetteville, Trevor jumped on a Bradley fighting vehicle and personally led the maneuver to hook around and hit that enemy on their northern flank.

  For every Hivvan he cut down, Trevor saw a face from New Winnabow. He kept score.

  A dozen lizards killed. Another alien tank destroyed. A hundred Hivvans fallen by Trevor’s own bullets, his own grenades, his own bayonet. How many would it take to even the ledger? How many must he kill to pay the bill?

  After several days of fighting, of bombarding, and of sniping, the cut off Hivvan Corp was reduced to a headquarters unit outside of Parkersburg. The lizard men occupied a camping ground off Little Coharie creek.

  Trevor Stone personally commanded the final assault, despite General Shepherd’s misgivings.

  The Hivvans dug trenches and pill boxes.

  Flamethrowers chased the defenders out.

  The Hivvans responded with Firecats and shock troops.

  Humvees mounted with TOW launchers and a well-coordinated flanking maneuver annihilated that counter-attack.

  The Hivvans hid in campers and cottages.

  Trevor burned them to the ground with the hissing aliens inside. The smoke was visible for miles.

  The highest ranking Hivvan commander inside the pocket and his bodyguards tried to run. When their fate came calling, those aliens who had enslaved and killed humans turned and ran through the woods like deer from a wolf.

  Trevor Stone personally shot the commander in the leg. The invader rolled down the bank of the creek amidst the green briar brush beneath a cluster of Atlantic White Cedars. The reptile’s booted feet splashed in the water.

  He looked into the enemy’s yellow eyes with contempt then used his assault rifle like a club. He smashed the alien’s short shout and cracked its skull. The thing lay dead but Trevor kept swinging his weapon again, and again, and again.

  He could nearly hear the Old Man laughing.

  27. Sow

  “T-A-C this is Dasher One, we’re heading downtown,” the veteran pilot radioed.

  “Ah, roger that, Dasher One you are authorized to engage,” came the reply.

  “Hey Billy, you ready?”

  “Yep. I mean, yes, Sir,” the young wingman answered.

  With air supremacy achieved, the two F-15’s carried 2,000 pound laser-guided bombs built to penetrate bunkers, silos, or even fortified Hivvan headquarters.

  The two jets streaked over the morning skies toward Columbia, passing friendly troops that held Fort Jackson east of the city.

  Their target was a massive alien structure that had been built at Finlay Park near the center of the city. Messages were scribbled in chalk on the casings of those 2,000 pound bombs:

  “For Joan” and “ Here come the Judge!”

  Anti-aircraft batteries spit bolts of energy toward the craft as they zoomed in but Hivvan AA fire was spotty at best, comical at worst. Another sign that this race had not had to deal with effective air power on their home world.

  The two planes dropped their ordnance. The bombs smashed through the roof of the brick-shaped building, penetrated deep inside, then exploded, terminating what little command and control remained to defend Columbia.

  More sorties followed from a dozen different aircraft types. They hit defensive emplacements, troop formations, and walls built around the city. However, the strikes avoided the industrial heart of the Hivvan-controlled enclave. More specifically, the matter transfiguration equipment operating in buildings around the eastern banks of the Broad River.

  After having eliminating the alien pocket in North Carolina, humanity had turned its attention to Columbia, attacking with every last remaining bullet, shell, and gallon of aviation fuel. Suffering from the shock of their massive loss to the north, the Hivvans appeared unwilling to put up a major fight in Columbia.

  General Prescott’s 1 ^ st Armored Division rolled down Route 77 from the North, General Stonewall McAllister’s 2 ^ nd Mechanized Infantry came from the east out of Fort Jackson, and Shepherd’s 1 ^ st Mech attacked from the south along Old Bluff Road. They approached like three talons reaching to grab Columbia. They smashed into the alien perimeter on Saturday, September 19 ^ th.

  Stonewall’s cavalry punched a hole straight through the defensive lines and did not look back. His success was aided by 1 ^ st Armored’s tanks drawing the dangerous Hivvan Battlebarges to the northern perimeter. Prescott’s division suffered 20 % casualties in the first six hours of fighting before finally breaking through.

  The attack on Columbia was the last gamble in a string of gambles that had started after Raleigh. Again, this one paid off.

  After twenty-four hours of fighting, the three Generals met at the corner of North Sumter and Gervais Streets by the campus of South Carolina University. The dormitories there served as slavery hostels holding thousands of humans in captivity.

  The Hivvans retreated west from Columbia on Interstate 20. There would be no clever plan to trap them; no airpower to harass their escape. Columbia was the finish line; supplies were exhausted, even with the captured Raleigh matter-makers operating at maximum capacity. The summer campaign ended after achieving more than Trevor dared dream.

  Omar Nehru salivated like Pavlov’s dogs when he saw the matter makers in Columbia. They were larger, improved models. He estimated they would triple output capability. Supplies would not remain depleted for long. Empty warehouses and fuel tanks would be filled soon. Not just for the army, but for the civilians back home, too.

  The military would have the respite it needed to lick its wounds. The homeland would receive the supplies it craved.

  Conversely, the Grand Army of the Hivvan Republic had suffered a series of defeats leaving humanity in full possession of the initiative. Yes, the war would eventually continue, but it would continue in a manner dictated by Trevor Stone and his expanding Empire.

  Lori Brewer walked the driveway of the estate with a clipboard in hand and two aids on her flanks.

  Autumn arrived. She felt it in the chilled air. That meant heating fuel, blankets, winter clothing, and flu season. That meant more tasks and concerns to keep her mind focused on her job and not on other things. Not on her personal worries.

  An aid told her, “We estimate needs at a dozen more boxcars of heavy outerwear and a couple of tankers worth of oil. I’m not sure how we’re going to get that together, not with all the new people coming out of South Carolina.”

  Lori replied, “We just have to keep things together for another week. Science and Technology tells me
those matter-makers are ready to go. Once they’re on line they’ll be plenty of supplies. Nehru says this is going to be the easiest winter we’ve ever had. Things are finally looking-”

  She stopped in mid-sentence.

  Jon stood there, ten paces away, smiling.

  Lori froze. Words failed her for one of the few times in her life.

  One aide took the clipboard from Lori’s hand and then encouraged the second to join him in heading inside the mansion. Mrs. Brewer waited until they disappeared inside. Then she walked-she did not run-up the driveway until she stood in front of her tall husband.

  “Let’s see,” she studied him for a moment. “Well, it looks like you’re all in one piece.”

  He nodded, “I missed you, too.”

  She bit her lip and fought oh-so-hard to hold it back.

  “Your daughter missed you,” she told him.

  “You sure are a tough one, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t…d-don’t you ever forget it.”

  Lori and Jon wrapped their arms around one another in the way that only familiar couples can. Kisses were great and romantic, but for those who knew each other so well and had been together so long…well nothing is ever closer than a strong hug.

  With her face against his chest, Jon could not see the water in her eyes.

  Then again, Lori could not see the tears in his, either.

  “Now what?” Trevor’s words sounded more an exasperated sigh, like a child tired of his chores.

  “Whoa, now, Trevvy,” the Old Man said from his seat on the lump of red rock. “I may not be the tallest branch on the tree but it seems to me you should be celebrating and makin’ with the whoopees and shit. You got them runes. You shut it all down.”

  “Yeah, great, so what?”

  “So what? Like I told you in the first place, you just cut the cord for all the nasties down here. Now don’t get me wrong, it ain’t all candy ‘n roses from here on in but if them boys in Vegas were still ‘round-that is, more than just mindless zombies-why I’d say they’d be making some changes on the odds board in your favor.”

  “And we can send aliens back through the runes; just push them through, right? That’s what Jon said. That’s what he saw.”

  The Old Man nodded in agreement while the flames of the fire flickered light on his surreptitious eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. Sort of like a big ole’ mail sorter. Reads your zip code, if you will,” the man smiled at himself for the clever analogy. “You can even take prisoners now, how about that? Just send them back lickity split. Return to sender, ha-ha.”

  Trevor laughed. “Some send off. They arrive back home in the middle of that big friggin’ machine. Not likely to last too long.”

  The Old Man shook his head. “See that, you just ain’t as smart as I thought you were. How’d you think they got here in the first place? They got them runes workin’ just fine back home. How’d you think they built them gateways and all? Why it’s just-”

  The Old Man stopped, tilted his head, and then roared a laugh. “Why looky there, you got me talking ‘n shit. Why Trevor, I do believe you’re smartening up. Pretty good.”

  “I suppose there are some things I’m just not supposed to understand, huh?”

  “Oh Trev, there’s some things you just can’t understand. But you’ll get your chance. Sooner or later, you’ll get your chance.”

  Evan lapped the conference table in paces with his editorial team gathered around the same way they gathered every morning in the weeks since the slaughter at New Winnabow.

  As he did every day, Evan warned, “Now is not the time to slow down, people. We need to keep this up. Circulation doubled again last week so output has to double again. Talk to the print shop, they need to add a third shift for now. We’ll also need to add more runners for deliveries.”

  The man with the thick glasses suggested, “I’m looking in to remote printing. We could deliver content on a disk to different print shops then use them as bases for regional distribution.”

  “That’s the type of thinking we need,” Evan replied and made eye contact with each of his people. “We’re no longer a fringe publication. What Trevor did at New Winnabow has opened the door for me, for us. We have to push and take full advantage of this opportunity. I’ve got an inside contact who tells me that the estate is worried about the traction we’ve gained with the people. So we push, hard. So tell me, what have we got?”

  “More pictures,” the man with thick glasses said. “We’ve got pictures of the military checkpoints outside ‘Bow. We’ve got pictures of little kids who lost their fathers during the assault standing next to tanks. Next to tanks for Christ’s sake.”

  “Wait a sec,” the woman with the scar and long strawberry blonde hair said. “Just so I don’t get yelled at or some shit like that. Are we against this war…again?”

  Evan stared directly at her. “How can we possibly be for a war like this? This war can’t go on, not without changes. Now tell me, what have we got?”

  The man with the Oxford shirt said, “We have a human worker from Columbia who thinks they were better off with the Hivvans. He was some sort of foreman.”

  “You mean collaborator?” Evan said. “Don’t run it. Could bite us on the ass. But no, forget the paper for a sec. I mean the good stuff. The other stuff.”

  The man with thick glasses understood. “Our people in Pittsburgh are marching tomorrow on the regional governor’s office. My guy out there tells me he’s got about a hundred people ready to go. They just have to get the banners and signs written up.”

  Evan asked, “How far they going to go?”

  The man smiled. “Most of them, not too far. But we’ve got a couple people in there that can really fire them up.”

  Fire them up, Evan thought. A few bricks tossed. Maybe turn over a government car. Something to show the intensity. Something to show the emotion. The power.

  “That’s good,” was all Evan said because he need not say more.

  The girl with the scar and strawberry hair added to the discussion, “The reporter from NBN that interviewed you last month-”

  Evan cut in. He knew names. Knowing names and knowing people, that was the source of his power. “Angela.”

  “Yeah, Angela,” the woman went on. “She called to ask for a follow up interview. Wants to know if you plan to resign from the council. Also, they’re running more video from the memorial services. There was one last night in Trenton and more are planned in Harrisburg, Morgantown, and Baltimore.”

  “We have people there?” Evan asked.

  She nodded, “Of course we do. But you know, we don’t need to. Some of this is happening without a word from us.”

  Jamie-Evan’s prized researcher-noted, “The other newspapers are running stories on this every day. Hell, it’s been more than two weeks and the story is still alive.”

  “Let me tell you what I want most of all,” Evan stopped pacing and pushed a heavy finger onto the table top for emphasis. “I want people at the candle light vigil this weekend. I want hundreds of people. Call in all your favors. Call in all your buddies. Get them to that vigil.”

  “Evan,” the thick-glasses guy said. “A lot of people will be nervous about walking right up to the front gates of the estate.”

  Jamie added, “Yeah, what if he unleashes those damn dogs on us?”

  “He won’t,” Evan told them. “And it is critical that we show that we are willing to be brave over this. We have to show backbone. This vigil…this is the final piece. This is where we really make the connection between what happened at Winnabow and the lack of representation in the government. We pull this off and our movement will be unstoppable. Sooner or later you have to stand up for what you believe in. This is our time.”

  “That didn’t work for us,” a new voice came from the doorway.

  No one in the room recognized Sharon Parsons, except for Evan.

  She stood at the door alongside her six year old boy, Tory.

  “S
orry to bother you, Mr. Godfrey,” she said without sounding genuine. “But they told me this was where I could find you.”

  Evan looked at her but spoke to his followers, “I’m going to need this room, people.”

  Godfrey’s staffers filed out, leaving notes, papers, and plans lying on the table top.

  Evan grabbed the attention of Jamie before she left and pointed to Sharon’s boy. Jamie understood.

  “Hey fella, what’s your name?” She asked.

  “His name is Tory,” Sharon answered before her son could.

  Jamie smiled and said to the boy, “We’ve got a stash of homemade lollipops around here, Tory. Would you like one?”

  The child cringed and squeezed tight against his mother.

  “Go ahead, Tory. Go with the nice woman. I’ll be right there.”

  The boy reluctantly left. Jamie closed the door behind.

  Evan stared at Sharon and she stared back. After several seconds of silence, Evan decided to start. “You’ve come a long way from New Winnabow.”

  “There’s nothing left there.”

  “Oh? I thought the town was still going. I thought the survivors were now a part of the Empire,” Evan used his fingers as quotation marks when he said ‘Empire.’

  “That’s what I mean,” she said. “My town is gone. Your Emperor took it from me.”

  She stepped closer.

  “So you took-what? — a train all the way up here? For what?”

  His words sounded like an innocent question, but the tone suggested coyness.

  “You know why I came here.”

  “I want you to tell me,” he said. “I want you to spell it out. Just so there are no misunderstandings.”

  “I need a home,” she said. “Tory needs a home.”

  “Let me guess. He needs a father-figure, is that it?”

  She scoffed at the idea. “He needs a home. A place with a bed. A place with food and heat. A place where he has a room. He does not need a father-figure. The only father-figure he had in his life was a brutal bastard. No. He only needs his mother.”

  “I see.”

  Sharon looked at the conference table. The most recent edition of The New American Press lay there. The headline quoted an angry-looking ‘survivor’ from somewhere down south: “I NEVER ASKED TO BE LIBERATED.”