Earthlings (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 2)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Can't we do all those things together?" Charlie raised her cup, splashing a few drops. "To Holy Maria and her magical bottom!"

  The girls all raised their cups, cheering.

  Maria blushed. But she forced herself to stand up, to face the others.

  "Today I walked throughout Mindao, and I collected stories." She pulled the camera from her pocket. "They're here. Stories from refugees. From child prostitutes on the streets. Even from Earthling soldiers. This is evidence of war crimes. This can bring President Hale down."

  Charlie raised her cup again, sloshing more wine. "Down with that old pute bastard!"

  "Down with Hale!" called the other girls, raising their cups. They had to open a few more bottles of wine.

  "Last time we met," Maria said, "I asked you to search for more evidence of Earth atrocities. What did you find?"

  Charlie spoke first. "I found a pute captain, a pretty high rank for the boulevard. He came into the Go Go. We normally just get the grunts, not the officers. I think he likes me. He squeezed my dibdibs a few times. I told him to come back, and I'll take him into my bed. Maybe I can get some intelligence from him. Something useful we can pass to the Kalayaan." She dropped her voice. "My brother is in the Kalayaan. Whatever I learn from Captain Pute, maybe it can help."

  "I don't want us to help the Kalayaan!" Maria said.

  "Why not?" demanded Charlie. "My brother is a noble warrior. The Kalayaan are killing many putes. They're heroes."

  "The Kalayaan are the best fighters we have!" said another girl.

  "Let's help them!" A curvy bargirl stood up and wiggled her bottom. "I will intoxicate this Captain Pute and learn all his secrets. No offense, Charlie, but your bum is far too small. The soldiers like women like me who eat too much and grow big like pute women."

  "You drink too much!" Charlie said. "That's where you get your fat."

  The curvy girl nodded. "That's true." She drained another cup of wine.

  Everyone was laughing again, talking about their curves or lack thereof, and arguing about who could do a better job seducing the Earthling officer.

  "Ernesto Santos is in the Kalayaan!" Maria said, speaking over them.

  They all turned toward her and fell silent.

  "Ernesto Iron Santos," Maria continued, voice softer now. "He tortures people with a clothing iron. I saw it. He beat me. He came to the Go Go Cowgirl to kidnap me, to force me to marry him." She shuddered. "It was Jon who saved me. Who blew open his skull with his gun. But Ernesto is still alive, a hole in his head. And Jon is out there, fighting him in the jungle. If we help the Kalayaan, we will help Ernesto kill my husband."

  For a moment, everyone was silent, just looking at her.

  Finally it was Pippi who spoke. "Too bad. You should never have married a filthy pute."

  Maria slapped her.

  Pippi screamed and lunged at her.

  Soon the two were scratching, clawing, wrestling. Pippi bit Maria's leg, and Maria tugged the girl's pigtails until she squealed. The other bargirls had to pull them apart.

  "Enough, enough!" Charlie said. "Save your violence for the putes, girls! All the putes other than Mister Jon. Otherwise Maria is likely to slap you." She winked.

  Maria finally settled down, rubbing tooth marks on her leg. She forced a deep breath, trying to calm her heartbeat. Pippi sat down with a huff, straightened her skirt, and fixed her bright orange pigtails.

  "I'm sorry, Pippi," Maria said. "I lost my cool."

  The pigtailed bargirl laughed. "You slap like a little girl. It's okay. The pute soldiers smack me every night, much harder than you."

  Maria held Pippi's hand. "Then I'll record your story too. So that the people of Earth know."

  Pippi reached into her purse and pulled out a camera. "I already recorded myself. And a bunch of other losers like me with sob stories to sway the hearts of sentimental Earthlings."

  Maria gasped. Her eyes widened. "Pippi! Where did you get another camera?"

  The bargirls all crowded around, reaching out to touch the new camera.

  "Oh, this is a Magica DSLR camera!" Charlie said.

  "Much nicer than Maria's camera," said a girl.

  "Hey, take some photos of me!" Joyce made a sexy pose. "Show the Earthlings something beautiful from Bahay, not just war." She made kissy lips at the camera.

  Maria sighed. "Nobody wants to you see you looking like a duck, girl. Sit down." She turned toward Pippi. "Where did you get this camera, Pips?"

  "I stole it." The pigtailed bargirl shrugged. "What do you think?"

  Maria groaned. "I think I'm going to slap you for stealing! Don't you know it's a sin?"

  "We're already doomed to hell." Pippi laughed. "You're talking about sins to a group of prostitutes."

  Maria shook her head. "No. We're more than that. We're farmers and fishwives. We're mothers and daughters and sisters. To Earthlings, we're just slits—good for killing or fucking, that is all. We'll show them that we're human."

  Pippi embraced her. "You are wise, Holy Maria."

  "Even when I slap you?"

  "You just slap sense into me, that's all." Pippi tapped a button, and a video began to play on her camera's monitor. "See some of what I recorded. Is this any good?"

  The bargirls crowded together, watching.

  Pippi had recorded heartbreaking testimonials. She had interviewed orphans on the streets, some only toddlers, who spoke of Earth planes burning their villages. She recorded a girl burnt beyond recognition, her face a map of scars, who lived in an alleyway behind a Jolly Joy Chicken, who spoke of Earthlings burning her. Pippi had recorded Earthlings too, soldiers weeping in her bed, confessing their sins as Pippi soothed and caressed them.

  Maria wiped tears from her eyes. "There is so much tragedy in this war. So many dead. So many who still live but are dead inside. And we're all humans. Not just Earthlings and Bahayans, putes and slits. We are one, and we are suffering. And this must end."

  The girls embraced her.

  "It will end," Pippi said.

  "We'll send these stories to Earth and show them the truth," Charlie said.

  Maria smiled tremulously. "Yes, there's so much suffering here. But there's also us. There is friendship and love and hope, even in the bloodiest of wars. There is beauty in ugliness. There is nobility in tragedy. There is purity in struggle. That's what these stories show. That's why we must tell them." She finally poured herself a cup of wine, then raised it overhead. "To the Bargirl Bureau!"

  "And to wine!" Charlie announced, and they all laughed and drank. Even Holy Maria.

  "There is, of course, one problem," Pippi said. "How do we get these videos to Earth?"

  The bargirls looked at one another. For a moment, silence filled the hovel. They all looked at Maria, who only bit her lip, lost for words.

  "Fuck," Charlie said.

  Chapter Ten

  Basilica

  After a journey of blood and fire and shattering steel, they saw it at last.

  There in the north.

  A black mountain, and atop it a city of stone.

  Basilica. The Black City. Capital of North Bahay.

  The first Filipino colonists, three centuries ago, had built a cathedral upon this mountain, constructing it from the black basalt found on the mountainsides. They had named their city Basilica after their cathedral, envisioning a shining beacon in a new world.

  But Basilica had changed.

  Over the years, the people of Basilica began to construct more and more from those basalt stones. Walls within walls. Guard towers. Churches that sprouted steeples like blades. Snaking alleyways with glimmering cobblestones. Looming black archways like the mouths of beasts. A labyrinth of rock and shadows.

  Jon lowered his binoculars. To the naked eye, the city was a black smudge on the mountaintop. A shudder ran through him, clanking his battlesuit.

  The Human Defense Force rolled across the burnt land. Along the road north, they had swelled to three divisions. A mobile city d
edicated to destruction. They swallowed the land like a swarm of locusts.

  The jungle had once grown here, draping the lowlands with a dizzying alien ecosystem. The jungle had burned. The tanks, armacars, and jeeps rolled over charred brush, burnt logs, and the skeletons of dead animals. Ash rose in clouds behind them.

  They had lost many lives along the road. But thousands of soldiers still rode here, bandoliers slung across their chests, guns clutched in nervous hands. They wore battered battlesuits and dusty helmets. A few were smoking cigars. One soldier rode in a tank's open hatch, his helmet off, revealing a spiky mohawk. A few soldiers in jeeps raised Earth's flags, and another jeep was blasting a rock song. There was a lot of bravado. But everyone was scared. They had all seen friends die. Now they were riding toward the great battle of their lives.

  Thousands of armored vehicles roared forth. Hundreds of planes and helicopters shrieked overhead. Drones flew everywhere like swarms of bees. There were more soldiers here than could fit inside the largest arena on Earth. It was the largest assault Bahay had seen in years. Here was Earth's full fury on display.

  "This battle will win or lose the war," Jon said. "If we take Basilica, North Bahay will fall."

  "Thank you, General Taylor, for that insight." Etty rolled her eyes.

  "What, you don't believe me?" Jon said.

  Etty chewed her lip, gazing at the city ahead. "Win, lose… I just see a place to die."

  The fireteam sat in an open-roofed jeep. George was driving, while Jon manned the jeep's machine gun. They both shuddered at Etty's words. They all stared at the city ahead.

  There it was.

  Basilica.

  A black city atop a black mountain.

  This was nothing like Mindao. The southern capital was a sprawling hodgepodge of river and coast, a city of plywood, corrugated steel, concrete, and tarpaulin. A city of neon lights and palm trees, or human misery and sin, home to millions of lost souls.

  But Basilica was different. Basilica was harsh. Unforgiving. A city in black basalt, its cathedral crowning the mountaintop like a fortress. There was no color here. No rivers or ocean. No trees. A city like a labyrinth. Smaller than Mindao. Only a tenth the size. But unyielding like an aging knight defending his territory to the last breath.

  Jon peered through binoculars, seeking the enemy. But the city seemed dead.

  Another jeep roared up beside them, crammed full of troops. Lieutenant Carter leaned out. He spoke over the roaring engines, the shrieking wind, and the clatter of skeletons snapping under their wheels.

  "Soldiers! Are you ready to win this war? I bet you we find that bastard Ernesto hiding here."

  There was a hint of a smile on the lieutenant's face. A touch of madness in his eyes.

  He's obsessed, Jon thought, looking at his officer. Not even obsessed with winning this war. But with his own vengeance. Ernesto murdered my brother. But I just want to go home and forget. Carter will never have a home until he destroys his nemesis.

  "From hell's heart, I stab at thee," Jon said softly. Too softly for Carter to hear from his jeep.

  The lieutenant slapped the side of his jeep, nodded, and grinned—a grin more like a grimace, all its joy twisted. His jeep rumbled onward, raising clouds of dust over the barren landscape.

  As they drew closer to the mountain, the last charred trees and animals disappeared. They rode over basalt plains. The volcanic stone flowed in hardened rivulets like wrinkled skin. The mountain must have once been an active volcano, spewing lava across the land. Now that lava was as hard and black as death, and if any fire rose from this volcano today, it would be the fire of war.

  "Our lieutenant is mental," George muttered, gripping the steering wheel. "I swear, for him this whole war is a personal vendetta."

  "Ernesto did kill Paul," Jon said. "And he threatened Maria. Is it so crazy to want him dead?"

  George shrugged. "Well, you did put a bullet through his brain."

  Jon sighed. "I know. But Ernesto is still alive. Maybe Carter is right."

  He was playing devil's advocate now. Perhaps it was best to turn around. To end this whole war. To go home to Earth and forget this world ever existed. What was in Bahay for them? Vengeance? Victory? Maybe Etty was right, and there was only death in this place. Nothing more.

  We've become mad here, Jon thought. With bloodlust, or the will for vengeance, or pain, or shell shock. There is only madness here.

  "You're right, George," Jon said. "But this is our last battle. It's our chance to end this war. To defeat the Red Cardinal once and for all. And go home." His eyes dampened. "We can go home, George. Back to Lindenville. To Kaelyn. To our families."

  And suddenly it was too much.

  In this black, lifeless place, Jon remembered Lindenville's peaceful streets, the maples and oaks rustling.

  In this world of death and despair, he remembered kissing Kaelyn outside the church, and evenings playing Monopoly with his family, and nights in his soft bed with posters of Nightwish and Epica on the walls. He remembered waking up on Christmas morning, running downstairs, and finding presents. He remembered pumpkins on the patio. He remembered the people he loved.

  In this place of so much hatred, he remembered Maria back in Mindao. A little room above the club. Holding her in his arms. Kissing her lips. Talking to her all night, playing cards, tickling, giggling, making love.

  I'm going home soon, Jon thought, tears in his eyes. And I'm taking you with me, Maria. We'll live together in Lindenville. In a green, good place. In a house of joy and laughter and music. Far from this horrible place.

  He looked at his friends, and he saw that George and Etty were also crying. Perhaps they too were thinking of home.

  Look at us, Jon thought. The mighty soldiers of Earth—just homesick kids with tears on their cheeks.

  But Jon imagined that throughout history, the bravest soldiers had been like them. The soldiers who had stormed the beaches of Normandy—they had been just scared, homesick teenagers too. The soldiers who had stormed Abaddon, the alien planet of the scum—they had been just terrified kids, tears in their eyes. The soldiers who had risen up against the Marauder Invasion, freeing Earth from alien occupation—they had been like Jon and his friends. Just terrified kids.

  And they had all been courageous.

  They had all been heroes.

  The greatest heroes in history have been scared, homesick kids, Jon thought. We put our lives on the line, and we storm the beaches of war, because we know there is beauty back home. That it's worth fighting for. Even dying for. It's worth charging into the fires of hell to protect the meadows of heaven.

  In one way, Jon was not like those old heroes. Those soldiers before him had fought honorable wars. Against Nazis. Or aliens. Or vicious cyborgs. Perhaps Jon was fighting on the side of evil. He was the alien invader now.

  But he still fought to return home.

  He still fought for the woman he loved.

  Perhaps many years from now, looking back at his role in this war, at his unjust fight, that would bring him some comfort. That would soothe the guilt. That perhaps would let him live with himself despite all the blood on his hands. That perhaps would offer a hint of redemption for his soul.

  I fought an unjust war, but I fought for love, he thought. If anyone remembers me, let them remember that. That I fought for her.

  "Hey, guys?" Etty said. The little Israeli stood up, frowned, and raised her binoculars to her eyes. "Look, on the city walls. Is that—"

  A streak.

  A whistle.

  The jeep beside them exploded.

  Fire blazed. Severed human limbs flew. Shards of metal pattered down.

  The shock wave slammed into Jon's jeep. George screamed and tried to wrestle the steering wheel, but they were spinning, screeching across the basalt. Jon grabbed the jeep's machine gun, teeth clenched. A boot tumbled through the air, then thumped down beside him. Jon just hoped it was empty.

  "What the hell is going on?" George
shouted. They were still careening.

  "Artillery on the walls!" Etty shouted. "Artill—"

  Nearby, a tank exploded. Fire roared skyward.

  Then an armacar went up.

  Then another jeep.

  George finally steadied the wheel, and their jeep pointed toward the city again. And Jon could see it now. Cannons on the city walls.

  More shells streaked toward them. They were moving so fast. Faster than bullets. Mere luminous streaks like lightning strikes, then another jeep exploded, and another, and troops screamed and blood sprayed the basalt.

  Jon opened fire. His machine gun rattled in his hands. His bullets streamed toward the city. But they were still too far. Several kilometers away.

  "You're wasting ammo!" Etty shouted. "They're out of range!"

  Another tank exploded.

  A few soldiers emerged from burning vehicles. They began to flee on foot, wreathed in flame. A shell landed by a running squad. Men screamed and a mist of blood sprayed. Chunks of flesh, cracked helmets, and burning boots pattered down across the plains. A severed hand landed inside Jon's jeep. It was still clutching a cross.

  "Those are fucking railgun cannons!" an officer was shouting somewhere. His arm was gone, ending with dangling red tissue and a jutting bone. "How the hell do the slits have railguns? They shouldn't have this tech! They—" He swayed, then collapsed.

  "The Santelmos must be here!" a major cried. "The aliens are arming the little yellow bastards!"

  "All armored units halt!" shouted another officer, speaking through a megaphone. "Artillery units—roll out!"

  "Tanks ahead, jeeps behind!" somebody was shouting into a radio.

  Chaos reigned across the army.

  Another jeep exploded.

  Another.

  "They're butchering us!" George shouted.

  A streak ahead.

  "George!"

  Jon leaned down and shoved the steering wheel. Their jeep jerked. The vehicle behind them exploded. Blood pattered. A loose tooth clattered down at Jon's feet.

  It took only moments for Earth to return fire.

  But those were agonizing moments of hell. Of people dying. Of fire and screams and blood and body parts everywhere.