George grimaced. "Etty, you got it in my hair, dammit."
She shrugged. "You should be wearing your helmet."
"Don't make me pull this jeep over!" George said.
Etty popped more gum into her mouth. "Are we there yet, Dad? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" She flung the gum at his head, getting even more stuck in the giant's red hair.
Jon turned away from the bickering pair. He stared at the city again.
If I survive this war, he thought, this is how I'll remember the Battle for Basilica. Riding in a jeep with no doors and two lunatics.
"Fine, fine, I'll put on my helmet!" George said. "But the damn thing is so tight." He squeezed it onto his head and winced. "Ow! See? It fits like a—"
A ping.
A moment of confusion.
"George!" Jon said. "A bullet just ricocheted off your helm—"
And suddenly more bullets were flying from above.
Screams rose across the convoy of jeeps.
"Down!" Jon shouted.
Etty hit the floor. George ducked as well as he could, still trying to steer. Jon seized the machine gun and opened fire.
He didn't know what he was firing at. He aimed blindly at the city above.
More bullets pinged off the jeep. On the mountainsides around them, bullets tore through soldiers. Only those in tanks and armacars were protected.
"Onward, soldiers!" Carter called from his jeep as it roared by, eyes flashing and grin wide. "Onward to the city, with me!"
"Goddamn lunatic," George muttered, pressing down the gas pedal.
The jeep roared up the slope. Thousands of other vehicles rumbled around them.
"There!" Etty said, pointing. "Jon, look!"
He turned his head. He saw it.
A hole carved into the mountainside. It looked like a simple cave, barely large enough for a man.
But bullets were streaming from it.
Jon fired his machine gun. His bullets peppered the basalt around the cave.
"Aim properly!" Etty shouted.
"I'm trying, I'm trying! It's like a goddamn carnival game."
"Well, you better win me a stuffed animal!" Etty said.
Finally Jon managed to send bullets into the cave. The barrage from inside died. A corpse rolled out.
They kept driving.
Ahead, a hidden doorway swung open on the mountainside, and a rocket flew.
George tugged the wheel.
The rocket slammed into the jeep behind them. In the rearview mirror, Jon saw it explode. Saw the soldiers inside burn.
"Onward!" Carter was shouting. He was standing in his jeep, pointing at the city. "Is that all you've got, Ernesto? I'm coming for you!" The lieutenant laughed. "I'm coming to kill you, you bastard!"
The enemy filled the mountainside like termites in a hive.
Every few meters—they were there.
Hatches opened on the lava slopes, meticulously carved to blend in when closed. Bahayans emerged, shouting, firing guns.
Earth's forces kept storming upward. Cannons booming. Machine guns rattling. And every step along the way, the enemy resisted them.
For the first time, Jon saw soldiers of the Luminous Army, the military of North Bahay. He had fought the Kalayaan before, but the Kalayaan was just a peasant uprising. Those guerrilla warriors slunk through jungles, wearing rags and straw hats, covered with mud, most of them half-starved. But now Jon saw actual Bahayan soldiers. They wore armored black uniforms and helmets. They carried assault rifles. Insignia was stitched onto their sleeves.
Most looked very young.
Most were probably younger than Jon, and he had just turned nineteen. Some of the enemy soldiers looked as young as twelve.
But they were old enough to become Luminous soldiers. To fire guns on Earth's forces. And so they were old enough to die.
In the chaos of battle, of shrieking bullets and exploding shells, of rumbling engines and the screams of dying men, it seemed to Jon that Earthlings and Bahayans became indistinguishable. The Bahayans were smaller, yes. Most stood a good foot shorter than the Earthlings. And they wore black uniforms, while the Earthlings wore navy-blue battlesuits. But those were just superficial differences.
We're all humans. We're all stuck here on an alien planet. We're all killing one another for no goddamn reason.
Jon understood this. Yet he still fired his machine gun.
And he still killed.
He was part of an invasion force. He was fighting on the wrong side of this war, if there was a right and wrong side. But he fought to survive. He fought to someday go home, to see Lindenville, Kaelyn, and his parents again. He fought for Maria. And perhaps that gave him courage. And perhaps, even among all this evil, it gave him nobility.
I wish I could be like the heroes before me, Jon thought. Like the heroes from the stories of the Alien Wars. Like Marco Emery, the War Poet, who fought the alien centipedes. Like Addy Linden, after whom my town is named, who raised Earth in rebellion against the marauders. Like Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness, who had repelled alien invasions and turned Earth into a galactic empire. But I'm not like them. I don't have a just war to fight. I am fighting fellow humans. Fellow youths. And I just want to go home.
A hatch opened on the mountainside.
A squad of Bahayan soldiers emerged, screaming.
They ran toward the Earth forces. A few scrawny young soldiers—running toward jeeps, armacars, and tanks.
"Kalayaan para sa Bahay!" they cried.
Jon had been on Bahay long enough to understand some Tagalog, the ancestral language of the natives. They were shouting: Freedom for Bahay!
A soldier in a nearby jeep fell, head torn open. Bullets sparked against jeeps and armacars. Another man fell.
And then Earth's soldiers opened fire.
The enemy ran into the hailstorm of bullets, screaming, firing, dying.
They were all dead before they reached the first jeep.
The army kept climbing, heading toward the smoldering city on the mountaintop.
Another hatch opened. Bahayans emerged, screaming, and charged at their foes. Their cries echoed.
"Kalayaan para sa Bahay! Kalayaan para sa Bahay!"
And they died upon the mountainside.
Another hatch.
Another enemy squad emerged from a tunnel.
They stormed toward Jon's jeep, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't fire. They came closer, howling for glorious death. Their guns boomed, and bullets pinged against Jon's jeep, and he wanted to shout at them: Turn back! Stop!
But they kept coming. It was a Kamikaze attack. They knew it. They had chosen this death.
Perhaps that only made things harder.
Finally Jon opened fire.
He mowed them down. They fell before him, twitching, and he knew he would never forget their dying faces.
"Why are they doing this?" George said, hand shaking. "They can't take on our armored divisions."
"They must be out of rockets," Jon said. "All they have left is bullets. Death in battle is better than surrender. To them at least. And—"
A Bahayan popped out of a tunnel ahead.
He was holding a rocket launcher.
Jon opened fire, and George swerved, and the rocket landed between two jeeps.
The explosion lifted Jon's jeep. They slammed down on their side. Everyone screamed. They fell onto the mountainside, and more hatches swung open, and more Bahayans came bubbling up from underground.
Jon glimpsed a tunnel swallowing an entire tank, and then a host of screaming Bahayans charged toward him.
He was on the ground, could not reach the jeep's machine gun. He ducked for cover behind the overturned vehicle, unslung his assault rifle from his back, and fired.
More rockets streaked.
Jeeps flew into the air, slammed down hard, crushing soldiers.
Earth's infantry spread across the mountainside like scattered toy soldiers spilled from a bucket. Their lines broke
apart. Their wounded cried out for mercy, for their mothers. And the enemy kept coming. Wave after wave came like fire ants from a disturbed hive. Bullets and rockets streaked back and forth.
But Earth did not turn back.
Through death and terror, the soldiers of Earth moved forward.
As their jeeps burned, as their brothers and sisters fell, they charged into the fire.
"Clear out those tunnels!" a captain was shouting.
"Bring out the flamethrowers!" somebody cried. "Bring the fire!"
Under a hailstorm of bullets, soldiers ran forth, tanks of fuel on their backs. They approached the tunnels, only for bullets to fly from within, to mow them down. One man crashed, rolled, and came to a stop by Jon's feet.
Etty and George crouched behind a fallen jeep. A bullet hit George's shoulder, knocking off an armored plate, and he roared.
Jon moved without thinking. He knelt by the dead soldier. He gripped the man's fuel tank and grabbed the tube and nozzle.
Armed with the flamethrower, Jon marched up the mountainside.
"Jon, what are you doing?" Etty cried from behind.
"Saving your asses!" Jon shouted back.
Bullets whistled around him. More soldiers ran, only to fall on the mountainside.
"Not without me you're not!" George cried. Wounded shoulder, cracked ribs, and all, the giant ran up beside Jon. He roared, spraying the enemy with his assault rifle.
"Oh, fuck you guys!" Etty said, running to join them, even with her bandaged leg. She fired her rifle. "I ain't letting you die without me!"
Soldiers fell all around them, both Earthlings and Bahayans. Jon stepped over corpses, around smoldering jeeps, and reached a tunnel opening.
A Bahayan charged out. George and Etty mowed him down.
Jon thrust his nozzle into the tunnel and unleashed hell.
His flames boiled into the tunnel, a furious torrent, and it seemed to him almost like liquid fire, as if lava were flowing here again, this time entering the mountain rather than spewing out. Screams filled the tunnels. Enemy soldiers howled, wept, begged. A few came charging toward Jon, only to fall at his feet, burnt black and red.
And he knew there was no salvation for his soul.
They kept climbing the mountain. Foot by bloody foot. And every step along the way, they fought.
Jon kept firing his flamethrower. Filling tunnel after tunnel. He became an agent of death. Heartless but grieving. Murderous but mournful. Tears filled his eyes, but the fire dried them.
Because I have to survive today, he thought. I have to come back to you, Maria. I made you a promise. That I'll bring you with me to Earth. That we'll be husband and wife. We'll have a beautiful little house in Lindenville on a street with many trees. We'll be so happy. So I must burn them, Maria. I must become an angel of death and make this world into hell. To come home to you, I must burn them all.
He saw the fear in the eyes of his enemies.
And he saw the fear in the eyes of his friends. As he blew his fire, pumping the mountain full of death, he saw the terror in George and Etty. Not just terror of the enemy. But of him. Of what he had become. Like Moses, he had climbed a mountain and had been transfigured. But Moses had become a prophet of God, and Jon had become an angel of death. And instead of witnessing a burning bush, Jon cast living fire.
We've become new gods, Jon thought. Gods of this alien world, Nephilim who descended from the sky, woven of furious vengeance, smiting the land.
All day, they climbed the mountain. Filling tunnels with fire. Slaying the Bahayans who emerged, burning and screaming, to die in battle. The enemy made their choice. A death in fire over shame in shadows.
As the sun fell, Earth's soldiers finally reached the gates of the city.
The walls of Basilica rose tall, built of black bricks. They were mighty walls. Even under the horrible bombardment, they had stood. The artillery fire had dented them. Cracked them. Punched gaping holes. Guard towers had crumbled.
But those wounds were skin deep. The walls had cracked but not fallen. The city still stood.
The Lions platoon regrouped. Ragged. All of them covered in dust and blood. Many had not made it this far; their corpses lay mangled across the mountainsides or burnt in the charred jungles. Some had vanished, perhaps dead in a ditch, perhaps captives of the enemy, never to return.
Lieutenant Carter was here, covered in ash, a madness in his eyes.
George and Etty were here, dearest of friends, most loyal companions.
Jon was here, feeling so numb, his rifle held in cold hands.
His heart sank to see that Clay Hagen had survived this far. The brute was a corporal now. He had earned his promotion after killing more Bahayans than anyone in their company. He wore a chain of severed ears like a bandoleer, and scalps hung from his belt like wineskins. He smirked at Jon.
So many good people died, Jon thought. And that monster is still here. We took this monster. We trained him. We gave him a gun. And we unleashed him on this world. Now the dead lie strewn upon the mountainside. How many more people will Clay Hagen kill? And how much more blood will stain my own hands? Maybe I'm no better than him.
"Hey, Taylor." Clay pointed at him. "When we get back south, I'm going to fuck that whore of yours. Don't worry, I'll leave her alive. But maybe I'll cut off her ears too. Add them to my collection."
Only a few weeks ago, Jon might have ignored the taunt. Might have feared the fight.
But he had killed men. Killed boys. He had faced death, dealt death. And he had no fear left.
He lunged at Clay, roaring.
The other soldiers leaped forward. They pulled the two apart.
"Let him be an asshole," George said, pulling Jon back. "Don't let him get to you."
Jon struggled to free himself, to pummel Clay. All the rage, all the guilt, all the horror and terrible violence—it all gushed inside him. This war had kindled violence in him, a terrible dark fire. The poet had burned. The killer awoke. Jon had been killing Bahayans, mere children defending their home, when he should be killing monsters like Clay. And the bastard stood there. Smirking.
"Enough!" Lieutenant Carter said, stomping between them. "Soldiers! Don't spoil our glorious moment of victory. The top brass says we can take this city, win the war. But more importantly—we can find Ernesto Santos. Come on, Lions! For all those we lost. For Lizzy. For Earth. Let's win this war!"
The first tanks rolled into the city. Earth's flags billowed from their antennas, flashes of blue in a world of black and red.
Jon stood for a moment, ash blowing around his feet.
Come back pure, Kaelyn had told him. But she had said that to somebody else. To a boy who had died.
Here I have become death, Jon thought. Layer by layer, they stripped away who I was. They skinned me alive. This is all that remains. A man and a gun. The heart of a killer.
The Lions platoon had no jeeps left. They walked, guns held before them, dented helmets on their heads. They stepped over rubble and charred bodies, and they entered the gates of Basilica.
Chapter Fifteen
Gravedwellers
"They're lost," Maria said. "The videos. The testimonials of refugees, widows, orphans, and soldiers. Their hearts and souls and tears and secrets. They all burned in the fire."
The other bargirls huddled around her. They sat in church, occupying the last few pews. The service had ended. The priests had gone home. But perhaps there was still some safety here, some sanctuary for lost souls.
"The important thing is that you're safe, Maria," Pippi said. The fire had spread across the shantytown, leaving nobody unscathed. Pippi's pigtails were singed at the tips, and burns had eaten holes in her stockings.
"And my children." Charlie hugged the little ones close. The family shared a pew. Even in her miniskirt, fishnet stockings, and halter top, Charlie was a devoted Catholic and doting mother.
"Too bad that fucking Ernesto didn't get his titi burned off!" Pippi said, rising to her feet
. "If he comes in here, I will rip it off myself, then stick it up his own ass!"
Her voice echoed through the nave. One last priest was shuffling by, legs old and bent, sweeping the floor. He looked up, startled.
Pippi cleared her throat, sat down, and pressed her hands together. "I mean—I love you, Jesus!" She gulped.
Maria waited for the elderly priest to pass.
"Girls, we can record more videos," she said. "But you must do it without me. I must quit the Bargirl Bureau."
"What?" Pippi gasped and stood up again. "But you are Holy Maria! You founded the Bargirl Bureau! Besides, what else will you do? Your dibdibs are too small to be a good stripper, and you have an ass like a—"
The priest shuffled by again, holding the collection plate.
Pippi cleared her throat. "I mean—Holy Mary, mother of our lord!" She gave several curt bows. "Bless you, holy mother, bless you…" She watched the priest disappear around the corner, then turned back toward Maria. "Seriously, why are you leaving us?"
Maria heaved a sigh. "I don't have much of a choice. I must leave Mindao altogether. Ernesto knows I'm here. He found me in the Go Go Cowgirl. Then he found me in Charlie's house. No matter where I go in Mindao, he'll find me. I must flee into the wilderness."
"Oh, please!" Pippi pulled her into a protective hug. "Stay in my place. You too, Charlie! I have a nice little apartment. If you don't mind all my pet cats, that is."
"Kitties!" Charlie's children said. "Mommy, Mommy, can we live with the kitties?"
But Maria only lowered her head. "Thank you so much, Pippi. But I can't. I would put you in danger. If Ernesto found out that I'm staying with you…"
"Well, stay with Pippi for one night!" said Blessica, a slender bargirl in a leather miniskirt. "Then with me the next night. I have a little room over the Manila Nights club. I can take a night or two off, share my bed with you instead of the putes."
"And stay with me the night after that!" said Darna, a petite bargirl with unusually pale skin. She claimed that her ancestors in the Philippines had been part Chinese. "My place is small, just a little hovel under a bridge, but it's comfortable and warm and dry."
"And you can stay with me!" said another bargirl.
Earthlings (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 2) Page 11