The Eagle air ship flew low and fast along the banks of the Mississippi River. To the east, clear blue skies and a low-hanging morning sun. To the west, a line of dark clouds rolling and rumbling like an incensed tide.
General Brewer and General Shepherd shared a row of seats while a small contingent of soldiers and technicians filled the remainder of the passenger compartment.
Jon stabbed his finger into the map on his lap and asked, “How did this happen?”
Jerry Shepherd could not be sure if Jon really wanted an answer. Nonetheless, he provided one.
“Lack of aerial recon. So many of those damned Spooks flying around we can’t get a horsefly close enough to spy what they’re doing. We’re damned lucky Cassy’s scouts saw it when they did.”
“Yeah, well, we’re going to need a lot more luck before this is over,” Jon grumbled without pulling his eyes from the map.
“I’ll see what I can whip up, General.”
Jon sighed, ran a hand over his face, and then turned to Shep to see the older gent with a half-cocked grin. He could not refuse to return it.
“We never get a break, do we?”
Shep told him, “I reckon it’d be too easy if we did. So we just got to roll with the punches,” and he patted Jon on the shoulder. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
‘There’ meant Quincy, Illinois, about 100 miles north of St. Louis on the eastern bank of the Mississippi. If humanity survived the day, Quincy would most certainly join the ranks of Waterloo, Gettysburg, Stalingrad, and Five Armies as history’s most important battlegrounds.
Shepherd asked, “So you figure ol’ Voggoth channeled Erwin Rommel or something? Getting fancy isn’t usually his style.”
“Yeah, well, he pulled a quick one at the Rockies so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He tried to stretch us thin there. That’s what he’s trying to do now.”
“You’re not worried it’s a feint?”
Jon considered the possibility. But human eyes-from Cassy Simms’ Stonewall Brigade-spotted two Leviathans and a host of The Order’s core units crossing Route 63 north of Long Branch State Park just before dawn. Correspondingly, the last transmission from a Predator UAV identified the third Leviathan and a mass of Voggoth’s irregulars fording the Missouri river and moving east through the “Spirit of St. Louis” airport; about 20 miles from the Mississippi on the outskirts of the airport’s namesake.
“No, no,” Jon shook his head. “It’s a two-pronged attack. St. Louis and Quincy. I hoped he would come after our army in St. Louis and we could make this into a street fight. But wow, I didn’t figure him splitting up like this. Under most circumstances I’d see this as a blessing; nothing like a superior force dividing to improve our odds. But we don’t have enough troops to cover both areas. And up here-Quincy-it’s wide open. Perfect for the Leviathans.”
The transport ship descended.
Shep completed the thought, “So he hits us in both spots at about the same time.”
“You want my guess? If I’m Voggoth I beat up St. Louis to keep us pinned while I ram across the Mississippi up here then haul ass to the southeast to circle behind St. Louis. Hell, if he manages that he could finish us off by tomorrow afternoon.”
“And we can’t retreat.”
Shepherd did not ask so much as observe, but Jon replied nonetheless, “The next real natural barrier would be the Appalachians, maybe. But that’s no good. The civvies would be all crammed along the east coast and he could cut us to pieces. No, this is the best ground for a stand. Besides, we pull out now and start running he’ll just pick us off from behind. We stand here.”
“What about the rest of them?”
“The Geryons are camped a few miles north. Not far away at all. Same with the Centurians to the south and I’m guessing the Chaktaw, wherever they are. Sooner or later they’ll find their way to the front. The way I figure it, they’ll all be fashionably late. By then we might be minced meat and they can walk right through and take the credit. I’m thinking we’re going to get this on before lunch time.”
The landing gear touched ground and the Eagle rocked. A moment later the side door slid open and the general’s escort of well-disciplined career-soldiers led the entourage outside.
They landed at Bicentennial Park on the grassy river banks of Quincy, Illinois. A large gazebo with a blue roof and a miniature steeple served as HQ and provided a beautiful-but exposed-view of the river. The Mississippi stretched nearly 2,000 feet wide between the east bank at Quincy and ‘West Quincy’ on the other side.
Two bridges crossed the waters. The southern span was a truss bridge that brought the east bound lanes of Route 24 into town. Armageddon and Father Time had taken their toll on this relic. It appeared unsafe for travel. Only a handful of engineers dared work the bridge. Jon had half a mind to save the demolitions and challenge Voggoth to cross it.
The second bridge-a cable-stayed bridge in much finer condition-crossed the banks of the river a mere 200 feet north of the gazebo and shepherded the westbound lanes of 24 to the far side.
As for that far side, it offered flat, barren farmlands broken only by the remains of industrial buildings to either side of the highway and a patch of woodlands right along the coast. Jon hoped those trees would provide some measure of wind break but feared that, more likely, they would become deadly projectiles.
As for the town of Quincy that sloped down toward the east bank, a great fire during the days of Armageddon leveled much of downtown but a significant population remained in the neighborhood until a week ago. At that time evacuations removed the 5,000 residents living in the general area most of whom had resided close to the rail station on the northeast side.
Jon approached the gazebo where a cluster of soldiers and equipment worked frantically. Beyond them, across the river to the west, a threatening line of black clouds approached.
Cassy Simms met Brewer and Shepherd at the edge of the command center. She saluted. Jon returned the gesture and then got right to work.
“Cassy, can we stop them from crossing here?”
She appeared baffled; afraid even. Jon, however, could not question either her bravery or dedication. This was the woman who had sat in the shadow of Voggoth’s Leviathans as they pushed through the Rockies at Wetmore, Colorado. Somehow she had survived that Charlie Foxtrot and returned to command the best cavalry unit in Trevor’s army.
“I don’t know, Jon. I mean, I’ve got good people here. The town will provide a little cover for the 3 ^ rd Mobile Artillery brigade. The streets are kind of tight and there’s a park-Washington Park-a few blocks from the river. I’ve got the guns moving in there and they should have no trouble finding range.”
“But?”
“But there aren’t too many hard points. This isn’t like St. Louis. Lots of the buildings downtown burned to their foundations and there aren’t many reinforced structures. A good puff from one of them Leviathans and this place will go first little pig.”
Jon said, “Use those burned out basements as pillboxes and artillery emplacements. Get whatever Patriot batteries you have left in them, too. I’m guessing we’re going to trade bombardments with the bastards before they try to get across.”
Shepherd jumped in, “What about your riders, Cassy?”
“We’ve got ammo and grease for the guns. We’re digging in as best we can,” she swept her arm in a wide arc that referenced the trenches and sandbag bunkers hurriedly springing into place along the banks. “But our horses aren’t going to do us much good here and we don’t have the numbers to be very effective dismounted infantry.”
Jon told her, “The 14 ^ th Mechanized Infantry brigade is to the south opposite Hannibal. They’re packing up and coming here.”
“What about the rest of Third Corp? Can we get some more of their pieces up here?”
General Brewer told her bluntly, “No. They’re dug in around St. Louis. Besides, that’s more than one hundred miles south of here. Even if we pulled them out they couldn’t get here in time to make a difference. But the first and second tactical wings are going to run some sorties up here. That, and, well you heard it here first: your old friend Kristy Kaufman is on her way. She should be here just in time.”
“The Chrysaor? She’s back on the line?”
Shep smirked as he told Cassy, “C’mon now, you rode with Kristy back in the days of Stonewall. Think she’d miss a fight this big?”
“Okay, good,” Cassy relaxed, a little. The thought of a dreadnought floating overhead inspired confidence. Jon, however, knew it to be a small consolation. The odds remained steep.
The trio of Generals moved into the shade of the gazebo. Soldiers worked on lap tops, studied maps, and barked orders into transmitters.
“Say, Cassy,” Shepherd spoke to the general but eyed the storm clouds on the horizon. “Time to find a new command post.”
“There’s a hospital at the center of town with an old fallout shelter in the basement. We’re moving things there. I’m just worried about freedom of movement once this starts.”
She walked to one of the bulky radio sets on a table inside the command post.
“All personnel,” Jon and Jerry heard her voice echo from radios up and down the river bank at Quincy. “Enemy contact estimated in less than two hours. Dig in, check your ammo, and confirm lines of supply and communication before things get hot.”
Shep whispered in Jon’s ear, “Before she breaks all this down, now might be a good time for you to send some final instructions to the boys.”
“What? Oh, well, I think everyone knows what to do.”
Shep stared at Jon. It took a moment, but he came to understand.
“I’m not really good at that sort of thing. Never have been. That’s kind of Trevor’s bag.”
“Jon, I reckon it’s your job today. Time for you to step up to the plate.”
Jon admitted, “I tend to strike out when I step up to the plate.”
Shep would not let go. “They’re fighting for you this time. You owe em’.”
Jon closed his eyes and ran a hand through his crew cut. And then accepted the radio from Cassy Simms.
“Um-hello,” his voice carried to every squad and vehicle radio in Quincy. “This is General Brewer. I just wanted to say-I wanted to say something-well, something…” he let go of the transmit button and sighed. Then, with resolve, he raised the radio again.
“Look, I’m not really any good at this. Every time I give a speech it just doesn’t sound right. I wasn’t made for this sort of thing. Never was. I’m not a politician. I’m not even a football coach.”
He stopped again, took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and broadcast, “I’ll tell you what I am. I’m a soldier. Like you. Like all of you. Maybe in the old world, you weren’t. Maybe before ‘all this’ you were a teacher, or a scientist, or you pumped gas. Whatever. Point is, since the day this started you’ve been soldiers.”
Quiet settled over the commons, intruded upon only by the call of a lonely bird and the rumble of approaching thunder.
“I know how you feel right now. You have energy, and you don’t know what to do with it. You feel afraid and you’re trying to hide it because you think a soldier isn’t supposed to be afraid. Part of you wants this battle to start right now-and part of you keeps hoping it passes us by. I feel-I feel the same way. My adrenaline is running fast-my mind is imagining what is to come-my stomach-hell, my stomach is doing somersaults.”
A few chuckles sounded in the air.
“Sorry, that’s not really very inspirational. But, here’s the thing; we’ve nowhere left to go. This is the last line in the sand; the enemy cannot cross. We’ve retreated all the way across the country. Our families have been uprooted. We’ve given back nearly all of what we’ve worked for; there’s no more room to give. No more concessions. No pulling back.”
He let the transmitter sag for a second. Memories of his wife danced in his mind. Shep must have seen them, too, because he put a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“It’s no longer about territory or victory. It’s about the person next to you. It’s about us-about soldiers doing what we have to do. We did not ask for this fight. We don’t want to die. We don’t even want to kill. No one hates the taste of death more than the soldier because we’re the ones who shoulder the burden. We’re the ones who live with the dead faces in our dreams and the scars on our bodies.”
A long roll of thunder interrupted Jon’s words for a second. Not natural thunder; the sound of the enemy on the move; of the evil storm approaching from the horizon.
“So why did we sign up for this? Civilians? They don’t get it. They don’t understand why we would chose to be soldiers. Do we love guns and violence? Are we misfits who want to pick fights? You bet your ass that’s what some of them think. But you know the reason, don’t you? You just have a hard time putting it to words. I think it’s time someone tried, because you deserve it.”
“You do it so they don’t have to. You do it, because all your life you have taken responsibility. You stand here with me on this riverbank because someone has to stand here.
“You do it because the soldier next to you is your brother or sister and they are worth your loyalty and your courage. Your biggest fear isn’t death-hell, we face that every damn day just training for this job. Your biggest fear is letting them down. Your biggest fear is that if you fail here today, someone back home will have to do the job. Someone’s kid-maybe yours. Someone you love. You stand here and fight the nightmares because you don’t want the charge to fall to them; because you know how terrible this is. You wish no one had to face this but if someone has to, let it be you.”
Jon paused and took a deep breath.
“I don’t know if this makes a difference or not, but you should know that I will stand here with you because I don’t want to let you down. Not in some command center five miles away, but here on the river bank. As long as I draw breath, the enemy will not cross this line in the sand. Until the battle is won I will not move from this river. My wife-my dear wife-once told me that I can be a stubborn son of a bitch. She was right. I refuse to move. I refuse to retreat. I refuse to give way.”
The eyes in the command tent focused hard on Jon Brewer. As he glanced around, he saw soldiers poking their heads out from Humvees or pushing through the crowd to get closer or setting aside their shovel or spade to listen to their general.
“I feel personally responsible for all of you. I put together this army from the beginning. I’ve tried to do right by you. And I’m going to be honest, we’ve got a tough fight coming. Maybe the toughest ever. But I’m not going anywhere. No matter how bad it gets, you’re going to hear my voice through it all; right here, with you. You’re going to see me fighting alongside you. The only thing I ask, is that you do the same. Stand with me, do not yield, no steps back, no second thoughts, and give every last ounce you have one more time. The line has been drawn. They shall not pass.”
No cheers. No hollers. No surge of enthusiasm. For a second, Jon felt certain his words had fallen flat; that yet again he had taken the ball of leadership and fumbled.
He set the radio down and felt the urge to crawl in a foxhole.
Then he saw his soldiers. The Generals and officers in the gazebo, the men and women in BDUs and jeans all along the commons, the bridges, the streets. He saw every last man and woman holding their arms in rigid salute.
His jaw felt loose. The general’s heart thumped. Goose bumps sprung on his arms and tingled.
Jon took a deep breath and stiffened his shoulders. His hand snapped to his forehead and his elbow locked tight returning their gesture with the same pride and courage that radiated from his soldiers.
They shall not pass.
Wild Horse Creek Road ran through the heart of upscale homes nestled among woods and small hills in the western suburbs of St. Louis. A set of railroad tracks ran parallel to the road about 1500 feet to the north where the hills and trees gave way to fields. Beyond those fields between the residential neighborhood and the bend of the Missouri river lay the Spirit of St. Louis airport as well as various commercial and industrial buildings of boxy design.
Nina’s rag tag army used the woods, hills, and vacant homes between Wild Horse Creek Road and the railroad tracks for cover as they chased Voggoth’s army in a maneuver akin to a kitty-cat shadowing a pride of lions.
She used a salvaged and badly dented Chevrolet Trailblazer SUV as a mobile headquarters. Vince rode with her; his leg felt somewhat better despite a mild infection and he could move with the help of a crutch if push came to shove.
The vehicle sat in the driveway of Wild Horse elementary school that served as a temporary mustering point for her forces. Those forces had grown to nearly 300 during the march across Missouri, a march aided by all manner of scavenged vehicles, a few horses, and lots of bicycles.
She had grabbed a map from an old Amoco station a few miles back and now unfolded it on the hood of the Trailblazer to plot their next move. Ahead of them, the road met Interstate 64 which ran southeast into the heart of downtown and toward crossings at the Mississippi. Voggoth’s army had passed through the area an hour before leaving many of the trees and buildings stamped flat.
Nina tried to focus on the lines and landmarks on the paper, but even her soldier’s mind struggled to block out a feeling of oppression; of looming doom that encompassed the entire area. That feeling came from the clouds overhead. They resembled the underside of a big gray quilt. It felt to her as if those clouds hung abnormally low, as if maybe alien eyes spied her every move from behind the thick veil.
A crack of lightning here; a roll of thunder there. One continuously raging storm birthed from the interaction between Voggoth’s unnatural army clashing with Mother Nature.
With the morning sun effectively blocked, the air under the storm turned cold and gusty winds blew through those few trees that still stood.
Vince, leaning out the open passenger side window with a pair of binoculars said, “I can still see the Leviathan. Damn, that thing is big.”
Nina did not need binoculars to know the Leviathan loomed not far away. She could feel the tremor with each step it took; steps that sounded eerily similar to the dull rumble of thunder.
“They’re probably getting near the I-270 junction,” she forced away her uneasiness and traced the map with a finger. “Their lead elements will be hitting the defense at St. Louis any minute now.”
“Good, they’re focused on the city,” Vince said as he lowered his binoculars. “If they turn around and see us they’d pretty much squash us.”
Nina estimated one Leviathan, at least 5,000 of the well-armed Roachbots, another couple thousand of the mechanical things the Feranites had mutated into, hundreds-maybe thousands-of Mutants with most of them on hover-bikes, and several thousand Ghouls not to mention support from Voggoths’ warped artillery and AA batteries as well as a variety of other monsters in various shapes and sizes. Probably enough to overwhelm the defenses in St. Louis unless the commanders there could bog the enemy down in house-to-house fighting. Certainly more than enough to crush Nina’s vagabond army without breaking a sweat.
And that raised an important question. Exactly what did she hope to accomplish? If The Order’s army shared the same structure as humanity’s forces, then perhaps she could have snuck up from behind and damaged command and control. But the enemy lacked any clear command structure; they exhibited more of a flock mentality. This made them less susceptible to precision strikes or operations to break command and control, as evidenced by the destruction of the Olathe facility failing to disrupt The Order’s march east.
The lifelong soldier knew it had taken great skill for her to move people across the state and start tracking Voggoth’s army without being spotted. Indeed, she found some pride in that. But now that the final battle neared, exactly how could she contribute?
“Captain Forest,” the wounded corporal’s voice came over one of the short range radios in the truck. “You need to see this.”
Nina drove west passing scattered pockets of her ‘army’ moving along the road in cars, on foot, bikes, and horses. She had assigned unit commanders-some ‘commanding’ for the first time in their civilian lives-to maintain order and they all knew to muster at the elementary school. Muster for what remained a question but the summons to the rear echelon might provide an answer.
She followed radio directions to a three-story home on Pine Bend Drive to the south of Wild Horse Creek Drive. The corporal and a small group of citizen-soldiers gathered on the half-collapsed roof at the top of a once-beautiful colonial home. Nina left Vince below with Odin resting in the back seat of the SUV while she went up top.
“What is it?”
“Look,” and he pointed west while eyeing that direction through field glasses. Nina brought her own pair. “That’s Babler Park Drive. It ends there at a ‘T’ with Route 109. They’re turning left-that means north.”
Nina understood exactly what that meant as she watched the alien army march in disciplined columns three quarters of a mile to the southwest.
She said, “That’ll take them to Wild Horse Creek. That means they’ll be coming right up behind us.”
The corporal noted dryly, “All this time we’ve been chasing Voggoth’s army and someone has been chasing us, too.”
Nina studied the aliens. Most wore ponchos with matching hoods and goggles over eye sockets. The material changed color to blend with the green and brown background of light woods and overgrown lawns.
A handful did not wear the hood of their ponchos, probably desiring a few breaths of fresh air. According to conversations she had had with Shep, when humanity first encountered these aliens during the Battle of Five Armies Stonewall McAllister thought them something from a Dr. Seuss book: big puffy cheeks with wiry hair, whiskers, and bald heads on otherwise humanoid bodies.
Their prowess at war fighting, however, belied their benevolent appearance. While Nina could not directly recall her involvement in the battle due to the theft of her memories, she understood them to be skilled and cunning tacticians. The Hostiles Database recognized them as such not only from the encounter during Five Armies, but also when Jon Brewer faced off against these aliens during his trek to the Arctic Circle to retrieve the ruins.
“Chaktaw,” Nina grumbled and lowered her glasses.
In addition to hundreds of foot soldiers several tricycle vehicles with huge wheels and dozens of wagons pulled by elephant-sized lizards marched with the force.
“I don’t think they’re following us,” she said. “I don’t think they know we’re here. I’m just saying, I think they’re coming to be a part of the battle.”
“Well,” the corporal sighed, “either way, they’re going to know we’re here in a little bit. Looks like we’re stuck between these guys and The Order. A real rock and a hard place.”
Nina evaluated the situation and drew a conclusion. “No, this is good. Look, we couldn’t do much against Voggoth’s group. Too many of them. But maybe we can do some good after all.”
“Captain, they’ve still got us outnumbered at least three to one, maybe more. Looks to me like they’ve got light artillery support and lots of nasty-looking weapons. I’m all for it, but I don’t know how we could possibly stand a chance.”
Nina said, “Listen, this is the only way we can do some good. Now get your ass in gear. Tell everyone to bypass the elementary school. We’re going to set up somewhere closer to down town. Somewhere defensible where we can block the Chaktaw’s advance and stop them from hooking up with Voggoth’s group. “
Nina returned her eyes to the binoculars and gave the marching Chaktaw another good look. She had known for days that the odds of victory were long. She hated the idea of falling to one of Voggoth’s warped beasts. But fighting an enemy as worthy as the Chaktaw-there would be some measure of satisfaction in that. Furthermore, if Trevor was right and The Order wanted it to appear as if the other alien forces won the day on Earth, then hurting the Chaktaw might frustrate that goal.
“Let’s go,” she ordered. “We don’t have much time.”
“Incoming!”
Jon stuck his head out from cover and looked west. Voggoth’s army had arrived. He saw the two Leviathans standing far off on the horizon like twin towers from the 9 ^ th Circle of Hell. The trees on the western bank of the Mississippi blocked his view of the ground elements, but he knew they were there.
Jon’s forces waited to greet the enemy. Thousands of soldiers sat in sandbagged foxholes and trenches dug into the river bank, open lots, and Bicentennial Park. The buildings along the waterfront provided cover although most had already collapsed-wholly or partly-during the early years of Armageddon. Still more defenders found refuge behind the vehicles-armored and otherwise-lining Front Street and the railroad tracks that ran parallel to the Mississippi.
Machine guns, mortars, and vehicle-mounted weapons ranging from tank barrels to TOW missiles awaited the onslaught. Both bridges-one to the north of the park, one to the south-still stood but explosives could bring them down on a moment’s notice.
Jon’s immediate concern involved artillery, both friend and foe.
Behind him, 105mm and 155mm towed artillery pieces fired high-explosive shells from the center of Quincy, over the front lines, and into the approaching horde. A reconnaissance Eagle hovered above the city acting as spotter. General Brewer listened to the conversation between observer and gunners from his personal pillbox inside a concrete foundation lined with sandbags and made-quickly-into a bomb (or wind) shelter in the center of the defensive line across from Bicentennial Park.
Humanity managed to fire first. The shells hit although that required no great skill; the density of the approaching army meant easy pickings.
Based on the reconnaissance Eagle’s transmissions, Spider Sentries, Ogres, and Monks led the enemy assault and suffered the worst the human artillery could give. Balloons of black smoke rose from the west and the constant rumble of impacts kept the ground trembling.
Then the observation ship reported, “Wait a second, they’re pulling back. They’re not coming forward. All firing arcs need to be adjusted-oh, shit. Incoming! Incoming!”
Jon heard before he saw. He recognized the piercing tone from a month ago when Voggoth’s assassins killed his wife.
Balls of red and yellow emerged from the tree line on the opposite bank and flew fast across the waters of the Mississippi. Machine gun fire rose to meet the swarm of hundreds of attacking, glowing orbs.
Many exploded over the river triggered by the veil of intercepting bullets. Many more hit the defenders along the bank blowing aside sandbags, exploding against earthen berms, splashing acid on human defenders. Yet even more continued beyond the front lines, weaving through the streets of Quincy like softball-sized cruise missiles.
Jon knew where they headed. He heard explosions and screams from town.
He raised his radio and transmitted, “Shep! What’s your status back there?”
Jon had placed Jerry Shepherd in charge of the artillery batteries and reserve forces from a position overlooking the big guns at Washington Park.
“We lost one artillery piece and a couple of crewmen, but I don’t think that’s gonna put-shit!” Jon felt the ground shake and a loud boom from a few blocks away. “Ah, damn, we just lost a truck full of shells. Make that two pieces out of action and at least a dozen casualties. Jon, you got to have them machine gun nests keep these things off us!”
“You let me worry about that, Shep. You just get those howitzers back in the game.”
Jon did not wait for a response. He turned his attention forward.
The storm clouds generated by the approaching army remained clear of Quincy and to the west, where the heart of the enemy force gathered. However, Jon spied two large whirlwinds, one on the northern flank of Voggoth’s army, the other to the south. He wished he could believe they were natural tornadoes. Unfortunately, Jon had dealt with a similar phenomenon once before at the top of the world.
“Goddamn Wraiths,” he muttered, but the soldiers in his bunker did not react. “He’s throwing the whole ball of wax at us.”
Another warning from the observation Eagle: “More incoming! Get down!”
More glowing, exploding spheres approached from the west.
According to legend, the city of Richmond Heights, Missouri received its name because General Robert E. Lee said it reminded him of his hometown of Richmond, Virginia.
After more than a century of development, expansion and incorporation, Richmond Heights retained its charm despite being situated at the heart of St. Louis County, just west of the metropolitan area of King Louis the IX’s namesake.
Even though Interstate 64 ran directly through the neighborhood and the pace of growth resulted in tight clusters of homes, Richmond Heights maintained an upscale feel thanks in part to shaded lots and a quaint shopping district.
Those viewing the region on June 21 were not reminded of towns from Old Dominion nor upscale bed room communities. Images of Hell on parade better matched the sight.
A solitary Leviathan with its top touching the black clouds above stood at the rear of a demonic host and straddled the Interstate where the north-south thoroughfare of South Hanley Road crossed. Spread out in front of the towering beast-like a swarm of locusts-rushed forward the devils from Voggoth’s domain.
Mobs of ghastly white Ghouls with protruding ribs and skullish faces took the lead, bounding forward on all fours like some kind of mutated gorillas. They snarled and snapped searching in a frenzy for the next person to find and kill. Like a flood, they spread to either side of the Interstate and swarmed into Richmond Heights.
The ones on the Interstate died first when they tripped the rows of mines laid previously by The Empire’s engineers. Beastly bodies tore apart as explosions popped and boomed one after another. But the horrid things did not care. They rushed on as if compelled by suicidal instinct.
In tight streets to either side of the highway the Ghouls met the fire of human soldiers. Those soldiers wore a variety of uniforms and some wore only street clothes but they all faced the onrush without flinching. Assault rifles rat-tat-tatted and grenades burst.
Freckle-faced Benny Duda oversaw the first contact of the day from the Richmond Heights City Hall building. His soldiers-the 4 ^ th Mechanized Infantry Brigade-met the enemy vanguard with machine guns, carbines, and well-positioned explosives as well as a formation of Bradley Fighting vehicles positioned east of the mine field on I-64. Their heavy guns decimated any Ghouls that survived the mines.
Woody “Bear” Ross assumed command over the St. Louis region when Shepherd went north with Brewer to meet Voggoth’s northern prong. His voice came to Duda over the radio as Benny cradled a scoped M4 against his shoulder from the roof of city hall. His vantage point provided a great view of the interstate and surrounds.
“Benny, what’s your status?”
“Kinda busy, Bear,” and Benny squeezed the trigger adding the sound of his rifle to the chorus of bullets.
Outside of the City Hall building and across South Big Bend Boulevard twisted an on-ramp descending around a grassy field in a long north to northeast curve en route to the Interstate. A trio of Ghouls left I-64 and climbed that gentle slope with the aim of charging a mortar team operating in the city hall parking lot. Duda’s slug tore the head off one of the fiends.
“Benny, give me a sit-rep now.”
Captain Duda fired another shot that missed but a machine gunner positioned at a first floor window several stories below managed to stave off the attack on the mortar team for the moment, giving them time to launch another series of shells onto the highway full of creatures: thwump — BOOM. Thwump — BOOM.
Duda growled in frustration as he radioed Ross, “We’re getting hit right now. Looks like the Ghouls are cannon fodder. They took out the mines and are still coming.”
Benny raised his rifle and fired a quick series of shots at another group of Ghouls compelled to attack City Hall. The first two bullets missed. The third winged one of the things and put it out of effective action. The downstairs machine gun fired again; once more stopping an assault. Duda knew it would not be long before the mass of Ghouls would overwhelm the position.
Worse, from his vantage point he spied about twenty Mutants on hover-bikes moving among the homes on Lindbergh Drive a quarter mile south as if to flank his forward positions. A Humvee hurried to intercept; its. 50 caliber mounted gun fired furiously. The Mutants returned fire with their oversized and very loud flintlock-style fire arms.
“Listen, Bear,” Duda transmitted. “We’re going to have to fall back real soon unless you can send us some reinforcements-hold on sec…”
The Mutants trying to flank Duda’s troops to the south stopped advancing and not merely because the Humvee killed several of their number. In fact, the bikers turned and sped off from whence they came as if their asses had suddenly caught on fire.
Duda gave his attention to the highway. The minefield had stopped exploding. The Ghouls passing through halted their advance and also fled west.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mumbled.
Had their defense spooked the invaders? Had their resolve forced Voggoth to rethink his line of attack?
“No,” he said aloud as the truth hit him. “All 4 ^ th Mech units and anyone in the vicinity of Richmond Heights, take cover. I repeat, take cover. Big Bad Wolf is knocking at the door.”
The skyscraper-tall Leviathan stepped forward. Its right foot-something like a clawed elephant’s foot-smashed down on the ultra-modern Civic Center built just off the interstate. Swarms of Ghouls at the front of the advance withdrew west to either side of the gigantic monster where the rest of the St. Louis-bound army waited.
Its slug-like body shimmied and a sound similar to a forlorn air raid siren came from the innards of the Leviathan. The miserable black clouds twisted and turned as the monstrosity gulped air at a rapid pace. As it did, sacs popped up all along its sick skin like boils. The tendons holding the main body to the legs stretched as its belly filled.
Duda raced from the roof with his command staff and descended the stairwells of City Hall. All across the front his soldiers broke for the cover of basements, storm drains, and pre-built shelters. The Bradleys on the Interstate drove east as fast as their engines could go.
The siren-sound stopped. The Leviathan bent forward; stooped, it seemed. A brilliant flash of lightning danced through the heavens chased by a magnificent clap of thunder.
The Leviathan fired a blast of supersonic wind that outraced its own sound. The deadly gust projected out in a cone with Interstate 64 at its center. Every manmade structure-almost exclusively residential homes-between Ethel Avenue a thousand feet to the north and Arlington Drive to the south evaporated into tiny pieces.
Benny Duda-huddled in a restroom in the basement of City Hall-felt the entire building above fall apart like a sand castle in a hurricane. The pressure burst one of his ear drums and would have sucked him away if not for his death-grip on a drain pipe. Two of the other four soldiers huddled with him in the basement fared worse. They went aloft and broke apart into bits before they could even scream.
The sound of the blast came just as the worst of the wind passed; a low howl so deep it made the ground vibrate and played a dull hum on the pipes in the ceiling-less bathroom.
Then it stopped.
Duda-his right hand planted firmly on his burst ear-staggered to what remained of the stairwell. He knew the Ghouls and Mutants would come next, sweeping in and ripping apart the survivors. He had little time to escape and, with his equipment destroyed, could only hope that any of his men who survived the wind would be smart enough to retreat downtown.
As he reached the top of the stairs he paused.
The land had been swept clean. Nothing higher than foundation-level remained of Richmond Heights. The explosive gust covered everything in a dune of dirt like a brown snowdrift. With the exception of a handful of stumps, every tree had been uprooted with an efficiency the most talented landscapers would envy. Slabs of concrete had actually peeled away from the highway.
He glanced east and saw the remains of the wind dying down like a dust storm losing steam. Pieces of Richmond Heights settled over the St. Louis suburbs a mile to the east.
Duda turned his attention west. And froze.
Contrary to past encounters, the Leviathan did not return to standing position. Instead, the massive maw remained fixed on the battleground as if admiring the destruction. With the landscape laid flat, Benny could see the Ghouls, Mutants, warped-Feranites, and Roachbots of the force holding in check.
“What the hell?”
Then it started again. That siren sound. Except this time the Leviathan did not draw breath from the heavens. Instead, a great suction swept from east to west and into the maw of the titan as if racing to fill a great vacuum.
Another dust storm formed, this one churning toward Voggoth’s pet with incredible force. The shards of shattered houses, the twisted remains of guard rails, crushed cars, overturned armored military vehicles, chunks of concrete, the remains of the 4 ^ th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, and Captain Benny Duda flew through the air as the Leviathan gulped them like a musket loading shot.
The sound stopped. Then the Leviathan fired again with not only wind, but the shrapnel of people and things. Yet nothing remained to destroy; nothing for the supersonic gust to knock over.
Once the wind slowed and the fine grains of debris that had been a town and its defenders drifted to earth in a coating of brown, black, and red dust, the army of Voggoth marched forward once more. A wave of mechanical Roachbots joined the Ghouls and Mutants at the front of the army aimed at down town St. Louis.