Nina Forest stood in the observation lounge inside the Communications Center on the grounds of McConnell Air Force Base. The windows-shattered six days prior during Trevor’s visit to the center-remained open. A smoky breeze blew inside from what remained of the base.
Most of the papers and equipment of value to Casey Fink’s Headquarters Unit evacuated two days before. One big map pinned to a wall remained the exception, but it held no markers for The Order to interpret upon their arrival which was expected to occur within twenty-four hours.
The conference table sported a big crack through the middle but maintained enough strength to bear the weight of Nina’s gear: a backpack, utility belt, ballistic armor, a Kevlar helmet, her sword, and more.
She heard scattered shouts from outside where her team gathered. The engine of a Blackhawk helicopter spooled to life at the same time as a formation of human fighter jets roared overhead on their way west to meet the vanguard of Voggoth’s army.
As had been the case all her life, the trappings of battle-machine engines, shouts, chaos, the smell of fire-did not disturb Nina Forest. She felt at home among them. The only place, in the entire world, where she felt at home. Except for those few moments with Trevor before she had left the estate. That had felt like home, too, even better. More personal.
She knew the time had come, however, to cast that aside. She did her best to focus on the mission. The helicopter downstairs waited for her. She had memorized the appropriate command codes and evaluated areas of operation. She would lead her team behind the lines with the goal of hurting The Order’s armies, weakening them before they reached the Mississippi.
Of course Voggoth was in no hurry to engage The Empire’s defenses. Apparently he waited for his alien cohorts to arrive so they could take credit for his victory. She wished The Empire maintained the offensive capability to launch a counter-attack because Voggoth’s hesitation provided a perfect opportunity for a kill shot.
Alas, their losses in the Rockies greatly diminished offensive firepower. They would have to be content with an aggressive defense, like those fighter jets overhead, attacks by the Chrysaor after her repairs finished, and Nina’s Dark Wolves.
What did I do to make Trevor leave me? Did I betray him?
Nina shook her head as if trying to shake free the question. She could not afford to dwell on this. But at the same time, she could not help herself. She had always suspected more happened during that missing year. Since last summer-since receiving the video tape-the question as to why they separated ate at her soul each and every day.
Three days had passed since she spoke with Trevor at the estate; three days since he had embraced her. In that embrace she had felt a wave of warmth and regret from him. She saw clearly that he still cared for her; longed for her the way she wanted desperately to be with him. Yet something held him back.
Whatever I did, it wounded him so deeply that he denies his feelings; he rejects me even though he still loves me. My God, what did I do?
In frustration, Nina reached to her head and yanked off the black beret and slapped it against her thigh.
“Ain’t it ‘bout time you hit the road?”
Nina swung around and saw General Jerry Shepherd standing in the stairwell door.
He took one step into the room, removed his cowboy hat, and asked in a fatherly tone, “You okay, Nina? What’s wrong?”
Her lips moved but she suppressed the urge to ask. She had grilled him often over the years. Each time he evaded her questions. Each time-she now knew-he lied. Apparently the depth of her sin against Trevor required no one speak of it.
“Yeah, yeah I’m okay,” and she began fitting on her gear starting with the short sword which she strapped to her leg, then Interceptor body armor. “Just, you know, going over the whole thing again.”
Nina fit on a shoulder holster holding a MAC-11 machine pistol
“Not much to go over,” Shepherd stood next to her and leant a hand as she struggled into the heavy backpack. “You’re getting dropped behind the lines and then you hit targets of opportunity.”
She did not react to him. Instead, she checked the clip in her Colt M4 and slammed it back into place with more force than required, then jammed her beret into a pocket in favor of a Kevlar helmet. Her ponytail still managed to peak out behind.
She buckled the last piece into place: a thigh rig holding a powerful semi-automatic Desert Eagle handgun.
“I guess I’m ready,” and she stormed out of the room in big steps. The arsenal of firepower on her person jingled and clinked as she walked.
Her obvious anger took Shepherd by surprise. He put on his Stetson again and followed.
Clouds of black, oily smoke drifted across the distant horizon to the northwest of the base. Nina heard the thud and crack of far off explosions. A trio of Apache attack choppers buzzed across the tarmac hugging the ground as they hurried to join the rearguard action taking place along the railway tracks outside of Colwich.
The runways of McConnell had taken multiple poundings from enemy hammerhead bombers. The first serious hit had come on the day of Trevor’s visit last Tuesday. By Thursday-when Trevor held the ‘last’ meeting at the estate-General Casey gave up on trying to keep the runways operational. Several heavy cargo planes were left to die and the remaining supplies and materials moved out via helicopters and ground transportation.
On Friday-while Trevor and JB boarded the Newport News — General Casey Fink pulled out his HQ unit and made for Kansas City.
The first artillery bombardment from The Order’s warped batteries came yesterday-Saturday-chasing away the last of the garrison. Now the base made one last contribution to the war effort by serving as a transfer point for the Dark Wolves.
A UH-60 Blackhawk sat between bomb craters with its rotors spinning. This particular transport wore extra external fuel pods. Nina spied the other three members of her Dark Wolves commando team onboard as well as several K9s waiting patiently for their Captain. An Eagle transport parked on the other side of the Communications Center stood ready to spirit away General Shepherd.
Nina left the building and walked across the pavement, careful to avoid a piece of metal remaining from one of the many burned out airplanes.
“Nina! Whoa, hold up a sec,” and she stopped at the sound of Shep’s voice.
The wind from the rotors blew around debris and dust causing her to lower goggles strapped to her helmet.
Shep approached Nina, squinted in the wind, and examined her as if searching for injury. She returned his gaze with a stiff lip and narrow eyes.
Shep spoke in a voice barely loud enough to reach above the rotors, “This is it, you know. The final battle. Win or lose, it ends here.”
Nina answered in a soft shout, “I know.”
“I’ve always been proud of you, Nina. I guess it’s no secret that I think of you as that daughter I never had. I’m sorry if I was tough on you in the old days. You know, during your training and all. But I always knew you could be the best so I felt I had to push you. I figured that was the only way to get through that stubborn noggin’ of yours.”
Nina knew Shep to be right: this was the last mission. Odds were pretty good that she would never see him again. Despite plenty of self-confidence, Nina knew she would be operating far away from any support with only air drops and radio messages as assistance. In addition to The Order’s marching army, she would have to contend with all manner of hostile predators as well as groups of Mutants, Wraiths, and Roachbots swarming the countryside slaughtering stragglers and mopping up human resistance in the wake of Voggoth’s offensive.
All that lay in front of her and she knew this was probably the last time she would see Shep, a man who had been like a father to her for years. Could she just fly away, angry with him? No, but she could not pretend that she still believed the lies.
She burst loud enough that he could hear pleading in her words above the racing rotors, “What did I do? Shep! What did I do to chase him away?”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“Trevor and I-we were-we were together. I saw it, Shep. Look, I have pictures. I know it with all my heart. But something happened-“
“Now, now, Nina, that’s not-“
“Something happened and he didn’t want me anymore. Oh, god, Shep, what did I do that he didn’t want me anymore? I can’t live without knowing. It’s eating me up inside. I think I betrayed him, or something. Did I betray Trevor? Is that why he couldn’t stand to be with me anymore? How did I lose him? I have to know!”
She saw Shep struggle with a great weight but she would not release him. Not now. The time for lies had passed.
“Ah, hell, I suppose it don’t matter none no more. If it does, I guess I’ll just have to live with whatever trouble it brings,” and he took hold of her shoulders and settled into the role of a father comforting his daughter. “When you were under the spell of that implant, yeah, they used you to get to Trevor.”
She felt a painful sting of tears. Her heart beat as if it might explode. All her worst fears seemed realized.
“But listen, Nina, all that happened before you and Trevor got together. Do you hear me? Before. That wasn’t your fault, you hear? Trevor saved you from them. He made sure we got you outta there. He didn’t blame you. He never did.”
“I don’t-I don’t understand. Help me, Shep. Please.”
“You two were something else. And it did this old man’s heart good to see you with him. I don’t know much about that type of thing; I was never one for romance and all. But you two were the real deal. I think-I think maybe he’s the only one in the world who really knew you. And I’m gonna guess that the same goes for you to him. You went through a change, Nina. Not too much, understand. You were as good a soldier as ever-maybe better-with him there for you.”
Her eyes left his and darted back and forth as if reading words floating in the air.
“Then I-then you discovered the memory thing. I forgot all that, didn’t I?”
“That’s right, yep. No one saw it coming. When Johnny and Maple had to cut that cancer outta your head it took away an entire year of your life with it. I’m sorry, Nina.”
“But that-that doesn’t explain why-it doesn’t explain why we didn’t try again. I have to believe that I would want to-that he would-“
“It killed him, Nina. It killed him for you to forget. But there was something more. We were all told-we were told never to say anything to you. That it’d be treason to tell you about any of it.”
The pleading returned, “Why? That doesn’t make sense! Why?”
“You heard him at the meeting, Nina. There’s something more going on to all this. It ain’t no secret that Trevor has a line to someone higher up the chain of command, if you get my meaning.”
Nina did. She remembered the Old Man in the cabin, the one whose footsteps made no sound; whose touch created a bridge between her mind and Trevor’s.
She remembered asking that mysterious Old Man what Trevor needed to ease the pain; that maybe she should go get Trevor’s wife, Ashley.
“That ain’t gunna do the trick, missy. Trev, here-well, he’s with who he had to be with; more like a job than anythin’ else. Truth is, you exactly what he needs, Nina Forest.”
As she recalled the words of that strange Old Man, Shepherd gave them meaning.
“I don’t know what all happened, Nina, but from what I can gather, something he couldn’t control sort of got in the way. I’m guessing it has to do with finding Ashley and their kid a few months later, but whatever the reason I’m telling you he never stopped-well-it killed him to lose you. You hear me? I don’t think he ever had a choice.”
All the loose ends tied together for Nina Forest. Trevor still loved her, that’s why he had traveled into hostile territory to save her; that’s why the alternate Nina from another Earth had used her as bait to lure him. That’s why Nina needed to be the one to save The Emperor from himself after The Order turned all his grief against him.
Nina realized that even Ashley had known this, that’s why she had insisted on Nina being the one to solve the mystery behind the assassination; why she had requested Nina to track Trevor through the wilderness. The Old Man had known it, too-what had he said to her when he had first walked into the room?
“Oh, now, that’s right. You don’t remember a lick, do ya? Probably for the best and all. Yep, definitely for the best. We had a talk once, you and me, about our friend here.”
“Of course,” she said aloud to herself. “He knew me. I must have met him before I lost my memories-he probably told me why…”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. It’s not important now.”
A voice joined the conversation. A shout actually.
“Captain!” Vince Caesar-loaded with gear and helmets and goggles-cupped his hands and yelled from alongside the helicopter. “Is there a problem?”
She waved at him. The type of aggravated wave that told Caesar to get back into the helicopter and wait until Hell freezes over if that’s what it took. He did just that.
“Nina, I’m sorry,” Shep consoled.
“It’s okay,” she actually smiled. “It’s good-it’s good to know. I have to go now.”
“I reckon so, yeah. But, listen here, Nina Forest, you give them hell. Do you hear? If this is it then let’s go out with a bang.”
The obsession of not-knowing faded faster than she thought possible. What came, instead, was a feeling of anger. Anger at the powers of Armageddon for stealing a chance at happiness from her. At putting her and Trevor through so much. At cheating her from what was rightfully hers.
She glanced at Shepherd. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Her body shivered ever-so-slightly and a hint of devilish red glared in her cheeks.
“Hell, Shep? They have no idea. But I’m going to show them, Shep. I’m going to teach it to them.”
She quickly placed a hand on his cheek in a silent goodbye, swiveled around sharply, and marched to the Blackhawk. A moment later the helicopter rose from the destroyed tarmac of McConnell Air Force Base and flew off to the west.
Jerry Shepherd watched her go.
10. Decapitation
Anita Nehru sat in a small chair gazing out a second floor window. Glare from the midday sun cast her in an angelic light. Her dark hair fell lovingly on her shoulders; its luster had returned in the seven days since leaving the Red Rock facility.
A sandwich and a bowl of soup waited for her attention, but her focus remained on something outside.
“You must eat your lunch before it is no longer hot,” Omar encouraged from across the bedroom as he fit a silver watch around his wrist.
“I’m watching the birds.”
Anita raised her hand slowly in an almost mechanical movement, and then traced a solitary finger on the window as if touching something beyond the glass.
“I see. Well I cannot stay. I am going over to talk with Mr. Jon Brewer and his wife. There are things to discuss.”
“You should see these birds, Omar. They are very big.”
He huffed and crossed the room to her. The hardwood floor creaked with his footsteps. When he arrived at his wife’s side he bent over and pecked her cheek.
“Have you taken the pills the doctor gave to you?”
“Yes-no, no,” her eyes did not waver from the window.
“Then you will do that. Before the nurse comes today. Please, Anita. You must.”
“Look at the birds, Omar.”
Omar reluctantly glanced outside. Two big, black birds circled over and over again above the mansion grounds.
“Yes, I see them. They are probably hawks. Very pretty,” but his tone suggested frustration, not awe. “Perhaps you should move away from the window and have your lunch, Anita. You have been sitting there since you woke up hours ago.”
“It’s a lovely view.”
“You will do as you choose, I suppose. But please Anita, take your medication. And eat some lunch.”
“I’m watching the birds. They just keep flying round and round.”
Omar reached the bedroom door, grabbed the knob, and sighed.
“That is what birds do, Anita. They fly.”
“Round and round?”
“Yes. Round and round.”
“Over the same spot?”
He did not answer.
She finally turned away from the window, looked him in the eyes, and said, “For three hours?”
Omar sighed again.
“I must go. I will be back soon.”
He exited the room. Anita watched the door close behind him and then she returned her eyes to the circling birds and traced a finger along the window again.
“Round and round, birdies. Round and round.”
The Greater Pittsburgh International Airport had actually died prior to the end of world, giving way to a shiny new airport in the early 90s. Allegheny County had struggled to find the best use for all that land, including tearing down the main terminal to make way for a cargo center. But it was not until after the end of the world that the old airport truly returned to life.
Brett Stanton resuscitated the old airport when he brought the dreadnought program to that stretch of wide open empty land. However, by Monday, May 25, eleven years after the invasion that program had stalled. Instead of building new dreadnoughts and super cargo carriers, the shipyards at the old Pittsburgh airport served as a triage center for the gigantic wounded warriors.
The Excalibur sat in dry dock. Or, rather, hovered. The rectangular monster lingered above what used to be the main runways of the airport. A series of gantries lined the massive ship from bow to stern and all along the sides. Hoses and walkways extended from those gantries to carry supplies and work crews on and off the ship. Temporary anti-gravity generators-big glowing cases each the size and shape of a football field-augmented the ship’s partially-operating onboard gravity generators, keeping the mammoth afloat.
Most of the ship hid behind those gantries, otherwise the wounds to The Empire’s flagship would be visible: holes in the superstructure, destroyed engine baffles, a massive gash along its topside runway, and an undercarriage riddled with blast holes.
Stanton wondered how the thing remained afloat, let alone managed to fly its way home to Pittsburgh after suffering so many injuries during a battle months ago.
Adjacent to the Excalibur and its circle of scaffolding floated another ship, this one not quite as long and not quite as wide but huge nonetheless. The Hercules presented an oval profile with a flat bottom, like an elongated domed stadium. Unlike its well-armed compatriot, the Hercules was big and empty by design. The vessel served as a gigantic warehouse, capable of transporting large amounts of materials. Even troops could utilize the huge carrier for short durations, although it was not designed to take large numbers of passengers over long distances.
Some gantries surrounded the Hercules, too, but not nearly as many. It did, however, sport two dozen of the temporary anti-gravity generators.
Brett Stanton stood behind the tinted windows in his second-story office and studied the scene while holding a phone to his ear. He saw trucks, tankers, carts, and workers scrambling around the base although in much smaller numbers than before Voggoth’s west coast invasion.
“Now wait, General,” he spoke into the line. “This is still going to take some time. What we’re scavenging from the Hercules isn’t going to fill all the holes-so to speak-in your ship. I’m mostly thinking about those generators. Your baby has first generation anti-gravs and they run with a different polarization than the Herc’s. We’re going to try and make them fit with a little elbow grease and grit, if you catch my meaning.”
Stanton listened, listened some more, and then replied, “I understand that, Jon, but now wait, just hold on, I can only do one or two miracles a day. Considering that this time last week we couldn’t even find replacement parts I think we’ve done a decent job fitting square pegs into round holes. Just don’t tell Omar. He’ll blow his top at us taking liberties with his designs. What’s that? Oh, well, soften the blow for him when he gets there, will you?”
Stanton listened again before saying, “I’m going over to the works right now to see for myself. We’ve already started loading ordnance and filling the fuel tanks for your fighters. Worst comes to worst she can be one heck of a weapons platform and flight deck. Give me a few more days and we’ll have it worked out-if you think so, yes-okay, I’ll see you out here this afternoon.”
Stanton hung up the receiver and gazed across the tarmac at the two air ships.
“One of these days I’m going to catch a break. But not today.”
The Director slid open a drawer in a metallic desk and found a flask. Even he could not be sure exactly what the stuff was, but he knew it came from a bunch of hillbillies living in the Appalachians, therefore it must be good.
He removed the black cap, took a deep swig, and then re-sealed the bottle and returned it to its hiding place.
“Now that’s what I call aviation fuel.”
A moment later he exited the building alongside a middle-aged woman and one very fat man, two of his advisors. They carried blueprints and books while struggling to keep pace with their boss. The trio commandeered a golf cart and buzzed across the open space toward the ships.
“What did the general say?” the woman asked.
“Can he send us more workers?” the man asked.
“Put that to him yourself. He’s coming out this way later.”
A line of black marked the difference between the open pavement under the May sun and nearly a mile’s worth of shade beneath the docked ships.
“Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” Stanton switched his attention from his driving to the sky just before that sky disappeared behind the airship.
The fat man said, “Geez yeah. They kinda look like hawks.”
The woman said, “I didn’t think they traveled in flocks.”
The older man with the prosthetic hand led Ashley along the hall of the lakeside cottage to the rear room that served as Gordon’s nerve center.
“Thank you, Charles,” she said to Gordon’s assistant and he smiled in return as a sign of welcome.
One of the computer printers ran furiously; line after line of type coming off the inkjet at maximum speed. Voices on two different radios filled the room with conflicting sounds, one seemingly the local Internal Security band and the other a news broadcast decrying something about the military abandoning Little Rock.
To her surprise, Gordon did not sit amidst the chaos. Instead, he waited in his wheelchair by the sliding glass door staring at something outside.
“Gordon?”
He answered without turning, “Hello, Ashley. Please, come in.”
His expression appeared different than last Thursday morning when she confronted him over presenting his intelligence reports in person. On that morning he had stared into his backyard looking at something that was not there. This time, something specific held his attention.
“Anything wrong?”
“No, not really,” and turned to face here. “Take a look at this fantastic bird. I’m not sure exactly what it is.”
Ashley-who carried a paperback book in one hand-walked to his side and tried to follow his view.
Before she could say anything, Gordon complained, “Damn. It’s gone. Marvelous creature. Some kind of hawk I think. It was sitting out there in one of the higher branches just staring at the house for a good fifteen minutes.”
“I didn’t know you were a member of the Audubon Society.”
He flashed a grimace-or was it a smile-something-it was hard to tell with Gordon.
“Tell me, Miss Ashley, did you come all the way over here to cause me grief?”
“Yes. And lots of it,” she placed a hand on his shoulder and they shared a chuckle. She the waved toward the equipment going mad in the center of the room. “Something big going on?”
“Preparations. All the pieces are moving into place for that glorious last stand. Except for General Brewer, of course. He’s still tying up some loose ends before he heads out. You know, it won’t be long and we’ll have this lake practically to ourselves.”
“That will be a change. For us, at least. You and I, Gordon, we joined on a little later than the rest of them. I understand things were a lot quieter back when there was only a handful of them. Say, you never told me, what were you up to before you hooked up with Trevor?”
He shook his head. “Not today, Miss Ashley. I wouldn’t want to spoil our afternoon. What have you got there?”
She held a paperback aloft. He read the cover and said, “Conrad, Heart of Darkness. Yes, we still have some more reading to do, don’t we? Charles is putting together a late lunch; shall we wait or get started?”
She pulled a folding chair from a lonely corner of the room to his side and joined him in the light by the sliding glass door.
“I’ve done enough waiting,” she answered. “I think we should dive right in.”
“We should tough it out, is that it? My thoughts exactly.”
Ashley opened the story to a bookmarker.
“Okay, here we go, page fifty-six,” she cleared her throat. “You can’t judge Mr. Kurtz as you would an ordinary man…”
Two hundred years ago the legendary explorers Lewis and Clark camped on the grounds of what is now Riverfront Park during their trip across Kansas. A different type of camp returned to the shores of the Missouri River there; one much larger and more chaotic.
The area served as a muster zone for retreating elements of General Casey Fink’s Third Corp as well as advanced units from General Jerry Shepherd’s 1 ^ st Corp. The former disembarked from rail cars via the tracks a few hundred feet to the west of the park on the far side of a destroyed highway. In fact, destruction ruled the outer perimeter of the base camp: an industrial facility of a kind had once operated there but all that remained were a few huge cisterns and the massive parking lot that now hosted hundreds of tents.
Shep had not wanted to move any of 1 ^ st Corp this far west. They belonged at the Mississippi. But developments on the ground demanded action.
He stood under a canvas cover discussing that situation with a collection of officers. These included General Casey Fink, whom Brewer and Trevor had left in charge of operations for the last week; General Cassy Simms of 2 ^ nd Mechanized; Captain Benny Duda who had been overseeing the deployment of his 1 ^ st Mechanized units around St. Louis; and Woody “Bear” Ross who had commanded a mobile artillery unit during the Wetmore battle but now sought a new assignment.
“Here’s what we got, folks,” General Shepherd leaned over a folding table and explained the predicament to the officers involved. Outside-in the bright mid-morning sun-Jeeps and squads of soldiers hurried to and fro giving the gathering of brass little attention. “It seems General Rhodes has got himself into a mess. The garrison at Newton got overrun before his boys could pass through.”
Shep traced lines on a map.
“The bulk of his boys had to abandon their train at Halstead. With the shit Voggoth pulled on us yesterday, that puts them behind enemy lines. That’s about four thousand soldiers plus an entire mobile artillery brigade that was on flatbeds taking a train ride.”
The markers on the map designated The Order’s positions. Casey verbalized what those markers showed: “Last night The Order’s advanced forces skirted Wichita and broke North right up Interstate 135. On top of that, they dropped airborne units supported by concentrated aerial bombardment on Newton.”
Shepherd said, “Long and the short of it, folks, is that Rhodes is getting pinched into a pocket. Those are four thousand soldiers we could use at the Mississippi, so I’m not fond of the idea of leaving them in a pickle like that.”
Murmurs of agreement. None of the gathered officers relished the idea of being surrounded by The Order and each of them knew General Rhodes personally.
Casey Fink reported, “Bragg’s First Tactical Support Wing has gone into full operation; about one hundred sorties have been flown since last night focused mainly on…” he touched spots on the map, “enemy formations on 135. But you know how it is once Voggoth gets any type of bridgehead anywhere. It’s like trying to stamp out roaches with half a can of Raid.”
Cassy Simms volunteered, “Stonewall’s brigades can do it, sir. We can punch through and open a hole for Rhodes.”
Shepherd, his eyes on the map, answered, “I figured you’d say that, Cassy, but all your units aren’t up to the front yet. I think we’re going to have to mix and match brigades and units from just about everyone here, then see what we can get done.” He traced a line on the map and mused, “Ain’t it funny how things turn? Seems to me I recollect a situation like this a few years back, except then it was a bunch of Hivvans in a bag and we were the ones doing the trapping.”
Benny Duda-the young officer who had started his post-Armageddon military career as Stonewall McAllister’s bugler-spoke with acid in his tone, “Speaking of New Winnabow and all that, where is Trevor? Where is Brewer?”
Shepherd stood straight and glared at Duda. “You mean to say General Brewer, right?”
“Where’s he at?”
“After he gave you your orders, Captain, he headed back to the estate for a big get together. He’s expected out this way soon but right about now he’s trying his damnedest to hustle up some reinforcements for us. And to tell you straight, it isn’t your place to go asking about General Brewer like that.”
Duda’s freckle face remained stone cold. He said, “And Trevor? I thought he had taken to leading from the front these days.”
“Whoa, easy there, partner, Trevor is opening up a whole new front in this war and like I said, he don’t report to you, son.”
“I just think it’s funny that he high-tailed it back east after his plan at the Rockies went FUBAR. Just a thought.”
General Shepherd glanced around at the gathered officers and realized that there were still two camps among the officer corp: those whom Trevor had recruited to the estate, and those who had come there with Stonewall McAllister. Tension between the two camps flared now and then, but this was the first time in a long while that he found himself faced with such an obvious dividing line.
Indeed, Stonewall McAllister would never have sanctioned such division, but with his death easy to blame on Trevor’s overly aggressive actions in California that division had been greatly agitated.
He felt eyes turn to him. How would he handle the confrontation? Push too hard and Ross as well as Simms might come to Duda’s defense. Show weakness and command might break down.
Shepherd carefully removed his hat and set it atop the map.
“I’m going to give you that one, Benny, because I know how much Garrett meant to you. But so help me to God if I hear you say anything along those lines again, I’m going to drop you.”
Benny appeared ready to speak. His lips moved.
Woody “Bear” Ross growled, “Benny-shut it.”
The line that Shepherd could see so clearly a second before faded.
Casey jumped in, “What we need right now are SITREPS from each of you on your unit’s operational readiness. You’ve got two hours to report back here. Think about how close those units are and how quickly they can be assembled here.”
Shepherd kept his eyes locked on Benny Duda’s. The kid finally glanced away as Shep spoke, “We have to hit hard and fast. I’m not so much worried about arty but armor and vehicles are priority. Now let’s move.”
“Sir,” Ross interrupted as the briefing dispersed, “I haven’t got a unit. Still waiting on the Excalibur, sir.”
It seemed to Shep that Ross emphasized sir so as to emphasize his loyalty. He must have seen that line, too.
“You do now,” Casey Fink put a hand on one of Ross’ strong shoulders. “Marty Blue’s staff car was hit by an air strike this morning. 4 ^ th Mech is yours. Welcome to 3 ^ rd Corp, General Ross.”
Shepherd replaced the cowboy hat on his head and approached a water cooler on one end of the open tent. Ross and Casey began discussing the particulars of his new assignment with all sorts of paperwork to review; Duda sort of sulked, Cassy Simms examined the map.
Far overhead in the clear blue sky of mid-morning, a black and brown bird made its final circle over the camp. The Humvees and ambulances and squads of marching infantry and forklifts pushing along supply crates took no notice of the airborne voyeur.
No one watched as it stopped circling and flew toward the wooded picnic and camping area a few hundred feet to the southeast along the river bank. The strange, large bird dove toward hard and furious, its wings pulled taut against its body.
Faster and faster it fell not like a bird, but a missile. Its beak sunk into its skull in a mechanical, contracting motion. Its neck puffed thicker as if reinforced from within. And still it fell toward the Earth at a speed surpassing the natural pull of gravity.
Feathers-first one, then another, then in clumps-flaked away and fluttered in the wind. The ground came closer and closer; the creature continued to gain speed faster and faster.
What remained of its beak broke away revealing a shiny metal stake that glinted in the sunlight. The feathers fell off in fistfuls until-as it crashed through the tree tops-nothing remained of its avian costume. Instead, a cone-shaped metal vessel broke tree limbs and burrowed into the ground between two thick roots blasting dirt in a quiet explosion. Only its top end-a metal cylinder lined with pulsing emerald veins-remained above the surface.
The head of the cylinder rotated a half-turn and a small iris opened in its center. A second later, a sack exploded out in a gush from the container as if it were a dashboard airbag deploying in a crashing vehicle. The contents inside the brown and gray sack writhed and squirmed as the proper activation and growing sequence gave them mass and purpose.
Red lights glowed from inside the sack. Those lights pushed against their confinement like a horrific litter demanding to be born.
Jon Brewer exited the front of the mansion with his wife, Lori, at his side. He carried a briefcase and walked with the intention of boarding an Eagle transport waiting on the nearby landing pad. Around them, several K9s patrolled the grounds, guards stood ready at the main gate, a well-armed Humvee eased along the drive way, and Omar Nehru marched to meet them.
“What is this? I thought we were meeting?”
“Change of plans, Omar. You’ve got to come with me out to Pittsburgh.”
The group congregated on the lawn.
“Pittsburgh? I cannot be going to Pittsburgh. What of Anita?”
Lori assured, “I’ll keep an eye on her and we’ll put a nurse in the house twenty-four hours. I promise.”
“I don’t want promises,” Omar objected. “I am not going to Pittsburgh!”
“Look, Omar,” Jon struggled to keep understanding in his voice. “Brett pulled the Hercules in. He’s scavenging engine parts and anti-grav generators from it to shoehorn into the Excalibur.”
Omar angrily shot, “I have told Mr. Stanton not to do this on a number of occasions! The Excalibur’s anti-gravity generators were first-generation. The Hercules has a different type of generator! The two are not compatible and could create a dangerous electromagnetic feedback across the entire system!”
Jon insisted, “Brett says he’s worked that out. But I need you to eyeball it to see if he’s right.”
Omar threw his eyes to the heavens in frustration. The first thing he noticed was that the birds Anita watched all morning had flown off. He did not know why, but that bothered him. Perhaps because it meant Anita had lost a source of entertainment.
Lori broke in, “Listen, Omar, I’ve got to have you give Stanton’s work the okay before I release about five tons worth of supplies and a couple hundred personnel for duty on the Excalibur. Otherwise those supplies will go somewhere else.”
One of the K9 sentries barked. The sound grabbed their attention.
The animal-a German Shepherd-stood on the far side of the Eagle transport facing the northern fence and the thick woods beyond. As they watched, a second then a third dog joined the first, all three staring north.
Two human handlers walking the grounds as well as the guards at the main entrance also took notice. The Humvee that gently rolled up and down the driveway halted and the gunner in the copula swung his. 50 caliber northward.
“What is wrong with them?” Lori asked.
The dogs kept barking. Very agitated.
A sound rose above the barks. A hum. An electronic hum growing louder and louder.
“What is that?” Jon reached to his wife’s shoulder. “Look, get inside. You too, Omar…”
Lights flickered in the woods; red and yellow lights as if a mob of flashlights worked in the forest, sending flashes between the trees.
The humming grew louder-louder…the dogs barked.
“Security!”
Jon’s call brought the two policemen-like guards from the front gate to their side. The pair of handlers also drew weapons. The soldier in the Humvee pulled the bolt on his heavy machine gun. More dogs came from across the grounds to face the northern fence.
Jon’s touch on his wife’s shoulder turned into a strong grip.
“Inside. Now.”
The lights grew brighter and took form; spheres of light-spheres of red and yellow…
“Run!”
They came from the forest like bullets, flying over the fence and onto the estate grounds: a dozen softball-sized suns with flames of red and yellow dancing on their surface. Each generated a screaming hum that sounded like alarms announcing their arrival.
A red one slammed into the nose cone of the waiting Eagle transport. It exploded with the force of an artillery shell breaking apart the cabin and throwing the mortally-wounded pilot onto the lawn along with a shower of metal and glass and burning circuitry.
The handlers pulled pistols and shot at the attackers. Human guards let fly 3-round bursts from automatic rifles, the dogs yapped and jumped-one collided with a yellow ball that popped like a water balloon. The dog disintegrated into patches of fur and bones as the instantly-corrosive acid contents of the weapon covered the K9’s body. The gunner onboard the Humvee joined the fray with a fierce volley of high caliber bullets…
Ashley snapped the paperback shut and leapt to her feet as Gordon directed his motorized wheelchair into the center of his information hub.
The voice on the Internal Security band made no mistake: something attacked the estate; an observation further confirmed by the pop-pop-pop of distant gunfire.
“…repeat, this is front gate, we need back up! Man down! Man down! Oh, Christ-“
“Front gate, this is control, tactical team en route to your location. All lake personnel go to Alert 1 and lock down. Repeat, Alert 1 and lockdown…”
“Gordon-what should we do?”
”We wait here and tough it out, Miss Ashley.” As he spoke, Charles-the man with the prosthetic hand-walked into the room with several items clutched to his chest.
With his good hand he set an automatic pistol on Gordon’s lap, then shoved an identical one into Ashley’s hand. She dropped the book.
For his part, Charles carried an HK Mp5 machine pistol strapped around his shoulders with his good hand on the grip and his plastic hand balancing the barrel.
Ashley protested, “Gordon, Trevor took me target shooting a couple of times but I really don’t know how to-“
He grabbed the Glock from her hand, pulled the slide loading a round, and returned it to her. She stared at the pistol, dumbfound.
“Point and shoot. And remember to stay calm.”
A humming sound came through the walls from somewhere outside.
Gordon spoke to the growing noise, “Me, too? I’m flattered.”
He rolled to the doorway so as to see down the hall. Charles took station by the closed front door.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I can’t use my legs but the bastards still think I’m important enough to assassinate.”
“That-that makes you- happy?”
His answer came in the form of a big, nasty grin.
Brett Stanton stood at the base of one of the tall gantries that helped secure the Excalibur. His two assistants-the woman and the fat man-waited on his flanks while he consulted a third: a bearded black man wearing technician’s garb with a ‘supervisor’ badge.
Around them more technicians, mechanics, engineers, and security guards walked about, some boarding the caged elevators of the gantry and climbing up to the massive battleship and the super cargo carrier floating overhead.
The supervisor complained, “Mr. Stanton, I can do it but I’d feel a lot better if someone who was involved in the design phase was here to oversee the project. I mean, I hook up the wrong power conduit and that could cause the grav generators to repel.”
“Yes, yep, now I know, and that would start ripping things apart one expensive piece at a time. I’m working on getting Omar Nehru out here to take a gander at this stuff, but that’s not going to happen for a few hours. We don’t have a few hours.”
The woman at Stanton’s side gasped, “What the hell are those?”
Brett Stanton whipped his head around toward the east side of the base. There he saw a line of lights weaving around and over old buildings and hangers. The lights shined red and a sparkling blue that-for a brief instant-he thought quite beautiful.
Stanton yelled in a throaty voice, “Security breach!”
Someone on the gantry heard his holler and activated the general alarm. Klaxons sprung to life above, below, and onboard the Excalibur as well as the Hercules.
The lights kept coming from behind the buildings. A dozen-two dozen-three dozen-Stanton lost count as they swarmed from the airport perimeter onto the tarmac heading directly for their position.
“Get clear!” Brett shouted then grabbed hold of the woman and the fat man by their shoulders and shoved them toward the small cart they had used to traverse the airport grounds.
The fat man resisted and bolted for the perceived safety inside the scaffolds and fencing of the gantry. The woman obeyed and dropped a cluster of rolled blueprints as she scrambled for the cart.
Stanton heard the sound the attackers made: a hum gaining in volume like reactors going critical.
He stepped on the accelerator pedal and the cart moved away from the gantry making best-speed to escape the shadow of the floating behemoths for the sunlit open pavement of the runways.
“Hurry-hurry!” the woman screamed but it was too late. The line of red and blue spheres reached them-and missed.
The balls passed overhead like errant pitches. He felt a breeze as dozens of the things flew by but, at the same time, he also felt both heat and a discharge like static electricity from the things.
The swarm of attacking orbs continued above them like some kind of airborne stampede.
Then came the first explosion. Red balls hit the underside of the Hercules in a series of shots similar to artillery blasts.
The woman shouted the most obvious line Brett Stanton had heard in his life: “My God, they’re trying to take out the ships!”
A trio of the blue balls slammed into one of the temporary anti-grav generators affixed to the Hercules’ bottom. A storm of energy flashed like a hundred bolts of lightning and snaked across the bottom of the vessel like electronic worms digging into the belly of the ship.
What the hell are these things?
More red spheres-more blue-making for a combination of large explosions and electromagnetic bursts, most hitting the Hercules, a few hitting specific spots on the Excalibur.
Over the buzz of his golf cart as it sped away-over the hum of the attacking spheres-Brett heard another sound that made his heart skip a beat: a groan. A metallic groan. The sound of a gantry bearing more weight than originally intended.
“Hurry-hurry-oh, my god, hurry…” Stanton did not need her encouragement; that groan provided all the urgency required.
The red balls exploded one after another and apparently well-targeted. A line delivering aviation fuel to the Excalibur ruptured. The explosion followed the fuel hose down to the ground and obliterated a tanker truck as well as a dozen personnel within twenty yards.
A hull plate ripped from the Hercules’ body. As it dropped it careened into another support tower and cut through an elevator shaft. The car inside fell.
Another support tower moaned, only this time the sound did not stop.
Brett Stanton and his assistant reached the halfway point between the dry dock and his office building when the Hercules broke free of its moorings and listed to starboard, slipping sideways and raising its port side into the starboard side of the Excalibur from underneath. The impact of such heavy mass shoved the dreadnought and sent two supporting gantries tumbling like tinker toys. The sound of iron and metal falling into rubbish heaps produced a series of clings, clangs, and crashes that could be heard for miles. More explosions followed on the ground but the worst was yet to come.
Blasts from red orbs and electromagnetic pulses from blue ones destabilized fuel cells and ordnance catches. A line of yellow flames burst from the port side of the Excalibur ejecting equipment, bulkheads, and personnel.
The remaining gantries fell as the Excalibur dipped and pounded into the Earth below; ripping up pavement in a tidal wave of concrete and dirt. The super-strong SteelPlus hull bent and warped. A quarter-mile wide gash opened along the tilted flight deck; flash fires larger than city blocks erupted one after another; bolts of electricity-like lightning strikes-erupted and coated the entire superstructure in a volatile electromagnetic bath that lit the fuse of a powder-keg combination of aviation fuel, power cells, and ordnance.
The Excalibur, the Hercules, all the buildings, vehicles, and structures on the airport grounds; Brett Stanton and his passenger; the wild woodlands around the base; and the cluster of homes in a suburb five miles from the facility’s outer fence, were all consumed by a pressure wave larger than any man-made explosion short of a nuclear detonation.
The blast swept out in all directions via a wall of concussion. A mushroom-shaped cloud of blue and orange reached thousands of meters into the sky, the tremor rattled windows as far off as Akron, Ohio.
Shepherd stood outside the tent and took off his hat as if to bath in the sunlight.
The staging area at Riverfront Park buzzed with activity: trucks, tankers, and Humvees weaved through throngs of tents, temporary camps, and portable toilets. A line of raggedy soldiers stood at a water buffalo parked near a pile of industrial rubble. A handler encouraged along a group of Grenadiers. Four men half in and half out of dirty uniforms sat at a folding table playing cards and smoking. The whistle of a steam train came from just beyond the big cisterns to the west.
He wished he could think of all the activity as an organized encampment. Instead, Shepherd saw the staging area for what it was: the chaos that comes when mixing retreating soldiers with both their supply lines and with incoming units being rushed forward to fill holes.
Pop. Pop.
The crowd silenced. Heads turned trying to find the source.
Rat-tat-tat: assault rifle fire.
Screams.
A flash of light then smoke followed by the boom of a small explosion.
General Shepherd fixed his hat in place and retreated a step toward the tent.
Suddenly the crowd between his position and the southeastern edge of camp-near the trees along the river bank-scattered like sheep running from charging wolves.
Someone shouted, “Incoming! We’ve got incoming!”
In the mid-morning light Shepherd spied balls of red sweeping at the fleeing soldiers like miniature cruise missiles shaped to resemble tiny suns. Their round bodies gave off licks of flames; maybe plasma.
He saw one impact a parked cargo van. The vehicle erupted in a powerful explosion that sent it into the air, upside down, and crashing to the pavement once again.
At this point several soldiers found their weapons and fired at the flying line of a dozen balls of red. One hit. The sphere exploded anyway throwing troops into the air like lifeless rag dolls.
The line of attackers flew toward his command tent. Shepherd saw them coming a moment too late.
He tried to dart inside but stumbled, falling forward to the pavement of what had once been a gigantic parking lot. Two of the red spheres flew directly over his head; he felt an intense heat as they passed.
Inside the tent, Simms and Duda dove for cover beneath the map table; Casey Fink and Bear Ross tried to run off.
The first of the orbs hit a storage locker at the rim of the tent. The explosion tore away the stakes and sent the tent flying off and up into the morning sky. The map table overturned; Duda and Simms tumbled over and over across the pavement.
The second impacted just beyond the tent, a pace behind General Fink and Ross. The blast sent chunks of pavement into the air along with the two men. Ross landed atop a pallet of supply crates; the sleeve of his black uniform caught fire.
Fink landed straight on the pavement, face down and motionless.
Another sphere hit an APC punching a hole in its side. Yet another dive-bombed into a crowd of men standing around a portable kitchen. Shepherd saw legs and arms tossed off as well as blobs of gore.
More explosions all around the camp. Shepherd scrambled to his feet and raced first to Woody Ross who rolled on the ground trying to douse the flames on his arm.
Shep used his hat to help snuff the fire. With a quick glance he saw Ross’ arm to be badly burned and one of his ankles twisted in an unnatural way, but nothing mortal.
He turned around and saw Cassy Simms kneeling next to Casey Fink. She rolled him over. His eyes remained open but lifeless.
“Here comes another one!”
Charles followed the sound and fired a burst from his MP5 just as one of the yellow balls flew in through a window at the front of the house. It popped from the shots and spilled sizzling acid across the hardwood. The droplets bubbled and disappeared leaving behind black holes in the floor.
“Backyard!” Ashley yelled.
Two of the yellow orbs swung into the backyard from the side of the house and raced toward the sliding glass window. The first hit, spraying its lethal cargo on the window which melted open a few square feet like ice hit with a blowtorch.
Gordon-in his wheelchair near his array of radios and computers-leveled his pistol and fired through the hole in the glass meeting the second flying ball before it entered the home. The resulting splash dissolved most of the rest of the sliding glass doors.
More machine pistol shots from the front of the house.
“I’m almost out,” Charles jogged up the hallway in search of another clip.
“Try the kitchen,” Gordon motioned toward the room across the hall from his nerve center. “I keep spare clips in the cookie jar.”
Charles pulled the lid off a Snoopy cookie jar and found what he needed. But before he could slam a new magazine home, a sight from outside the kitchen window grabbed his attention. His eyes widened and he threw himself to the ground.
“Incoming!”
Another yellow sphere smashed through the kitchens window and popped, spreading acid on the sink, floor, and Charles’ prosthetic hand.
“Are you okay?” She knelt near Charles as all went quiet inside and outside the home.
He nodded.
Ashley stood again. Gordon maneuvered his wheelchair into the hallway.
“I think that about does it.”
Another loud hum came from outside and then the front door exploded in with a wave of burning acid that splashed on the hallway floor. A second later another yellow orb flew inside the cottage and right up the hall directly at Gordon and his wheelchair.
He raised his pistol.
The orb locked onto target and increased speed-halfway down the hall…
Gordon Knox pulled the trigger on his automatic.
Click.
“Gordon!” Ashley screamed but Charles reached out with his good hand and stopped her from interfering.
The droning hum from the assassin filled the hallway. Its yellow light danced on the walls.
Knox growled, “Come and get me.”
In a swift, fluid motion Gordon threw off his pistol, reached down to a pouch just behind the right wheel of his chair, whipped out a Mossberg shotgun, pulled the forearm slide, and fired a slug five feet from the orb.
It exploded midair. The acidic contents splashed onto the ceiling, onto the walls to either side and onto the floor just an inch shy of Gordon’s foot. He eyed the sizzling drops meant for him with contempt.
“You missed, asshole.”
Yellow and red lights flashed across the estate lawn and the humming of the spheres drown out all but the highest-pitched screams.
A red ball impacted the side of the mansion; a gap tore in the stone wall and a cloud of dust billowed forth. Another detonated in the sky as a. 50 millimeter round from the Humvee founds its mark.
Lori and Jon ran for the front door of the mansion as a red ball whizzed within inches of their heads, over shot, and blasted away dirt on the far side of the lawn.
One hit the Humvee and its gunner straight-on. The entire vehicle detonated in blast of black and orange and red ejecting the soldier in the cupola in several big chunks.
The concussion of the exploding Humvee knocked both of the Brewers from their feet.
Omar scrambled toward the front gate with the guard there trying to provide cover; he succeeded in blasting one red orb from the sky while a yellow one hit the fence dissolving iron posts into globs of black goo.
Jon rolled over and came to his knees, then ducked to avoid a yellow acid-ball which hit the ground next to his wife just as she scrambled to her feet. It splashed a wave of acid over her. Lori’s clothes sizzled and her lips cried out with an agonizing moan before the poison dissolved her lungs.
Jon’s shout boomed across the grounds. He stumbled forward to his wife’s side but what remained did not move. Smoke rose from the burnt grass and the tattered mess of flesh and bones.
The general slumped to his knees in front of those remains and gaped at them in an expression of disbelief. Behind him the last red ball smashed into the front porch of the mansion and exploded while the last yellow sphere fell amongst a trio of barking canines, killing two.
Jon did not see any of that. All he saw-all he felt-all he cared for at that moment was the loss of the woman he loved. So quick and so permanent; no last words and no chance for contemplation. In an instant the assassins had taken his Lori from him.
His hands clamped onto his forehead, his mouth hung open, his eyes closed, and his body rocked back and forth.