Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

"What? When? Okay."

Snowe then hurried to the windows on the east side and told them, "Spotters say the Philippan just launched a lot of missiles. Probably cruise missiles."

The Information Director nearly cried, "I thought they didn’t have GPS munitions?"

Snowe explained, "They don’t. I think they use radar altimeters and digital strip maps. Not exactly low tech, but not dependent on GPS, either."

Malloy insisted, "Those missiles are not meant for me. They need me to tell our soldiers when to stop fighting. Without me-"

Three missiles slammed into the observation windows of the Tower Room; five hundred kilograms of explosives in each warhead. The blast incinerated the ministers, guards, and Governor. The concussion broke the top floors of City Hall into blocks of concrete, glass, and steel. Those blocks rained down on the streets below, including the bread line.

For all purposes, the California Cooperative died at that moment.

– Fremont Boulevard and Canyon Del Ray Boulevard crossed in a big ‘X’ about a half-mile away from the Monterey Peninsula airport, which was Stonewall's last objective for the day. He found it intolerable that his formation’s vanguard remained stuck at that intersection, so close to the airport but seemingly unable to make that last push.

Part of that vanguard lay in ruins at the center of that big ‘X’ with treads popped off and armored chassis’ burning among craters and charred patches where a combined total of sixteen lanes of roadway crisscrossed. The rest of his division stretched northeastward on Fremont, waiting for their chance to punch through for the airport. Stonewall paced behind an ad hoc bunker constructed with sandbags among the skeleton-like remains of two cars. "Benjamin, please explain why my division is not currently moving forward."

Stonewall just arrived at the front line from his headquarters further back in the column. So far he saw his damaged war machines but no sign of what caused that damage.

Before Duda answered, a Bradley Fighting Vehicle moved into the cluttered intersection, weaving through the carnage and attempting to drive south. Stonewall stopped pacing and eyed the Bradley’s progress, still wondering what had caused the fuss.

The answer came in a long hiss and crackle heard above the pops and snaps coming from the smoldering wrecks in the center of the ‘X’. Just as the Bradley cleared those wrecks, a glint of silver flashed in the rays of sunset as it rose into the air from behind a cluster of buildings.

Stonewall watched as that silver flash swooped toward the Bradley. The armored vehicle spotted the threat and fired its main gun, but the Witiko Skytroop zigzagged.

The turret rotated, but not fast enough. The Witiko hovered a hundred feet in the air for one quick second and fired a missile from a portable launcher. That missile lumbered relatively slow for a rocket. Despite its slower-than-expected speed, the projectile ruptured the protective armor of the vehicle and exploded inside the cabin, killing another crew.

"Oh dear. Get anti-air units forward."

"Sir, wait a second," Benny Duda pointed toward the spot in the air where the Skytroop had hovered. That trooper remained visible, having risen higher into the sky but not retreated toward the airport as had been the routine during the standoff. Four more Skytroop officers joined the first.

Stonewall ordered, "Hurry with those anti-air units. Time is of the essence."

But the Witiko airborne soldiers did not attack. They turned their thrusters to full power and raced off to the northeast at a fast pace, maybe as fast as eighty miles per hour. Whatever their actual velocity, their speed and height allowed them to easily avoid carbine fire from below.

"Well, what an interesting development," Stonewall said.

Duda replied, "They look like they’re headed toward our rear area."

Stonewall considered the events of the last few days, up to and including the news that the Governor and his staff died earlier that evening in a missile strike on Los Angeles. One of the more interesting developments in those few days had been the willingness of Witiko officers to go to great lengths to bypass the front lines and surrender to Internal Security units.

"Fear not, Benjamin, I believe our Witiko friends will be well received."

Stonewall stepped from cover and stared to the southeast. He knew the airport waited to be overrun, probably abandoned by the Witiko. If lucky, he might find one or two Stingray cruisers there for the taking.

Beyond the airport rose rough mountains. On the far side of those mountains, the Carmel Valley Ranch resort where, according to aerial surveillance, nearly fifteen hundred hard core California soldiers dug in.

Stonewall had already held dealings with that lot. They had stopped his advance outside of Stockton last week, inflicting a fair number of casualties and, according to eyewitness reports, executed a squad of his engineers who had taken a wrong turn into enemy territory. "Looks like we’re clear," Duda said enthusiastically. "Yes," Stonewall lamented. "On to the next battle." — "They surrendered about an hour ago," General Prescott explained from the front passenger seat of the moving Humvee. "After Bogart broke their front lines they pulled back near Rainbow Lagoon to try and protect access to Interstate Seven-Ten. We used Bragg’s Blackhawks to land units and some light arty behind them at the harbor. They gave up the ghost after that."

Trevor listened to Prescott but kept his eyes focused out the window. He saw crowds of California civilians daring to move outside now that the guns had stopped. They did not know that the man who led The Empire sped by as part of a motorcade. Even if they did, their attention focused on the dead bodies, broken machines, and damaged buildings left from the battle for Long Beach.

A Chinook flew low overhead, no doubt ferrying more infantry forward to secure the newly taken prize. Further off, a cloud rose from atop Signal Hill on the north side of town where earlier that morning a bombing run reduced Cooperative artillery to a pile of melted iron.

Closer, they passed a Humvee driving slowly along East Ocean Boulevard broadcasting, "All Witiko are ordered to report to the processing station at the Hilton near the old Trade Center. Failure to comply will result in forcible arrest."

Soon, Trevor knew, the Hunter/Killer teams and their K9s would enter the city and sniff out alien hideaways. Doors would be smashed. Witiko children and their parents would be forced into custody prior to being shipped across country for a one-way trip through the runes.

He felt bad about what was to come, but not guilty. No one invited the Witiko to Earth. The fact that they had bargained their way to power in California with the help of human accomplices changed nothing.

Trevor glanced to his right. Resort homes, condominiums, hotels, and shops came and went. When he looked out the window to his left, his heartbeat changed to heavy, fast thumps.

The Pacific Ocean. Trevor held a hand to the window, as if trying to touch the sparkling blue waters on the far side of a brilliant white beach.

Ten years of war replayed in his mind. He saw those first battles in northeast Pennsylvania, when his army could be counted on two hands. Then four years of skirmishes and local battles to expand across the state and into neighboring regions. After that came the Hivvan War; a raging combined-arms fight across the south until the entire Mid-Atlantic region as well as the heart of Dixie had been wrested from the invaders.

The march to the Mississippi and the problems in Ohio; the re-settling of the new American frontier, crossing the Rockies and into the Northwest, and now the Pacific.

He knew the war to liberate humanity would rage for decades more with battles in the jungles of South America, the deserts of the Middle East, the plains of the Ukraine, the frozen tundra of Scandinavia, and across the vast expanse of Asia. That's what waited for Trevor, his children, and their children. Yet today-right now-they achieved a milestone. "Stop the car." The Humvee escorts pulled to the curb outside a mansion surrounded by palm trees identified as the "Long Beach Museum."