Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

"Confirm that message. Confirm it, NOW!"

General Jon Brewer stood on the bridge of the Excalibur alongside the command station where Woody "Bear" Ross operated as the 'brain' of the ship.

"Message confirmed from D.C. Station," Ross replied in his booming voice. "All friendly air traffic is grounded. The contact is not responding to hails."

Jon yelled the obvious order, "Intercept it, goddamn it! Intercept!"

The Excalibur's main engines increased to maximum thrust, propelling the massive vessel over the Virginia landscape at speeds approaching one-hundred and twenty miles per hour.

Jon, staring out the bridge windows at blue skies, growled at his unseen quarry, "Where are you going? Are you trying to get back to Mexico? Is that it?"

Nothing yet appeared on the Excalibur's scopes, but if I.S. spotters were correct then the getaway transport for the alien assassination team would soon be in range. As Jon waited for intercept, he played over the events of the last sixty minutes, according to reports from Internal Security, the media, and the Department of Medical and Health Services.

At 1:15 p.m. on May 22, an alien-operated Eagle transport-most likely a Centurian ship painted to resemble The Empire's versions-landed without warning at the estate of Senator Evan Godfrey. Within thirty seconds the bulk of the I.S. security detail had been killed. Godfrey and Stone had both been hit, although Godfrey's wounds appeared minor.

Less than two minutes later, the alien assault force flew off, chased away by the encroachment of perimeter guards and military units.

At 1:23 p.m. an I.S. transport helicopter departed with the injured, including Emperor Trevor Stone, to the Medical and Health Services facility in Washington D.C., where none other than Dr. Maple himself-a member of the Imperial Council-began emergency surgery on Trevor for a direct hit by an alien energy rifle.

At 1:45 p.m., Dante Jones, who was at D.C.'s I.S. complex and Tambourine Central Station, ordered the grounding of all Eagles in an attempt to locate the enemy craft that still had not appeared on any of the regional radar stations, or the Excalibur's own scopes.

At 2:12 the Internal Security station in D.C. reported contact with a suspect vessel matching the profile of an Eagle. Said ship did not respond to hails. Ross shouted, "Got it! Radar contact coming from the northeast. Fifty miles and closing." "Why didn't we see the damn thing sooner?" "Maybe he was hiding in the mountains," Ross answered.

Brewer knew they might only have once chance. From what he remembered, the Redcoat shuttles could run at speeds close to one-hundred and fifty miles per hour, meaning the aliens could outrun the Excalibur, and the ship's fighter compliment was stowed below decks.

Jon wanted to know how the aliens managed to fly from Mexico to D.C. without detection. Could the Centurians have a hidden base inside the boundaries of The Empire?

For the next several minutes Brewer watched monitors and listened to Bear direct navigation to intercept. The radar blip closed to within missile range and while Jon's naked eyes could not see the enemy, Bear's telescopic lenses provided confirmation.

"That's it. We got em'. Do you want me to fire?"

Jon replied, "Hold for a moment. Contact them. Tell them they will be destroyed unless they respond."

Woody Ross relayed that order several times over the course of three minutes with no answer. The radar blip crossed the Excalibur's path heading from northeast to southwest at a high rate of speed.

"They ain't answering," the Brain stated the obvious. "They're going to outrun us if we don't do something about it. Should I get the crews to their fighters?"

"No. We don't need the jets. Fire."

One, two, three, then four radar-locked missiles streaked away from launchers. Jon turned from the open windows of the bridge and walked to the tracking station.

The missiles flew straight and true. The alien vessel either did not know that death fast approached or lacked any countermeasures. Ross, watching through telescopic lenses, yelled, "First one is a hit…it's smoking. Wait…second hit. And the third. Damn, that Got em! They're in pieces, no chance of survivors."

The blip disappeared from the scope. Jon visualized chunks of debris twisting and falling to the wilderness below.

Cheers erupted around the bridge but not from Jon Brewer. He knew what had happened. He knew the damage had already been done.

The General left the radar station and returned to the Brain area. Woody Ross did not cheer, either. In fact, he absolutely scowled as one finger pressed an earpiece tight.

"What? What is it?"

"Communication from Ray Roos. Trevor Stone is dead."

10. Wrath

The forty-acre tract of land called Highland Beach jutted out into the Chesapeake Bay a few miles southeast of Annapolis. The tiny municipality originated as a getaway for affluent blacks from the Washington D.C. area in the early 20 ^ th Century. That unique identity had been fairly diluted by the time Armageddon and Hivvan occupation arrived. Many of the resort homes and businesses burned to ashes during those dark years prior to liberation.

On top of the ruins, The Empire built the Southern Command facility to help prosecute the war against the Hivvans. From there, General Jerry Shepherd had directed tens of thousands of human forces, armored columns, and air assets against the lizard-like aliens until breaking the enemy's back at Atlanta.

As the war moved west, the Southern Command morphed from active headquarters to communication station and training facility.

For Nina Forest and the Dark Wolves, the vertical landing pads and communications office off Bay Drive served as a muster point prior to missions. They would usually catch an Eagle or a chopper from there and fly either to a larger airport or a dreadnought. The flattened rubble to the north of the facility also provided grounds for tactical training and weapons ranges.

When news surfaced mid-afternoon that Trevor had been badly wounded during an alien assassination attempt, Captain Nina Forest followed her first instinct and gathered her gear, caught a bus from her apartment complex to the transportation hub on Douglas Avenue at Highland Beach, then jogged passed the beach to the old Southern Command buildings.

The entire process-from saying goodbye to Denise to walking in the front doors at the center-lasted half an hour. Yet in that time, things changed drastically.

Nina, a duffle bag thrown over one shoulder and her M-4 cradled on the other, staggered away from the building after learning that nothing more remained to be done.

She moved along the shaded sidewalk with the plan of returning to the transportation hub. On the far side of the short beach the gentle waters of the Chesapeake lapped to shore. A series of rotting wood posts marched out into the surf, all that remained of a dock washed away long before Highland Beach burned.

A small park with rusty playground equipment stood vacant under a warm afternoon sun. Charred branches and logs lay in circles around the rim of the park. Nina knew that kids-kids like Denise and her boyfriend Jake-came here at night to build campfires.

Her legs weakened. Nina accepted the invitation of an empty bench and sat facing the swooshing waters.

It came at her unexpectedly: a powerful, unstoppable surge of sadness forming a horrible rock of despair in her stomach and sending a quiver across her body. She dropped her bag with a thump on the sand at the edge of the beach and set the M-4 down. A breeze carrying the scent of salt blew by and seagulls cawed over the water oblivious to the tragedy of the day.

Trevor Stone had died after suffering a direct hit from an energy weapon. He had been dead, in fact, before arriving at the hospital but Dr. Maple explained to the press that he had wanted to exhaust every avenue of treatment before abandoning hope.