Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

“I am not happy, Captain. Not at all.”

“Sir? I would think this would be good news.”

“What? Yes, the lack of reinforcement is good-if not surprising-news. However, I am focused on the bad news today. We have lost cohesion in our division,” he pointed forward to the unknown ahead. “The front of our column is but seven miles from the objective.” He then turned in his saddle and pointed one gloved hand to the north, behind them. “Yet our column stretches some ten miles. We will arrive at Dillon piecemeal.”

“I understand, General. I suppose those screamer attacks managed to scatter us.”

“No doubt. Yet I sense a lackadaisical attitude among many of our number. Perhaps the proximity of the so-called ‘groupies’ travelling at our rear has caused some to wander in search of, let us say, comforts and leisure activities.”

“Possibly, Sir. I will dispatch a squad to search the caravans for any sign of deserters. However, General, I must point out that food distribution has been rather limited as of late. Some of the boys may merely be searching for a warm meal from the civilians following us.”

“Yes, I know,” Stonewall responded but in a hushed tone to keep his soldiers from hearing. “A scarcity of fuel is inhibiting the supply trucks. Nonetheless, we have a task to accomplish and our fighting spirit has not yet been diminished by these shortfalls.” He pointed to the billboard advertising ‘South of the Border.’ “I intend to rally our forces around this point ahead; this tourist trap. I want to establish my headquarters there and we will organize for the assault on the enemy depot.”

A commotion grabbed their attention. The thin line of horse soldiers marking the forward tip of the division parted and a trio of riders galloped through, led by Dustin McBride.

Benny Duda used his trumpet as a pointer and spoke the obvious, “Our scouts are back.”

“Yes, I see that,” McAllister eyed the galloping riders suspiciously.

McBride waved and yelled but the General could not quite hear the words.

“I say, what is he shouting about?”

Dustin yelled again, “Take cover!”

A flash in the sky caught the General’s attention. Another flash followed a split second later, this one at ground level and it included an electronic buzz as a zone of explosive energy hit the front of an infantry line. The blast fried six men there like a microwave on full power. Their blackened bodies fell apart and the remains of their clothing smoked.

“Incoming!”

The marching columns scattered off the Interstate for cover, but found only fields of grass and light brush.

Wham-buzz. Wham-buzz.

A horse soldier and his mount melted in a lethal electrical blast. The pavement beneath his charred horse turned to slag.

“Hivvan artillery, Sir!” McBride reported as he reached the General. “They’re all over that big rest stop up ahead!”

Wham-buzz.

Two soldiers cowering near a small bush off the highway burst and burned as did the shrub around them.

Stonewall said, “It appears the enemy has sallied out to face us and decided to use the very place I earmarked for our use.”

McBride reported, “They’re dug-in at a fancy shopping place up ahead. We also saw short and medium ranged artillery.”

Another electrical explosion hit close to an APC. Blue sparks danced on its hull, leaving a black scorch on the armored plating.

“Yes, Dustin, I have ascertained as much.”

McBride suggested, “We should call Tactical Air Command. I hear they have the two A-10s up and running again. Send them to bomb the crap out of them. That would do the trick!”

“Splendid idea, Captain,” Stonewall said. “Alas, we received word this morning that no more sorties will be made in support of our advance. It seems our air force has run short on aviation fuel and ordnance. What little remains is committed to interdicting enemy convoys supplying the Hivvans in the pocket.”

The air filled with a feeling of static electricity and a glowing ball of energy impacted the pavement thirty yards from the General and his Captains. A Humvee suffered the brunt of the lethal discharge, its fuel tank exploded and a trio of barbecued bodies scattered on the pavement. Pieces of blasted armor and something resembling a human forearm flew by inches from Stonewall’s nose.

Kaufman warned, “Not safe here, General. They probably have this whole stretch of highway ranged!”

“Sound the retreat, Benny,” he ordered to his teenaged bugle boy and reared his ride about. “Captain Kaufman, signal Bear to move his artillery unit to the front of our column with all due haste. Captain McBride, come with me, we have an attack to plan.”

Built adjacent to the eastern edge of I-95, ‘South of the Border’ included a 300-room motel, five different theme restaurants, a variety of trinket stores, eye-catching over-sized ceramic animals including dinosaurs, a wiener-dog and a Hippo that made for humorous photo backdrops, an in-door 18-hole miniature golf course, a couple of fireworks stores, and several gas stations all surrounded by fields and forests.

Sombreros decorated much of the park, including a tall sombrero tower and a giant man straddling a parking lot wearing, of course, a sombrero.

A few vehicles remained, particularly around the gas stations to either side of the main entrance where lines of cars rusted away. An 18-wheeler lay jackknifed in the middle of the main road and the tail end of a crashed Cessna protruded from a white ‘restroom’ building.

Dustin McBride dismounted and moved his brigade forward bravely, but the words “tallyho” did not sound as suave from his lips as from Stonewall’s.

Several of his soldiers rode on horseback; several more were stuffed into Bradley Fighting Vehicles; even more crammed into cargo trucks, SUVs, and pickups.

They descended off the high ground of I-95 about a half-mile from the center of “South of the Border.” Hivvan artillery shells sounded a high-pitched whistle as they fell. Explosions of deadly electrical fields erupted around the vehicles.

One hit an army truck and it caught fire. The men inside scrambled to exit even before the vehicle stopped. Two rolled on the pavement, burning to death.

“Get the hell out of the trucks,” McBride radioed. “Form a picket line of vehicles and men and let’s move forward!”

Dozens of soldiers dismounted their rides. Those in the armored Bradleys stayed put.

The entire force spread into a wide, advancing line. Foot soldiers moved through retail stores where bold ‘sale’ signs advertised wares and around restaurants decorated with giant plaster hamburgers and hot dogs.

All the while incoming artillery melted pavement and men. One shell hit and collapsed a shop where several soldiers sheltered, killing a dozen and wounding twice that number.

Dustin closed in on the 200-foot tall Sombrero Tower by “Pedroland” park. What sound he heard through his one good ear suggested that the Hivvan batteries fired somewhere just ahead. However, Dustin did not have time to give those batteries much thought. A probing force of Hivvan infantry supported by two Firecats came along the main road and opened fire. His ground troops hurried to defensive positions while two of the Bradleys moved to intercept.

A firefight raged.

One of the Bradleys smoked from Firecat plasma blasts but it let loose a storm of high caliber bullets into the attacking vehicle causing vapors to spew from the rear engine compartment. The crews of both war machines abandoned their rides.

Dustin watched alien energy bolts come at his troops like horizontal rain, catching victims one after another. Yet his boys returned as good as they got, flinging grenades that sent reptilian soldiers flying into pieces, firing rifles-all manner of firearms-in a murderous rage.