Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

He knew that even as his men fought and died in their attack from the north, Stonewall and his sappers cleared snapmines to the west and came at the Hivvans from that direction, too. Only one piece of the plan remained.

“C’mon, let’s push these bad boys back,” Dustin encouraged. “Let’s go! Attack!”

Using two more Bradleys as cover, several human squads inched forward against the veil of defensive fire. Energy bolts from Hivvan infantry firing from a pedestrian bridge spanning the main road knocked down several of Dustin’s fighters. At the same time, a shoulder-fired missile blasted a Hivvan heavy gunner and his crew from the front window of a souvenir shop.

Dustin watched a burly woman wearing a blue doo-rag charge two reptilian soldiers. She was armed with only a. 22 caliber rifle and her thirst for revenge against the invaders. They cut her to pieces but her example encouraged more to race forward, avenging her death and sending a group of Hivvans to flight.

The attackers broke through the first ring of defenders who then retreated using abandoned cars and stores for cover. The enemy artillery barrage ceased for a moment as the front line of the battle broke into chaos.

Yet just as the enemy appeared ready to retreat en masse, reinforcements braced their lines. More Firecats and a horde of infantry. The defenders increased their power threefold and added short-range artillery-green cauldron-like mortars-to the mix.

Dustin’s men fell one after another until fear-not orders-halted the advance.

McBride found cover in the foyer of a drug store. Through his field glasses, he saw the big red and green artillery pieces of the Hivvan defenders that bombarded anything daring to approach Dillon. The four guns resembled 18 ^ th century cannon, but much larger, mounted on spherical platforms, and linked to a shed-sized control station via heavy cables.

“This is McBride calling fire support, do you copy, Bear? Are you guys ready to get in on the action?”

He held the walkie-talkie closer to his one ear and listened. A deep, booming voice came over his radio, “McBride, this is Ross; everything is a go for support. Give me coordinates and get your head down.”

Dustin whispered a prayer of thanks, knelt with his back against a building wall, and pulled a small map from the pocket of his dirty jeans. He examined the hand-written lines crisscrossing the map and then radioed his savior, Woody Ross.

“Okay man; let’s see if I can do this right. Um, fire mission, grid 5–7, target enemy batteries, infantry, and, um, vehicles. I think that’s-no wait, um, danger close. Fire for range.”

Ross’ voice came through, “Are you sure, Dustin? Don’t be too close.”

“Hey Bear, between me and the General we’ve got these guys boxed in here. You do this right it’s like hitting fish in the barrel just, well,” the enemy’s artillery came back on line and a blast turned two human soldiers standing to McBride’s right into piles of burnt ash. “Just be sure to hit the target, man.”

“First round comin’, keep your head down.”

A moment later, an explosion erupted just in front of the pedestrian bridge crossing over the main road where alien infantry fired mercilessly at Dustin’s force. As nice as it felt to see the lizards scatter, they were not the target.

“Fire control, yeah this is Dustin. Range, short, about fifty yards. Just a little short. Adjust and repeat.”

Thirty seconds later another explosion; this one hit a store near the enemy’s artillery. Dustin watched the Hivvans scurry for cover.

“That’s it! You hit-I mean, fire control, this is Dustin. Right on! Fire for effect! Light em’ up!”

The rain came. A pouring rain of artillery. Explosion after explosion tore apart the pavement, the shops, the restaurants, as well as the enemy guns and infantry. A thick cloud of smoke formed over the one-time tourist attraction, fires burst to life, and the Hivvan defenses crumbled.

Trevor and Ashley waited quietly in the sterile hospital lounge.

A clock on the wall ticked but it told faulty time; no one had bothered to reset it since power had been reestablished a year after the invasion began. It ticked away the wrong minutes as if never interrupted by Armageddon.

Still, the ticking sounded as loud as gunshots in the quiet room.

Trevor rubbed his hands together in a physical motion that mimicked his mental state. He replayed the things the intruder had said. He tried to understand.

Was it true? Was there some clue to all of this locked away in his genes? Was he the result of generation after generation of pairing and mating, had his life been predetermined by his DNA?

That would explain his role as a “link” on a chain. Perhaps the Old Man’s words had been a metaphor for genealogy.

But to what end? To what purpose?

Maybe he would fight this war his entire life and then hand the reigns to his son?

He prayed that was not true. He did not want to pass on the loneliness and despair of his purpose to the one bright spot of his life.

Of all the things his half-brother said, one accusation stood above the rest: “You started this. You caused Armageddon.”

Trevor sighed aloud.

“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Ashley asked. “There isn’t something you haven’t told me, is there?”

“Maple said JB did not have a concussion, just a pretty good whack on the head. He’s going to be fine.”

“Then why are we sitting here waiting? Why isn’t he on his way home with us?”

Trevor wrung his hands more and explained, once again, “Because I asked Dr. Maple to run those extra tests. Just to be sure.”

“To be sure he doesn’t have a concussion?”

“Yes,” he lied to her.

To find out who my son really is.

General Stonewall McAllister strolled among the devastation wrought by the human and Hivvan armies. Medics lifted crying, pleading comrades from the rubble and hurried them to aid stations while scattered pistol shots signaled the end for alien wounded. A haze of smoke and dust hovered over the scene where the destruction on the ground contrasted sharply with the peaceful blue sky overhead.

Those Hivvans who survived the battle pulled out of “South of the Border” and retreated toward Dillon on secondary roads, primarily Rt. 301.

More than three hundred of Stonewall’s troops died, at least twice that number injured enough to be pulled from the lines. They killed nearly that many Hivvans in addition to destroyed Firecats and artillery.

McAllister realized, however, that had the aliens truly grasped the supply shortfalls faced by his army, they might have risked reinforcements from Columbia. His ‘mechanized’ division lacked the fuel to put the bulk of his mobile units into battle. A little air support or a battlebarge might have allowed the enemy to take the offensive and beat back his infantry, thus halting the entire plan to form a pocket around the alien army in North Carolina.

Regardless, the Hivvans still nearly fought him to a standstill. Only an advantage in artillery range and accuracy allowed humanity to carry the day so quickly. If not for Ross’ guns, Stonewall would have had to deploy almost his entire division to flush out the Hivvans, and that would have cost at least a full day, if not two.

Nevertheless, no significant enemy defenses remained in front of Dillon. They would collect and bury their dead, muster the division, and reach their objective in one last fast march.

That would come tomorrow. What daylight remained would be used to pull his forces together, tend to the wounded, and prepare.

As he resolved himself to this course of action, Stonewall allowed his mind to wander. That is, ‘wander’ in the way a ship ‘wanders’ when in the grip of a whirlpool. It may feel like sailing, but the pilot truly has no choice in direction.