Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

His bullets blasted to pieces two Wraiths, but a third dropped its jaw and focused on the loud man with the big weapon. Its scream took form and shimmied directly for the Reverend.

Jon Brewer tackled him, machine gun and all. The cone of noise hit the rock formation he stood upon a split second before and it shattered into pebbles.

Jon poked his head up from cover.

Most of the first wave of Wraiths had been dusted by both the human army and the Vikings. Yet a substantial number of the things remained, clustered near their giant hundreds of yards from the rocky plateau. No doubt they could stay out there and launch earthquakes, inflicting casualties and a loss of supplies that Jon could not afford to lose.

Reverend Johnny sat on his knees, dusted snow and mud from the thighs of his white winter suit, and said, “Praise the Lord, General, I did not realize that I stood on such shaky ground!”

“You’re welcome,” Brewer answered. “I’m thinking they’re going to stay out there and have that big ugly thing slam its fist and-wait a second. Shaky ground?”

Johnny cocked a smile and noted, “You have the twinkle of inspiration in your eye.”

“Reverend, get the mortar teams over here and load up on WP.”

“You plan to melt them?”

“Awe, gee, Rev, you want me to explain it to you? GET MOVING!”

Reverend Johnny, properly motivated, hurried to gather the men and their equipment.

In the meantime, a soldier approached General Brewer holding an AT4 missile launcher.

“Sir? What do you think?

Jon shrugged. “It’s a distance but worth a try. I’ll cover you.”

The soldier and the General approached the rim of the rock island. Jon fired from his M4 at two nearby Wraiths; they scattered for non-existent cover.

This bought the soldier time and space to run out onto the snow, kneel, and take aim at the giant. While far away, the thing stood tall.

The missile launched, spewing exhaust rearwards while the warhead raced forward like an oversized flaming arrow. Particularly well-aimed, the shot sped directly for the creature’s slack-jawed face. At the last second, the beast swayed its upper body as if bobbing to the beat in a dance club. The projectile spiraled off into the midnight sun leaving behind a harmless contrail.

Jon and the rocket soldier retreated.

While the Wraiths contemplated their next move, the Vikings and humans continued their battle around the center of the rocky plateau.

A human sharpshooter sniped a Viking officer. In turn, an explosive charge lobbed by one of the aliens obliterated that sharpshooter and injured two other soldiers.

Fink fired from the M208 grenade launcher on his M16. The explosion filled a pair of Vikings with deadly shrapnel.

The Captain paused and took stock of his force. The lines held, but too many red-stained white parkas lay motionless on the ground and many more limped about or cried for medics. Certainly they gave as good as they got, but at this pace even victory might mean the end of their expedition.

“Keep up your fire, boys!” Fink returned to the business of killing.

Back on the western flank facing the Wraiths and their behemoth, mortar rounds lobbed toward the giant, smacking into the ground- the ice — in front of it. The white phosphorous exploded in crackles and clouds of white with burning cores creating a blast of heat.

“C’mon sweetheart,” Brewer mumbled as he watched the gargantuan through his binoculars. “You just know you want to send another tremor our way.”

More rounds hit, exploding like sparklers. A wall of smoke grew in front of the Wraith army, obscuring the giant to its knees. It glared at the humans hiding among the rocks and slung its big fists into the air once again.

Those fists slammed into the ground. Slammed into the ice of the glacier. The same glacier that had swallowed some of Brewer’s men during their trek across the frozen wastes. The same glacier that had been retreating and eroding over the centuries. The same glacier that had been further weakened by several rounds of burning, melting and exploding incendiary shells.

The fists of the giant slammed into and through the ground, its earthquake exploding around its feet like a backfiring bullet. The tremor dissipated, the ice cap collapsed in a big circle. This time Wraiths fell to oblivion.

The giant’s legs sunk into the crumpling surface and it fell with its arms to its side wedged into the ice up to its waistline. Its stoicism disappeared as it became entangled in the subsidence; now a trapped animal.

Jon smiled, pumped a fist, and shouted, “Got you, you mother.”

“Lord in heaven! Look!”

Apparently the Wraiths decided to change tactics, favoring retreat. But the manner in which they departed caused ever witnesses’ jaw to drop.

The remaining creatures-still a significant number-abandoned their oversized walking artillery to its fate and formed a tight group. Each stretched their arms out as if pointing to the sky and then…and then…flew into the air. As they left the ground, their bodies fell apart into wind, forming a spinning cloud, like a gray and white dust storm or cyclone.

That torrid of cloud and wind moved north by northeast, leaving behind the battlefield and heading for the real goal.

Captain Fink’s shout shook Jon from a trance of awe.

“Sir! Sir!

“W-what is it, Captain?”

“It’s the Vikings, sir, they’re bugging out!”

“What?”

Jon rushed to the northern perimeter.

Like the Wraiths, the Vikings decided to continue the race for the ultimate prize, using the distraction of the Wraith’s departure as an opportunity to escape the stalemate.

Packed with gear, their oversized lizards hurried off at a fast trot while motorized tricycles led the way and an infantry rearguard took pot shots at the humans on the rocks.

“Okay, okay,” Jon thought and then focused. “Pack it up! We’re getting out of here!”

“Sir! We have injured,” Fink said.

Jon glanced around and saw at least a dozen fighters too wounded to move.

“Leave them here,” Jon said but before the shock of his order hit home he added, “Keep some supplies and a squad here to cover them. We need to move fast.”

While the Imperials packed, the soldier who had missed with the rocket launcher re-armed and raced across the glacier toward the trapped giant.

It roared as the tiny human approached, but it could not free its legs or arms.

The soldier knelt, took aim, and fired an armor-piercing rocket into the giant’s face.

Yesterday, Dr. Maple told Trevor that his son’s brain exhibited extraordinary activity and that its basic structure appeared different-more advanced-than a “normal” brain. Authorizing more tests could yield more answers, but Ashley would not allow it.

Today, he listened to Gordon Knox rambling on with technical jargon and detailed map coordinates to the point that Trevor’s patience boiled over.

“Skip the by-the-numbers crap, Gordon. You only go all technical with me when you’re trying to figure out how to tell me the bad news. Just give it to me already.”

Knox cleared his throat. “Okay, then, I guess we’ll just tough this out. We’ve had to reduce the number of aerial reconnaissance due to a lack of aviation fuel and what few pilots we have are worn out. No tactical air support is available to the field commanders. We’ve kept a couple of fighters on alert in theater in case more Screamers pop up, but that’s it.”

Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, “When can they expect re-supply?”

“It’s going to be at least a week; Omar is over-taxing the matter makers as it is. But if we could get a hold of the ones in Columbia…”