Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

They stood there, facing one another as the rain poured, the lightning flashed, and the thunder boomed.

The storm continued through, bringing change on its winds.

Despite a sheepskin jacket, Evan Godfrey shivered as he followed the driveway toward the main gate on his way to the church for breakfast. Puffy flurries drifted from the sky.

Danny Washburn stood at the gate serving the last minutes of overnight guard duty.

A heavy thump-thump grabbed the attention of both men. Washburn pointed to an Apache helicopter racing inbound over the lake and said, "Damn, she’s coming in hot."

Godfrey stood next to the former ATF agent. "Is it Trevor?"

"Nina Forest. She went out on a recon flight at dawn."

The air vibrated with a deep chopping from the rotors as the intimidating fighter neared.

Godfrey said, "Um, isn't it crazy to let her fly around with that much fire power? Wasn’t she playing for the other team last week?"

"Hey, sport, that girl saved your ass. If Trevor is cool with it, then I’m cool with it."

"Well… sport, I know a lot of people around here who are keeping an extra eye on her."

"I guess you’d be the one to know about that. You're always off in a corner whispering about something."

The downdraft from the Apache scattered snowflakes as it descended to the landing pad. Washburn saw a black burn mark-a wound-on the side of the helicopter.

Nina Forest-in a green flight suit-exited the craft. She walked fast into the mansion, through the first floor, up the stairs, and into to the Command Center where Trevor sat.

"Listen, we’ve got a problem. A big friggin’ problem."

– "Well, looky here," Shepherd handed his binoculars to Stonewall. "This ain’t good."

Those two-along with three others-huddled on the roof of the old Lion Brewery building-circa 1905-just off the Cross Valley expressway. Their position afforded a clear view of the elevated, northeastern section of Wilkes-Barre: the section with rows of retail outlets looming above the expressway not far from the junction with Interstate 81.

Nina said, "Listen, that’s just the first of them. The rest are marching down from the top of the mountain, up there by-what’s the name of that place again?"

"Bear Creek." Trevor answered in frosted breath. Despite brilliant sunshine, the day remained cold with snow flurries floating about.

"Coming in from the east," Jon Brewer said.

A half-mile from Trevor's group past the lanes of Wilkes-Barre Boulevard, across railroad tracks, and up a grassy slope assembled an army: a high-tech well-organized military force securing a large parking lot once shared by two big box stores (one electronics, the other household merchandise). That lot occupied a prominent position on a ridge overlooking the heart of the valley.

"Okay, let’s break this down," Trevor focused. "What do we got here?"

Nina said, "I counted four formations supported by ground vehicles. My radar picked up air borne targets, too, but I didn’t get a visual on those."

"That’s not much help," Jon’s voice carried an edge. Perhaps the fading bruise on her chin served as a scarlet letter. "How many troops in those formations? What are we looking at?"

"I’m just saying, they were traveling in four groups. Say, four regiments. Two of those groups are there now."

Stonewall said, "While I cannot be sure without closer examination, I would estimate two hundred mustering there as we speak."

Trevor took mental notes for another page in the Hostiles Database: Bipedal humanoids wearing red uniforms with white trim and full-head helmets looking one part Buck Rogers and one part medieval knight. They stood larger than the typical human: maybe six and a half feet on average with wider hips. Not chubby, just bigger.

"Jon," Trevor said, "I want you to put everything out of your mind for a moment."

"What?"

"I want you to forget about how you don’t trust Nina. Don't worry about how we’re going to fight these guys. Just look and tell me what you see."

Jon hesitated until his mind caught pace with Trevor’s words. He sighed and put the binoculars to his eyes.

Trevor had learned much about Jon Brewer. The man had expertly prepared the assault on The Order’s base and-with Stonewall and Shepherd-outfought or outmaneuvered an untold number of hostiles on his way to and from Allentown with minimal casualties.

During his stint in the military, Jon learned strategy and tactics but those strategies and tactics aimed to fight the armies of man’s old world. Now Jon developed a feel for the ebb and flow of this changed reality and applied those old approaches in new ways: exactly what would be needed for the battles to come. Jon was the first in a new generation of Generals.

"Okay. They’re very organized. Look how they fall in formation, get their orders, then go right to work on putting things together and such."

The aliens assembled temporary shelters constructed from a tan, flexible material. It appeared one of the shelters would serve as a command post.

"You can see their officers."

Gold emblems decorated the collars of about one in every ten of the aliens and two others wore flashy white capes.

"They’re strong. If Nina is right, these guys have marched for miles already this morning and I haven’t seen them take a rest. They’re putting together their base camp without a break."

Stonewall said, "If I may, these foot soldiers appear to be armed with a rifle of some sort. Yet I would expect a force of this size to be supported by heavier guns."

Nina answered, "Listen, I saw some vehicles with the rest of the army. They looked like they could be artillery or APCs. They hit my chopper with heavy ground fire, not small arms. If I hadn’t dodged I wouldn’t be around to be a pain in Jon’s ass."

Jon glanced at her, expecting to see a crinkled brow. Instead, he saw the hint of a smile.

"So there’s more coming," Trevor guessed. "With support weapons."

Shepherd said, "We need to figure out where they’re heading. Maybe they’ll pass us by."

"Wait a sec," Jon placed the binoculars over his eyes again. "Check this out."

A mob of ghouls-maybe twenty-five-lumbered toward the encampment. One of the alien sentries raised the alarm.

The soldiers did not panic: they followed the orders of their officers in a calm, professional manner. Two squads of ten formed to face the threat in rows. They stood perfectly rigid despite the horrid roars and snarls of the charging monsters.

An officer barked a command. After a short pause, the first line of soldiers fired their alien rifles. A volley of energy bolts sent a storm of destruction into the mass of ghouls. The blasts shattered the monsters into sandy grains, instantly cutting the attacking number in half.

Such firepower would have dissuaded intelligent beings, but not mindless Ghouls. What remained of the horde surged forward.

The alien officer signaled again and, after another brief pause, the second of the two rows of red-clad soldiers fired. The remaining ghouls fell into dusty shards.

Stonewall gasped, "I say, very… efficient."

Jon noted, "Seems their weapons have some kind of charge-up…hmmm…"

Shepherd said, "Them fellas didn’t even flinch. These things are pros."

"Like Redcoats," Jon thought aloud.

"I’m sorry, my hearing failed me," Stonewall tilted his head. "Could you repeat that?"

"The way they fight, the way they’re dressed," Brewer explained. "Reminds me of the British Redcoats in colonial days. Disciplined, calm, and maximum firepower."

"Interesting," Trevor said. "We’ll have to remember that."

"Yeah, that’s wonderful and all but maybe we should get off this roof top." Nina accentuated her warning with a point to the sky.