Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

"What do you have against Nina?"

The Old Man grimaced.

"Damn it! You fool! I didn’t see her comin’. I didn’t know you two were makin’ hay and talking about riding off into the sunset together. Break it off, Trevor. Stop it now whilst there’s still time. If you love her, then you’ll send her packin’ and then maybe she’ll be just fine. But you go tryin' to take her with you arm and arm like a couple honeymooners then sometin’ gunna stop you. I don’t know what. Sometin’."

Trevor pointed at him.

"Now you listen to me. I’ve done everything you asked. I survived, I fought, I…"

He caught himself.

"That’s right," the Old Man grinned in a mean way. "I warned you. Thought it’d be as simple as taking a shot for your buddy, didn’t you? Or maybe givin’ up cable TV was your big sacrifice. Truth is, right now you’d rather die than give her up."

Again, a hint of compassion slipped into the man’s tone. A hint.

"This ain’t ‘bout you. Never was. You just a link in a chain. You can’t do what you got to do with her ‘round. She’s a good fighter, though. Probably serve you well killin’ and whatnot."

Trevor walked away.

"You got no choice. End it before sometin’ happens that you’ll blame yourself for!"

Trevor walked faster.

He ran.

– Despite his visit with the Old Man, Trevor spent two hours in one of the captured alien shuttles now named "Eagles" scouting the turf between Wilkes-Barre and Hazleton. He found big, rolling, wooded mountains on either side of Interstate 81. Good defensive ground.

During his return flight, he received a radio update from Dante.

"Eagle Three was hit by some kind of small artillery shell. Omar thinks it just sorta skimmed the ship or Dunston would have been blown up."

Trevor sat in the pilot’s seat, guiding the Eagle toward the lake through big alien navigation goggles. He heard Dante’s words but did not react. Too much clouded his mind.

"Trev? Hey man, you there?"

"Yes."

"Omar patched it up no problem. As for the other bunch of cyber…robot…roach… whatevers, the scouts say they’re held up at Blakeslee for a bit, kind of a pause. Looks like they’re killin’ anything that moves. Even, shit, like squirrels and stuff."

Trevor grumbled, "They’ll be coming soon enough."

"What’s that? I didn’t copy that."

"Never mind. Go ahead."

"The Red Hands are at Scranton. They’re camped out by the old Viewmont Mall there and it looks like they’ve sent out hunting parties and shit. Probably hanging out for a while."

Trevor knew they would be coming, too.

"Okay, Dante. Tell everyone to get together at the mansion. I’ve been thinking a few things over and I’ve got some ideas."

"Okay man, roger that and all."

Several minutes later, Trevor parked Eagle One at the marina landing-zone and drove to the estate. As he walked inside the mansion, all eyes fell to him. He knew why, too.

It would be his plan. Sure, Jon and Shep, Nina and Prescott, maybe even Stonewall and Dante would have ideas. In the end, he led and they followed. It rested on his shoulders.

His path to walk.

When Trevor pushed open the doors to the Command Center, he found Jon Brewer and Jerry Shepherd kneeling on the floor over the unconscious body of Nina Forest.

30. Warning Signs

Trevor examined the map again, trying to focus on the battle plan and not on Nina who was en route to General Hospital after having remained unconscious for five minutes.

He asked Stonewall, "Your brigade ready?"

"Most certainly, Sir. Stonewall's brigade will ride again."

Woody Ross, in the corner, let out a quiet ‘hoo-rah’.

"You understand your mission?"

"Cavalry circles. I shall ride rings around the approaching enemy, fill his head with confusion, and make him wonder what spirits haunt his flanks. His progress will be slowed while you prepare the main lines."

Trevor corrected, "While General Shepherd prepares those lines." He explained, "You are my Generals. Stonewall, Shep, Prescott and, of course, Jon," he rested a hand on the latter. Dante stood aside, a step apart from the 'Generals'. "We have fought together for almost a year. The sad part is, if we win this time it will not be the last battle. But if we lose…"

Prescott said, "Pardon my French but, shoot, I thought I was going to die a long time ago. Everyday from now on in is just icing."

Trevor pointed to the south of the map.

"Okay, one more time. Stonewall, you guys ride out before dawn and get those Viking-things looking over their shoulder. That gives us three good mountains to use as defensive points. Shepherd, you start laying em’ out."

Shep said, "Seems to me the bear is going to go over them mountains and he’s going to keep seein’ the same thing. Me."

"Jon," Trevor went on. "You’ve got a big nut to crack: the cyber-bot-roach-things… the…shit, just call them the ‘Roachbots."

Jon spoke for all of them when he said, "Now that name just plain sucks."

"Best we can do for now. Roachbots it is. Make sure Anita gets a sketch of these things into the hostiles database."

"What does it matter?" Prescott asked. "We lose, we won’t be needin’ that thing."

Trevor told him, "No, but maybe the next batch of survivors could use it."

"Anyway…" Jon steered the conversation forward.

"Anyway," Trevor echoed. "Jon, you’ll be in a tough spot with these things. You can have two of the Redcoat artillery pieces. I think the Abrams will be yours, too. That means Prescott here will ride shotgun with you."

Prescott slapped Jon on the back and said, "It’s gunna be fun."

"Stonewall’s mortar teams will be in the south with you, Shep. As long as Nina is okay, she’ll be in an Apache and so will Bragg."

Jon asked, "What about you? What weapons you using?"

Instead of explaining, Trevor walked onto the balcony. They followed and listened as he said, "I’ll have the Apaches first. What I really need is ground transportation for my army."

Below on the front lawn under the fading sun of an early June evening assembled Trevor’s army of Grenadiers: Rotties and Huskies, German Shepherds and Dobermans and even several gigantic Irish Wolfhounds. Nearly three hundred K9s.

"I’m going to lead this army against the Red Hands to the north. We will be outnumbered, but we will fight like the devil. If we get it done the Apaches, me, and the K9s will transfer to other fronts. If Stonewall does his job, then the Vikings will be the last to be engaged. But make no mistake, the Roachbots may be fewer in number but they might be the hardest. Jon, I leave their destruction in your hands. Is your plan ready?"

"Omar has been using that matter-maker thing to crank out Redcoat blasting powder all day. We’ll be ready."

Dante spoke out of the blue: "The Battle of Five Armies."

"How’s that?" Shepherd, like the others, did not recognize the reference.

"Oh, c’mon guys," Dante rolled his eyes. "Tolkien, man. The Hobbit. The big battle was between five different armies. Well that’s what we got here, right? Humans, K9s and three big groups of hostiles. Five armies, right?"

Trevor nodded. It sounded as good a name as any.

"Good luck to you all, gentlemen. If we win, I will see you again soon. If not, let the universe know that humanity went down with a fight."

– Trevor and Shepherd walked into the observation area of a CAT scan lab on the first floor of General Hospital. In the interest of conserving energy, the room was lit only by the fluttering screens of computer terminals. Reverend Johnny and a middle-aged spectacled man in a white coat named Dr. Maple waited for them.