Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

A sound like a buzz saw played over a bullhorn filled his ears. Another sound followed almost immediately: A yell. No, a cheer.

Trevor pulled his head from the ground. The forward ranks of the enemy army lay in ruins in the open field.

A shadow flashed over those bodies.

Two metallic birds of prey swept over the killing ground, cannons dealing destruction to anything that dared move in the open.

Trevor raced forward and pumped his fist at the enemy then toward the choppers.

That’s my girl!

Exuberance turned to horror.

Two contrails streaked from the southern side of the field. The rockets at the front of those contrails slammed into Bragg’s helicopter and then Nina’s. The former banked right and headed northwest, smoke blowing from its side. The latter fell fast as its rear rotor shattered.

He watched helplessly as Nina’s chopper descended toward the killing ground between the lines. A rumble in the earth announced the crash and a ball of smoke curled to the heavens.

Trevor ran. As he pushed through the forest, his radio broadcast chatter between commanders: "We’ve got a chopper down on the highway. Stonewall, check it out."

"I am already en route."

"Oh Christ! Second chopper went down in the field. Shit, that’s Nina. Who’s over there?"

"I can see her. Bird's on fire. Someone better get over there before they do!"

Trevor’s legs drove like pistons. Low hanging branches and early summer brush scraped against his bare arms and cheeks.

"Bragg is okay, but his chopper is done. How’s Nina?"

"They’re right on her! Someone better move! Now!"

The ball of smoke where her Apache had fallen grew larger as he ran closer. Soon he heard an exchange of gunfire and smelled the oily scent of burning aviation fuel.

Trevor stopped on the human side of the killing zone. Ahead of him in a field of cut brush lay the wreckage of Nina’s attack helicopter. The entire rear third of the machine had crumpled, the cockpit torn open. Viking warriors braved human fire to inspect the wreck.

"Trevor."

He turned to the sound of her voice.

Nina, dressed in a green flight suit and wearing patches of black soot on her face, stood behind friendly lines.

"You-you’re okay?"

All the air leapt from his lungs. He placed both hands on his knees.

"I’m okay. Thanks to this guy."

Evan stood next to her, a rifle in hand.

"Evan?" Trevor tried to grasp what had happened. "You pulled her out of there?"

Trevor realized the surprise in his tone probably insulted Godfrey, so he stood straighter and spoke in a firm voice, "Well done, Evan."

Godfrey shrugged and walked away.

– The Vikings came again a half-hour later, but not as aggressively. Instead of charging toward the battlements, they took position on their side of the killing ground and fired bursts.

A Viking or two fell, so did a human or two.

That low-intensity attack lasted twenty minutes before the invaders withdrew.

Early in the afternoon the aliens did the same, this time sending raiders toward the defenses but they quickly retreated after drawing fire.

The Vikings lobbed their strange artillery shells against the human fortifications, but the thick cover of the trees smothered the effect. Human mortar shells proved equally ineffective.

More attacks came mid and late afternoon.

Trevor, Shep, and Brewer hurried forces from place to place in anticipation of a heavy assault that never materialized; only mild skirmishes.

After another meager attack, Shep observed, "Seems to me they’re bleedin’ us dry."

Trevor and Brewer stood alongside him under a sagging Maple tree. From there they watched Viking scouts fire potshots before backing off.

Brewer agreed, "Wow, yeah, they took out that supply convoy now they’re making us waste all our ammo."

Shepherd asked, "So what we gunna do about it?"

Trevor studied the ground ahead: a cleared killing zone gently sloping to the south into the woods where the aliens mustered.

Behind him, more woods followed by another slope as mountain number two descended northward into a small, thin valley of golden grass on either side of a shallow stream. On the far side of that stream, mountain number three rose on a densely forested and rocky hillside. Atop that mountain waited the last line of trenches and barricades.

"I have an idea," Trevor told them. "Let’s run away."

– "Here they come…steady…steady," Trevor encouraged the troops manning the bulwarks.

A first, then a second, then a storm of alien shots sprayed toward the emplacements. Human rifles answered the challenge but that answer lacked the fury of previous exchanges.

Jon Brewer’s voice came over Trevor’s radio: "They’re hitting us here, too. This is it."

Trevor nodded to himself as he watched a wave of Viking attackers flow into and across the open ground. The enemy’s ponchos morphed from gray to a near honey-color as they crossed the killing zone under the golden rays of an evening sun.

Stone glanced at the handful of men and women lining the trenches. Most of those who had volunteered to stay behind were pre-doomsday soldiers but a few wore tattered civilian clothes instead of army-issued fatigues.

The balance of his force had already retreated to the last mountain. He knew for his plan to have maximum effect, the enemy needed to remain oblivious to this fact.

"Shep," Trevor transmitted. "What about you?"

Shepherd’s radioed reply came with a melody of gunshots playing as background music.

"Oh yeah, they’re coming. I reckon the whole bunch of em’ are-hey! Hold fast! Gotta go Trev, waitin’ on your order."

Alien pellets bounced off the tree limbs above Trevor’s head. Scattered rifle and pistol rounds blasted a reply.

A Viking soldier clutched his chest and fell to the ground. His comrades swarmed around the body with a determination Trevor had not seen in the previous skirmishes that day.

Yes. This is it.

A scream grabbed his attention.

A chubby woman wearing a plaid shirt stumbled from behind a cut tree that served as a barricade. She clutched her right eye with one hand while a hunting rifle dangled absently from the other. Blood poured from the wound as she staggered and screamed. Confused and disorientated, she accidentally wobbled forward into the field. Before anyone could retrieve her, Viking slugs finished the job.

When they reached the halfway point in their march across the tree stumps and chopped brush, the Vikings hollered and sprinted forward.

Trevor raised his radio and ordered, "Fall back! Fall back!"

The enemy intensified their fire as they closed for the kill. One, two, three and more of the defenders took hits first in the front then in their backs as they turned.

Stone lobbed a grenade into the vanguard of his foe. The detonation knocked two of the warriors to the ground but the rest of the mob paid the blast no mind.

"Go! Go! Go!" he encouraged his followers as they withdrew from the ramparts.

Trevor waited as long as he dare, but when the aliens climbed the downed trees and piled rocks serving as the second line of defense, he could wait no more. He joined the flight to the rear; racing alongside his soldiers just as he knew Shep and Jon raced alongside the men and women who manned the flanks.

Not satisfied with merely overrunning the position, the aliens pursued.

The dense forest provided some cover, but more soldiers fell victim to the attackers. Trevor and the others kept running, leaving behind the injured and their pleads for help.

The retreating mob crested the hill and then stumbled and hopped down the other side. Thick forest gave way to brush and then tall grass as the descent smoothed to a gentler grade.