Battle for Earth

by Hammer Trollkin

  Soldiers are about the size of an adult human. Workers are somewhat smaller, though there’s not much of a difference. That there are queens is more of an assumption, an extrapolation from the little information we have at hand. Earth insects don’t have lungs, neither do the invader bugs. They take in oxygen via spiracles and tracheae on their abdomens.

  All bugs are incredibly strong. Para and Roll were just discussing their size and strength. Para has been studying biology and reads everything she can find on the subject. She qualified for, and has already been immersed in, two levels of synaptic reception sessions. Para knows her stuff.

  Anyway, Roll was mainly wondering about the size of the bugs. There is a “structural” problem associated with a giant insect. He said something about the square-cube law.

  The term sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place the meaning. Para could. “That’s right. Volume grows faster than surface area. That basically means a regular Earth ant could not support itself if it grew to the size of a human. There would have to be some anatomical changes. From what we’ve seen, the bugs look somewhat squatter, with thicker legs than a proportionally larger Earth insect. Some Earth ants can lift 50 times their weight. These bugs probably can’t lift nearly that much. They still seem plenty strong though.

  “Grandad’s science guys say the bugs wear a breathing apparatus. That makes sense. There wouldn’t be enough oxygen in Earth’s atmosphere to support them at their size. There used to be much larger insects on Earth. Perhaps the oxygen level was higher on Earth when the very large insects were around.”

  Roll agreed. “Sounds about right. They’re obviously an advanced civilization. I suppose they could also have done some genetic manipulation to become more ... formidable.”

  Yeah, formidable. Soldier bugs have oversize mandibles and two sturdy pointed horns on their heads. They have sharp serrated claws on all their sturdy legs, well designed to hold prey. One of Grandad’s military friends gave me the creeps when he described the oversized curved claw located on their two hindmost legs. He said those would certainly be efficient for eviscerating prey. The abdomen is narrow, smaller than might be expected, more like that of a wasp. It does have a stinger. Their legs are thicker than would seem normal, to support their solid exoskeletal frame. The exoskeleton also serves as substantial armor.

  In battle they seem to limit their use of high-tech weapons. It’s as though they enjoy using their physical strength to prevail. We think it is their disposition that drives them to a more direct means of combat rather than relying on tech. I know, it’s still early on in the invasion. So, we’ll see. Bugs are extremely focused, do not surrender in a fight, and show no mercy. They are ferocious.

  Perhaps the bugs are combining terror along with their concept of military practicality. They have mostly focused on military bases. That’s practical. But they also want to intimidate the general public. Terror. Or, as I’ve intimated, they may just enjoy hurting people. They want to get their jaws on a nice soft human. Or have a nice sting. It’s blood sport for them. That’s what invaded us.

  Finally, here are a couple more observations that are, if nothing else, interesting. Bugs don’t have a static color. They seem to be able to shift the color of their shells. I have seen vids of them colored jet-black with glowing red eyes. The look is sinister. Terrifying. Powerful. They can also have iridescent hues like a shiny copper with red tones. Evidently the outer surface of their shells has angular plate-like layers. I hate to say it, but the colors can be beautiful. Mostly though, they’re just plain terrifying. Oh, they have patches of ... chitin ... below their horns that seem to help them express mood. The effect is similar to human eyebrows.

  ***

  + BEGIN TIMELINE DROP. This is a Timeline Project drop. Bugs refer to their normal iridescent color schemes, which are mostly determined by mood, as the Colors of Ahaam. Their colors shift throughout the day as determined by their mood and ambient lighting. Singing causes a particularly dramatic shift in color scheme and perhaps, as subjectively reported, color intensity. The only time their colors become what they term “washed-out” is when they have been dosed with the battle rage drugs, the berserker formulas. Their overlords developed that formula. END TIMELINE DROP. +

  ***

  *COMMUNAL: We can confirm the invading alien bugs structurally resemble a blending of certain aspects of the Earth insect order Hymenoptera which includes wasps, bees, and ants. While there are definitely wasp-like characteristics, the bug family resemblance to Earth insects most typifies Formicidae, the common ant, in particular the Carpenter Ant. Behavioral responses suggest a caste system with a large winged female queen, smaller wingless female workers, and male soldiers with oversized heads and mandibles.

  General appearance does not necessarily reflect any actual relationship. Form tends to follow function. There are anatomical similarities between the invader bugs and Earth insects. At the genetic level there will be little similarity between the invaders and Earth insects. Their color shifting ability is particularly puzzling.

  Each bug ship will have a queen ant. The queen will exercise control over all aspects of the ship colony, her nest. The colony ships together would function as a superorganism, ultimately acting as a unified entity. There could hardly be a more perfect organism to accomplish long interstellar journeys at sub-light speed. Most of the ants could merely enter a period of static hibernation, which would require minimal life support. A medically induced stasis would also be used for the long voyage between stars.

  This just coming in, straight up from the guys in Emotive Synergy. Haven’t heard much from you over there. Liking the new clock speed are you? Excellent. What’s your bug comment? It would be far better to induce sleep and not have to listen to all those antsy bugs saying, are we there yet? Are we there yet? ARE WE THERE YET? Uhhh, no comment.

  ***

  The DARPA lab was not the only high-tech facility destroyed by the enemy. Other secret labs and bases all over the world were attacked at about the same time. Bugs. The invasion started shortly after. Even though Grandad found out bugs have a large base on Mars, the invasion force came from outside the ecliptic. The ecliptic is the orbital plane of objects that circle the sun. You know, planets, most asteroids. Those sorts of objects. They tend to circle around the sun in a tight orbital plane. That’s the ecliptic.

  The bugs understood we watch the ecliptic closely, to spot asteroids that might be on a collision course with Earth. That scrutiny has only increased over the years as the means to interdict smaller asteroids became a real option. They tried for a surprise entrance but their method actually backfired. So, it’s possible they aren’t so smart after all.

  “Coming in off the ecliptic actually made their ships stand out like a sore thumb,” said Grandad. “They make mistakes. That’s a good thing.”

  The U.S., Russia, and China took some shots at them when they slowed for orbital insertion and an approach for landing. Hypersonic missiles. Straight up and out rather than following a tighter Earthbound ballistic track. High yield thermonuclear explosions in space would make for good news vids. None of the space action made it to the public through any news outlets. Grandad found out the missile barrage destroyed one enemy ship. Destroying one ship out of so many would ring a dismal victory bell. But nuclear explosions in near-Earth space are hard to hide. The news got out.

  Most of the enemy ships came in fast, landed hard, and dug in well. Their ships carry powerful weapons. Grandad called them directed energy weapons. A military laser is a directed energy weapon (DEW). Bugs have DEW systems on their ships that are much more powerful than any laser weapon system produced here on Earth. The bug soldiers carry a smaller version of those DEW lasers, though they don’t seem to carry them at all times.

  The bug ships also have rail guns. Grandad said they have “real” rail guns. I took that to mean their rail guns are better than the type we make here on Earth. They don’t seem to use missiles or artillery. So, their weapons are more
line-of-sight. But they have a long range. If anything is caught in the sights of one of their rail guns, it is torn to pieces. They like to tear things to pieces.

  Thank goodness they don’t have very many ships. There are something like 30 ships, spread all over the planet. That has limited their ability to attain complete military dominance. Individual ships seem to have a zone they are meant to control. They uproot and plant in more than one location. Always on the move. Then there are the single-seat fliers. They’re everywhere. And flier bugs don’t mind landing their machines, grouping up, and participating in all sorts of mayhem.

  ***

  *COMMUNAL: A railgun uses electromagnetic force to launch a projectile at very high velocity. There are parallel conductors, rails, along which a sliding framework accelerates by the electromagnetic effect. Force, energy determination, and ballistics discussions can become rather involved. Perhaps we can state it like this. A sophisticated railgun can send a projectile downline at incredible velocity. That imparts a good deal of kinetic energy to the target. When the projectile impacts the target, all that energy has to go somewhere.

  The intent, of course, is to have all that energy go into the target. Various military establishments on Earth have begun to utilize railgun technology. That is also the case with DEW technology. To date there has been only limited field deployment. That will change. This war will provoke the development of weapon systems on a scale never imagined. It’s going to get real kinetic out there.

  ***

  SMOKE ON THE WATER

  As I’m collecting my thoughts to do some Journal dictation, the Emergency Zone Tone is sounding. I’ve come to hate that sound more than the EAS tone. If anything, it’s even more frightening since the report will certainly involve an area near where I live. There must be bug activity nearby.

  “Grandad, you will want to watch this.”

  “Are they showing a precise impacted area?”

  “Tacoma, near the Narrows Bridge.”

  There is live video of a group, a squad I suppose, of bugs running the wrong way down Highway 16. If they stay on course they will cross over the Narrows from Tacoma into Gig Harbor. The authorities must be using traffic camera feeds for the footage. It looks like 10 or 12 bugs. There’s not any traffic that I can see, but they seem to be chasing something. Oh, there it is. A van. It’s not moving very fast and sparks are flying. A flat tire. Riding on the rim. That won’t last long. Dear Lord... It’s a daycare van. And. And I see little heads. It’s full of kids.

  There are no daycare facilities in operation so it must be social services or something. Probably orphaned kids from a temporary facility forced to make a run for it. The police force is stretched so thin. They’ve taken the brunt of the local enemy attacks, along with the military from Lewis-McChord.

  Grandad is back on his feet. “Rock, Roll, from what I understand, my truck loaded with kids would be too massive for you to teleport, is that correct? That’s what I thought. But I’ve had enough. Roll, you’re with me. We’ll take the Challenger. The rest follow on in the truck.”

  So much for shelter in place. Let’s go save some kids, and kill some bugs. Para’s driving, trying to keep up with the SRT in Grandad’s truck. And trying to keep up is not easy. They are really moving. The SRT has a top end of over 175 miles an hour.

  I saw Grandad grab his Street Sweeper from the corner along with some boxes of shells. One of those boxes is special. Dragons Breath. The Street Sweeper is an old shotgun from the 1990s. It’s a crazy thing with a 25-round detachable magazine. Semi-automatic.

  He grabbed that, and at least one box of the heavy Dragons Breath shells. They basically turn a shotgun into a flamethrower. The shells shoot flaming magnesium pellets burning at more than 4,000 degrees. I remember that from one of Grandad’s munitions lessons. The box he grabbed contains the “big” shells. I don’t think you can buy those at a gun store. They have an effective range of almost 200 feet. There is already an assortment of rifles in the truck.

  We’re going down an onramp to Highway 16 on the Gig Harbor side of the Narrows Bridge trying to catch up. Grandad must have the SRT floored. And, there’s my phone. It’s Grandad.

  “Viz, synch to the truck and put the phone on Bluesky so everyone can hear. Who’s driving? Para? Okay, have Rock grab the .50 cal. Access through the canopy window. You might have to squeeze through to get it. He probably won’t fit. It’s in the back, large mounted gun case, not locked. We’re coming up on the bridge. Hold on Viz.

  “Roll, get ready. I’m going to brake hard and spin this thing. You pop out of the sunroof and open up on those monsters! Rock, you get ready with the .50 cal. to cover us. Viz and Para, be ready to move those kids from the van to the truck. But no matter what, you all stay on the Gig Harbor side. Don’t even go on the bridge. Be ready. This is going to happen really fast.”

  “But Grandad, I ... people, kids. I-”

  “Viz, just do it!”

  The SRT is near the middle, the crest, of the bridge about half a mile from us. Roll has already opened fire, one round after another. Big shells with a heavy thump. We can hear them over the truck speaker and a split second later the sound repeats from their position half a mile away. Some are Dragons Breath. The bugs are milling around, hesitating, staying out of range of the shells. I’m not sure if they are carrying weapons. No return fire yet.

  The smell was terrible. A mix of burning protein from charred bugs and melted plastic. The SRT was smoking. Grandad had pulled up next to an abandoned semi-truck with a load of water bottles. It had jackknifed some time back, and overturned, exposing the bottles. The wind shifted a little and the smoke and steam began to billow from thousands of smoldering water bottles. Then there was an explosion of a sort and water bottles went flying all over. More steam and smoke, all of it drifting over the water of the Narrows.

  We could hear Grandad over the car speaker. “Roll, 3 o’clock on your right. One’s trying to get to the side of the bridge.”

  “Got him.”

  The van full of kids had stopped fairly close to us. Grandad and Roll had taken a position between them and the bugs, near that semi-truck to gain some cover. The van was done, the rim had finally given way. Para had stopped the truck. Grandad didn’t want us to go on the bridge. They all started piling out of the van. A lot of kids! They were screaming and running toward us.

  That’s when we saw them. Some bugs had gotten on the other side of the barrier wall and were going around Grandad, way on the right side of the bridge. The bridge deck was giving them cover. They wanted those kids! Para punched it, then braked hard. The truck skidded to a stop near the kids on the left side of the bridge. The SRT was also toward the left side of the bridge.

  We jumped out of the truck. Rock had the door open and the window rolled down, with the .50 cal. resting on the door frame. He was more amped up than I’ve ever seen him, yet he still had this odd calmness to his voice. “Stay to the left and keep the kids to the left. I need an open field of fire.”

  I remember shouting, screaming, in between loud bursts of .50 cal. fire. I grabbed two of the smaller kids. “Quick! Follow us. Get in the truck! Jump in the back. Hurry! You’re all going to be okay.”

  Para and I herded the kids and their driver into the truck. We had made it! I joined Rock, adding to the noise with 3-round bursts from the M-16. Then we saw more bugs coming from the east, over the crest of the bridge, at least 20 of them. There was another cloud of smoke, from squealing tires, as the SRT took off.

  Grandad was shouting over the phone. “Let’s go! Move it! Go, go! LOOK OUT! Bug with a tube, your 9 o’clock.”

  The three of us were getting set to jump into the front seat and get out of there, guns thrown onto the seat. A bug was coming up from under the left side of the bridge, unlimbering a large tube. A weapon. No time to get a gun. Para tore the driver-side door off the truck and heaved it at the bug. Oh! The tube clattered to the ground as the bug, now attached to the door, careened out from th
e bridge deck. Fast thinking Para. But the other bugs were closing in. Time to go.

  We were again getting set to hop into the truck when we saw the bug fliers coming in from the north. I knew we were done; they would tear us to pieces. We’d already seen what those fliers could do, on day two of the invasion. Terror.

  It was a strange feeling in that moment, as I gave up and just didn’t care anymore. Terror gone. I felt a peacefulness. We had done what we could.

  Then I was shocked from my trance by several bright flashes followed by loud explosions. I could feel the concussion of the air bursts. Blast waves. There was a metallic clattering as debris rained down, some pieces impacting nearby. Several of the bug fliers had disintegrated and erupted into clouds of smoke that would be added to the smoke on the water. Bug smoke.

  It was like an afterimage of something streaking by only a couple hundred feet above the bridge. F22s my mind registered. Probably came out of Portland. They were moving so fast, firing missiles at point-blank range. A lot of cannon fire too. They passed over and were gone. Almost straight up, with the remaining fliers veering off to give chase. I looked at Para and Rock, both staring, transfixed.

  We felt the truck buck and I could see the truck engine through a gaping hole, the paint bubbling and giving off a noxious smoke. There was a lot of heat. Bugs were running hard, coming on fast. Grandad had stopped to check on us. The entire back end of the SRT was a charred and melted ruin. He had a big smile on his face though.

  Grandad waved us on, he would take up the rear. Para didn’t need any more incentive. She slammed the shifter to reverse and floored it, hit the brakes and cranked the wheel, then floored it again. But she slowed down when it became apparent Grandad couldn’t match our speed. The SRT was still moving fast, but it was seriously messed up. So was I, seriously messed up. The terror was back. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest.