The Caliphate Invasion

by Michael Beals

  The eldest town councilwoman from some hole-in-the wall farming community rubbed her chin. “Rand, Christ. Ok, ok. I’ll do what I can. We all knew this day would come, but it’s only fair to give folks a little time to get their affairs in order. I say we owe our soldiers that much. Can’t we at least have until the end of the week to field this new army?”

  Rand cocked her head at Colonel Brown. He slapped his hand against the map board. “It’s a miracle that our Santa Fe raid delayed the Feds this long. I’ve been out with the scouts and seen the build up with my own eyes. The bastards are coming, all right, and soon. Without reinforcements, I guarantee you Heinrich will be pillaging this camp by the weekend.”

  Brown turned his back and studied the giant map. He didn’t say another word while Rand and the civilian leadership council spent the next half hour hammering out details and timetables. Brown didn’t even turn around until Rand had dismissed the group and slid next to him.

  “Thanks for not bringing up the other topic. You’d make a hell of a politician if you ever tire of soldiering. You interested in becoming my vice president someday? Assuming we survive this fight, of course.”

  Brown twisted his lip, coming close to a human smile. “No thank you. Ma’am, I’ll obey your orders because I have no choice. This make-believe government is the only shred of discipline allowing my family, as well as the families of all my troops, to live in something resembling peace and prosperity in this insane new world. That said, if you hand me even a taste of civilian power… Well, if you put me in a place to challenge your narrow-minded hippy ideas, I’ll fight you tooth and nail. Who knows what effect that’ll have on our stability?”

  Rand sighed and sprawled out in a vacant lawn chair.

  “I’m not ignoring the merits of your suggestion, but I have to plan for the long run. We’ve been over this a thousand times. Keeping those ex-Fed fighters you ‘recruited’ far away from the front lines is crucial. Never mind the atrocities they committed in Heinrich’s name. How can we trust turncoats to defend us?”

  “You didn’t trust me and the other preppers when we first showed up. Now look who’s leading your army. From what I’ve heard, you even hated Dixon at first. If it wasn’t for him, there never would have been a militia for me to take over. Hell, if you hadn’t taken a chance on him, this place would just be another vassal state in Heinrich’s empire.”

  Rand’s stoic masked slipped at the mention of Dixon’s name. She buried her face in her hands, but only allowed herself five seconds to get a good cry out. Even that was a rare indulgence. Rand took a deep breath and rubbed her red eyes.

  “I’m doing my best to make sure we live up to his sacrifice. And the first step is making sure the foxes aren’t guarding the henhouse. We’ll use the Fed deserters as a reserve. Manning out-of-the-way checkpoints and stuff like that, but the real battle has to be decided by free citizens standing up against tyranny. Otherwise, we’re just yet another run of the mill armed gang. Besides, what can you really do with them? The Feds surrendered so easily. Even if you were confident in their loyalty, you’d need another army to babysit them and make sure they don’t surrender again. On the other hand, didn’t you capture tons of weapons? With so much equipment in the hands of motivated volunteers, how can Heinrich’s army of looters compete?”

  “Yeah, we recovered plenty of hardware. Besides hundreds of semi-automatic rifles, we collected dozens of machine guns and grenade launchers, as well as several truckloads of ammunition. We even looted a couple crates of rocket-propelled grenades. We’ve never been so well-equipped before.”

  “So why are you still pissed off?”

  “Because to us, that haul was a treasure trove. To the Feds, it’s just a minor logistics hiccup. Look, we can’t keep pulling miracles out of our asses. If this thing turns into a war of attrition, which it likely will, the end is not in doubt. We’ll delay the Feds and make them pay dearly, but that’s not the same as victory. We’re at our strongest point right now. It’s only downhill from here.”

  Rand squinted. “Just what exactly are you saying, Colonel?”

  “There’s no military solution to this fight.” He paced back and forth, growling under his breath. “Rand, you know damn well I hate to say this, especially after the losses we’ve taken, but if we’re going to find a diplomatic solution, then now’s the time. While we have the strongest negotiating leverage we’ll ever get. The odds might be slim—hell, it might not even be possible—but this is our best chance to make a deal.”

  A skinny guy in a Hawaiian shirt stormed into their powwow. He held a tablet at arm’s length like it was a pregnant cobra. “He’s alive!”

  Rand cocked her head and reached for the computer. “Neil, catch your breath. What the hell are you talking about…”

  She locked eyes with a fifteen-year-old girl on his heels. Dixon’s stepdaughter had refused to speak to Rand ever since the Santa Fe raid. The orphan smiled for the first time in days.

  “A Fed showed up with a white flag and dropped this off a few minutes ago. It’s him all right. If Peter could make it through, I know my mother must be out there too!”

  Rand flicked on the device. There was only a single data file on the whole computer.

  A video.

  Her heart raced as she hit play and caught sight of her favorite meathead at Heinrich’s side. The stylized and heavily edited film tried hard to make the wheelchair-bound man appear deep in friendly consultation with the Fed warlord. To a casual observer, that might have worked.

  Rand’s heart skipped again when the screen cut away to show the executions of her militiamen. Brown hovered over her shoulder and ground his teeth to nubs while each murder was replayed in slow-mo. The whole time Heinrich’s high-pitched gloating narrated the scene.

  Brown bellowed and drove his fist through the mapboard, not even glancing at the blood gushing from his knuckles. “The son of a bitch wants an alliance? Forget everything I said.”

  Rand switched off the horror show. “Don’t be so hasty. This is bigger than ourselves. We need to do what’s best for the entire Confederacy. If we could negotiate even a temporary cease-fire, then it might be worth—”

  A roaring horde of armed Minutemen and civilians circled the gazebo and drowned her out. Their anguished cries were gibberish, but the hatred was clear enough. Rand shoved the computer against Neil’s chest.

  “Did you show this video to anyone else?”

  “Uh, kinda. Might have made a few copies. Since when are we keeping secrets?”

  Rand sprang to her feet. “How many have seen this?”

  The crowd, now including just about everyone in the camp, picked up a single, unifying chant.

  Kill ‘em all!

  Brown strapped back on his combat helmet. “Still think we can negotiate?”

  Rand grinned like a she-wolf. “Get back to your troops, Colonel. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. You’re right that this is as strong as we’re going to get, so time to raid the city and get our people out.”

  Brown banged his enhanced combat helmet against his thigh. “Rand, you need to get out more. In Heinrich’s empire, there’s no clear deviation between the civilian and military worlds. The whole population is either carrying a weapon or supporting the ones that are. The entire city is one great big military base. There’s no way to infiltrate within ten miles of their command center without being caught. Believe me; I’ve lost several good men trying.”

  “We’ll lose many more if we don’t. Are you going to follow orders or do we need a new military chief?” Rand stuck both hands on her hips and glared up at the snarling ex-Marine.

  While the two leaders screamed and cursed at each other, Rachel stomped her feet.

  “Oh, shut up, both of you. Why not just fly in there and rescue them?”

  Brown slapped the finger Rand kept jabbing into his chest away. He flapped his arms and chuckled at the girl. “I guess I’m too out of shape for that to work, darling.”

&nbs
p; “For Godsakes, with a helicopter! Neil, didn’t you tell them what you told me?” Rachel snagged the hippie behind her by the collar of his garish orange Hawaiian shirt.

  Neil bobbed his head and shuffled about in his pockets, taking a long time pulling out his pouch and papers. “Well, I mean, like what does it matter? Yeah, I saw a chopper buzzing around during our last trade mission. But, there’s, like, a big problem if you want to borrow it…”

  Rand lunged forward and slapped the fresh joint away the second Neil lit the tip. “Yeah, there’s a problem all right. You need to lay off that shit. What did I say about getting stoned on duty?”

  “It’s just straight tobacco.” Neil shoved both hands in his pockets and whispered. “I’m totes serious. One faction still has a working helicopter, if you’re willing to make a deal with the devil.” He flicked his eyes north.

  “The End Timers? Christ no. We’ve got enough on our plate dealing with mini-Hitler to the east. Last thing we need is to crawl in bed with the American Taliban.” Brown shoved his helmet back on. “Let me get back to my team and work out a plan. At least we’ll go out in one hell of a blaze of glory.”

  Rand ignored him and locked eyes with Rachel’s pleading yet defiant gaze. Neither woman said a word but both let a tear slip before Rand rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat.

  “Set up a meeting with that Preacher dude running the show up there. It’s time to make a deal.”

  Brown threw up his hands as she spun around and stomped off to her tent. “Rand, this is crazy!”

  She just swung her blue hair his way and grinned before slipping out of the gazebo.

  “No, this is just Florida.”

  Day Thirty-Three

  Battle of the Vatican

  “This is Hawk 6. We’re on target. Releasing n—”

  Kat fought the urge to shut her eyes as yet another radio call screeched into static. Instead, she craned her neck and leaned out the dropship’s back ramp. Their hide site in the Castelli Romani National Park was almost twenty miles southeast of the Vatican, but she still should have seen the blasts. Or something. Anything other than the four mid-air explosions in the distant night sky.

  Beside her, Dore held his binoculars to the far horizon. “We still have two more flights. They’ll get through…”

  Another quartet of flashes erupted high on the eastern horizon, marking the high water advance of the second flight. Not one pilot even managed a May Day to mark their sacrifice. Since all three groups of four strike craft took a different, nape-of-the-earth path to the target, there was no safe way to get them all on station at the same time.

  Kat couldn’t see the last flight of F/A-18’s as they darted through the wreckage of Rome at steeple-height, but a supersonic shockwave rolling in from the southwest proved they were still alive.

  “Butterfly, this is Adler 6. The target’s too friggin’ hot! Must be hundreds of drones. No matter how far away we release, they keep swatting the bombs out of the sky while they glide.”

  Kat hissed in her radio. “Then arm the bombs on the damn rack and ride them in Kamikaze-style! You guys are all we got left. If we don’t win here, you’ve got nothing to go back home to anyway. Save me a beer in Valhalla!”

  The flight leader didn’t say a word, but his wingman managed a growl. “This is Adler 3, good copy. Warheads hot, switching on afterburners. Give ‘em hell, Butterfly!”

  Daylight came out for a brief moment, followed by three more sunbursts. Dore double-checked his safety strap and flashed a thumb up the ramp. “Sure looks like ground bursts to me. Washington, let’s make it count! I want to be on the ground before the shrapnel!”

  Kat struggled to stay on her feet as the artificial-gravity ship hummed and catapulted towards the city. In seconds, the pristine blur of Rome's skyline gave way to a flaming wasteland. Kat didn’t have a moment to contemplate the holocaust before Washington slammed whatever the ship used for brakes.

  Kat snapped off her harness’s D-ring as the scorched columns of St. Peter Square flashed underneath. She clicked the safety off her new rifle and dived into the flaming debris. The first piece of wreckage she landed on yelped and squirmed under her feet. Kat squirted a burst in the wounded terrorist’s face without taking her eyes off the shadows hiding in the columns ringing the square.

  “Contact, 9 through 12 O’clock!”

  “Urah!”

  Kolchak and his squad glided past Kat in a perfect flying wedge formation, firing controlled pairs like one long auto burst. By the time Kat had cleared her small sector of fire, the Spetsnaz team was already inside the arched perimeter. Even though each side rocked the same buzz-sawing rail guns, it was quite clear her teammates had the upper hand. The fire faded away as the Russians methodically swept the perimeter without pause.

  Or mercy.

  A skinny teenager in a Tapout t-shirt chucked his weapon and stepped out with his hands high. “Don’t shoot! I’m American.” He stammered and fell to his knees as the Russians swarmed around him. “I didn’t want to. It was fight or die. I didn’t have a—”

  One of Kolchak’s men scooped up his alien weapon. He didn’t even glance down as he double-tapped the kid in the back of his head.

  While the Russki’s cleaned house, Kat took cover between some mounds of iron and copper ore and set up an inner cordon. Behind her, a group of European commandos swarmed the slightly damaged replicator in the center of the square and slapped on giant chains dangling from the underside of the dropship.

  Captain Dore stood in the open and shouted in his radio. “Back up ten meters, Washington. Let’s move it, people. We’re wheel’s up in twenty secon… Washington! Where the hell—”

  The dropship’s blue grav-generators whined and the ship pivoted a full 180. Kat flipped her weapon in that direction just as two mammoth shadows vaulted over the arches in perfect sync.

  “Drones!”

  Kat snapped off a quick shot before the rock mound disintegrated in a hail of dust. All eight turrets on the warbots blazed away independently, cutting several operators apart, but at least temporarily shielding the rest in a shower of dusty debris.

  Kat bolted through the cloud towards the slim cover of the marble columns ringing the square. Only a few feet short of safety, a metal leg slammed down in front of her. She bounced off the cold steel and rolled as fast as she could. She came face up and lunged for her weapon...

  Just as another leg whined and lashed out at her face.

  Kat barely had time to shut her eyes before the steel claws made contact with her skull and the world exploded.

  It took her a few long seconds to accept that the drone was flying away from her and that she wasn’t being cast into hell. At least not yet.

  Kat sat up and just gaped through the smoke and gunfire raging around her, or miles away to her ringing ears. Washington kept pouring on the speed and racing their dropship higher in the sky, all while the two surprised drones clung to the front end and fired wildly into the cockpit.

  The ship flipped over on its back and careened straight into the ground somewhere on the far side of the city. She had ten seconds between the mammoth flash on the horizon and then a boom to say goodbye to Washington.

  “Abraham... I’m sorry.”

  With expert practice, Kat shut off her heart and found her weapon. The shouts of “All clear” grew louder as the endless tinnitus simmered down.

  Captain Dore ran up and offered her hand but she fought the urge to sink into his arms. He shook his head at the fireball in the sky and grunted. “What a show off.”

  Kat’s calculator voice slipped. “Asshole! He saved us when he could have just flown away.”

  “Never crossed my mind, sweetie.”

  Kat reflexively whipped her rifle up at the bald ghost stomping through the debris, but Washington scooped her up in a hug. For once, she didn’t fight back.

  “I told you all the Caliphate ships are remote controlled. No point in being a hero if you can’t collect your rew
ard, eh?” He winked and tilted Kat’s head back. She narrowed her eyes... but didn’t squirm away.

  Dore growled and gave Washington a friendly clap on the back. One hard enough to knock him off balance.

  “Good...work. But how are we supposed to extract now?” He jerked his thumb at the giant replicator machine. “Are we supposed to just carry that thing back to Switzerland?”

  Washington sighed as Kat put on her game face, raised her weapon and scanned the perimeter for threats, whatever spell he briefly had over her clearly broken.

  He grinned as Dore subconsciously slipped himself between Washington and Kat. “Relax, Captain Buzzkill. My Artificial Intelligence already located another dropship about twenty kilometers away that survived the bombardment. It’ll be here any second. Get your people ready so we can get the hell out of here.”

  Kat spun around halfway, a real smile on her face for a change.

  “Thank you. I don’t know what we’d do without you. I owe you another one.” She edged a bit closer to him as they marched back to the rest of the group.

  Dore trailed behind, but stared at the small mole on Washington’s neck that he claimed was some neural interface/transmitter. Dore’s finger twitched all over his rifle’s safety. “Isn’t it a little strange that after all this time the Caliphate still hasn’t shut down your access to their network?”

  Washington shrugged without turning around. “They must think I’m dead.” He spun around and gave Dore a puppy dog grin. “And I would be too, if it wasn’t for you all. I’ll never forget that.”

  He dropped back a pace and whispered into Dore’s ear, while flicking a glance at Kat’s rear end. “If this is about her, I’m not trying to, how do you say, get in your Kool Aid or whatever is going between you two. I like her, sure, but I don’t want you thinking I’m a threat to you or anything...”

  Captain Kolchak whistled at them as a slick new dropship came humming in. Kat perked up and twisted her head around, her eye cocked in confusion at the first red cheeks she’d ever seen on her captain’s face. Must be the reflection of the flames...