Battleground Earth

by Gerry Griffiths

  “I want everyone to put on vests,” Max said. He looked over at Frank. “You guys better wear yours, too.”

  “Good idea,” Frank replied. He turned and opened the lift on the Suburban. He grabbed four orange safety vests with yellow stripes that road construction crews would normally wear so that they would be visible to motorists. In this case, it was a preventative measure from being accidentally shot in the event there was an encounter and they were attacked in the dense forest.

  Everyone mustered at the trailhead.

  Max was holding a 40mm six-shot grenade launcher.

  Vince wore an orange vest that held three rows of grenades in the front. A row of eight stretched across his stomach then another eight above that with four on his chest: twenty in all. The ones above his belt were chemical grenades with highly concentrated pesticide used sparingly as the dispersion was so toxic and sometimes difficult to contain, especially during windy conditions. The other twelve cylinders were high explosive, fragmentation, or stun grenades.

  He knew exactly which type of bomb was in each pouch and could pick the right one with his eyes closed, and depending on the situation, could grab a hand grenade, yank the pin, and pitch it like an all-star in a split second.

  Vince had also strapped on a drop-leg shotgun holster with a short-barrel pump shotgun with a pistol grip so that his hands would be free at all times. He often joked that he liked wearing the rig because it made him look like the Steve McQueen character Josh Randall in the old-time TV western Wanted Dead or Alive even though the actor’s modified rifle had been a Winchester lever-action.

  Ace stood out from the group as he was wearing a silver fire proximity suit and had the hood clipped in his belt next to his striker tool. He wore a twin canister pack on his back. A hose ran from a regulator to the nozzle gun in his asbestos-gloved hands.

  Each of the squad, except for Ace, had hard plastic gas masks hooked to their belts that resembled the helmet worn by Darth Vader. When fastened over the head, a battery-operated power pack on their belts would activate a small blower and generate a steady stream of air into their masks, which was more comfortable than wearing the old-type rubber gas masks that were often difficult to breathe in.

  “You want us to take the lead?” Max asked Frank.

  “Sure.” Frank reached in his jacket pocket, took out a hand-held GPS receiver, and switched it on. He looked at the blank screen. “Nothing yet.”

  Wanda was holding a small notebook. She flipped through the pages then stopped. She showed the page to Frank. “Is this it?”

  Frank checked the coordinates on the page. “Yeah, that’s it.” He looked over at the squad leader. “Let’s go down this way. I should be picking up a signal pretty soon.”

  Max led the group down the wide dirt-packed trail bordered on both sides by split rail fencing.

  Frank carried the Mossberg in the crook of his arm with the muzzle pointed at the ground like a pheasant hunter and started down the trail, keeping one eye on the device in his hand.

  Wanda walked right behind him, Winston close at her side.

  Crandall and Shelly followed, taking up the rear.

  Everyone was on high alert, knowing that the slightest inattentive moment would result in certain death.

  5

  After hiking for more than a mile, Max raised his right hand and clamped it into a fist, signaling for everyone to stop. He pointed to something in the trees to his left. Julie stepped over the railing to take a look. She trod cautiously on the spongy carpet of pine needles and through the waist-high ferns, staring down the gun barrel of her M16 with the stock pressed against her shoulder.

  Crandall hopped over the fencing. He moved quickly across the forest floor.

  “Is it one of ours?” Max called out, keeping his voice low.

  Julie approached the twisted mound of metal embedded in the ground. Crandall joined her and they inspected the wreckage, which was the size of a crumbled refrigerator.

  “I don’t see any markings,” Crandall said.

  “Scorched off during reentry.” Julie turned and looked at Max. “We can’t tell.”

  “Any idea what type?” Frank asked Julie.

  “There’s no way of knowing.”

  Since the invasion, satellites—or pieces of them—had been dropping out of the sky and plummeting to Earth. Space junk and meteorites were continuously raining down unexpectedly.

  Which was one reason Frank was forced to wait for the exact moment that at least three still-functioning Global Positioning System satellites were able to form a trilateration and pinpoint a specific location, a window that only presented itself twice a day. Lately, the signals had been getting progressively weaker, and he knew eventually, the transmissions would cease altogether.

  The Astronomical Consortium had been collecting data and tracking the meteorite impact sites, which were passed on so Eco-Marine search teams could be dispatched to those locations. There was no real way of knowing how many groups were scouring the globe. Frank thought it might be in the thousands though it was difficult to say with any degree of accuracy as it was estimated that half of the world’s population had been wiped off the face of the planet within the past six months.

  Frank stared down at his GPS receiver. “I’m picking up a signal!” He looked to Wanda.

  She brought the notebook over and they compared the latitude and longitude that appeared on the screen with that written on the page. “We need to keep heading north up the trail,” Wanda said.

  “Keep going! We’re almost there,” Frank yelled up to Max.

  Julie and Crandall came back and stepped over the split rail fence.

  The patrol had gone maybe a quarter mile when they came across a giant banana slug, which confirmed they were going in the right direction. The enormous slimy, green gastropod was eight feet long. Dried leaves and soil clung to its mucous-covered body as it moved slowly across the decomposed matter on the ground. It looked like a humongous chili relleno stuffed with a log of Monterey Jack cheese.

  Frank stepped over the railing to approach the animal. The slug’s two-foot long tentacles, which had been fully erect, instantly shrunk into its head once it sensed Frank was walking towards it. Even though the detritivore was intricate in the natural cycle of creating humus soil, Frank feared a creature this size could do more harm than good as it’s life span could reach up to seven years.

  Rather than take a chance, Frank pulled out his machete. He stood for a moment, pondering his actions before driving the tip of the blade deep into the pneumostome, which was the respiratory opening. He cut around inside the right side of the body and perforated the slug’s single lung. The slug reacted immediately and began to shrivel, even changing in color to an insipid brown.

  He put his machete back in the sheath and went back to join the others.

  Wanda could see the downtrodden look on his face. “You hated doing that, I can tell.”

  “Well, it wasn’t like it was an immediate threat.”

  “Maybe not yet,” Wanda said and gave him a tender smile.

  Frank knew she was right and loved her for understanding his pain of having to destroy such a magnificent specimen, which under any other circumstance would have been any entomologist’s dream of discovering; but not anymore.

  He glanced at his GPS. “Shouldn’t be far now.”

  They kept hiking and had gone the distance of a football field when Frank realized that the GPS receiver wasn’t going to be of any further use because the screen had gone blank. He raised the device in his hand and called out, “I’ve lost the signal!” then slipped the device in his pocket.

  “All right, everyone fan out!” Max hollered. He continued up the trail with his six-shot grenade launcher at the ready.

  Ace and Johnny stayed on the path. Denise and Vince hopped over the fence and combed the forest on the right while Julie went to the left. Crandall and Shelly stepped over the barrier and spread out behind Julie.

  “Yo
u want to split up?” Frank asked Wanda.

  “Not really. Let’s get ahead of Ace and Johnny.”

  Even though Ace was a strong young man, he was lugging the heavy oxyacetylene tanks on his back. Frank could tell by the armory specialist’s gait that his legs were beginning to feel the burn from the long hike.

  Frank and Wanda picked up the pace and quickly overtook the two men in front of them. Winston was happy to be in the lead and galloped ahead.

  The forest was beginning to thicken as they reached a bend. Frank looked in both directions but didn’t see any of the others even though they should have stood out like a sore thumb, wearing their bright-colored safety vests.

  “Over here!” a voice yelled out in the woods. It was Crandall.

  Max vaulted over the split rail fence and charged through the trees.

  “Winston, come!” Wanda yelled to the English bull terrier. The dog spun around and ran back. Wanda and Frank had no sooner cleared the fence than Winston bounded over right behind them.

  Denise and Vince crossed over the pathway and headed in the direction of the voice that hollered again, “This way!”

  Everyone gathered around Crandall who was staring down at chunks of what had been a large rock that had split apart and was ten feet at the bottom of a crater twenty-feet in diameter.

  “This can’t be good,” Wanda said, when she saw the fragmented rock.

  “I better take a look,” Frank said. He passed his shotgun to Wanda then reached inside his coat pocket and took out a rectangular magnifying glass equipped with a small light.

  “Be careful,” Wanda said.

  “I should be okay. So far, they haven’t been too interested in us,” Frank said.

  “Yeah, well you never know,” Wanda said. “Just don’t take any chances.”

  He glanced around the group and saw the concerned looks. Even Winston was agitated and was letting out a low rumbling growl as he glared down at the bottom of the crater.

  Frank scooted down the dirt slope. As always, the first thing he did was scout the surrounding ground for insects. He used the toe of his boot and kicked up the loose debris, exposing some earthworms and a few shellback snails, which didn’t concern him.

  Something caught his eye by his feet so he bent down and brushed away the loose soil.

  “What is it?” Wanda asked from above.

  Frank looked up and showed the bug in his hand. “Redwood bark beetle.”

  “Should have known,” Crandall said.

  The beetle was an inch long and had six legs. Its head, antenna, and mandibles were black and were partially hidden under a dark brown shell that covered almost half of its body. The abdomen portion was a lighter brown. In large numbers, bark beetles could have a devastating effect on woodlands as they would bore deep inside tree trunks and lay their eggs. Later the young would choose their own path and eat their way out, eventually killing the tree.

  Frank dropped the beetle on the ground and squashed it under his boot.

  He decided to inspect the largest section of rock. Turning on the light on the magnifying glass, he got down on his knees, and peered through the lens to examine the surface of the meteorite.

  Tiny organisms in the porous rock shrank away from the light. Their bodies were gray and translucent. They had tiny grappling-like claws at the ends of their squid-like tentacles that they used to anchor themselves to the rock.

  Frank stood and climbed out of the crater. He looked over at Ace. “It’s all yours.”

  Ace nodded, removed his hood from his belt, and slipped it on over his head.

  Vince stood behind the man in the fire-retardant suit and opened the valves on the top of the tanks strapped to Ace’s back.

  Ace hobbled down into the crater and managed to get to the bottom without falling. He grabbed the striker tool off his belt and twisted the knob on the gun nozzle.

  A stream of gas came out the end. Ace clicked the striker and caused a spark that ignited the gas into a flame. He adjusted the intensity until the blue flame became white.

  Frank watched from above. He was glad to have been part of the research team that had learned how to destroy the invading life forms that at first seemed to be indestructible. Especially when they could survive frigid temperatures in space of -454 degree Fahrenheit, and then endure 2,400 degree Fahrenheit heat riding in a meteorite traveling 30 miles per second as it hurled through Earth’s atmosphere. Not to mention the impact of the crash.

  The answer had been extreme heat—6,330 degrees Fahrenheit—that could only be achieved by combining oxygen and acetylene.

  Ace attacked each portion of rock with his torch, and after nearly fifteen minutes, melted them down to nothing. He turned off the nozzle and slowly climbed out of the pit.

  “Nice job,” Frank said after Ace removed his hood. The young man’s hair was sopping wet and he was sweating profusely like he had just stepped out of a sauna bath.

  “It’s shitty work but someone’s got to do it.”

  Everyone let out a hearty laugh. Winston joined in and barked.

  The bull terrier kept barking, and continued barking, even after the last person stopped laughing.

  “Winston, it’s okay. You can stop,” Wanda said. She knelt and covered his muzzle with her hand to quiet him down.

  That’s when they heard the pandemonium in the forest.

  “Sounds like a damn army,” Max said.

  6

  Sequoia redwoods had few predators, which was why they had survived on the planet for 2,000 years. The tannin in the wood made it unsavory for termites. The trees were almost impervious to fire because of their foot-thick bark that insulated the core, which had very little resin for fuel. Often bark beetles chose to ignore the challenge and moved on to softwood cedars and cypresses.

  But not anymore—not when the bark beetles were as big as Volkswagen Karmann Ghia automobiles and weighed over 600 pounds.

  It was difficult to get an accurate count of how many there were moving between the thick trees but Frank figured there had to be at least fifty if not more. Each one was extremely dangerous as their powerful mandibles could easily cut a person in two.

  The Eco-Marines and Frank’s group quickly caught up to the rear of the horde and started attacking the giant beetles.

  Julie and Denise opened up with their M16s. Their bullets ripped through three of the giant insects, blasting open their abdomens, and sending green goop splashing against the tree trunks.

  Crandall ran alongside one of the beetles and held out his Ithaca. He got close enough and shot it in the head. The beetle dropped to the ground. Shelly was a few feet back, ratcheting her shotgun as she kept up with her husband.

  Max spotted four bugs darting into a small clearing. He aimed his grenade launcher and fired off two projectiles. The bombs hit their target and exploded, blowing the giant beetles apart.

  Johnny and Vince ran up to a tree that had to be ten feet wide. A beetle was already boring into its trunk and was three feet in. Wearing heavy gloves, the men grabbed the beetle’s hind legs and began to pull. “Damn this thing’s strong,” Johnny yelled over to Vince.

  “Keep pulling,” Vince shouted. He put his foot on the tree trunk and yanked on the leg, which had sharp barbs.

  They keep tugging and finally the beetle fell out onto its back. Vince drew the short-barrel shotgun from the drop holster and fired two rounds into the exposed abdomen. Johnny stepped back as the underbelly ruptured and bug guts flew up.

  Wanda ran up on a beetle that had begun chewing its way into the bark of a tree.

  She fired her Remington into the creature’s thorax, immobilizing it on the spot.

  Hearing Winston barking, she turned and saw the dog chase after a beetle. She was about to run after him when Frank yelled out, “Wanda look out!” She’d been distracted watching Winston that she hadn’t realized she was standing in the direct path of an approaching bark beetle.

  She took a step back as she pulled back the sl
ide to ram another shell in the receiver...and tripped over a log.

  The giant beetle opened it jaws and stepped over her, its belly only a foot above Wanda so she was unable to raise the barrel of her gun to shoot. She gazed up into its grotesque mouth as it hovered over her; its menacing jaws ready to close.

  Frank advanced with the razor-sharp spear and drove the carbon steel tip through the beetle’s head. He released the shaft, grabbed Wanda by the hand, and pulled her out from under the beetle before the monstrosity collapsed to the ground.

  “Sorry I took so long. I couldn’t chance using the shotgun or I might have hit you,” Frank said.

  “No need to apologize,” Wanda said and got to her feet. “Don’t forget your pig sticker.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Frank walked over and pulled out the spear. He quickly retracted it and stuffed it in his backpack. He picked his shotgun off the ground where he had dropped it before saving Wanda.

  All around them, they could hear the staccato of rapid machinegun fire and explosives. Frank and Wanda ran toward the gunfire.

  Julie, Denise, and Johnny were standing back-to-back firing short three-round bursts up into the trees. Some of the beetles had taken flight and were trying to escape into the canopy. Heavy bodies were crashing down, snapping off tree limbs.

  Frank counted seven beetles dead on the ground, and more were dropping.

  “Watch out!” Johnny yelled and moved away. Julie dashed toward a tree trunk for cover. Denise wasn’t so lucky. A giant beetle came down directly on top of her.

  “Oh Jesus,” Wanda said as she and Frank ran over.

  “Keep firing!” Frank yelled to Johnny and Julie. “We can’t let any of them get away!”

  The two Eco-Marines pointed their muzzles up at the sky and strafed the treetops.

  Frank got down on the ground and tried to look under the fallen beetle to see if he could see Denise. Part of her was visible. The blank expression on her face told him she was dead. Her eyes were open and blood was funneling out of her mouth meaning her internal organs had been crushed and ruptured.