by Mack Maloney
Now, looking down on Planet America, Xirstix made a fateful decision. He wouldn't send any troops into the countryside. He would use all of his three hundred twenty-two remaining craft to carry out the invasion in the cities alone.
It was clear weather around Planet America when the invasion began. It was just before dawn on the East Coast.
The fiery trails made by the BMK craft across the morning sky could be seen for miles. They caused multiple sonic booms coming in, plus the attack craft themselves had their propulsion units rigged to make as much noise as possible coming through the atmosphere. Once down, the spacecraft were designed to emit strange and eerie sounds, again heightening the frightening aspect of it all.
The first BMK units on the ground were the fleet's shock troops. They wore battle gear that was designed to cause fear and look invincible. Their suits were really part combat uniform, part robotics-assisted devices or RADs. They gave the wearer at least six inches in further height, topped off by a massive battle helmet that gave the illusion of yet another six inches. The battle suit made sizzling, mechanical noises whenever they moved.
The shock troops carried blaster rifles programmed to make heavily amplified noises when fired. Even their ray-gun side arms had been cranked, that is, their beams were brighter, their report louder.
At seven a.m. local time, thirty-two shock troop craft came down in New York City. Xirstix's own personal craft joined them soon after.
The BMK were professional invaders. Though the army based on Moon 39 was serving under very unusual circumstances, their training essentially remained the same. Fight in the big cities, take out key spots, then spread terror in the countryside. It was a formula that had worked for their peers many times across the Fringe. It was the strategy that had worked just two weeks before on Planet France. There was really no reason why it should not work here.
There were a dozen key objectives the BMK shock troops had to secure in New York City. They included the port, the main TV and radio antennae, and every tunnel and bridge leading in or out of Manhattan. If there was to be any fighting, it would take place at these locations. Usually, the first two hours of an invasion were the most violent. Yet, just twenty minutes after the BMK force had set down, these key objectives had already been taken. More troops landed, and within an hour, the city was declared secured. Casualties to the invading forces were zero. In fact, not a shot was even fired.
This was because there had been absolutely no opposition. The city was empty.
Xirstix had found this news so unbelievable, he took a tour of the city south of Central Park. Gliding along in an ornate sky car, nearly a thousand specially trained combat guards surrounding him, he went up and down every street and alley along both rivers and flew to the tops of the tallest buildings. Long robes flowing, wearing full battle dress from head to toe, it took two hours of Xirstix rushing here and there to convince him that the city was indeed deserted.
What's more, reports coming in from two other landing sites — Boston and Philadelphia — said the same thing. The cities were empty; there had been absolutely no resistance.
How could this be? Xirstix wondered. It was almost as if the people of the planet knew the BMK were coming.
Then it hit him: the mysterious attacker, who had shot down twenty-seven of his shuttles coming in and had attacked BMK targets on Planet France. There had to be a connection. But again, how could a planet that was just barely able to get a rudimentary craft into orbit have such an awesome weapon at its disposal?
Then word arrived that Chicago was not found to be empty.
In fact, the planet's defenders had been waiting for Xirstix's craft and had even shot two of them down.
The news was almost as unbelievable as the lack of fighting in New York.
Xirstix rushed back to his command ship and immediately headed west.
Arriving in Chicago ten minutes later, Xirstix found the situation was near total chaos.
The reports had indicated that Chicago was not a deserted city as New York had been, but this was not entirely accurate. Chicago was indeed empty of a population for Xirstix to conquer, but it was thick with defenders, well-armed fighters apparently made up from the city's police force.
And the reports of two shuttlecraft being shot down — that had been inaccurate, too. It had been four shuttles, and they hadn't been shot down by anyone on the ground. The mystery spacecraft had done it.
The first thing Xirstix noticed after arriving over the city was the large number of smoke plumes rising above it. Curiously, these plumes were forming a series of near-perfect concentric rings, each one getting closer to the center of the city. Hovering now just above the lakefront, Xirstix asked his ground commanders why there were rings of smoke around the city. The reply was that the BMK troops were chasing the defenders into an ever-tightening noose; they were retreating toward the center of the city.
The moment he heard that, Xirstix knew something was wrong.
Defenders never retreated to the center of a city; the tactic didn't make sense. A retreating force should want to get out of an encircled city, not stay within it. Enraged but also uncertain, Xirstix directed his command craft to go right up to the front line of the ongoing urban battle.
His commanders were astonished to see him, of course. The streets around the Loop were littered with bodies and the sudden wreckage of war. The trouble was, the vast majority of the bodies were BMK troops. Many had been taken down by well-hidden ambush nests, dying two or three at a time after being caught in the middle of deadly cross fire in the narrow streets. Xirstix was furious at the losses the invading forces had suffered.
"But the enemy is retreating," one of his street commanders told him. "We have them on the run."
Then came a report that the last of the defenders had been cornered in a huge sports arena downtown. Xirstix demanded to be taken to the site immediately. Under the nervous eyes of his security troops, he was whisked to the site.
He found his troops had surrounded the arena but that they were also in disarray. The streets were littered with hundreds more dead BMK troops. Most of his soldiers were simply waiting behind cover. Xirstix ordered a unit of sappers to blast holes in the building where the defenders had gone, but again he knew something was wrong. These defenders were a little more savvy than it appeared. Why would they be foolish enough to retreat to a building that the BMK could pulverize in a matter of seconds?
When the BMK troops finally broke into the arena, they found out why. In the middle of the large sports hall there was a large area of distorted air; it looked like a mirage, shimmering, light waves bending as if in a wind.
And enemy troops were running headlong into this distortion and disappearing.
"Shoot at them!" Xirstix screamed at his troops who were standing dumbfounded by what they were seeing.
But it was already too late.
All of the enemy soldiers had escaped.
Meanwhile, the BMK invaders who landed in St. Louis were facing the stiffest fighting of the day.
Twenty-six invasion craft had rained down on the riverside city. Unlike those troops landing in the big cities farther east, this force did not split up into separate forward units. Instead, they landed, en masse, on a huge athletic field and the parking lots surrounding it, just outside the city. This change in orders was the direct result of reports coming in from New York and Chicago. "St. Louis is probably filled with defenders," Xirstix's command staff were telling them. "They know you are coming. Set down in force, assemble, then storm the city immediately."
But the new orders also gave the St. Louis invasion command-ers an extra bit of intelligence. If the enemy fights a withdrawing action, no matter how aggressive, pursue at all costs. Identify an arena or auditorium closest to the center of the city and capture it. It is here the enemy will probably be retreating to.
That's what had happened in New York and Chicago. That's exactly what happened here.
The BMK force, twen
ty-six thousand strong, entered the city and was immediately laid upon by machine guns and snipers. Hundreds of shooters were entrenched within the cluttered urban setting, hitting hard, then quickly retreating. The invaders pressed on, three mobile Master Blasters in their possession. Firing massive blaster rounds on a methodical basis, they took each block in their march forward by simply eliminating everything on and around it.
Within twenty minutes, they had cut a one-mile swath right through the city, finding no citizens except the hundreds who were shooting back at them. Their advance scout units found a large sports arena located not far away from the creeping front line. The BMK unit commanders relentlessly pushed the troops now. Their casualties were already over 50 percent, but soon they were just a block away from the saucer-shaped sports arena. And sure enough, they could see hundreds of the armed defenders running into the huge building. The plan had worked. The BMK commanders giddily ordered their Master Blasters to take aim on the arena.
Then the BMK commanders got a strange order: Stop and remain in place.
Why? The answer arrived overhead a moment later. Like a huge storm cloud, it blotted out the morning sun. It was Xirstix's private command ship. He was here to ruin the party.
The command ship landed in the street next to the sports arena. All of the firing from the defenders had ceased by now. Several thousand of the enemy fighters were inside the building. All the exits were blocked.
A small army of Xirstix's own highly trained security troops poured out of his command ship. They were twice as big and carried twice as many weapons as the standard BMK trooper. They took a few minutes to assemble, then Xirstix himself came bounding down the ramp. He was wearing an enormous battle suit as well, one with huge wings attached to its back and a pair nearly as large flaring off his helmet. The entire outfit was made of highly polished gold.
Xirstix took stock of the situation, used his baton to give the original invasion commanders a flippant salute, then ordered his own troops to rush the arena. They did this, some by blowing huge holes into the side of the structure, others by simply using the massive power provided by their battle suits to literally walk through its walls, leaving a hole ten by ten in their wake.
Sure enough, there was a small cluster of enemy troops on the floor of the place. A wall of gunfire met the special BMK troops once they'd punched inside. Many of the elite soldiers were killed instantly. Just as in Chicago (and they would learn later, New York City), the defenders were disappearing into a large field of shimmering air. But by this time, the BMK had figured out this was a Twenty 'n Six field portal, a large entryway into the twenty-sixth dimension created by bonding four of the devices together.
There were a hundred or so defenders left when the BMK troops broke in. They doubled their firing, and the sharp gunfight became even more extreme. Suddenly, the inside of the arena was filled with ricocheting bullets, many that could penetrate the BMK armor if they hit the right spot.
Despite the fusillade, Xirstix burst his own way into the building. He had a sonic amplifying device attached to the mouthpiece of his helmet so when he spoke, his voice would take on a frightening, shrill sound. Raising his protective visor now, he screamed for his troops to forget about killing the defenders, just capture the Twenty 'n Six portal before the last soldier stepped through and it disappeared. Only then could the BMK troops continue their pursuit.
But the invaders had taken just a bit too much time preening outside the arena. Though the battle was fierce, the defenders were jumping through the portal faster than the BMK soldiers could fight their way down to get at them. Once Xirstix realized this, he let out a bloodcurdling wail.
It was strange what happened next. Just as the last defender was about to step through the empty space, he turned, aimed his rifle at Xirstix, and fired a single round.
The bullet caught Xirstix in full bellow, right between the eyes.
He was dead before he hit the floor.
22
With the death of Xirstix, a subcommander named Lax Deaux became head of the BMK invasion forces.
Deaux was Xirstix's cousin; that was the only reason he held any rank at all in the BMK. Essentially Xirstix's gofer, Deaux knew nothing about military tactics or strategy or philosophy. He had no idea of the BMK's order of battle, nor was he privy to the invasion's plan for world conquest. The commander's death and the failure of any unit from Planet France to deploy landed the job right in Deaux's lap. Appropriately enough, he was asleep while on duty at the time.
Deaux had spent most of his 101-year career holo-whoring, eating, drinking, and sleeping, in that order. Though only five and a half feet tall, he weighed a hefty three hundred pounds, not an ounce of which he carried well. Those who knew him swore he didn't know which end of a Master Blaster to aim or which end of an electron torch was up. He'd had a modest staff of three for nearly fifty years, and he still didn't know their first names. That was Lax Deaux, a very dim bulb in a very bright part of the Galaxy.
He was now in charge of nearly a million men.
No sooner had Xirstix's body been placed inside a crude ceremonial rocket and shot out of the atmosphere and into the nearby sun, when the invasion's field commanders huddled around Deaux in what was now his command vehicle, trying to get him up to speed in a hurry at this very critical point in the invasion.
They explained that the American defenders were highly trained guerrilla troops, hitting the BMK at times and places of their choosing and refusing to stand still and make battle. They told him about enemy troops vanishing into Twenty 'n Six field portals and how in the battles in the big cities so far, all the enemy troops knew where to retreat because everyone knew where the city's sports arena was.
Deaux's only knowledge of Twenty 'n Six technology was that it was related in some way to how holo-girls were produced. (They were actually distantly related.) It took the officers nearly two hours to explain to him how the enemy soldiers were able to jump through a screen and literally disappear from the battlefield. Deaux just didn't get it. He just kept asking the same idiotic questions over and over again.
But sometimes idiots open their mouths, and pure genius comes out. That's almost what happened here.
When the briefing finally ended, Deaux simply sat back in his oversized commander's chair and began chewing on his fingernails. "Where do these enemy troops go when they pass through the portal?" he asked.
His officers all shrugged. "No one knows, sir," one explained. "That is the mystery of the twenty-sixth dimension."
Deaux smiled. He had awful teeth.
"I guess what I mean is, where do the enemy troops return to?" he said. "They're obviously returning to this dimension at some other location, a gathering point perhaps?"
The officers all nodded.
"And we can probably expect that they will continue this tactic?" Deaux asked, his first time ever using the word. "Withdrawing to a hiding place of sorts until they can hit us again— and then escape again?"
"True, sir…"
Deaux stopped chewing his nails for a moment.
"Well, we must simply find that hiding place then," he said matter-of-factly. "Locate the other side to their Twenty 'n Six field portal, and you may well have them by the throats. Am I right?"
The commanders grudgingly agreed.
"How do we find such a place, sir?" one asked. "This land-mass is actually quite large; it stretches right around the planet. It has many, many places in which to hide, especially in the lands west of us. To march out into that vast expanse and try to smoke them out would be a serious task. It might take weeks, and we could never really be sure that we were any closer to their return station."
Deaux bit his nails some more.
"Then send the shuttle crafts out to look for it," he said suddenly. "Draw a hundred men from our advance scouting units for each vehicle, and dispatch them to the countryside. The unit that finds the enemy's return station will be handsomely rewarded with pay raises and elevations in ra
nk. I'm sure such a distortion in the transdimensional fabric can be picked up by some fancy piece of equipment we own. Am I right?"
The commanders all nodded again.
"Then hook them up to the shuttles. Form a grid, and assign each shuttle a square, maybe a hundred miles by a hundred miles. If one of them detects the distorted dimensional field, we can rush the rest of our forces to the spot and crush the enemy to bits."
He looked at his officers.
"Am I correct?" he asked them.
Though they tried, they had no real reason to say no.
"You are correct, sir," one replied, a change in tone betraying a hint of toadyism as well. "In fact, you are very correct."
23
The BMK didn't invade Washington, D.C.
Had the original Delta Attack plan worked, then the city would have been swept up by the invaders once New York and Philadelphia had been taken. But when the focus of the battle shifted west, first to Chicago and then to St. Louis, D.C. remained unconquered.
Downtown was empty. Houses, offices, government buildings, the streets themselves, all deserted. Like those people in the other major cities, the population had been evacuated a long time ago.
But the city was still the capital of America. And it was still in American hands.
Tomm and Zarex had stayed behind in the bunker beneath Weather Mountain, along with Gordon and a small army of essential CIA agents. The hope was to hang onto the city for as long as possible but to evacuate if and when the BMK arrived.
By this time, both Tomm and Zarex had their own CIA aides, their own van and van driver. On this night, about twenty-four hours after the first invasion craft streaked overhead, Tomm talked his driver into taking him into the city itself. It was close to three a.m., and the streets were absolutely still. Tomm directed his driver to head for the national cathedral. On arrival, he told the driver to pull around to the back of the big church and kill the engine. Tomm got out, ducked into the shadows, and picked the same lock he had his first trip to the city. Silently, he slipped inside.
