Beyond Armageddon: Book 01 - Disintegration

by Anthony DeCosmo

  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.

  The Vikings still pursued, closing the gap between predators and prey.

  "Faster! Faster!"

  Trevor saw one middle-aged man stumble and roll. A sickening crack from his leg meant he would not get up again.

  A woman on his right staggered but found her balance; a soldier to his left leapt over a boulder only to be hit square in the back by an alien round.

  The brush thinned into a field of grass. The mountainside became a small valley. Human feet splashed through the shallow stream there. The plop and ping of projectiles left no doubt the pursuers remained close.

  Trevor shouted encouragement as he reached the northern bank where another grassy slope beckoned. His legs wobbled wearily. Could he possibly climb fast enough to escape?

  Despite his fatigue, he rallied his troops forward. Patches of dirt burst into the air as enemy slugs hit the slope ahead.

  The humans chugged up the mountain, trying to reach the relative cover of the tree line.

  More screams as slower runners were thinned from the retreating ranks.

  Trevor heard the splash of Viking boots in the stream. He heard their cry…

  No, not their cry.

  WOH-WHO-EY!…WOH-WHO-EY!

  Stonewall’s brigades slammed into the Viking front on both flanks like a vice. The cavalry bore down on the foot soldiers caught in the wide-open terrain of the small valley. While only three dozen in number, the sudden appearance of the imposing mounted soldiers and their devilish rebel yell decapitated the alien offensive.

  Horse hoofs splashed through the stream. Carbines fired and swords swung. The bones of trampled aliens snapped under the strong legs of galloping steeds. Stonewall himself swooped in and lopped off a poncho’d head.

  The tip of the aliens’ spear lost cohesion and splintered into small groups while the mass of the Viking force—their confidence battered-- halted their charge.

  Stonewall holstered his sword and pulled a revolver. He squeezed off shot after shot as he maneuvered his ride halfway up the slope in pursuit of fleeing aliens. The gallant General cornered another foe against a tree, raised his gun, and…click.

  "Oh dear heavens…"

  The Viking confidently raised his rifle for an easy kill.

  THWUMP.

  A thrown knife plunged into the chest of the enemy fighter who groaned and fell.

  Stonewall turned to see Kristy Kaufman on horseback.

  "Why Miss Kaufman, I do believe I’m in your debt."

  "That’s Ms."

  He bowed then surveyed his handiwork: dozens of Vikings lay dead in the valley with several more squirming and moaning as their life bled out. A swarm of K9s hastened their end.

  "Gave them a bloody nose, we did," Kristy cheered as she and the General returned toward friendly lines. "They’ll think twice before hitting us again."

  "Hmm…I wish I shared your optimism. I fear our foes have a keen grasp of combat. This is but a temporary setback. Indeed, they will blame their losses on their overabundance of enthusiasm. When the smoke clears, they will realize they still hold all the advantages."

  Stonewall gazed toward the top of the densely wooded hill. The last hill.

  "Our mounts will be of little use now. I fear this will become a bloody mess soon."

  "We’ll find a way, General."

  McAllister glanced at the empty pistol in his hand.

  "I hope whatever 'way' we find is not overly dependent on bullets."

  ---

  Trevor passed his 'soldiers' en route to a hastily constructed command tent. He listened as he moved and heard groans of pain, forlorn sobs, and snippets of conversations.

  "…yeah, and a year ago I was at a company golf outing in Myrtle Beach, now look at me—toting a shotgun and shooting aliens. Ain’t that some kind of shit?"

  "I can’t believe he’s gone. I saw him. He was running and they shot him in the back…"

  "Don’t tell me to calm down! I don’t want to be calm, goddamnit!"

  "Shhh…listen…me and a couple of the others are going to sneak off before morning."

  He tried to block it out but he could not block out the truth of their situation.

  "One clip here."

  "Need pistol ammo! Anyone got any?"

  "A twenty-two? That’s all I got left to fight with is a friggin’ twenty-two?"

  Trevor pushed through the flaps of the tent and walked in on Stonewall reporting a best guess to Nina, Shep, Brewer, Prescott, and the Reverend: "I believe that last action by the stream dwindled the enemy’s numbers so that they no longer hold a significant numerical advantage."

  Brewer lamented, "That’s great, but as it stands, we’ve got about five seconds of ammo left once they decide to come up here."

  Reverend Johnny added, "I fear even with adequate caches of munitions we would be no match for this lot in our current state. Doom circles this camp like a vulture."

  Before Trevor could say a word, a new voice joined the discussion as Benny Duda stuck his head through the canvas flaps of the tent.

  "Um, Mr. Stone, there’s someone here who wants to speak to you."

  Stone waved his hand in annoyance, "Well, send him in."

  "I don’t think you want me to do that."

  Jerry Shepherd cocked an eye and asked, "Why? Who is it?"

  "It’s one of them."

  ---

  Trevor Stone followed the alien messenger on a return trip to the top of the second mountain. He had accepted the i
nvitation over the animated objections of his Generals. Indeed, Johnny offered enough synonyms for treachery to fill a thesaurus.

  Nevertheless, Trevor felt he had no choice. At the very least, the cease-fire allowed his troops to rest. If the aliens killed him, he would merely die a few hours before the others.

  Stone followed his guide to a canvass structure surprisingly similar in material and design to his own command tent. Around that tent loitered poncho-wearing guards as well as two elephant-sized lizards loaded with packs.

  The messenger pulled a string; the loosely hanging door rolled open. A soft yellow light glowed from within.

  Trevor sighed and entered.

  Three of the puffy-cheeked aliens waited there, dressed in humble brown cloth uniforms.

  One of them stood a pace in front of the others. He stood out even more by way of his eyes: instead of two green eyes like the others, this leader had one green and one hazel, giving the otherwise docile-looking creature an intimidating glare.

  Small, lighted orbs flickered from the corners. An oval table made from a plastic-like substance sat against one wall, and long scrolls of paper cluttered a circular storage rack.

  The enemy leader held a small microphone-like translator to his mouth. His lips moved as he spoke into the device. A half-second delay separated the sweet-flowing dialect of the invader from the synthesized English translation.

  "I welcome you, noble leader of my brave opponents. You may address me as Fromm, Force Commander."

  One of the officers handed a similar device to Trevor. He rolled it in his hand, peered closely at its mesh cover, and then spoke. His English words morphed into a computerized translation of the alien language: "Um…I accepted your invitation despite the risk. I wanted to--"

  "There is no risk." Trevor’s words struck a cord of annoyance with Fromm and his officers. "My people honor the sanctity of parlay."

  Before the translator spoke ‘parlay,’ Trevor heard the raw alien word. It sounded something akin to swashloo.

  "We pledge to protect you while you are here at our invitation."

  An honorable people.

  Trevor spoke slowly so the device could accurately translate his words.

  "Why have you come to my world?"

  "That is a question greater than this conversation. The truth is that we are here. The truth is that we have been granted rights to parts of this world. This is not a matter for discussion."

  Trevor wanted to ask more. What did that mean, rights? Was the Earth to be parceled to various aliens the way North America had been divided among the European powers hundreds of years ago? Was humanity the equivalent of the Native Americans of that time?

  Apparently, such questions would have to wait.

  "Then why have you brought me here?"

  Fromm explained, "Your forces are defeated. Your supplies are low; your numbers have dwindled. It is a custom among my people to respect our enemies when they have exhibited the type of cunning and bravery your people have shown, despite an untenable position. Therefore, we offer to accept your surrender and provide your followers with a quick, pain-free death."

  Trevor pinched his nose.

  "Let me get this straight. You think we should just give up and let you execute us?"

  "Dying on the battlefield can be a miserable death. I am offering your people the dignity of a painless end to their lives. It is our way of honoring the gallantry of your fighters."

  Stone shook his head. His eyes narrowed. The free hand not holding the translating device jabbed a finger toward the enemy commander.

  "Let me tell you our way. We fight. We fight for our lives and our world. We do not walk silently to our deaths. Our race thrives on pain. The pain of being born. The pain of living. The pain of losing…of losing things and people we care about. It’s the nature of our existence. You cannot cower us with the threat of pain. You only stiffen our resolve. My advice to you is to withdraw as fast as you can."

  Trevor failed to intimidate his counterpart but Fromm’s expression of tightly pressed lips and several long blinks suggested disappointment.

  "I am surprised you lack the wisdom to accept my offer. I wonder how is it you became the Force Commander of your people?"

  "I have no fucking idea whatsoever."

  ---

  The third and last day of the Battle of Five Armies dawned.

  Not long after sunrise Trevor, having returned unmolested to his own lines the night before, received reports of mustering enemy forces.

  He sat next to Nina in the cool shade of the woods as she cleaned her rifle and he searched for the thousandth time for a plan.

  If they withdrew, the Vikings would pursue, catching them in the midst of retreat or—if they dared move into the open—blasting them with their deadly catapults. These aliens meant to finish the job, on the mountain or otherwise.

  If they stayed, the Vikings would attack the fortifications in force. Defending those lines, despite a lack of ammunition, appeared the best alternative on a short list of bad options.

  "Well, rifle is all clean. Too bad I’ve only got five shots."

  She gave him a peck on the cheek. Trevor wondered if she welcomed the looming battle, despite the desperate odds. Perhaps she liked the idea of dying with her memories intact more than living without them.

  Trevor shook such thoughts away. He could not afford daydreams of love, not when so much rode on the minutes ahead.

  Brewer marched off to survey the west flank; Shep made for the eastern side. Reverend Johnny, in the meantime, approached Trevor. The big man carried his flamethrower.

  "Blasted thing is out of fuel," it clanged as he threw it behind a tree. Before Trevor could react, Johnny produced a baseball bat. "But I have a back up plan, praise the Lord."

  "Not bad, Rev," Nina smirked.

  "On another topic, despite my dire predictions it appears that less than a dozen of our number slipped away in the darkness last night. I am sure the All Mighty will harshly judge their cowardice, but he has blessed the remainder of our ranks with the courage to stand fast."

  "I fear, Rev, that most of our army has simply accepted defeat; they’re too tired to run."

  They watched Stonewall maneuver through the woods on horseback. The thick tree roots presented stumbling blocks for horse hoofs and the low hanging branches swiped at his head.

  Stonewall grunted in frustration, dismounted, tied the horse to a branch, and walked to the three. Trevor stood to great him.

  The General in the confederate officer’s uniform came to perfect attention, saluted, and announced, "It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that the enemy is on the march. I have observed them descending their mountain toward the valley that separates our positions. No doubt they will be joining us shortly."

  Trevor closed his eyes.

  So this is it. This is where humanity makes its last stand.

  Nina asked, "How many of them?"

  "Hmm? Oh, well, all of them, my dear. Close to two hundred."

  Nina sounded unduly optimistic as she noted, "Look, thanks to that pasting you gave them in the valley yesterday I figure they're hitting us with a lot less than they would have."

  Stonewall appreciated the mention but saddened to say that, "While Miss Forest speaks the truth, I fear we may not have two hundred bullets among us."

  Trevor's frustration surfaced. He turned and pounded a fist into a tree.

  "Damn it. We were so close!"

  Nina rubbed his shoulder and consoled, "You did everything you could."

  "Indeed," Reverend Johnny shared the moment. "Our maneuver to rest the initiative from the aliens on all fronts gave us a prayer of hope."

  Trevor thought about that decision. Stonewall had mentioned the battle of Gettysburg and how the Union army occupied the high ground on the first day. That move proved decisive. Unfortunately, not this time. This time…

  His legs wobbled; his head spun.

  Trevor closed his eyes and tasted the bitter s
cent of gunpowder fired more than a century before. He heard soldiers pleading for ammunition that would not come. He heard the battle cry of an enemy climbing a mountain one last time to finish a line of defenders who had survived wave after wave of previous attacks.

  His legs steadied. His mind stopped spinning.

  Trevor opened his eyes and faced his friends who eyed him suspiciously.

  "Stonewall, tell me about Little Round Top."

  "Pardon me, Sir? Did you say ‘Little Round Top’?"

  "The second day at Gettysburg. Joshua Chamberlain and the 20th Maine were in a predicament similar to ours’. What did he do?"

  After a moment of reflection, General McAllister smiled.

  "They did something very foolish, Sir."

  ---

  Trevor called in the far-flung ranks of his lines, gathered his officers, and shared his plan. Most stood and listened vacantly. Trevor did not know if that vacancy came because they could not believe the audacity of his plan, or if they were too far gone to hear.

  The plan did not take much explaining. It was simple. And brutal.

  He finished and surveyed his troops.

  Troops?

  The sorry survivors formed a thick circle among the trees and makeshift fortifications. Shopkeepers and bus drivers and restaurant managers dressed in a hodgepodge of jeans and t-shirts, boots and tennis shoes, brandishing hunting rifles and pistols, clubs and knives. Even the professional soldiers left over from Prescott’s band no longer stood strong and confident.

  "You must all understand it ends now. There is no retreat and if we stay here, we will be overwhelmed. There is only one alternative: forward."

  The collection of vacant eyes widened as if to suggest that while they had followed Trevor Stone so far, they might not be ready to follow him any further.

  "I’d rather die with my hands on the enemy’s throat then cower behind a wall. I will show that enemy the face of his nightmares. He has come to my world and killed my people. He will see the FURY in my eyes."

  A voice of despair cried out, "We have no more bullets!"

  "I DON’T NEED BULLETS!"

  Trevor’s bellow came from somewhere deep inside his person. The part, he figured, where the Old Man had found his killer.