by Summer Lane
“You can go,” he says. “But with Sophia and Vera.” He looks at the woman who was once my best friend. “Both of you, same unit. Cassidy’s the Commander.”
Chris cocks a mischievous eyebrow, like he knows how much Sophia is going to hate this. I maintain a poker face and thank him, checking my rifle, loading up on ammunition.
“Be careful,” Chris whispers. “In and out. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. See what you see and report back as soon as you can.”
“I will,” I say. “See you soon.”
I kiss his cheek. He squeezes my hand.
“Cassidy,” he says, his voice low. So low that only I can hear it.
“Yeah?” I reply.
“I love you.”
A smile touches my lips.
“I love you too, Commander,” I say. “See you soon.”
And then I am off. Sophia and Vera are with me. There are about five militiamen with us. They are silent. I do not know them by name, but I have seen them in action often enough to trust them.
“This is insanity,” Vera mumbles. “We’re stuck on the outside of the safest city on the west coast.”
“Safe is a debatable term,” I say.
“You know what I mean, Hart.” Vera’s perfect blonde hair has fallen from its tight ponytail, hanging in limp strands around her sweaty face. “This was our last chance at rallying forces against Omega, and they’ve taken us by surprise.”
I don’t want to tell them my theory.
I don’t want to hurt them by making the situation worse.
So I keep it to myself. When we reach the city, they might see soon enough, anyway. There is nothing I can do to stop that.
We move through the woods, quiet and stealthy.
“So what’s your problem, Rodriguez?” Vera demands. “You’ve been a pain-in-the-butt since the Grapevine. Why are you even here?”
Normally, this would be the time where I jumped in to defend Sophia.
But Vera has a point.
“I’m fine,” Sophia snaps. “Shut up and leave me alone.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up, soldier,” Vera retorts.
Sophia swings around, stopping dead in her tracks. She takes Vera by the shoulders and shoves her backward, kicking her in the stomach. I am shocked. Not by the violence, but by Sophia. She has never been like this.
I am standing a little ahead of them on the trail.
“Stop it!” I command. “We’re on a mission. Both of you shut up and come on.”
Vera rises from the ground, clutching her stomach.
She shoots Sophia the most lethal glare I’ve ever seen.
The militiamen with me look to me for a signal. Should they interfere? I shake my head, no. Not yet. Not unless they pull out their knives and decide to duel. Until we reach that point…I can handle them.
We trudge to the top of the hill.
Vera is silent. Sophia walks on the other side of the unit, her face a mask of contained fury. At this point, I am so annoyed with her behavior that I’m about ready to kick her myself, but that’s not what she needs.
Sophia needs a new life. A life without bloodshed and warfare.
We all need that, I think. Until then, hang in there, kid.
We come to the crest of the hill, still hidden in the trees. Sophia stops and stares, and Vera takes a sharp breath. My hands falls limp to my sides.
“Oh, my God,” Vera breathes. “What have they done?”
The Monterey Peninsula is clearly visible from our vantage point on the side of the mountain. The warships have moved to the shoreline. They are anchored off the coast, and shiploads of troops are coming inland. They are moving like black ants, flooding the coastline. The beach is covered with them, an invasion force.
“Why aren’t we retaliating with cruise missiles?” Vera says. “The Alliance is supposed to protect us from this.”
I shake my head. “It’s too late,” I reply. “They’re already here.”
I watch the terrifying spectacle of the Omega troops crawling up the beaches and overrunning the roads. And in the midst of it all, downtown Monterey is ablaze with fire.
Chapter Fifteen
“Dad?” I ask. “Why is there war?”
I am ten years old. I’m kicking a soccer ball around the front yard. It is a bright autumn day. Even here, in Culver City, I can smell the quiet descent into winter. Fall is here, Christmas is coming.
“The current war?” Dad says. “Or just war in general?”
He’s ten years younger in this memory, hair shaved down, grizzled stubble on his cheeks. He is sitting on the front porch steps, reading the newspaper.
“Just war in general.” I shrug. “You know. Like…what’s the point?”
“Because we’re human,” Dad replies. “Humans fight. It’s what we do best.”
I kick the ball between two shrubs. Goal.
“But why do we fight, Dad?” I press. “Who was the first person who thought of killing somebody else to get what they wanted? It’s so weird. It’s so…wrong.”
Dad frowns. The headline of the paper is something dramatic.
Someone was killed on their way to work. Someone was kidnapped on their way home from school. A bomb was dropped somewhere overseas. A woman was assaulted. A man was robbed.
“It seems like only bad things happen,” I sigh.
I kick the ball toward the porch. Dad catches it under his boot.
“No, honey,” Dad replies. “There are bad people who do bad things, but there will always be good people to stop them. And that is why we have wars.”
I stare at him.
“That’s why?”
“Most of the time. Not always, but mostly.” Dad kicks the ball back to me. “Remember, Cassie. When you’re fighting, make sure you know which side you’re on. Know what you’re fighting for.”
“I will,” I promise, with all the enthusiasm of a newly minted soldier. “I’ll know.”
I kick one more goal.
Yes. I will know.
The city is in chaos. Vera, Sophia and the rest of my team lie prone in tall grass, looking across the city limits. Omega troops are crawling into the city, overtaking the barricades and checkpoints. What little United States military forces remain to combat their advance is razed to the ground. Omega is an unstoppable wall, a solid influx of destruction.
“What do we do?” Vera whispers.
My hands clutch the ground, fingernails gathering dirt.
What should we do? Monterey’s steel ring has been broken. A secure city has been completely compromised.
“We go back, and we report to Chris,” I say. “And then…hang on.”
I peer through my optics, catching a glimpse of random movement on the far side of a parking lot littered with burning cars. It’s a dog. A German Shepherd.
“Bravo,” I say. “Elle Costas. Hold your position.”
Vera and Sophia follow my line of sight, straining to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, Elle Costas emerges from the side of the parking lot. She doesn’t look hurt. She’s sprinting full speed across the lot, behind the cars, then dives into the tall grass.
“She’ll run right into us,” Vera states.
“We’ll wait, then head back to Chris.”
This is an unexpected stroke of luck, running into a familiar face down here. We wait until Elle gets closer, then Vera crouches down. Elle bursts through the grass, breathing hard. “WHOA!” I say. “Get down!”
Vera grabs Elle and pulls her to the ground.
Elle struggles at first, then recognizes us. Bravo growls but Elle silences him.
“Oh, my God!” she pants. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re scouting,” I reply. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“What happened down here?”
“What’s it look like?” Elle shakes her head. “They sent a couple of mortar rounds into the school, then their ships just started getting closer. Next thing you know, they’re dumping troops all ove
r the shoreline.” She looks scared. “Nobody knew this would happen, did they?”
I say nothing.
Then, “They know we won’t use our cruise missiles against our own city.”
“Which is why they had to bring the fight into the city limits,” Vera agrees. “This is stone-age, man-to-man combat.”
I nod. “Let’s get back to the team.”
We stealthily slip back into the woods, moving back over the sandy terrain, keeping a low profile. My mind races with the grim realization that yes, we are the only viable combative forces left in Monterey.
As always, the militias are the only thing that stands between Omega and victory. Why does it always come down to us? Why does the safety and security of the National Guard and the United States Military always fail?
Buck up, soldier, a little voice whispers in my ear. The fight’s not over yet.
That’s right. It’s not.
We move quickly, reaching the rendezvous point with Chris and the rest of the militia. I notice new faces: Anita Vega, Commander of the Coyotes, and Speaker Jen Amal, Commander of the Seahawks. Marshal Sullivan, the Canadian Commander of the Strikers. I also recognize units from the now-deceased Nathanial Mero’s Red Fox and Ken Thrawn’s Titans.
I do a quick headcount estimation.
We have a little over one thousand militiamen and women between the six of our militias. It’s not much…but it’s better than nothing. One thousand highly skilled, dangerous guerilla warfighters against a high profile invasion force is capable of wreaking more damage than Omega might think.
I don’t stop to greet the other Commanders. I simply nod, paying my respects, and tell Chris what we’ve witnessed. Although we are hidden in the hilly terrain, the black smoke is clearly visible from here. Monterey is roasting, and Omega wants everyone to know it.
“Manny!” Elle cries.
“Elle?” Manny is standing on the edge of the group. He stuffs his flight cap in his pocket and runs forward. I have never seen him look so happy. “My girl! Elle!”
Elle sprints through the crowd of people and throws her arms around Manny’s neck. He kisses her forehead and brushes her hair away from her face. His eyes are watery, his hands are trembling.
“My girl,” he whispers. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Manny,” Elle says. “I love you. I’m sorry for leaving. I had to go back to Los Angeles. I had to know if they were still alive.”
“I know. It’s okay.” Manny hugs her again. “What matters it that we’re alive. Both of us.”
Elle’s face freezes.
“What about Aunt? Where is she?” she asks.
Manny lowers his voice.
“She’s alive,” he replies. He stands up. “Well, ladies and gentlemen. The Happy Reunion has come to a close. Please continue with your strategic planning.”
I smile at Manny. He smiles back.
There is a sparkle in his eye.
“What’s our next move, Commander?” I ask Chris.
Anita, Ken, Marshall, Jen, Chris and myself stand in a circle, fellow militia commanders; brothers and sisters in arms.
“We end this,” Chris says. “Today.”
I feel a thrill of excitement and fear.
I have no doubt that we will.
Chapter Sixteen
Something happened to me after the EMP. Before the end of the world – before the invasion – I was an average, naïve, unemployed high school graduate. I was a hard worker, but times were tough. Few available jobs and expensive college tuition seemed to set me up for a lifetime of failure.
I had no self-confidence, no self-esteem.
My friends were few and far between. People took advantage of my naivety and left me hurt and bitter. I was afraid to stand up for the things I believed in. I feared being criticized and talked out of what I thought was right. I was a pushover. I would defend everyone but myself. I was, at heart, a fighter – but I was too scared to make the initial, scary step of asserting myself.
I am a different person, now.
No man or woman tells me how to think, or what to do. I am a creature of independence, a child of liberty. I am a soldier, a lethal weapon used to extinguish injustice and defend the weak from those who would seek to destroy them. I am a leader. I am a warrior. I am unashamed and I am unafraid to make the ultimate sacrifice to keep the people I love out of harm’s way.
I have conviction. I have belief. I have a fire in my heart.
I am dangerous.
It is late afternoon. The militias are still hiding in the woods, away from Omega’s direct line of sight. We are gathered with the militia Commanders here, a map spread out on the ground at our feet. My heart is beating in my throat. Fury keeps my senses sharp. I am enraged at Omega, disgusted that they have taken Monterey. I am ready to bring them down.
Nothing will stop us.
“God willing,” Chris says, as if reading my thoughts, “we will win this thing. Let’s talk this through one more time to make sure everybody’s got the plan straight. Amal, you take the Seahawks to the south side of the city.” She nods, every bit as stately in combat fatigues and muddy boots as she was at the Negotiations table. “Marshal Sullivan,” Chris says, nodding to the Canadian Commander. “You’ll take the Strikers to the southwest side. Stay in contact with Amal via radio. Watch your steps, wait for the signal.” He turns to Anita Vega. She is beautiful, almost ghostly with her pale white skin and midnight hair. I have heard rumors that her skin is white because the Coyotes have only ever attacked Omega at night – that her militia is a nocturnal one, just like the preying animals they are named after. “Commander Vega,” Chris begins, “You’ll take the north side. You’ve got a force of about a hundred and fifty men. You can handle it.”
Anita nods, pursing her lips.
“Cassidy,” Chris says, looking at me. “You will take over command of Ken Thrawn’s Titans in addition to your own team. That will give you a force of about two-hundred. I’ll take the bigger chunk of the Freedom Fighters and Mero’s Red Fox.”
I nod. I am not apprehensive, being the commander of my very own militia. Ultimately, we will all answer to Chris because we respect him, and he is the brains of our operation, when it comes down to it.
“Cassidy, you’ll take your forces to the south east corner of the city,” Chris continues. “I’ll be on the north east side with my forces. We’ll form a militia-made ring around the city limits.”
“What about the sea?” Anita Vega asks. “We can’t cover that.”
“I’m counting on the United States Air Force to take care of it,” Chris replies. “Our job is to take back the city without destroying it. The National Guard and the Army have destroyed most of the Presidio and some of the Naval Postgraduate School to prevent our intelligence from falling into enemy hands. The rest of the city…well, let’s focus on preserving it, if we can.”
I notice his usage of if. To me, that signals that Chris is going to try, but in the end, this is going to be an old-fashioned shootout. Just the way Harry wanted it to be. He would enjoy the drama. It would suit him well.
“So we can’t drop a bomb on the city because we want to preserve it,” Vera says, “and because we’ve got POW National Guard and Army units inside Monterey. What happened to our Coast Guard boys and the Naval forces here?”
“Most of them got out,” Chris replies. “They’re regrouping.”
“We have to do this the hard way,” Sophia sighs.
“This is going to be brains versus brawn,” I correct. “Omega outguns us, but we’ll outsmart them. We’ll hit fast and quick, draw their attention to a couple of areas of the city, then slip our forces through the back door while we’re juggling the smoke and mirrors. It will work.”
No one looks convinced, but there is no argument.
We have to stay positive, after all.
“I’ve sent recon scouts into the city,” Chris goes on. “As far as we know, Harry Lydell and the rest of the impor
tant Omega officers – whoever they may be – are holed up in the Naval Postgraduate School.” He looks at me. “Marshal Sullivan and his militia will attack Monterey from the south, Anita Vega will attack from the north. While they’re busy defending both sides of the city…” Chris opens his hands, drawing a circle around the east edge of the city with his finger. “Cassidy and I will slip in with our forces through the back door.”
“Can it be done?” Marshal booms. He is stately in his militia uniform and snow white hair. “Will they really fall for a scheme like this? They know we’ve got our militias out here somewhere. They may be expecting it.”
“They’ll be expecting something,” Chris replies. “But they won’t know what.”
I stare at the map, aware of how much is at stake. We can’t allow Omega to gain any kind of foothold on the Pacific Coast.
“What about the Pacific Northwest Alliance?” Sophia asks. “California joined forces with you guys for a reason – so that we could have backup when this kind of thing happened. Can’t you send help?”
Anita Vega shares a glance with Marshal Sullivan.
“The purpose of the Alliance was not just to unite the states,” she says slowly, “but to unite the militias. Our militias are more powerful than the military right now – we are by far more driven and organized than what’s left of the United States’ forces. I hate to tell you this, Commander Hart, but the Alliance’s strength has never been in the states themselves. It’s been in the militias.”
The Battle of Tippecanoe was fought between the United States and Chief Tecumseh’s Confederacy. I get a flash of the words of a teacher I had in eleventh grade, during American history class. Tecumseh was a Shawnee Native American Indian, and he realized the benefit of having forces that were united. As tribes, they didn’t stand a chance against their enemies because they were separate units. The tribal mentality had to go. And so Tecumseh created the Confederacy, a united front of Indian tribes to combat their enemies. Their most crushing defeat was the Battle of Tippecanoe…but the fact remains: Tecumseh recognized that standing alone is never the way. There is strength in numbers.
“Just like Tecumseh,” I whisper.
