by J. F. Holmes
The second Wolverine looked at its dead comrade, howled a challenge and rushed at the soldier with incredible speed, dropping its rifle and raising its arms. Blake leapt over his prone son and crashed into his sworn enemy, digging his fingers into the things’ throat, even as fangs reached for his own. He used his weight to bear the smaller creature to the ground, sharp teeth burying themselves into his arm and clamping down, trying to puncture through his tough uniform. The Wolverine, incredibly strong, forced him back upwards until they stood together in the street in a macabre death dance. He felt ripping claws slicing at his armor, seeking a joint to penetrate, and began to weaken.
Suddenly the creature’s head snapped back, hammered through the side of its skull by a heavy 7.62 bullet, and it fell backwards into the dust. Blake stood, chest heaving with exertion and shaking with adrenaline, as the rest of ODA 352 rushed down the side of the street. He grabbed his son, lifting him up, ignoring his scream of pain, and shoved him back towards the door of his house. “Get inside, and stay there, no matter what happens!” he yelled at his son, and the boy, thoroughly frightened, blood streaming down his arm, nodded once and fled.
Major Cliff knelt, ignoring the scene behind her, watching to see if there was any activity at the Invy government buildings. Blake knelt down beside her, seating his NVG’s and taking up his sector.
“Are we ready?” she asked, and the veteran NCO took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Let’s do this, Ma’am.”
She glanced at him, nodded, said, “Follow me.”
“Rangers lead the way!” he shot back reflexively, making her eyes roll, and they moved out into the darkness, more than a dozen men and women wearing the patches of the CEF and the United States.
Chapter 61
The Invy compound lay across a cleared field of fire, a hundred meters from the first houses of the town, with the Greens militia barracks forming a T behind it. The team gathered in the darkness around a corner for a quick review of the plan.
The ODA had spent eight years living in the town, planning, waiting for this day, trying to counter the propaganda being taught at the Invy school. It had been hard, though, because the majority of the town dwellers had all the fight beaten out of them by defeat and starvation, trading freedom for security. Blake couldn’t even really blame them, but it didn’t make what they were about to do any easier.
“OK,” said Major Cliff, “let’s go over the plan one more time.”
Each member of the team had a specific job to do, from weapons crews to several who were to go from house to house, spreading the word. There were five thousand people in the town; over the years they had carefully felt out who would or wouldn’t support them. It numbered around a hundred, mostly veterans.
“Alpha, you’re taking out the APC. Bravo,” Major Cliff said, “you have the MK-19. It’s your job to nail the Invy infantry as they come out the gate. Charlie, you’ve got the Green’s barracks, but first set up the MG for an enfilade of the gate. We’re going to need a serious base of fire to pin them down while we rally support.” Master Sergeant Cordell would be in charge of that team, and he had a few surprises of his own for them. The wiry black man nodded; this was his specialty.
“Alpha, as soon as the APC is down, I need you to fall back on me so we can assault into the compound, once reinforcements get here.” SFC Lynch nodded; he and his team knew the compound in detail, and had complete confidence they could take the Invy in CQB.
“Delta, Echo, house to house of our supporters. Assembly at the warehouse for weapons distribution. Form them into squads and send them back here.” The two team leaders, Lieutenant Sanchez and SSG Chu, looked at each other. This had been their part of the plan to create, and the two women had been instrumental in identifying the right people.
“Let’s do this, Cholo,” said Chu.
Sanchez slapped her gloved hand and answered, “In your face, China doll!” The two gathered their men and hustled off into the darkness, avoiding the streetlights.
“Foxtrot, you’ve got killing to do. Get to it.”
Blake started to speak, but the Major cut him off. “Couldn’t be helped, Erik. Get to work. I want all those bastard Green traitors dead. To work, people.” She looked at her watch, and continued, “We’ve now got four minutes, based on the average reaction time of the Invy at this time of night. They’ll come out looking for their two missing. I want the ambush set up right as their gate opens.”
The most savage of conflicts is always a civil war, with no quarter given. Erik Blake knew what he and his two companions were about to do, and didn’t like it; but he understood the necessity. He just hoped there was no collateral damage. “Fat fucking chance,” he muttered.
Fortunately for them, the humans who had decided to actively work with the Invy, not just go along to get along, all lived in a cluster of houses close by the Invy compound. It took the three men less than a minute to jog to their first target, the captain of the Green Militia.
“You know,” whispered Sergeant Sotelo, “I really wish we didn’t get this job.”
Blake answered, “Just focus on the mission, Tomas.”
“Yeah, but his kids are going to be scarred for life,” said his partner, SSG Carballo.
“No shit, but it’s better than slavery, which is where it’s all going to end. Now focus,” Blake told his subordinates, “we’ve got five minutes for the first three targets. After that, we just go to work on the list, get as many as we can, and then join the real fight.”
They had made their way to the fence around the back door off the house, and Carballo, who was tallest, peeked over. Thank God the Invy hated dogs; the former gangbanger could only imagine what this would have been like in his old neighborhood of Tacoma. Half a dozen starving pit bulls waiting to tear your ass up.
“Clear!” he whispered, and then boosted Sotelo over the fence. Blake was next, then Carballo handed over his rifle and vaulted it. They gathered at the back door, each thinking of the layout of the house. They had all, for one reason or another, found a reason to visit the Green Commander. It was the same exact layout as the house next door, the Mayors.
Blake reached over and slowly turned the doorknob. Like all houses in Invy towns, it was required to remain unlocked, to allow searches by any Invy, at any time. He slowly pushed the door open, and the three men filed inside, weapons scanning the kitchen, night vision eliminating the darkness. Each had slung their rifle in exchange for a suppressed 10mm handgun, and their infrared aiming lasers tracked across the walls.
“OK, let’s go!” said Blake, and they charged through the house and up the stairs. Without gunshots, people next door would just as soon mind their own business this late at night. Carballo stayed behind to watch the front door, Blake and Sotelo leading with their pistols. Sotelo went right at the top of the stairs, to block any threat from the hallway. Blake turned left, and kicked in the bedroom door with his boot.
Captain Denning was lying half on and half off the bed, eyes open to eternity, pistol lying by his outstretched hand, his throat still oozing out drips of blood. His wife, Catherine, stood over him, blood on her nightgown, knife in hand. Blake froze, unable to process what he was seeing.
“We heard you come in the back door. It’s tonight, isn’t it?” she said.
Blake answered flatly, “Yes,” and lowered his pistol.
“Good. Kill them all.”
The NCO kicked the pistol away from her reach, and said simply, “Stay here, protect your kids. It may get pretty bad.”
She nodded and sat down on her bed, looking at the body of her husband. Then she spit on the corpse.
Blake turned and called to Sotelo, and the two went down the stairs at a run, joined by Carballo. The three went out the back door again, and headed next door.
“What happened?” asked Carballo as they repeated the fence climbing into the Mayor’s yard.
“Wife smoked him,” answered Blake, as he approached the back door.
/> Sotelo whispered, “Rough night in the hood, esse!”
The three men entered the Mayors house, and again, stormed up the stairs, or started to. At the top, in the darkness, a form moved, showing the Mayor, a fat man in a world of starvation, just exiting the bathroom. The two Special Forces soldiers fired at the same time, their pistols making several barking coughs each; the man fell backwards against the wall, blood streaks showing red on the white paint. His corpulent body started sliding down the stairs at them, but they had already turned, racing for their next target.
Chapter 62
“Is this going to work?”
Cliff looked at her NCOIC, grinning broadly in the darkness. “Well, it’s not what we had planned, but the missing Wolverines will just add to it. You ready, Carl?”
“I’ve been ready for eleven years, Lauren. Is it time?” said the Master Sergeant.
Lauren Cliff looked at her watch, counting down to H-Hour, even as the Confederated Earth Forces set into motion. Five thousand miles to the west, the first of the surface to space missiles broached the Pacific Ocean, and Captain Kiyomi Ichijou slammed backwards in her seat as her F-22 broke the speed of sound. A thousand miles to the East, David Warren prepared to fight a war a million miles away. Three thousand miles further, Scout Team One took out a patrol on a runway, and Master Sergeant Nick Agostine started to run. On the other side of the world, Private Tommy Atkins fired his .50 caliber, the stock of the rifle slamming into his shoulder.
She knew nothing of the actions of the rest of the CEF around the world; the ODA team leader was only concerned with her small part of it. Still, she could feel the tension of the men and women around her. Five soldiers who knew that they might not, probably wouldn’t, live to see the end of this, and that they were a part of much bigger things. But, she thought, at least we’ll see the beginning.
“I just want to tell you all, you’re the best people I’ve ever known,” she said out loud, “Four, three, two…”
At ‘one’, there was a flash of light, followed by a muffled CRUMP as the power lines from the antimatter reactor to the town were blown. There were no words said, no motivational “hooah’s”, just professionals going to work.
The machine gun team hustled to the right, moving to a position to enfilade the front gate, while three men moved left, around the block, working feverishly to set up the tripod mounted heavy plasma cannon, just around the corner on the main road leading out toward the power plant. Their job was to trip the ambush by firing point blank into the APC, and assaulting forward to kill any Wolverine survivors. Then they would move to complete the cross fire on the killing ground.
When the gate opened, and the APC had turned left and moved out, an MK-19 automatic grenade launcher would be maneuvered to fire right back into the compound. Sergeant Sean Dodson cradled the eighty pound weapon in his arms, leaning back against the brick wall, heart racing with anticipation. Beside him, SSG Rob Booth had the tripod resting over his shoulder, and two boxes of grenades at his feet as he knelt on the cracked pavement. “You ready, Sean?” asked the Staff Sergeant.
Dodson patted the heavy weapon, and whispered the grenadier’s motto, “Because fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck everyone around you!” His shotgun was leaning up against the wall, safety on but within easy reach. He had fought Wolverines before.
The gate opened; no slack on the Invy reaction time. The APC moved out, kicking up a cloud of dust, obscuring the dozen troops assembling in the court yard for a foot patrol. Swiveling on its fans, the tank sized vehicle turned and headed southward, disappearing around the building to the left.
Everything seemed to slow down for Dodson and Booth. Their fellow soldiers faded into the background as they executed the maneuver they had practiced a hundred times. Although Booth was a higher rank, he knew Dodson had the weight to handle the big gun easily, and was content to feed him and call corrections.
He opened the tripod and pushed it out around the corner, even as Dodson swung the launcher down, seated it home, and flipped open the feed tray. A belt of grenades was slapped in, and the gunner sat down on the ground, weapon between his legs, racking the slide back. He took a second to check his aim; the distance had already been carefully measured out.
One breath later, he heard and felt the SIZZLE CRACK of the plasma cannon, and all the hair on his arms stood up, even two blocks away. Pulling the trigger, he watched as the first three rounds left the tube, and kicked it slightly right even as they detonated. THUMP THUMP THUMP was felt more than heard.
The antimatter containment unit on the APC let go in a thunderous roar that shattered every window around them, showering them with glass, but neither Dodson nor Booth deviated from their task, walking the grenades in a continuous stream into the charging Wolverines.
“I don’t think that was supposed to happen!” grunted the gunner, heaving the weapon around. A half dozen of the Invy troops spilled from the gate, and beside the grenade team Corporal Raj Havner let fly with his sniper rifle, working the bolt furiously. From the side, the machine gun team started cutting them down with enfilading fire, but the aliens moved too quickly for the gun to follow them.
Behind the three men, Major Cliff shouldered her own rifle and placed the red dot sight on the closest creature, breathed out, and fired. Discarding the sabot, a three millimeter depleted uranium dart hammered into the chest armor of the Wolverine, knocking it backwards.
One stopped to turn and engage the machine gun team, while three more charged forward, firing their plasma rifles on automatic from the hip. One bolt hit Havner in the head, exploding with a CRACK and sending a cloud of superheated blood and brains over the grenadiers, who had shifted their fire into the windows of the Greens barracks.
Cliff fired again, missed, trying to hold steady in the face of the incoming fire, breathing violently as adrenaline coursed through her. It had been a decade since she had been able to properly train, and she cursed at herself to settle down. “Come on, you bastards!” she yelled, firing and missing as her target swerved from side to side, moving incredibly fast. Her next shot took the leg off one, but the other two were almost on them.
She screamed as a plasma bolt hammered into her own armor, and it started to burn as she struggled to unlatch it and pull it off. The first Wolverine to reach them dropped his rifle in its sling and extended a ripping claw, stabbing downward into Booths’ back; the soldier had ignored the Wolverine and continued to feed the grenade launcher, caught up in his job. He screamed loudly as the claw through him and drove into the concrete, then pulled back out. The wounded soldier grabbed the alien around its legs and rolled over on top of it, struggling furiously.
A shout from behind her as the second one crashed into the ODA leader, slashing furiously at her, even as she slipped her arms out of the superheated armor. She fell to the concrete, smashing her face as the ripping claw glanced off her helmet. The return stroke slashed across her leg, even as a shotgun boomed. She felt the creature knocked off her, and struggled to her feet, drew her pistol, and fired half the magazine into the one stabbing at Booth. It was knocked backwards, and fell to the ground twitching. The Staff Sergeant lay still, a half a dozen stab wounds draining his life out onto the ground. Dodson sat back down behind the grenade launcher, reached over the body of his friend, and fed in another belt, hammering the Green barracks.
Chapter 63
Johanna Sanchez had lived for this moment. All the cat calls, the muttered word “whore” under women’s breaths, spending nights with men she despised. All that was coming to a head.
“Hey, Chu,” she laughed as they approached the first house, “it’s all coming to a head! Get it?”
“Yeah,” said the fifth generation Asian American, “I get it. Way too much, cholo.” Even before the war, she had endured her own tormentors, and when ODA 352 had been assigned to this town, it had gotten worse. Both she and Sanchez had been outsiders in this mostly white community, but for a while, refugees hadn’t cared. When things
had settled down, and some had begun to become fat and happy under Invy rule, the subtle discrimination had started again. Maybe it would have been different, but by their own planning, Staff Sergeant Chu and Lieutenant Sanchez had become, for all intents and purposes, the town whores.
What it had allowed them to do was develop actionable intelligence, granting them access to floor plans of houses, and even get escorted through the Invy buildings. Along the way they had identified those who held hatred of the Invy, all military veterans. Most were just trying to survive, but some had indicated they would fight, if only someone would organize it. They had said nothing, but made careful note. A week before, ten of them had been brought, individually, to a deserted warehouse by other team members and been told to each reach out to a list of ten more, to be ready for action. The following days had been tense, and one had sought to gain favor with the Invy by going to the Greenies. He had never gotten there, courtesy of a knife in the kidney by Chu while she was in bed with him, after he told her his intentions.
They and their two other soldiers split up, going to opposite doors on the street, and, when they opened to hammering fists, told the men who answered one word. “FREEDOM!” they each said, and hurried down the street. Behind them, the doors closed, and then quickly opened again, the notified men hurrying out into the night. They had just reached the ninth house when the night erupted with a CRUMP, the explosion taking down the power lines, and the street went dark.
“Good enough!” said Sanchez, and they both broke into a dead run to their safe house. Charging through the unlocked door, followed by Sergeants Jimmie Patton and Dave “Doc” Cofer. The four of them pushed hard at a wall, and it rotated slightly on well-oiled hinges to reveal a narrow room, perhaps four feet wide. Enough room for the olive drab military hardware cases lined up in rows. They started breaking them out as gunfire echoed up and down the village, and the first volunteers showed up a minute later, staring at the four in their CEF uniforms. Sanchez stood on top of one box as even more showed up, and held up her arms for quiet, just as the antimatter containment bottle let go on the APC.
