Invasion: The complete three book set

by J. F. Holmes

  He had just thrown the last one when the first went off, with a CRACK!, followed by the rest. A second after the last blast, the two men charged out the door, firing repeatedly at whatever hotspots showed in their helmet displays, until they expended their magazines.

  All three Wolverines were hammered with multiple shots, even though two were already dead. The third managed to get off a bolt from a rifle that burned past Agostine’s head, and his helmet display shorted out with the plasma discharge, leaving a clear plastic sheet in front of his face. He slapped the reboot button with one hand while still firing bursts at the creature, even though Ziv had already hammered it with sabot rounds.

  “CLEAR!” said Ziv, and Agostine answered “CLEAR!” The two men turned and ran back down the stairs, calling out ahead over the radio so they didn’t get shot.

  “Nick, we’ve got seventeen here, but some of them are non-mobile,” Hamilton called back.

  “Be there in a second,” answered Agostine, and he told Zivcovic to guard the stairwell, then slipped in through the third floor doorway, just as pistol shots began to bark.

  Chapter 84

  “What the hell are you doing?” demanded Agostine.

  Rachel Singh put her pistol back in its holster, and ignored him. Four bodies lay on the floor, each shot through the head. A dozen filthy men and women cowered at the end of the hallway, fear on their faces.

  “Sergeant Hamilton, you’re in charge of the evacuees. Take these, then go with Master Sergeant Agostine down to the first floor and get another dozen, anyway you can, and move them out to the LZ. Sergeant Zivcovic, come with me.” She brushed past the stunned Agostine, and Ziv followed her down the stairs. At that moment, Agostine wanted to kill her.

  “Nick,” said Hamilton, “let’s go. There’s nothing else to do here.”

  “Rob, I can’t do this shit anymore,” he said, and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

  The big biker grabbed his friend’s arm and shook him. “Listen, brother, you crack on me now, and all these other people are going to die. You can quit later, but I need you right now. Let’s go.”

  The NCO opened his eyes, and Hamilton could see the bleakness in his soul. He stared at a pretty blonde woman with a hole in her forehead and terror on her face, reached down, and closed her eyelids. “OK, let’s go.”

  “You take lead, and I’ll move them from the back,” said Doc, and they approached the cowering POW’s.

  “My name is Master Sergeant Agostine, CEF Scouts, and we’re here to rescue you,” Agostine said, but got no reaction, so he grabbed one man by the arm and shoved him in the direction of the doorway. None of the others moved, and something in Agostine broke.

  “GODDAMNIT, MOVE!” he yelled, and fired a burst into the ceiling. They screamed and ran past him, and Agostine pushed his way to the door. As he made his way down the stairs, past the second floor, he could pistol shots and screams. Zivcovic stood in the doorway, but he wasn’t shooting anything.

  Clenching his teeth in anger at what he had to ignore, the scout cautiously opened the door to the first floor. The body of the woman Singh had killed lay sprawled half in her doorway, but all the others were shut. “COME OUT!” he yelled, “OR WE’RE GOING TO FIRE INTO YOUR ROOMS!”

  The doors started opening, mostly men, well fed and decently clothed, stepping out. Collaborators. It disgusted him, but he was sick of the whole thing already. Agostine started grabbing at some of them, women in particular, because he knew what was going to happen to them if they weren’t rescued. When he had a dozen, he herded them towards the wrecked door, and ordered the rest to return to their rooms.

  “Ahmed, coming out, all clear?” he called over the radio, and got a quick affirmative. The sniper had come up through the tunnel after them, to establish the first check point and take out the base sensors. In the darkness, the sniper’s flashlight blinked on and off. Agostine flipped channels over to the pilot’s channel, and called, “Shortbus, execute!”, then turned back to the huddled prisoners.

  “Roger, Lost Boys, two mikes, rotors hot. Shortbus on the way!” In the distance he heard the Osprey rev up, and turned back to the liberated prisoners.

  “Everyone, run towards the flashlight, there are other soldiers who will guide you towards a landing zone. If any of you break away, you will be shot. MOVE!” he yelled at them, and they started running. Doc Hamilton took the second group and carefully encouraged them, helping two who were having a hard time moving.

  “Team Two, under heavy fire” crackled the radio over the team net, “falling back!” Jones’s voice sounded harsh, and even as he transmitted, there was the bang of Reynolds’ rifle.

  “See you at the RP! Six out,” answered Agostine. He turned and went back into the building, in time to almost get shot by Zivcovic. Stepping in front the man’s gun, placing himself between Singh, Zivcovic and the terrified scientists.

  “I can’t let you do this, Rachel. Regardless of what they’ve done, they’re still human beings.”

  “Nick, get out of the way,” she answered, not lowering her pistol.

  He folded his arms resolutely and said, “No. I know what it’s like to be in Invy captivity.”

  “And you resisted, even when they ate your leg,” she said.

  “I’m a trained soldier, we have no idea what or why they did what they did,” he shot back.

  She answered with a tortured, pleading look on her face, “Nick, I have MY orders, please move!”

  From behind him, he heard a man yell, “They have our families!”

  Agostine turned to answer the scientist, and Singh shot him in the leg, shattering the prosthetic. The Master Sergeant fell to the ground, off balance, and she started firing indiscriminately into the crowd with her rifle. They screamed and ran, ducking back towards rooms or towards the door.

  “NO!” shouted Zivcovic and slapped the barrel down, hauling Agostine to his feet. “There is no honor in what you are doing, killing unarmed people!” said the Serb. He walked out the door, shaking his head.

  “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you shot me,” said Agostine, leaning against the wall, then he snapped, “LET GO OF ME!” as she reached for his arm. He had long ago learned to get around on one leg, and carried a collapsible cane strapped to his vest, just in case.

  “You disgust me,” he said harshly. “These are fucking human beings, and you don’t know why they cooperated. You just want to shoot them out of hand to deny the Invy their talent. That makes you a damned murderer.”

  “How many have you killed?” she shot back. “Innocents!”

  He shook his head, and said, “Not on purpose, and I never executed anyone except soldiers who fell asleep on duty, and they knew it when they joined up. And I still regret it.”

  “It was my orders,” she said flatly.

  “And some orders should be disobeyed, Rachel. That’s what makes us better than them. Or what makes me better than them. You … I have nothing to say to you anymore.”

  Reaching down, he tore off the shattered prosthetic to the sound of ripping Velcro, surrounded by a pool of blood. Slinging his rifle across his chest, he started out the door in a lurching motion, leaving Singh behind, looking down at the wounded and dead scientists.

  “Doc, gimme a SITREP, and do NOT let Singh anywhere near the POW’s,” called Agostine as soon as he got outside.

  “Loading the bird now, got it. Busy,” came back Hamilton.

  “Nick, WAIT! I was only doing what I was ordered to do by CEF command!” called Singh, catching up to him. There was a pleading note in her voice.

  He shrugged off her hand, and growled, “Touch me again, and I’ll shoot you, I swear to God. We’re done.”

  The NCO walked into the darkness, leaving Rachel Singh standing alone and forlorn in a combat zone.

  Chapter 85

  Agostine watched as the Osprey lifted, powered forward, and shifted into horizontal flight, followed by plasma rifle bolts that were too diffused, at this
distance, to do anything, even if they hit.

  Behind him, the Brookhaven campus burned brightly. One of the structures struck by a rocket, or maybe plasma fire, had been highly flammable, for whatever reason, and burned like a torch. At his side stood Hamilton, and Ahmed, while Zivcovic sat on a nearby tree. Between them stood Colonel Singh. The two pathfinders had taken off already, headed back to NYC. No one said anything for a long minute.

  Finally Agostine spoke. “Ziv, I want you to escort Colonel Singh back to the RP. We’re going to try and round up some of the other scientists and bring them back. Make sure nothing happens to her; she has a war to fight. ” The sarcasm in the last sentence was marked.

  “What about Reynolds?” asked the Serb.

  “She’s with us,” he said.

  “She is my partner,” was his answer.

  “I need her, just do what I told you.”

  Singh abruptly drew her pistol and pointed it at Agostine, and no one moved. She held it steady on him for a very long time, then holstered it. “We’ll talk when we get back,” the Colonel said, and walked into the darkness. Zivcovic shook his head and followed her.

  “Let’s go,” said Agostine, and, without a backwards glance, lowered his face shield, got his bearings, and started hobbling westward. He needed to get back to the house where they had stashed their packs and strap on his extra carbon fiber blade prosthetic. The Scout was furious, and his heart was ash cold, feeling betrayed by Singh. Hell, they had fought together for years, and Singh had saved his life when he was an Invy prisoner.

  “Nick,” said Ahmed, coming up beside him, “you did the right thing,”

  “I don’t know, brother. In my head, I feel it was the smart thing to do, not leave any of them for the Invy to use for research. The strategic thing to do, even.” His voice trailed off as he expressed his doubts.

  “In the Quran, the Prophet tells us to listen to our hearts, and all else will follow. You know that Brittany would have stopped it, and she is your heart.”

  Agostine said, “Was my heart, Ahmed.”

  “Is, my brother. She is alive, somewhere, in another place, and you and she are together. I believe that there are many worlds where all things are possible,” answered the older man.

  Agostine laughed bitterly. “You mean someplace where we have some kids and a farm and a future?”

  The sniper said, “Well, I would not go that far. I’m sure you would be involved in a fight somewhere, a noble one, like this one. It is what you are. But happy, yes.”

  They said nothing else until they reached the safe house. Agostine, with long practice, slipped the prosthetic out of his rolled up sleeping pad and strapped it onto his leg. He had just finished when a series of flashes lit the horizon, and muted booms from a shotgun firing echoed through the pines. His radio crackled to life, Singh’s urgent voice calling, “CONTACT! UNDER HEAVY FI-”, cutting off abruptly in mid-sentence.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed. The other men dropped their packs and all three set out in a rush toward the sound of the gunfire. There was the hiss crack of plasma, followed by more shotgun blasts, and maybe the suppressed P-90, hard to tell through the trees. It stopped before they came close, and they advanced cautiously, scanning the area.

  Suddenly the sound of blades clashing rang out, and they heard a loud yell, more steel clashing, and then silence. All thoughts of their disagreement forgotten, Agostine charged ahead, rifle up, Hamilton and Yassir beside him. They burst into a clearing just in time to see Zivcovic fall under a Dragon, his knife sticking out of the side of the creature’s neck. There was another twitching on the ground at his feet. Four Wolverines stood motionless, and there were two dead on the ground. Each man fired, rules of honor be damned, instinctively choosing targets that matched their position. Two of the Invy went down, and, lighting quick, the other two moved, firing back.

  Nick Agostine felt the plasma bolt hit him in the upper shoulder, but no pain as he fell to the ground. The shots and sounds died away, and he stared up at the stars, helmet knocked off his head. The grass felt cool in the October night, the ground firm beneath him, and time slowed, and then stopped.

  “Nick!” said a voice, and he turned his head. It seemed as if it were daylight, and, sitting there on the ground beside him, barefoot and wearing a simple dress, was a redheaded woman with ice blue eyes.

  “Are you going to lay there forever?” she laughed, and smiled. “There’s corn to harvest, and you promised to take Jane fishing,”

  “Brit?” he asked, reaching for her hand. It felt warm to his touch, smooth and alive.

  “Of course. Come, we have a life to live. You did good, love.” She stood and helped him up, and he took her in his arms, laughed, and carried her away towards the farm.

  ***

  In the real world, Doc Hamilton screamed into the radio, “I DON”T FUCKING CARE! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!” Turning back to the still form of his friend, he frantically pumped nanos into Agostine’s blood stream, spraying quick clot over the burned area. There was a no heartbeat, but his friend had a strange smile on his face.

  “Don’t you die on me!” yelled Hamilton. Singh put her hand on the medic’s arm, but he shoved her away violently and kept working.

  “Doc,” said Ahmed, “tell me what to do.”

  “In my aide bag, there’s a set of paddles. Sometimes a hit with a plasma bolt will overload a person’s electrical charge, stopping the heart. Get them for me, quick.”

  Without any further words, the two men spent the next few minutes trying to bring back life to Nick Agostine, while his soul wandered through a beautiful, different reality. In the end, it was enough, just barely enough. A faint heartbeat appeared, and his vitals came back online in Doc’s helmet display.

  While they worked, Singh walked over to where Zivcovic lay under the Dragon’s body, placed her hands under it, and heaved, rolling the stinking corpse off him. She first bent to check his pulse, but then stopped. The Serb had the Dragons’ sword in his chest, and his knife was buried up to the hilt in the Invy’s neck, their blood mixed together in a steaming pool on the sandy soil. He looked dead, until a slight movement of his eye lids showed. She checked his pulse, afraid to move the sword. It was there, barely. “DOC!” she started to shout, but the Serb reached up, gripped her arm and pulled her close.

  “That… was a good fight. Tell that puss Agostine … I will keep Brit company until he joins us. Maybe,” he whispered, coughing up blood, “maybe she will love me instead, in next life…” He laughed, choking, until he fell still, a smile on his scarred face.

  At that moment, Reynolds ran into the clearing, saw Zivcovic, and rushed over. She knelt by his body and cradled his head in her arms, weeping furiously. When Singh tried to comfort her, she screamed her grief at the other woman, making her back away.

  Rachel Singh stood despondent in the clearing, surrounded by the dead, wounded and grieving, and wondered how it all could have gone so badly. Eventually, she started walking towards the rendezvous site, leaving the rest of the team behind.

  The Osprey powered up its rotors, carrying a barely alive Nick Agostine away, and the team left the Serb surrounded by the bodies of his enemies. Reynolds placed his knife in his hand, piled the weapons of his victory around him, kissed his bloody face once, and placed an antimatter demo charge under his body. Ten minutes later, as they collected their packs, the horizon lit with brilliant fire, rivaling the heart of the sun.

  Interlude

  The sun rose again, as it always did, and General Dalpe fell asleep on a cot in the Operations Center. Major Padilla took a moment from coordinating movement of Main Force elements and Operational Detachments to ask an orderly to get a blanket.

  The day had gone better than they had hoped; more than fifty percent of the attacks had been successful. They had gained control of major bases in the Pacific Northwest, California, Texas and the Northeast, though fighting was heavy in the New York City area, and Colorado was still in doubt. Consulting wit
h the Naval Liaison, Rear Admiral Harris, Padilla asked that the Atlantic submarines move toward New York harbor to launch Tomahawk strikes. It technically wasn’t his call, since Padilla was normally involved with the ODA’s and only a Major, but Dalpe was exhausted.

  “Cascade base reports their coms with ground units reestablished, SeaTac Airport secured,” said a communications sergeant.

  Colonel Jameson’s face lit up, and he smiled broadly. “Let’s get those fighters out of storage and in the air. I want a general recall of pilots from all recaptured towns ASAP, get the helos flying to pick them up.” Between SeaTac, Andrews Air Force Base, and Travis in California, he had enough runway to take the fight to the enemy. They had the planes, he just needed the pilots. “I don’t give a shit if the last thing they flew was a crop duster.”

  “Any word from Warren?” asked Padilla, looking at the ansible receiver.

  “Nothing, Sir,” said the commo sergeant. “Carrier wave is open, but he’s plugged into the combat net, and not answering.”

  “Well,” said Jameson, “now we wait. If he doesn’t take out those cruisers, we’re toast.”

  “Agreed,” said Padilla, pulling a deck of cards from his pocket. “Admiral, do you play spades, by any chance?”

  “I’m a sailor, son. We’re born with cards in our hands,” said the older man. He reached out, took the deck, and started to shuffle. “Dollars a point, Joker, joker, deuce, deuce, ace. I’ll take Colonel Jameson as my partner.”

  “Sergeant Robles,” smiled Padilla, “it looks like he does know how to play. Let’s show these old men how it’s done!”

  As Admiral Harris handed out the cards, over their heads, a million miles away, the spaceships danced in a complicated, many pointed geometry of death; and on Earth, men and women died, fighting to be free.