by Schism
Trevor’s hand found the chameleon generator button and switched it on. He felt the camouflage of the suit power up. The mesh covering flickered and morphed into tones of gray and black to blend with the pavement and shadows of the complex.
The creature’s eyes, however, swept the ground like the searchlights they appeared to be. The cones of light found Trevor easily enough.
Trevor ran faster, whipping around the corner of the northern-most building and bolting to his left—.
He stopped.
Trevor stood alongside the tanks, pumps, and cisterns of a fuel station.
The ground shook again. A shadow turned the corner, following Trevor. He heard the hissing of the Witiko officer’s jetpack.
Trevor pulled two grenades from pouches on his battle suit and yanked off the pins.
Glowing cones of light from the beast’s eyes swept the pavement in search of its quarry. A massive rock-like oval foot pounded down.
Trevor tossed the grenades. One rattled against a small cistern, the other between two fuel pumps. Then he ran again. His legs pumped hard and he eyed a green dumpster sitting in a lonely alcove near a pair of doors marked “Cafeteria.”
The gigantic rock-thing passed the fuel depot just as the grenades detonated. One blasted the fuel pumps, sending a streak of burning liquid up like a geyser. The second explosion ignited the fumes inside the cistern.
Trevor dove behind the dumpster and covered his head.
A stormy inferno engulfed the rock-creature, scorching its stony plating and igniting the red tendons between those plates. Its round mouth expanded wide and it bellowed so hard a gust of wind roared over the rooftops. The flames slipped beneath its exoskeleton and torched tender parts.
Scraps of metal from the tanks and pumps dropped around the dumpster. A wave of heat covered the entire area.
When Trevor emerged, he found flames consuming the entire beast. The giant screamed as it cooked alive.
Just as Trevor realized he had survived another against-odds encounter, the creature toppled forward, forcing him to run for his life once again. A moment later the beast crashed into the building above the dumpster.
He stopped running and watched the surreal sight of the motionless, burning monster. Its Witiko master hovered overhead, stymied by the sudden change in fortune but only for a moment; he presented an easy target for Oliver Maddock’s sniper rifle. The silvery goon fell from the sky into the burning pile.
Trevor, half amused and half aghast, walked backwards away from the destruction, trying to escape the foul smell of burning monster-flesh as well as the waves of intense heat emanating from the pyre.
His ass-end bumped into something fleshy. Before he realized that he had bumped into another person, that other person sent him head over feet in a judo flip. Trevor landed hard on the concrete looking up at the silenced end of a pistol barrel.and two blue eyes under blonde hair.
Nina’s hard expression turned to shock as she realized whom she had flipped and pointed a gun at. Her jaw unhinged.
“Oh shit,” she muttered and holstered the weapon.
Trevor, still on the ground, gazed at her.
“Um, Captain Forest. Well done.”
She helped him to his feet, then also helped him brush debris off his battle suit. Swells of heat blew around them from the mass of burning creature.
“I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sorry, sir.”
She frantically tried to dust him off as if dusting him off could also dust away the embarrassment. He grabbed her hands and stopped the dusting..
Soldiers from the strike team hurried around the bonfire to come to the aid of their leader.
“I mean it,” he said. “You’re the best, you know.”
Trevor realized he still held her hands. He let them go, nodded, and retrieved his rifle from the ground. And while he no longer held her hands, he held her attention for a while longer.
Brothers in Arms
The Witiko Stealth Field Generator at Beale went dark on March 27th.
The next day, the garrison at Callahan surrendered without a shot to a small force from General McAllister’s Mechanized division. Many of those Cooperative turncoats accepted advisory positions in Stonewall’s ranks while the rest simply went home.
More Californians followed the Callahan example. Over the next ten days, coastal defenses along the northwest shoreline at Crescent City and Trinidad Head either sat out the balance of the war or actively assisted The Empire’s advance from the north.
Without the advantage of the stealth field, Cooperative jets lost control of the skies north of San Francisco. Two dreadnoughts—the Chrysaor and the Excalibur—with their compliment of air superiority fighters, fighter-bombers, and support craft cut in from Oregon and Nevada. Witiko Stingray cruisers engaged in hit and run attacks but failed to stem the advance.
On April 5th, after enduring constant air bombardment and facing the threat of two inbound dreadnoughts, the defenders at Weed slipped away on Interstate 5, hoping to re-form to the south at Shasta Lake.
Imperial Apaches and A-10s chased the retreating columns, finding and destroying almost every ground vehicle. That destruction came at a high price as Stingrays knocked four choppers and two Warthogs from the sky.
On April 12th elements of General Tom Prescott’s 2nd Corp., crossed from Arizona into Southern California along Interstates 40 and 10 covered by General William Hoth’s Philippan.
A massive air battle inside the dead zone of The Cooperative’s southern Stealth Field Generator just outside of Barstow ensued a day after the new front opened. The Philippan suffered nearly fifty crew killed when a California F-16 scored a direct hit on a crowded flight deck. However, the stoic General Hoth—serving as Captain aboard the ship—showed his customary resolve and pushed forward despite holes in the Philippan’s superstructure and shrinking reserves of heat-seeking anti-air missiles.
His fortitude bore fruit on April 15th when the Pennsylvania 1st Armored Division blasted through well-manned ramparts east of Newberry Springs and rushed the Stealth Generator at the old Marine Corp Logistics base.
On that same day, the Excalibur obliterated the heavy artillery, well-dug entrenchments, and Witiko officers of two hundred stubborn hold outs barricaded inside government buildings in Sacramento. Brewer used the ship’s ‘belly boppers’; powerful energy weapons based on technology stolen from the Redcoats.
At that point—with three of the mighty ships moving with near-impunity over the state’s skies-garrisons south of San Francisco reconsidered their allegiance.
Still, the Witiko used what cruisers still functioned to cover retreating loyal soldiers and managed to mount local counter-attacks to buy time. Time for what, however, became a question because unlike The Empire, no relief force waited in the wings and their war stocks dwindled.
After his mission at Beale, Trevor shuttled between dreadnoughts, forward operating bases, and the various fronts but remained relatively out of the line of fire.
This did, however, expose Trevor to what he had hoped to avoid: news from home. Or, rather, the political and PR battle.
While most of the media praised the military’s success, some commentators and reporters—not to mention a certain Senator—remained focused on casualties.
Years had passed since Trevor’s military fought in a major combined arms assault against an equally inclined enemy. As such, it had been years since the daily casualty report covered so many pages.
By the time Prescott’s armored spearhead took out the Barstow generator, The Empire had suffered over four thousand killed in action on the California front and double that number wounded. The newspapers who shared Evan Godfrey’s point of view emphasized that most of those causalities died at the hands of other human beings and The New American Press printed full-color pictures of smoke rising from the Philippan as well as somber images of coffins at train stations back east.
To further fan the flames of discontent, Brad Gannon continued to shar
e “reports from home” during his tour of The Empire. Those reports spoke of civilian casualties, destroyed infrastructure, and a rising death count on both sides (not including Witiko, of course).
The religious tribunal called for the immediate cessation of hostilities. An alliance of ‘moderate’ Senators passed a non-binding resolution labeling the attack a ‘failure of diplomacy.’ Meanwhile, more radical politicos led by Godfrey marched in the streets of D.C. and Boston chanting slogans characterizing the California war as a crime against humanity.
On April 23rd Trevor—motivated as much by a desire to get away from the political and public relations war as a desire to get back into the action—flew to the First Armored Division’s assembly area in Mission Viejo south of Los Angeles.
.Prior to the end of the world, Richard Trevor Stone had never visited California. Yet by the second week of the invasion he understood why so many people in the pre-Armageddon world chose to suffer the Earthquakes, high taxes, congestion, and screwed up politics to live in the “Golden State”.
The forests of the northern region, the beautiful white-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevadas that also hid the natural splendor of Tahoe, the dangerous but beautiful desert in the southeast, and the jagged Pacific coastline that inspired poets and songwriters made for a collection of majestic scenery few regions of North America could match.
Mission Viejo fit with that scenery with neatly planned residential neighborhoods surrounded by natural beauty. A tremendous number of small parks—nearly two every square mile—made perfect muster zones for the Pennsylvania 1st Armored Division commanded by General Bobby Bogart and the 1st Tactical Support Wing under the charge of Five Armies veteran Jimmy Bragg.
About half of the locals locked themselves inside their homes, a few even sniped at patrols but soon found that K9 noses could sniff out their positions.
The rest welcomed the advance, mostly the folks who worked at the cylinder-shaped Witiko factories outside Los Angeles or who played servant or chauffeur to the better-off.
On the morning of April 23rd, the tanks and helicopters set out from their encampments.
.While the San Joaquin Hills sit atop the Pelican Hill fault zone, the shaking that afternoon came not from subterranean tremors but Abrams tanks and armored cars making their way northwest on Route 73.
Mortar fire from pro-Cooperative partisans operating out of Laguna Hills slowed but could not stop the advance. That changed as the formation’s destination came in to focus. At that point, The Cooperative responded by dispatching twenty light armored vehicles of various configurations and nearly two thousand worn and weary infantry to greet the onslaught. The defenders hurried to forward positions centered around the campus of UC Irvine—about forty miles south of Los Angeles—backed by artillery on the west side of Upper Newport Bay.
Governor Malloy-who fled Sacramento prior to the Excalibur reducing the government buildings to slag-and what remained of his top-ranking cohorts had taken refuge in the city of Angels. Prescott’s 2nd Corp aimed to punch a hole in the ring of defenders protecting that city. More specifically, he wanted to capture the southern anchor of those defenses by taking Long Beach. Such a move would sever communications between The Cooperative’s leadership and San Diego where their largest remaining army waited.
As for the Witiko, California propaganda claimed that Chancellor D’Trayne took to the skies in a Stingray to fight to the bitter end, something Trevor highly doubted.
Whatever the truth, he watched artillery duels and advancing armor from atop the mountains sandwiching Route 73. Eagle One—playing host to Prescott and his staff—sat nearby. Tyr-Trevor’s loyal but aging Norwegian Elkhound-stood alongside his master.
A few lonely clouds hovered above but the sun provided plenty of golden rays. The prevailing wind pushed east, nonetheless traces of the odor of battle brushed overtop Trevor’s hilltop position, carrying an eclectic mix of burning metal, spent powder, and gasoline.
Desperate California artillery fell haphazardly among rumbling tanks. Those errant shots caused smoky fires to erupt in a field of sagebrush where a yard of Bloodhorns-slender, red-eyed extraterrestrial ungulates-grazed. The creatures scrambled back and forth, chased first by the burst of artillery in one direction, then the other way as tanks emerged from an adjoining neighborhood.
To the south and west of 73, the enemy’s defense lines included infantry as well as light armor operating from the Big Canyon Country Club. Those vehicles-mainly APCs and Bradley’s-darted out and fired shots at the approaching spearhead, then retreated only to repeat the tactic when circumstances permitted.
Witiko-made war machines joined the human-built ones. The alien vehicles moved fast on six massive tires, stopped and unfolded metal support legs much like a back hoe might when digging trenches, and spat well-guided but very short-range rockets from both fore and aft launchers. While only lightly armored, they packed a punch.
Trevor saw one of the mobile missile platforms fire a dozen strikes at the forward thrust of the Imperial advance crossing the field where the Bloodhorns had grazed. The first hit literally split a Dodge Durango ‘up-armored’ with metal plating in half. Another slammed the ground at a harsh angle and tipped the sixty-plus tons of an Abrams on its side.
However, the Witiko vehicle did not last long.
A TOW-equipped Humvee circled behind the launcher by cutting through the tightly packed homes and passages of Buffalo Hills Park. The Hummer hit the offending machine with an anti-tank round. The rocket fuel in the reloaded launchers ignited and the vehicle-along with its crew of six aliens in a dome-like cabin-burned to cinders on a soccer field.
Tyr grumbled something, pulling Trevor’s attention from his binoculars. He saw General Tom Prescott exit the parked eagle and walk toward him.
Prescott had risen to the rank of Major in the U.S. Army by the time Armageddon came. He kept a hundred soldiers and a smattering of civilians alive after the military’s command structure fell to pieces until finding Trevor’s lakeside estate. Prescott then worked with Jon Brewer during the Battle of Five Armies and, in the years since, proved an enthusiastic leader with a knack for tactics.
Forty-something Prescott showed a youthful bounce in his step as he joined Trevor atop the hill and reported, “7th Armored has broke through the defenses at UC and took the bridge at Campus Drive. I’ve switched the axis of attack that way.”
Trevor returned his binoculars to his eyes and scanned in that direction. He saw plumes of smoke rising one after another across sedate neighborhoods then through the libraries, lecture halls, and pavilions of what had been one of the largest universities in California.
If the 7th Brigade could exploit the breakthrough-a relatively easy task considering the tactical situation-then The Empire could gain control of the “John Wayne Orange County Airport” and the Tustin Marine Corps Air Station. Those facilities would prove valuable as staging grounds for a final assault on Los Angeles.
Prescott absently scratched the back of his neck and said, “Got one other thing, boss.”
Trevor, through the field glasses, watched a friendly tank crew abandon their mine-damaged smoking vehicle at the big intersection of 73 and Bonita Canyon Drive.
Prescott told Trevor, “My Captains tell me I.S. teams are taking custody of Witiko officers from forward positions. Pardon my French, but ain’t that a little off, you know”
Trevor’s binoculars dropped and hung from the strap around his neck. His eyes narrowed and he grumbled, “What did you say”
“Internal Security has prisoner control and transport teams operating closer to the front lines than usual. They’re bypassing military police and taking custody of Witiko-especially officers-right up by the front lines. Kind of out of the ordinary, don’t you think”
Trevor smelled the hand of Evan Godfrey. Internal Security had strong ties to the Senate and Trevor already knew how much Evan liked the Witiko. He sensed a plan to embarrass him or force an early end to the campaign.
“What about Governor Malloy Where’s he at”
Prescott scratched the back of his neck again. “Well, Intel says he’s held up at L.A. City Hall with a bunch of mayors and ministers. The top dogs, I guess, on the human side of the whole Cooperative thing.”
Trevor told the General: “Hit it.”
“What’s that, sir”
“Get on the horn to the Philippan and have them hit City Hall. Knock the whole damn building down.”
Prescott said nothing but his face corkscrewed with confusion.
“What’s wrong, General, haven’t you ever heard of taking out command and control”
“Well, yes sir. But those guys up there don’t have any freedom of movement. Or, I guess, they won’t after today. Shouldn’t we be talking to that Governor about surrender I’m guessing he’ll listen and he’s still got clout with what’s left of the true-believers.”
Trevor felt one part anger and one part fear with a spice of urgency. The thought of Evan slipping Witiko officers away made Trevor uneasy. The idea of Malloy and his top lieutenants-the human core of The Cooperative-remaining intact bothered him even more. In an instant he saw press conferences and debates, sad stories of dead Californians, protests against the military, and calls to rethink war strategy in the light of the human' toll. He did not want anyone withclout’ left from California. They must be beaten in every way to clearly display the folly of siding with aliens.
He did not need to kill Malloy to win the war but a part of him-the cold calculating part that had made his doppelganger a dictator on another world-saw an ends that needed justifying and he knew he possessed the means.
“I said hit it. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”
* * *
Governor Terrance Malloy stared out from the Tower Room on the top floor of City Hall. In the old world, the large square room hosted banquets and awards dinners, meetings and other prestigious events enhanced by the panoramic views of Los Angeles.
Like most of that metropolis, during the war against the Witiko City Hall endured much damage. Several levels had been charred black by fires. Furthermore, chunks of the structure’s concrete-concrete made with sand taken from each of the state’s fifty-eight counties and water from each of its 21 missions-had been blasted away to the streets some thirty-two floors below. In other words, an important icon of Los Angeles and, therefore, California had suffered greatly.
