*
South Platte River
The far off motion caught Michael’s eye. “See that, Jim?”
Jim Cantrell’s gaze followed Michael Whitebear’s fingertip. He shook his head, saying, “Too far off,” then spotted the movement. “You’re right, something’s there. Guess we should check it out.”
They were on horseback, scouting the mountains and valleys all around the Freeholds. Michael was making sure no more dog packs jumped his wife and son.
They nudged their mounts into motion and eased down the hill toward the river. The willows were very thick and tall enough their heads barely showed. Michael pointed left and Jim edged that direction. Michael’s horse forded the river. Now they could be prevent whatever it was from escaping.
Walking his horse slowly through the brush, Michael noticed the willow shoots were still red and the leaves hadn’t fully developed. Red-capped house finches sang lustily to attract mates and cheerful chickadees darted from limb to limb. Written on the damp earth between the willows were a myriad of beetle tracks along with skunk, raccoon, deer, mouse, bird and…Michael leaned down to get a better look, either a fox or a small dog. He shook his head in awe at the sheer tenacity of wildlife, unable to comprehend how so many species had survived the two year winter.
A slight breeze was in his face and it carried a strong animal smell his horse didn’t like and he couldn’t place.
The noises from up ahead were like nothing Michael had ever heard. Silently, he slid a 3030 carbine from its scabbard and laid it across his saddle. Such weird sounds. Squealing, like a pig but deeper. Brush crackling and water splashing. His horse snorted and shied. Michael patted its neck to calm it, reined it around so it was pointed the way he wanted to go and froze. Something was getting to it’s feet just ahead. Something big.
A dirty gray mound rose like a mountain into the sky, then another, and another. Enormous ears flapped and a long trunk sprayed water on its neighbor.
Michael’s jaw dropped. Elephants? Taking a bath? He’d seen some strange sights, but elephants?
He slid his rifle back in its scabbard, turned his horse and eased away from them. One of them calmly watched him go.
Back on the other side of the river Jim wore a huge grin. “Man,” he said, as Michael rejoined him. “I almost shit myself! Where do you think they came from?”
Michael shrugged. “Cheyenne Mountain Zoo? Denver Zoo? Who knows? I’m just shocked they survived. Ellen’s not going to believe this.”
Jim shook his head. “Elephants on the South Platte and buffalo in South Park, those large cat tracks you saw down by Alamosa last month--lion or tiger. Wayne and Randy said they saw Zebras on the plains east of the Springs It’s a strange new world we live in my friend.”
“You can say that again.”
Jim’s eyes gleamed. “Elephants on the…”
Michael raised a warning finger. “Don’t.”
The two friends rode off chuckling.
*
California
Muffled explosions disturbed Joey’s sleep and he rolled over, not quite awake. Whump, whump, whump, blam!
His eyes snapped open and he jumped out of bed. He threw on a robe and almost collided with Nicolo Bonetti as he burst from his tent. Flashes of light flickered against the dark horizon, punctuated by the distant thunder of explosions.
“Are they shelling us?” Joey asked.
“I doubt it,” Nicolo replied. “None of our scouts saw any artillery.”
“Then what the hell are they pounding us with?” Joey asked. Then he saw a movement, a darker spot against the dark sky. He snatched a pair of binoculars from Nicolo’s hands and quickly focused.
“Are you shitting me?” He passed the field glasses to Nicolo as John and Anthony ran up.
Nicolo could just make it out, dimly lit by the light of the explosions. Stunned, he lowered the binoculars and turned to Joey.
“We’re being bombed by the fucking Goodyear blimp?”
“I’ll figure out why I didn’t know they had a damned blimp later,” Joseph said, and fixed Nicolo with a look that made him cringe.
Joseph turned to Anthony. “Get some planes up and shoot that fucking blimp down before it blows a hole in our lines.”
“On it,” Anthony said, and darted off.
“I’d better get up to the front and see what’s happening,” John said.
Joseph grabbed his son’s arm and locked gazes. “If they win here our dreams of empire are dust. I’m coming with you.”
*
The most combat-ready aircraft they had were two F-4 Phantom jets and one of the two P-51’s they’d found at Chino. Both jet pilots were former airline pilots who claimed combat experience in F16’s. The P-51 pilot was a former crop duster. Tony hated to use the jets because they burned so much fuel and jet fuel was scarce. Still, they’d make short work of Goodyear-boy.
*
Colonel George Romanov and his Marines finally had something to cheer about. After months of being bottled up in plague-infested LA they were going to get a shot at that crackpot King. The Colonel, wanted that bastard’s head. No one, especially not some giant-sized, cannibalistic, pedophile, was going to set up a kingdom in the USA while he had anything to say about it.
First they’d found the Goodyear Blimp and converted it into a bomber. He still couldn’t believe they hadn’t found one single working aircraft at any of the airports or sky parks in the LA basin. He knew from the battle at Chino that this piss-ant King had a few planes.
“Well, that’s okay,” he muttered. “Let’em come. We’ll be waiting with a surprise.”
*
Sergeant Potter cursed as the blimp exploded and two dark shapes roared by overhead. He tore off the protective lens cap and hoisted the 35-pound Man Portable Air Defense System (MANPADS) Stinger to his shoulder. Centering a jet in the target scope he waited until he heard the distinctive “lock on” tone then “super-elevated” and gently squeezed the trigger. The gas cartridge fired, ejecting the missile up and away from him, his super-elevating maneuver ensured it would gain sufficient altitude from the ground before its rocket motor ignited. The rocket motor lit up and the Stinger blasted off after the enemy jet at 1500 mph. The targeted jet was thee miles away and climbing fast when the stinger entered the starboard exhaust and exploded.
“No evasive maneuvers,” mused Sergeant Potter. “Never saw it coming.”
“Think he had his IFF on?” asked Petty Officer Ian Chadwick, who was an aviation electronics technician, and who had disabled the IFF portion of the Stinger’s seeker head.
“Think it would’a mattered?” Sergeant Potter replied.
“Nah,” Ian said with a smile.
Far off to the North a light streaked skyward reaching for the second jet.
“Too high.” Sergeant Potter said. The operational ceiling of the Stinger was only 10,000 feet.
Cannon and tracer fire chewed up the ground near them and veered off following their trench lines. Potter and Chadwick scrambled out of their foxholes and each grabbed another Stinger.
“The hell was that?” Asked Potter, whose night vision was less than perfect. He searched through the target scope but could find nothing.
“Some old prop job,” Chadwick answered. “I got him.”
The Stinger leapt after the P-51 as it banked around for another pass. The pilot saw the missile and tried to avoid. He dove quickly to gain speed then banked sharply to his left and rolled violently. The missile missed but its proximity fuse detonated and sheered off two-thirds of the P-51’s port side wing. The plane corkscrewed into the San Gabriels and exploded.
“Yes!” Sergeant Potter shouted and pumped his fist. He looked over at Ian Chadwick and said, “Not bad for a swabbie.”
“Well, now they know we have air defenses,” Ian said.
“And that’s a good thing,” Potter added. “Make’em think hard before they throw their planes at us again.”
*
&
nbsp; Colonel Romanov saw the chaos his bombing caused in Scarlatti’s camp and knew the time had come to hit them with everything he had before they could get reorganized. He ordered the advance and sent a runner for his reserves. No need to hold anyone back. All or nothing.
*
General Mabry’s battalion had been reduced to twenty-three men by the plague. He lost four more fighting Scarlatti’s hoodlums. When he encountered the Marines, he’d offered his services to Colonel Romanov and the Colonel, while recognizing the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs as his commander, understood full well that combat operations must be led by a line officer. He placed Mabry in command of his reserves and led the attack on Scarlatti from the front.
So General Mabry, burdened by the loss of Carl Borzowski, his men, and the control codes for Sunflower, paced the command tent and listened to the sounds of battle while awaiting orders. He heard the blimp explode and the cheers when one of the jets was downed.
He stepped outside the tent for a better view and almost collided with his aide who said, “Runner from Colonel Romanov sir. I’ve assembled the squad leaders.”
“Good,” the General said. He looked at the runner who gave him a nervous thumbs up, then turned to his men.
General Roland Mabry stood tall in front of his troops and said, “We’re all in, men. Let’s get at them.”
Their cheers turned to gasps of horror. Roland spun, his eyes filled with the sight of a burning P-51 just before it exploded into them.
*
Bullets sent chips of concrete into his cheek as Joseph Scarlatti jerked his head back behind the freeway pylon. The marines were charging. The men in his forward lines were running, those in his main line confused and wavering. He saw John behind the main barricade grabbing those attempting to flee and shoving them back to the line.
This is it. This is when I must prove I am a King, risk it all and win or lose.
Ignoring the gunfire, he stepped into the open and strode along the line, firing into the oncoming Marines. “Give it to them, boys,” he screamed, and men who had been cringing found the courage to shoot back.
“Fire the mines and signal Carswell to bring up the trucks,” he yelled to Anthony.
Anthony Scarlatti flipped a switch and squeezed a clacker and eighty Claymores exploded, tearing ragged holes in the line of Marines. He fired a green flare to signal Carswell and joined Nicolo Bonetti manning an M 60.
Meanwhile, his father walked calmly up and down the line, a huge target, untouched, dealing death and inspiration.
*
As Colonel George Romanov lay dying on the battlefield he realized he’d made the classic mistake of underestimating his enemy. The Claymores, those weird armored trucks, they caught him by surprise when victory was in his grasp. And where were his reserves? Why hadn’t Mabry hit their flanks as ordered? He knew how vicious and perverted the Scarlatti’s were and he knew he’d failed. Now there’d be hell to pay.
*
The ISS
Linda Green, hydrologist from Great Britain, tucked a loose strand of her chestnut hair into her hairnet and said, “Bella, come here.”
Isabella Cortez, Meterologist from Spain, glanced over her shoulder and saw Linda beckoning from the viewport. With an expert flip of her wrist she pushed off and sailed across the cabin noting the excitement in Linda’s azure eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Is that one?” Linda asked, pointing at the Earth below.
Isabella peered out the port and saw the large storm below, with it’s clearly defined eye. “Well...definitely a hurricane. Let me check.” She swiveled gracefully to a data panel and scanned the readouts from the weather sats. “Sorry, Linda, it tops out around 16,000 meters, not a Hypercane. With ocean temperatures cooling we may have seen the last of them.”
“But it’s so very large,” Linda protested. The storm covered the South China Sea from Hong Kong to Taiwan.
“Oh, it most certainly is a Category 5 hurricane but it doesn’t top out in the stratosphere like the earlier storms.”
“Bugger!” Linda had wagered her last chocolate bar against Paulo Guzman-Garcia’s Ray-Bans that there would be a Hypercane on her watch.
Leila Yoruba, their South African Astrophysicist, and Marissa Riley, their Australian Computer Engineer, poked their heads in to see what the commotion was about.
“Linda’s losing her chocolate bar to Pauolo,” Isabella explained.
“Oh,” Leila said softly, the single word conveying sympathy for lost chocolate.
Marissa waggled her eyebrows and said in a husky voice, “Girl, you batt those baby blues at him and offer to eat his chocolate bar and he’ll forget all about yours.”
Laughter followed the two women as they glided back to their work stations.
*
Luna City
“You need to slow down,” Doctor Sari Vindushanti said. “You are working too hard and stress is not good for the baby.”
Elena Maria Montoya, the only Lunar Geologist on the mission, said, “I’m only four months along, Sari. I’ll slow down after this last cavern is finished. Christine says we need to expand the farms and Nya agrees with her.” And when Sari opened her mouth to protest, Elena held up a hand to stop her and said, “Oye! It was you who said our children would never survive returning to Earth, and if our children can’t go then neither will we. So we need larger farms.”
Sari, in spite of her doll like appearance, was no pushover. Still, she waved her hand in a placating gesture and said, “I’m not arguing with you, Elena, but stress retards fetal development. If you want to give birth to a weak, sickly baby…” her voice tailed off as she threw up her arms and shrugged.
“Madre mia,” Eleana muttered under her breath, “You don’t fight fair.” She looked up and said, with a loud sigh, “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to continue working.” And to Elena’s openmouthed expression, added, “Some work is good for you, but no more double shifts. Split them with Suzy.”
*
“Ach!” Heinz Obermann swore as his wrench slipped off the bolt. His bulky Moonsuit made using hand tools difficult but the sooner they got this solar cell factory module up and running the sooner they’d be able to power lights in the new farm chambers. He paused and looked up at the blue and white marble hanging overhead. It was good the see the Earth as something other than the black and orange ball of lightning it had been for those first two years; and sad to think he might never set foot on it again.
His headset crackled, “Incoming!”
He spun and saw Rani Hamide and Muhammad Rahotep bounding toward the rover so he set off in that direction. Long lunar leaps ate up the distance as his radio headset announced, “Six minutes, people.”
Rani, small, lithe and quick, reached the rover first and as he and Muhammad climbed aboard she punched it, throwing rooster tails of moon dust up behind them as they raced for the safety of Luna City.
Heinz keyed his radio. “Solar flare, Bella?”
“Looks like an X2, Heinz, better hurry,” Isabella said. She’d schooled them about the dangers of X class flares. Even M and C class flares were bad on the unprotected lunar surface.
“If we were going any faster we’d be orbiting,” he said, as the rover flew over a dip and slid to a halt beside the airlock. They made it inside with two minutes to spare.
Chapter 31: Forward March
California
Will Benton watched helplessly as the King’s man tore the gold necklace off his daughter. He wanted to intervene, to fight, but the cold, steel bayonet the thieves partner had pressed against his neck held him in check. Fear and frustration warred with shame and anger, but that was life. The King’s soldiers taking whatever they desired, shoving civilians aside. At least it looked like these two would be satisfied with the throwaway jewelry. He had dozens of the cheap necklaces and insisted his wife and daughter wear them as offerings whenever they went out. Such trinkets could save them conside
rable abuse.
Like the makeup they wore to give them a diseased appearance. Rape prevention. Even when the soldier snapped the locket off her neck he took care to avoid the open sore on her cheek, a sore carefully applied less than an hour before. Being an ex-makeup artist for Paramount had come in handy ever since the King's troops overran the Stanford settlements.
Will glowered balefully at the two men as they strutted off, satisfied with their small gain. Deception was as needful as breathing under the reign of Joseph Scarlatti. He laid his arm over his daughter's shoulders and gave her a brief hug, taking secret delight in her droopy-lipped, walleyed expression. Trish was always in character when they were in public.
It galled him to just take it and keep taking it, when everything inside cried out to hit back, to stand up like a man, but he and the other civilians were powerless. Disarmed, and lacking an organization dedicated to resisting the King, having learned the hard way the extreme punishment brought on by acts of defiance, Will and those like him suffered in silence.
By such small surrenders are men's souls lost.
Their love of freedom hadn't been extinguished, but they needed a leader, and since no one was volunteering for the job Will decided to get his family out.
*
Denver
If there was any food left in the Metro area, Viper’s army couldn’t find it. Slaves, at first just a supplement to their diet, had become a mainstay. As Impact Winter had stretched on seemingly forever before Spring returned, their fundamental attitude toward human life coarsened. The difference between eating an honorable enemy killed in battle, as the Polynesians and some African tribes used to do, and fattening people for slaughter took its toll, staining their souls. Their jokes about “white or dark meat,” and “eating pussy” became strained.
The Dying Time (Book 1): Impact Page 31
