Disintegration ba-1

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Trevor sighed. "It means we’re sitting on one big fuel dump."

  – Trevor stood in the Command Center with Jon, Stonewall, and Nina discussing what to do next as evening descended over what had turned into a worrisome day. Shepherd remained on the outskirts of Wilkes-Barre with a surveillance team, watching the Redcoats.

  Jon dropped a pile of digital photographs on the desktop. "So far we count five of those ships at the assembly area. I get the feeling they may be low on fuel or something."

  Nina asked, "Why do you say that?"

  "Because I’d have them in the air all the time. Anyway, two more formations arrived this afternoon. We put their number now at about four hundred. They’ve set up check points on all approaches to their position."

  Stonewall said, "These gentlemen like to do things en mass. We have not observed any skirmish parties or pickets. They simply have chosen their hard points and set up camp."

  "Why shouldn’t they?" Nina thought out loud. "I’m just saying, these guys pack a punch with their rifles."

  "Then there are the big guns," Jon led.

  Trevor rummaged through the photos. The ‘big guns’ included four large, self-propelled concave objects resembling upside-down silver bowls with indents on top. Artillery, no doubt.

  Two "big guns" of a different design rode on a hovering, flat vehicle. The weapons sported long, slim barrels surrounded by smaller ports and gears with a seat at one end.

  Jon pointed to a photo of one of these and explained, "This is their version of an anti-aircraft gun. Probably what hit Nina and let me tell you," he glanced at the blond, "you’re lucky your chopper wasn’t vaporized. Trev, remember that big dragonfly thing that scooped up the Troll in Plymouth? It showed up along the riverbank a good three-quarters mile away from the Redcoats’ base. Well one of these guns sent out like a volley of energy balls or something. Broke that thing into a zillion pieces. Just…wow."

  Nina said what they all realized: "So much for using choppers."

  Stonewall added, "Pity. Those marvelous machines haven’t contributed much as of yet."

  Jon flashed a photo of a large hovering cylinder vehicle. "I'm thinking these are fuel tankers of some kind. Probably carrying water for the air ships and the soldiers."

  Stonewall said, "One must wonder, what plans they are brewing."

  Jon tried to answer that question: "If we're right that they’re coming to the lake, then I think they’ll hunker down overnight then at first light tomorrow march straight here."

  Nina added, "Their ships have been scouting the expressway."

  "So we need to fight them," Trevor felt a headache coming fast and hard.

  Stonewall injected some reality: "I enjoy a romantic struggle against insurmountable odds as much as the next poet. Nevertheless, the idea of outright suicide is quite distasteful. We are facing an armada of several hundred well-armed professional soldiers supported by aircraft and artillery. If we arm every living soul in this camp how many would we muster?"

  Trevor sighed and went through a mental calculation: "Throw out kids, injured and sick…strip everyone from the farms…throw in the new arrivals…we would probably have about forty to fifty good fighters."

  "Ahhh," Stonewall made his point. "Ten to one odds? My, the poets would run out of adjectives! How many words are there in the thesaurus next to ‘futile?’"

  Jon said, "That’s not helping."

  "Do not mistake my candor for reluctance. I shall lead another Pickett’s charge if so ordered. Yet I believe we must earnestly discuss the truth of the matter."

  Stonewall and Jon began to ‘discuss’ the matter in sharp words.

  Trevor ignored them and studied the pictures of the infantry formations, the artillery, the air ships, and the alien General wearing a gold cape and fancy emblems.

  Nina watched Trevor’s intense stare at the photographs. She saw an idea forming in his mind. She walked to him and whispered, "What is it?"

  Her soft voice distracted him; sent a shiver through him.

  When he re-focused, he smiled. A big, big smile.

  "Gentlemen," he stopped Jon and Stonewall's argument. "I suppose we’re just going to have to enlist a few more fighters to our side."

  "Oh?" Stonewall responded. "Do tell, where shall we begin recruiting?"

  "In Wilkes-Barre. Downtown, most likely."

  Jon coughed as if choking on Trevor’s announcement.

  "Um…you want the things downtown to attack the Redcoats?"

  "Not exactly," Trevor referred to the photographs. "Look at their brilliant red uniforms and the sparkling gold on their lapels. Look at how they march and fight. Oh, what an arrogant bunch they are! Why, they see themselves as invincible."

  Jon countered, "They’ve got firepower."

  "So did the English during the Revolution. So did America in Vietnam. The problem in both cases is that the other guy didn’t fight by the same rules."

  Stonewall grinned. "I believe you’re formulating something dangerous and exciting."

  Trevor spent several minutes sharing the first part of his plan.

  "Oh, wonderful!" Stonewall reacted. "Then it is to be mass suicide after all! Pure genius!"

  "Once their main forces are engaged, Jon’s strike team takes out their command and control. You’ll need to take Omar with you to figure out those guns."

  Nina asked the obvious question: "How is anyone going to get that close?"

  Trevor brushed aside the photos and unfurled a map of Wilkes-Barre.

  "Jon, tell me about their checkpoints."

  Brewer pointed to the map. "They’ve got the major and secondary roads blocked. Here…here…and here."

  Honest regret sounded in Stonewall’s voice: "I hate to be the pessimist but I can not fathom an approach they have not covered."

  "That’s because you didn't grow up in northeastern Pennsylvania. Did he, Jon?"

  Brewer-the only other native of the area in the room-did not understand.

  Trevor helped Jon’s mind develop a picture. "When you were sixteen and your cousin bought you beer, where did you and your friends go to drink it? When you were twelve and were heading to the park to play a game of pick up football did you know a short cut? What about dirt bike riding or walking with the pack after curfew on Friday night?"

  Jon's eyes widened and he grinned as understanding blossomed. He returned to the map and traced his finger over it.

  Trevor said, "They spider web all over this area. Years ago, when they were still mining anthracite ‘round here, every neighborhood had them. That’s why they’re perfect, because those neighborhoods didn’t like them so they put them between tree lines or through areas of heavy brush or squeezed them between buildings and out of sight. They’re tough to spot from the air."

  Trevor spent several more minutes explaining the second phase of his plan.

  Nina nodded in approval as she predicted, "They’ll never see you coming."

  "Hmmm," Stonewall tipped his hat at Trevor then Jon. "I do concede, you gentlemen offer thinking that is-what would be the word? — ah yes, three-dimensional. As long as our Redcoat friends remain one-dimensional, the Lord may bless us with a prayer. But you will still have several hundred of their soldiers to contend with, even if they become leaderless."

  Trevor explained the last part of the plan and ended by telling Nina, "That leaves it to you and me to polish things off. We’ll only use one. I’d rather have one running fast and efficient with both gunner and pilot."

  "Um…Trev," Jon tried to be subtle but failed.

  "You don’t trust Nina, I know. Your rational mind tells you that it wasn’t her fault, but you can’t bring yourself to trust her despite that. I understand. It’s human."

  Stone faced her.

  "But it’s also human to have faith in someone. I have faith in her. We- I — need her. Just as I need Stonewall to do his part and I need you, Jon, on the front line."

  "I hate to break up the mutual admiration society," S
tonewall broke in. "I’m still not exactly sure how I’m supposed to accomplish my rather lofty objective."

  Trevor placed a hand on his shoulder.

  "Why General, you’re going to charm them right out of their fancy red coats."

  – The night air felt cold and dry. A blanket of clouds obscured the moon and stars. The streetlights had stopped functioning months ago, leaving the Redcoat checkpoint at the lower end of Kidder Street across from a vacant Taco Bell to depend on a pair of glowing orbs for light.

  Behind a hastily constructed barricade of abandoned human vehicles, a squad of ten soldiers manned that important checkpoint: important because it guarded the most direct route from the city to the army’s assembly area.

  The aliens huddled together around the glowing orbs in search of warmth but remained vigilant with their helmets on and weapons at the ready.

  A heavy, chopping noise cut through the air: thump-thump-thump.

  The aliens heard that noise in previous battles. They knew the creature on the other end of that thump-thump could spit furious fire. They had lost more than a few comrades to its teeth.

  That creature appeared above the rooftops of the neighborhood ahead of the checkpoint: An Apache attack helicopter.

  The alien soldiers used box-like communicators to call for help. Their powerful anti-aircraft guns sat at the camp on top of the hill behind them. However, they knew those guns were useless in this case: the area around the checkpoint lay beneath the firing arc of the weapons.

  To their surprise, the ship did not attack. It hovered a hundred feet away.

  Below the chopper, moving up the street, came a strange-looking man. A human male with an odd uniform riding on an animal and approaching the checkpoint.

  The squad leader at the alien post produced a paddle-shaped translating device from his accessories sack. When the strange human spoke, the aliens listened to the translation.

  "Do not make any sudden moves or your position will be destroyed in its entirety. I bring you a warning: this city and all its populace belongs to me, General Stonewall Garrett McAllister. Leave this area and we will not destroy you. Approach this city and you will be crushed under the heel of our boots."

  The squad leader responded with a snort: his race’s version of a chuckle.

  The human spoke again: "Move off and you and your army will be spared."

  The man on the four-legged animal galloped away. The helicopter provided cover for a moment, then it too turned and disappeared above the rooftops.

  The squad leader barely contained his fury. How dare these barbarians speak to a superior race in such a manner!

  When the army commander hears of this insult there can be no other course of action. We will take this human’s city and smash it to pieces!

  22. The Battle of Wilkes-Barre

  Moments before the first rays of light climbed the horizon, the aliens at the Kidder Street checkpoint dove for cover beneath their bulwark of dead cars as explosions erupted around them.

  The mortar shells caused no damage but served as further insult to the proud army occupying the high ground above the city.

  One of the alien shuttles lifted from the Redcoat camp and hovered above Kidder Street, no doubt tracing the source of incoming artillery.

  From his perch atop the brick brewery building, Shep radioed, "Ross, you copy?"

  "Yeah, Shep. Go 'head."

  "One of their planes is airborne. I don't see any missiles or armaments, but they got to be up to something. Wait a sec…"

  A sharp buzz pulled his attention to the assembly area where two of the silver upside-down-bowl machines came to life: large barrels extended from their smooth surfaces.

  "Ross, bug out! Move!"

  First one gun, then the second, launched blue fireballs glowing like shooting stars in the morning twilight. The balls flew over the Kidder Street checkpoint in a beautiful arc and crashed into a house just as Woody "Bear" Ross and his two mortar teams left its backyard.

  Instead of an explosion, the strike disintegrated the home as if it were a sandcastle caught in a gale: not board by board, but molecule by molecule leaving the foundation filled with dust.

  With the mortars disrupted, the alien artillery fell silent. However, part one of the plan- the baiting part — worked: the Redcoats assembled two regiments and marched down hill.

  "This is Shepherd to all units; we got that war we wanted. It's going to be a long day."

  – "Public Square" comprised the heart of Wilkes-Barre. A small park sat inside a traffic circle where four primary streets converged.

  Buildings surrounded the square, a few reaching fourteen stories and standing since the 1930s. Others, such as the bus terminal and Ramada hotel, were built after the '72 flood, hence a more modern appearance.

  A holler-a rebel yell-followed by a trumpet crooning something similar to "Dixieland," disturbed the deceptively quiet scene downtown as dawn bloomed.

  Stonewall, Dustin McBride, and bugle boy Benny Duda galloped on horseback from south to north along Main Street and across Public Square.

  The commotion woke the city.

  Things emerged from the shadows, the smashed display windows, and the battered store doors. Ghouls from Boscov's, a tall troll from a garage…out came the hordes; hordes hungry because prey animals had become scarce to the point that predators now fed on other predators.

  The groans…the growls…the moans…the unearthly whistling…a garbled cackle…they joined together in a nightmarish chorus.

  – One Redcoat regiment strutted down Kidder Street, marching side by side grouped in squads with one air ship overhead. They stayed to the east of downtown, making their way into the residential neighborhood that had sheltered the mortar teams an hour before.

  A second regiment-also supported by one airship-split to the west then turned again to follow Wilkes-Barre Boulevard, a major north-south thoroughfare skirting center city. Both regiments aimed southward like parallel spears searching for a victim to skewer.

  Shepherd radioed, 'Trevor, you copy? Two formations headin' south according to plan."

  Trevor's reply over the radio: "I guess we should be careful what we wish for. Good luck to everyone. See you soon, I hope."

  – Ross' group chased away a furry crocodile creature and then hid in a dilapidated furniture warehouse just off Wilkes-Barre Boulevard to the northeast of center city. His mini-army consisted of himself, Kristy Kaufman and a pair of two-person mortar teams.

  One of those teams was comprised of an elderly fellow everyone called "Pop" because he spoke often of his dead grandkids, as well as a young woman named Jennie.

  Mortar team number two included a late 20's man with a goatee nicknamed "Bird" because of the American eagle tattooed to his chest. Formerly a borderline white supremacist, Armageddon (and General Stonewall) changed his perspective.

  Since Frank Dorrance's death, Bird now paired with Cassy Simms when on mortar duty.

  Ross peered from a front window while his teams exited the rear door, walked under a small iron train trestle straddling a side street, and set up their weapons behind the cover of a steep grassy bank that supported railroad tracks.

  One of the alien regiments came marching along the boulevard in perfect formation, their red uniforms stood apart brilliantly from the grungy, litter-covered streets of the dead city. The ship providing air cover drifted off, perhaps investigating movement or a shadow.

  Ross watched as the vanguard of the regiment neared a traffic sign that served as a range marker for his teams. As the first alien soldiers passed that small blue sign, he turned to Kristy Kaufman and shouted, "Now!"

  Kristy stepped out the rear door and signaled Pop. A moment later, a thwoop-thwoop played in Ross' ears like a sweet melody.

  The first explosion turned a neat formation of Redcoats into a flying mass of splintered body parts. The next landed among the scattering aliens killing three and wounding several more.

  Ross allowed another volley
and then ordered retreat. Less than a minute after exiting the warehouse, sapphire balls of alien artillery disintegrated the building into sawdust, left smoldering holes in the grassy embankment, and twisted the iron trestle as if touched by the sun.

  – The second part-or hope-of the plan showed signs of success around noon. At that time, the 1 ^ st Regiment-the one conducting house-to-house searches through the dense residential neighborhood to the east-suffered an ambush of ghouls from alleys and backyards.

  Those ghastly, mindless animals flooded the Redcoat marching lines and clawed or bit to death six soldiers before the Redcoats' superior firepower eliminated the threat.

  A while later that same regiment changed its heading and moved west toward downtown. As they passed a nightclub built from an old train station, something big charged the group.

  It walked on massive, elephant-like legs that could crush a car and Bobby Weston. It had no head or eyes but it did have six long necks flailing like thick tentacles. Massive mouths opened and shut at the end of those flailing necks.

  The Redcoat commander barked orders but his decrees went unheard as the monster stomped soldiers. Nearly two squads crunched underfoot with sickening snaps while the impact tremors knocked more off balance.

  Hurried blasts from Redcoat rifles pinpricked the mammoth as it stomped again, crushing another half-dozen aliens while its mouths plucked even more from the street as if gorging at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  Stonewall observed the carnage from a prone position beneath a smashed city bus two blocks away. He set aside his hat and pointed a sniper rifle in the direction of the battle. Dustin McBride shared the space beneath the bus using binoculars to spot targets while Benny Duda hid in a nearby alleyway with their horses.

  "To the left," McBride directed. "Looks like someone important; given orders 'n shit."

  Through the scope, Stonewall spotted the brave Redcoat regiment commander valiantly rallying his troops despite the chaos.

  "I salute you, Sir," Stonewall said honestly, and fired.

  The high-powered slug tore through the commander’s body armor and knocked him to the ground at the same moment another giant leg stepped on yet another bunch of Redcoats.