"Why Miss Kaufman, I do believe I’m in your debt."
"That’s Ms."
He bowed then surveyed his handiwork: dozens of Vikings lay dead in the valley with several more squirming and moaning as their life bled out. A swarm of K9s hastened their end.
"Gave them a bloody nose, we did," Kristy cheered as she and the General returned toward friendly lines. "They’ll think twice before hitting us again."
"Hmm…I wish I shared your optimism. I fear our foes have a keen grasp of combat. This is but a temporary setback. Indeed, they will blame their losses on their overabundance of enthusiasm. When the smoke clears, they will realize they still hold all the advantages."
Stonewall gazed toward the top of the densely wooded hill. The last hill.
"Our mounts will be of little use now. I fear this will become a bloody mess soon."
"We’ll find a way, General."
McAllister glanced at the empty pistol in his hand.
"I hope whatever 'way' we find is not overly dependent on bullets."
– Trevor passed his 'soldiers' en route to a hastily constructed command tent. He listened as he moved and heard groans of pain, forlorn sobs, and snippets of conversations.
"…yeah, and a year ago I was at a company golf outing in Myrtle Beach, now look at me-toting a shotgun and shooting aliens. Ain’t that some kind of shit?"
"I can’t believe he’s gone. I saw him. He was running and they shot him in the back…"
"Don’t tell me to calm down! I don’t want to be calm, goddamnit!"
"Shhh…listen…me and a couple of the others are going to sneak off before morning."
He tried to block it out but he could not block out the truth of their situation.
"One clip here."
"Need pistol ammo! Anyone got any?"
"A twenty-two? That’s all I got left to fight with is a friggin’ twenty-two?"
Trevor pushed through the flaps of the tent and walked in on Stonewall reporting a best guess to Nina, Shep, Brewer, Prescott, and the Reverend: "I believe that last action by the stream dwindled the enemy’s numbers so that they no longer hold a significant numerical advantage."
Brewer lamented, "That’s great, but as it stands, we’ve got about five seconds of ammo left once they decide to come up here."
Reverend Johnny added, "I fear even with adequate caches of munitions we would be no match for this lot in our current state. Doom circles this camp like a vulture."
Before Trevor could say a word, a new voice joined the discussion as Benny Duda stuck his head through the canvas flaps of the tent.
"Um, Mr. Stone, there’s someone here who wants to speak to you."
Stone waved his hand in annoyance, "Well, send him in."
"I don’t think you want me to do that."
Jerry Shepherd cocked an eye and asked, "Why? Who is it?"
"It’s one of them."
– Trevor Stone followed the alien messenger on a return trip to the top of the second mountain. He had accepted the invitation over the animated objections of his Generals. Indeed, Johnny offered enough synonyms for treachery to fill a thesaurus.
Nevertheless, Trevor felt he had no choice. At the very least, the cease-fire allowed his troops to rest. If the aliens killed him, he would merely die a few hours before the others.
Stone followed his guide to a canvass structure surprisingly similar in material and design to his own command tent. Around that tent loitered poncho-wearing guards as well as two elephant-sized lizards loaded with packs.
The messenger pulled a string; the loosely hanging door rolled open. A soft yellow light glowed from within.
Trevor sighed and entered.
Three of the puffy-cheeked aliens waited there, dressed in humble brown cloth uniforms.
One of them stood a pace in front of the others. He stood out even more by way of his eyes: instead of two green eyes like the others, this leader had one green and one hazel, giving the otherwise docile-looking creature an intimidating glare.
Small, lighted orbs flickered from the corners. An oval table made from a plastic-like substance sat against one wall, and long scrolls of paper cluttered a circular storage rack.
The enemy leader held a small microphone-like translator to his mouth. His lips moved as he spoke into the device. A half-second delay separated the sweet-flowing dialect of the invader from the synthesized English translation.
"I welcome you, noble leader of my brave opponents. You may address me as Fromm, Force Commander."
One of the officers handed a similar device to Trevor. He rolled it in his hand, peered closely at its mesh cover, and then spoke. His English words morphed into a computerized translation of the alien language: "Um…I accepted your invitation despite the risk. I wanted to-"
"There is no risk." Trevor’s words struck a cord of annoyance with Fromm and his officers. "My people honor the sanctity of parlay."
Before the translator spoke ‘parlay,’ Trevor heard the raw alien word. It sounded something akin to swashloo.
"We pledge to protect you while you are here at our invitation."
An honorable people.
Trevor spoke slowly so the device could accurately translate his words.
"Why have you come to my world?"
"That is a question greater than this conversation. The truth is that we are here. The truth is that we have been granted rights to parts of this world. This is not a matter for discussion."
Trevor wanted to ask more. What did that mean, rights? Was the Earth to be parceled to various aliens the way North America had been divided among the European powers hundreds of years ago? Was humanity the equivalent of the Native Americans of that time?
Apparently, such questions would have to wait.
"Then why have you brought me here?"
Fromm explained, "Your forces are defeated. Your supplies are low; your numbers have dwindled. It is a custom among my people to respect our enemies when they have exhibited the type of cunning and bravery your people have shown, despite an untenable position. Therefore, we offer to accept your surrender and provide your followers with a quick, pain-free death."
Trevor pinched his nose.
"Let me get this straight. You think we should just give up and let you execute us?"
"Dying on the battlefield can be a miserable death. I am offering your people the dignity of a painless end to their lives. It is our way of honoring the gallantry of your fighters."
Stone shook his head. His eyes narrowed. The free hand not holding the translating device jabbed a finger toward the enemy commander.
"Let me tell you our way. We fight. We fight for our lives and our world. We do not walk silently to our deaths. Our race thrives on pain. The pain of being born. The pain of living. The pain of losing…of losing things and people we care about. It’s the nature of our existence. You cannot cower us with the threat of pain. You only stiffen our resolve. My advice to you is to withdraw as fast as you can."
Trevor failed to intimidate his counterpart but Fromm’s expression of tightly pressed lips and several long blinks suggested disappointment.
"I am surprised you lack the wisdom to accept my offer. I wonder how is it you became the Force Commander of your people?"
"I have no fucking idea whatsoever."
– The third and last day of the Battle of Five Armies dawned.
Not long after sunrise Trevor, having returned unmolested to his own lines the night before, received reports of mustering enemy forces.
He sat next to Nina in the cool shade of the woods as she cleaned her rifle and he searched for the thousandth time for a plan.
If they withdrew, the Vikings would pursue, catching them in the midst of retreat or-if they dared move into the open-blasting them with their deadly catapults. These aliens meant to finish the job, on the mountain or otherwise.
If they stayed, the Vikings would attack the fortifications in force. Defending those lines, despite a lack of ammunition, ap
peared the best alternative on a short list of bad options.
"Well, rifle is all clean. Too bad I’ve only got five shots."
She gave him a peck on the cheek. Trevor wondered if she welcomed the looming battle, despite the desperate odds. Perhaps she liked the idea of dying with her memories intact more than living without them.
Trevor shook such thoughts away. He could not afford daydreams of love, not when so much rode on the minutes ahead.
Brewer marched off to survey the west flank; Shep made for the eastern side. Reverend Johnny, in the meantime, approached Trevor. The big man carried his flamethrower.
"Blasted thing is out of fuel," it clanged as he threw it behind a tree. Before Trevor could react, Johnny produced a baseball bat. "But I have a back up plan, praise the Lord."
"Not bad, Rev," Nina smirked.
"On another topic, despite my dire predictions it appears that less than a dozen of our number slipped away in the darkness last night. I am sure the All Mighty will harshly judge their cowardice, but he has blessed the remainder of our ranks with the courage to stand fast."
"I fear, Rev, that most of our army has simply accepted defeat; they’re too tired to run."
They watched Stonewall maneuver through the woods on horseback. The thick tree roots presented stumbling blocks for horse hoofs and the low hanging branches swiped at his head.
Stonewall grunted in frustration, dismounted, tied the horse to a branch, and walked to the three. Trevor stood to great him.
The General in the confederate officer’s uniform came to perfect attention, saluted, and announced, "It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that the enemy is on the march. I have observed them descending their mountain toward the valley that separates our positions. No doubt they will be joining us shortly."
Trevor closed his eyes.
So this is it. This is where humanity makes its last stand.
Nina asked, "How many of them?"
"Hmm? Oh, well, all of them, my dear. Close to two hundred."
Nina sounded unduly optimistic as she noted, "Look, thanks to that pasting you gave them in the valley yesterday I figure they're hitting us with a lot less than they would have."
Stonewall appreciated the mention but saddened to say that, "While Miss Forest speaks the truth, I fear we may not have two hundred bullets among us."
Trevor's frustration surfaced. He turned and pounded a fist into a tree.
"Damn it. We were so close!"
Nina rubbed his shoulder and consoled, "You did everything you could."
"Indeed," Reverend Johnny shared the moment. "Our maneuver to rest the initiative from the aliens on all fronts gave us a prayer of hope."
Trevor thought about that decision. Stonewall had mentioned the battle of Gettysburg and how the Union army occupied the high ground on the first day. That move proved decisive. Unfortunately, not this time. This time…
His legs wobbled; his head spun.
Trevor closed his eyes and tasted the bitter scent of gunpowder fired more than a century before. He heard soldiers pleading for ammunition that would not come. He heard the battle cry of an enemy climbing a mountain one last time to finish a line of defenders who had survived wave after wave of previous attacks.
His legs steadied. His mind stopped spinning.
Trevor opened his eyes and faced his friends who eyed him suspiciously.
"Stonewall, tell me about Little Round Top."
"Pardon me, Sir? Did you say ‘Little Round Top’?"
"The second day at Gettysburg. Joshua Chamberlain and the 20 ^ th Maine were in a predicament similar to ours’. What did he do?"
After a moment of reflection, General McAllister smiled.
"They did something very foolish, Sir."
– Trevor called in the far-flung ranks of his lines, gathered his officers, and shared his plan. Most stood and listened vacantly. Trevor did not know if that vacancy came because they could not believe the audacity of his plan, or if they were too far gone to hear.
The plan did not take much explaining. It was simple. And brutal.
He finished and surveyed his troops.
Troops?
The sorry survivors formed a thick circle among the trees and makeshift fortifications. Shopkeepers and bus drivers and restaurant managers dressed in a hodgepodge of jeans and t-shirts, boots and tennis shoes, brandishing hunting rifles and pistols, clubs and knives. Even the professional soldiers left over from Prescott’s band no longer stood strong and confident.
"You must all understand it ends now. There is no retreat and if we stay here, we will be overwhelmed. There is only one alternative: forward. "
The collection of vacant eyes widened as if to suggest that while they had followed Trevor Stone so far, they might not be ready to follow him any further.
"I’d rather die with my hands on the enemy’s throat then cower behind a wall. I will show that enemy the face of his nightmares. He has come to my world and killed my people. He will see the FURY in my eyes."
A voice of despair cried out, "We have no more bullets!"
"Idon’t need bullets!"
Trevor’s bellow came from somewhere deep inside his person. The part, he figured, where the Old Man had found his killer.
"For thousands of years we have fought each other. For what? To prepare us for this day! The battlegrounds of Troy and Gallipoli; of Tarawa and Trafalgar; all to prepare us for now. The poets have written of our warlike nature for a reason: To be VICTORIOUS HERE."
Trevor glanced at Nina. She stood still but he could see every muscle in her body tighten in anticipation of the fight to come.
He returned his attention to his 'army'.
"It is time to decide. WILL YOU FIGHT?"
A few vacant eyes glowed alive. Isolated murmurs of ‘yes’ danced through the crowd.
"For our slaughtered families…for the enslaved children…for your lost lovers and murdered brothers…you are DEMONS waiting to be set loose."
More eyes filled with life. Heads nodded in approval.
"Think of all you lost. Think of what they have taken from you. Look at what they have made us! Who took our homes? Who killed our children? They are guilty! All of them! And they expect us to roll over and die? I say NO! They will take NOTHING MORE FROM ME!"
The words raced from his lips and he felt the power. It surprised Trevor that he could find the nerves to touch, the buttons to push. As he watched, he saw that ragtag army change into a mob of murderers.
Yes, maybe that was his gift. He could turn people into killers. Is that what the Old Man saw in him?
It did not matter. The ends, Trevor now realized, justified the means. He would turn them into barbarians if he needed to for it was his charge to save mankind in the name of all who had died in the flames of Armageddon.
"Unleash your hate now and…and…AND SLAUGHTER THE ENEMY! LET THIS BE THEIR GRAVEYARD! MAKE THIS THE DAY THE TIDE TURNED AND MAN’S VENGEANCE WAS DELIVERED TO THE INVADERS!"
Clenched fists and raised rifles pumped in the air.
Woody "Bear" Ross stepped forward.
"Three cheers for Trevor Stone!"
"Hoo-rah! Hoo-rah! Hoo-rah!"
Trevor shouted: "I’M TIRED OF WAITING FOR THOSE SONS-A-BITCHES! LET'S GO AND KICK THEIR ASS OFF OUR WORLD! NO MERCY! KILL THEM ALL! EVERY LAST FUCKING ONE OF THEM!"
The soldiers-policemen and garbage collectors, salesmen and teachers-roared in anger. Trevor had conjured the faces of dead friends, dead brothers and sisters, moms and dads, sons and daughters. They remembered living under the yoke of slavery and running in terror from ghastly creatures.
No more hiding. No more running. A thousand wrongs ached for vengeance.
"Sir, you may need this," Stonewall handed one of his Civil War era swords to Trevor. "Now I am prepared to follow you straight to Hell."
The weight of the blade felt good in Trevor’s hands. Natural.
Trevor sought out and locked eyes with Nina. He saw his lover the
re. He also saw a wolf.
"Nina…this is your moment. Seize it."
She smiled a smile to chill the darkest heart.
Trevor raised his sword.
"Charge!"
Benny Duda played the corresponding melody on his trumpet. The mass poured from higher to lower, roaring across the open killing field and into the woods below.
So many nightmares had come to Earth. So many hideous beasts and terrible creatures.
They had made one mistake: they had awoken the most horrible of beasts. They had awoken the vengeance of mankind. The day of reckoning had come. Man would no longer run and hide. Man was coming after the nightmares. Hunting them.
The ground trembled as the human stampede practically fell down the hill and collided with the alien army amidst the trees and rocky ground of the mountainside.
The forward tier of the Viking force stopped, stunned into inaction by the brazenness of the assault. The enemy raised rifles but had little time to fire for Trevor’s legion smashed into them not as a cohesive military formation but as a murderous, savage mob.
A few quick pops of rifle fire echoed through the dense forest; an explosion sent a trio of poncho-clad soldiers flying. However, the weapons of modern battle were quickly discarded in favor of more barbaric means: knives and rifle butts and swords and fists and teeth and fingernails and anything that could wound and kill.
This was no genius tactical maneuver. It was a frenzied swarm. Barbaric.
Unexpected.
Trevor spent his last five pistol shots as he raced forward, and then swung his sword. It cut through ponchos easily.
Brewer strangled a Viking fighter with his bare hands. Shep fired shotgun blasts until out of shot, and then swung the gun like a club.
"At the wrath of the LORD of hosts the land quakes, and the people are like FUEL FOR FIRE; No man spares his brother, each DEVOURS the flesh of his neighbor," boomed Revered Johnny as he swung his baseball bat with both hands.
Woody "Bear" Ross snapped the neck of one of the enemy. Cassy Simms held two pistols and fired and fired and fired while laughing hysterically.
The K9s bit and clawed, shredding disorientated Viking warriors into tatters.
Dustin McBride wrestled the gun off a foe then used it to pummel the creature to death.
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