Sombreros decorated much of the park, including a tall sombrero tower and a giant man straddling a parking lot wearing, of course, a sombrero.
A few vehicles remained, particularly around the gas stations to either side of the main entrance where lines of cars rusted away. An 18-wheeler lay jackknifed in the middle of the main road and the tail end of a crashed Cessna protruded from a white ‘restroom’ building.
Dustin McBride dismounted and moved his brigade forward bravely, but the words “tallyho” did not sound as suave from his lips as from Stonewall’s.
Several of his soldiers rode on horseback; several more were stuffed into Bradley Fighting Vehicles; even more crammed into cargo trucks, SUVs, and pickups.
They descended off the high ground of I-95 about a half-mile from the center of “South of the Border.” Hivvan artillery shells sounded a high-pitched whistle as they fell. Explosions of deadly electrical fields erupted around the vehicles.
One hit an army truck and it caught fire. The men inside scrambled to exit even before the vehicle stopped. Two rolled on the pavement, burning to death.
“Get the hell out of the trucks,” McBride radioed. “Form a picket line of vehicles and men and let’s move forward!”
Dozens of soldiers dismounted their rides. Those in the armored Bradleys stayed put.
The entire force spread into a wide, advancing line. Foot soldiers moved through retail stores where bold ‘sale’ signs advertised wares and around restaurants decorated with giant plaster hamburgers and hot dogs.
All the while incoming artillery melted pavement and men. One shell hit and collapsed a shop where several soldiers sheltered, killing a dozen and wounding twice that number.
Dustin closed in on the 200-foot tall Sombrero Tower by “Pedroland” park. What sound he heard through his one good ear suggested that the Hivvan batteries fired somewhere just ahead. However, Dustin did not have time to give those batteries much thought. A probing force of Hivvan infantry supported by two Firecats came along the main road and opened fire. His ground troops hurried to defensive positions while two of the Bradleys moved to intercept.
A firefight raged.
One of the Bradleys smoked from Firecat plasma blasts but it let loose a storm of high caliber bullets into the attacking vehicle causing vapors to spew from the rear engine compartment. The crews of both war machines abandoned their rides.
Dustin watched alien energy bolts come at his troops like horizontal rain, catching victims one after another. Yet his boys returned as good as they got, flinging grenades that sent reptilian soldiers flying into pieces, firing rifles-all manner of firearms-in a murderous rage.
He knew that even as his men fought and died in their attack from the north, Stonewall and his sappers cleared snapmines to the west and came at the Hivvans from that direction, too. Only one piece of the plan remained.
“C’mon, let’s push these bad boys back,” Dustin encouraged. “Let’s go! Attack!”
Using two more Bradleys as cover, several human squads inched forward against the veil of defensive fire. Energy bolts from Hivvan infantry firing from a pedestrian bridge spanning the main road knocked down several of Dustin’s fighters. At the same time, a shoulder-fired missile blasted a Hivvan heavy gunner and his crew from the front window of a souvenir shop.
Dustin watched a burly woman wearing a blue doo-rag charge two reptilian soldiers. She was armed with only a. 22 caliber rifle and her thirst for revenge against the invaders. They cut her to pieces but her example encouraged more to race forward, avenging her death and sending a group of Hivvans to flight.
The attackers broke through the first ring of defenders who then retreated using abandoned cars and stores for cover. The enemy artillery barrage ceased for a moment as the front line of the battle broke into chaos.
Yet just as the enemy appeared ready to retreat en masse, reinforcements braced their lines. More Firecats and a horde of infantry. The defenders increased their power threefold and added short-range artillery-green cauldron-like mortars-to the mix.
Dustin’s men fell one after another until fear-not orders-halted the advance.
McBride found cover in the foyer of a drug store. Through his field glasses, he saw the big red and green artillery pieces of the Hivvan defenders that bombarded anything daring to approach Dillon. The four guns resembled 18 ^ th century cannon, but much larger, mounted on spherical platforms, and linked to a shed-sized control station via heavy cables.
“This is McBride calling fire support, do you copy, Bear? Are you guys ready to get in on the action?”
He held the walkie-talkie closer to his one ear and listened. A deep, booming voice came over his radio, “McBride, this is Ross; everything is a go for support. Give me coordinates and get your head down.”
Dustin whispered a prayer of thanks, knelt with his back against a building wall, and pulled a small map from the pocket of his dirty jeans. He examined the hand-written lines crisscrossing the map and then radioed his savior, Woody Ross.
“Okay man; let’s see if I can do this right. Um, fire mission, grid 5–7, target enemy batteries, infantry, and, um, vehicles. I think that’s-no wait, um, danger close. Fire for range.”
Ross’ voice came through, “Are you sure, Dustin? Don’t be too close.”
“Hey Bear, between me and the General we’ve got these guys boxed in here. You do this right it’s like hitting fish in the barrel just, well,” the enemy’s artillery came back on line and a blast turned two human soldiers standing to McBride’s right into piles of burnt ash. “Just be sure to hit the target, man.”
“First round comin’, keep your head down.”
A moment later, an explosion erupted just in front of the pedestrian bridge crossing over the main road where alien infantry fired mercilessly at Dustin’s force. As nice as it felt to see the lizards scatter, they were not the target.
“Fire control, yeah this is Dustin. Range, short, about fifty yards. Just a little short. Adjust and repeat.”
Thirty seconds later another explosion; this one hit a store near the enemy’s artillery. Dustin watched the Hivvans scurry for cover.
“That’s it! You hit-I mean, fire control, this is Dustin. Right on! Fire for effect! Light em’ up!”
The rain came. A pouring rain of artillery. Explosion after explosion tore apart the pavement, the shops, the restaurants, as well as the enemy guns and infantry. A thick cloud of smoke formed over the one-time tourist attraction, fires burst to life, and the Hivvan defenses crumbled.
Trevor and Ashley waited quietly in the sterile hospital lounge.
A clock on the wall ticked but it told faulty time; no one had bothered to reset it since power had been reestablished a year after the invasion began. It ticked away the wrong minutes as if never interrupted by Armageddon.
Still, the ticking sounded as loud as gunshots in the quiet room.
Trevor rubbed his hands together in a physical motion that mimicked his mental state. He replayed the things the intruder had said. He tried to understand.
Was it true? Was there some clue to all of this locked away in his genes? Was he the result of generation after generation of pairing and mating, had his life been predetermined by his DNA?
That would explain his role as a “link” on a chain. Perhaps the Old Man’s words had been a metaphor for genealogy.
But to what end? To what purpose?
Maybe he would fight this war his entire life and then hand the reigns to his son?
He prayed that was not true. He did not want to pass on the loneliness and despair of his purpose to the one bright spot of his life.