“And there is the threat.”
“Not a threat, Mr. Parsons. A forgone conclusion.”
“And so it begins again. Congratulations, Trevor, you will start the first human on human war of the new world. I wonder how your people will take to that? How will history remember the name ‘Trevor Stone?’ If you attack, we will defend ourselves. My people are united on this. My council has given me their unanimous consent. We have guns and bullets. Your side will suffer casualties, too.”
“I know.”
“That blood will be on your hands. All that happens here will be your burden.”
“I have…” Trevor thought, “…many such burdens.”
“Go away, Emperor. Go away and do not come back. Not only for the sake of my people, but for your sake. I do not think you are a bad man, Trevor, but if you do this thing then you will regret it for the rest of your life.”
Stone watched as Parsons turned and walked away, passing the checkpoint and returning to town.
Trevor felt sorry for Robert Parsons and the people of New Winnabow because they did not comprehend the horror at their doorstep. He felt sorry for his own damned soul because he did.
Shepherd walked out of his command tent on the afternoon of Wednesday, September 2 ^ nd and stood at the side of Route 17. His division had been encamped at Spring Hill for more than a week.
At first, his men welcomed the respite after the fighting at Raleigh and the fast march to Wilmington. Those who did not have relatives following in the gypsy-like caravan of ‘groupies’ to the division’s rear used the time to write letters home. Others indulged hobbies such as art or music. Impromptu comedy acts and even plays popped up across camp. Whatever the choice, the first few days served as a nice rest for the boys.
However, the time dragged and morale suffered. Nerves frayed. Touch football games turned into tackle, poker games deteriorated into brawls, and boxing matches replaced talent shows.
Shepherd knew his men were restless. They had fought their way south. They had survived the battle of Raleigh. They had continued forward, poised to strike into the heart of the Hivvan holdings on Earth. Their bodies and minds remained tensed for combat.
If the order came through to stand down for re-fitting and R amp;R, great, the men would know that the action was over for a time. A brief rest for some chow and sleep? Also great.
But they had none of that surety. They only knew that they were supposed to be marching, but did not. They knew they should be engaging the Hivvans, but instead remained stationary in the middle of no where with no purpose, no goal, no sense of what was to come.
Shepherd rolled his neck around on his shoulders to work out a stiff spot, a sign of his own nerves. Those nerves came from intelligence briefings.
Recent reports clearly showed that the Hivvans had found their footing inside the pocket. Several formations had regrouped and were re-supplying via convoys from Conway. While 1 ^ st Mech waited at Spring Hill, the enemy corps changed from bands of defeated stragglers wandering in the wilderness of central North Carolina, to combat groups mustering for a fight.
The balance of power was shifting. If the supplies from Conway continued to flow, the idea of a Hivvan counter-attack on Raleigh could become a reality. At this point, and with the 1 ^ st and 2 ^ nd Mechanized Divisions in their current positions, such a blow could set the war back a year; maybe two.
Shep closed his eyes and envisioned the colored markers on his strategic maps. He saw an invigorated Hivvan force reverse direction from retreat to attack. He saw them smash the garrison units at Raleigh and the frantic recall of both himself and Stonewall before it was their divisions cut off from supply.
The front would completely collapse and the aliens might push as far as the Virginia border before reserve forces or maybe Prescott‘s 1 ^ st Armored could be called in to plug the leak, assuming enough fuel and supplies remained to allow operations of that scale.
Shepherd opened his eyes and spoke aloud to no one but himself.
“Easy…easy does it. Just wait a second.”
He reminded himself that one fundamental truth remained in his favor. The Hivvans depended on one supply point now. If Shepherd took out that junction, the enemy would be choked off. They could not move toward Raleigh. No matter how well organized, every army-even alien armies-needed food, bullets, artillery shells, and fuel. They would be trapped and subjected to artillery bombardment and a tightening noose of infantry.
He could reach Conway from New Winnabow in a day or two and finish the job they started, but only if they got moving. Shep knew Stone had flown to Parson’s town that afternoon and he expected the situation would be resolved today.
Cassy Simms ran toward him calling, “General Shepherd!”
“Yes, Captain, what do you got?”
“Sir, I just got off the horn with T-A-C. They told me Eagle One cleared local air space heading back north.”
“What? Why the hell didn’t he stop here? We’re just sitting around waiting for orders and he skips right over us and flies home? Did you receive any news?”
“No, Sir.”
“This is god damn ridiculous! We can’t sit around here any longer. We’ve either got to go forward or turn for home.”
She said, “No orders came through. The only reason I even heard about this is because T-A-C had to coordinate air cover for Eagle One through our sector.”
Shep clenched his teeth and grunted. Cassy Simms retreated a step, perhaps afraid the General might literally explode.
He told her, “I need air transport, now.”
“Where are you going, General?”
“To the estate to talk to Trevor Stone. One way or another, this has to end.”
The white airship codenamed Eagle One landed in a paved parking area adjacent to the cluster of single-story buildings comprising the Belville Elementary School. A white wooden fence and big green lawns around the school gave the place more the feeling of a retirement ranch or country-themed motel than a school. However, the smashed windows and the overturned bus chased away any peaceful ambiance.
Route 133 ran by the school’s front entrance. On the opposite side of that road was another parking lot for a boat launch accessing the Brunswick River. A Blackhawk transport helicopter had landed there; three soldiers milled around under the silent rotors.
Captain Nina Forest walked alongside Trevor Stone as the two paced the center line of Route 133, the middle ground between their respective rides. The sun hovered just above the horizon, prepared to make its final journey into twilight. That, combined with the isolated location, the thick forest to each horizon, and the nature of their discussion, made the time feel more like night than day.
“Do you understand your orders?”
Nina nodded.
He thought, do you understand that I am using you again? The only thing you can give me now is your killing nature.
Trevor knew she did not remember the time five years ago when he unleashed her to slaughter the Red Hand tribes infesting northeastern Pennsylvania and threatening his estate. He had been mean to her then; cold, punishing her for the blackness in his own heart.
Now he felt regret, even guilt, for sending her on a mission such as this. Since the theft of her memories, she was merely a tool in his arsenal.
My sword.
On his orders, she had killed countless aliens. He wondered if she would see the task at hand in a different light.
“Captain Forest, do you have any reservations about the objectives or parameters of this mission?”
Judging by her reaction, his words smacked her nearly as hard as a punch.
“Sir, of course not, Sir.”
“Those aren’t Hivvans out there, or Red Hands.”
Nina asked him an interesting question: “Are they your enemies?”