But the Wraiths did not last long. Like the allies at Normandy in 1944, the first wave met a withering rain of fire. Puffs of dust up and down the line signified destroyed monsters one after another from rifle fire and grenades.
The giants did better. Two of the three reached the shore although both were littered with deep wounds from bullets and shrapnel. One stomped down on a machine gun nest crushing the crew; the second kicked an overturned car and sent it flying into a cluster of soldiers shooting from a collapsed store front.
Behind the giants, the waters of the Mississippi sizzled and then two more over-sized attackers emerged from the river and climbed the bank: the “Stone Soldiers” resembled 15-foot-tall statues carved in tribute to a Roman Legionnaire or a similar ancient warrior. They walked in big clumsy steps and waded into the fray. One knocked a Humvee over. A second crushed a girl firing an MP5.
Across the bridges came a flood of Spider Sentries of various configurations as well as Ogres and Monks taking advantage of the chaos caused by the rampaging giants. A line of hovering Shell-tanks-at least 20 of them-floated overtop the river waters and moved to support Voggoth’s foot soldiers. As the invaders poured onto the east bank Jon could feel the front collapsing-until…
The squeak and clatter of armored vehicles filled the general’s heart with joy. A line of Bradley Fighting Vehicles, APCs and a column of infantry descended the slope of Main Street toward the river front. General Jerry Shepherd, running with his troops, led the way.
“Cassy,” Jon radioed. “Get your riders onto the northern flank. We need to cut off either end of the attack and collapse everything down along the riverfront.”
She answered with an enthusiastic shout, “Roger that, General. Stonewall’s brigade rides again!”
Jon envisioned the cavalry galloping headlong into The Order’s bridgehead at Riverfront Park. A violent collision of men, horses, and guns against the ungodly creations of Voggoth’s war machine. While he imagined the happenings to the north, Jon could plainly see the battle raging around him.
Fire from Shep’s armored vehicles gored the giants and broke the Stone Soldiers into rubble; a Shell-Tank burst into flames from an armor-piercing round.
The newly-arriving infantry-the last of Jon’s reserves-engaged in close-quarters battle with Voggoth’s army turning Front Street into a battlefield as brutal and primitive as any in history.
Shot gun blasts at point blank range proved enough to decapitate Ogres. Spider Sentry weapons spat deadly pellets. Monk guns found targets; grenades blew apart everything. Shell-Tanks fired lethal bolts that exploded among the human ranks; one hit and disabled an approaching Bradley. An anti-tank missile hit one of those Shell-Tank; it fizzled and broke and collapsed.
And there stood Jerry Shepherd, the old war horse, in the midst of the fight with dust and dirt covering his officer’s uniform and a Stetson on his head. Shep wielded an M14 rifle and carefully selected targets. Jon watched him put down a Wraith at long range and then kill a charging Ogre with a perfect shot in the forehead.
Inspired by the sight, Jon used a concrete chunk as a stepstool and hauled himself out of the bunker, grabbed an M16 from the arms of a dead soldier, and fired into the enemy’s side of the mob on Front Street. His first shot hit one of the robed Monks that had just rammed a sword through some poor guy’s BDUs.
Jon never saw the Ogre coming, however. The brute picked up and threw a soldier halfway across the street then closed on the general. A huge, muscle-bound arm hit Jon square in the chest and sent him flying back into the basement foundation.
His world went black.
Woody “Bear” Ross greeted General Rhodes with a nod as the two stood twelve stories high on the roof of a tall, thin building overlooking the Mississippi.
Before Armageddon, the building-a grain elevator-belonged to ‘Cargill’ as proclaimed by the big logo on the west-facing side. In the years since, the building belonged only to Father Time, who had eroded the grain silos to rusty heaps and warped the trestles and conveyor belts that once loaded river barges.
“Twelfth mechanized infantry brigade is assembling on I-255, about three miles from here. We’re all ready to go.”
Bear knew Rhodes deserved a big tip of the hat for pulling those troops up from Hannibal so fast. They now served as the only formidable human force opposite Voggoth’s St. Louis battle group.
Speaking of which, Ross turned his attention west. The wind blew across the roof carrying a stench of fire and decay. Directly across the river from Ross’s position stood the landmark St. Louis arch on the grounds of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial. Somehow it still stood.
There should have been tall buildings beyond the arch. There should have been St. Louis. But with the exception of the frame of Bush Stadium, everything had been knocked flat. Supersonic blows from the Leviathan saw to that. Covered beneath the wind-swept banks of debris lay thousands of dead defenders.
St. Louis belonged to Voggoth. The storm clouds made for an angry sky encompassing downtown and reaching over the Mississippi. The Leviathan stood in stark contrast to the now-flat horizon as a monument to The Order’s power to destroy. Curls of smoke from smoldering fires and clouds of dust swirling around its massive legs gave it the aura of invincibility. Ross knew different; if only he had the means.
Artillery fired from the banks of East St. Louis and landed amid the Roachbots, Mutants, Ghouls, and assorted demons in the enemy’s army. The impacting shells cast small puffs of smoke that seemed insignificant against the backdrop of the towering Leviathan.
Rhodes stepped to Ross’ side at a rail on the edge of the roof. A handful of brave aids stayed with the Generals.
“Hey wait a second,” Rhodes saw something that surprised him. “You haven’t taken down that bridge yet,” and he pointed toward the Poplar Street Bridge that carried three different Interstates from Illinois to Missouri and back again.
“No. I’m going to let a nice bunch of his critters get across before we blow it.”
“Pinch him off, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What if they spot the demo charges?”
Ross said, “I got arty zeroed in on the bridge. We dropped smoke shells to make sure. But it doesn’t matter. Those things never go looking for mines or explosives. I think they like to act like it don’t matter.”
Rhodes agreed, particularly in the case of the Roachbots who led Voggoth’s advance to the river. They either did not care or were too insane to give it a thought.
Ross’ radio crackled with static and then the voice of Captain Carl Dunston reported from a recon Eagle circling overhead: “Bear, this is Dunston. We’ve got some newcomers to the party.”
Ross closed his eyes. He knew the newcomers would not be friendlies; there were no more friendlies around.
“What’d you see?”
”Look to the southwest, Bear,” Dunston said and Woody opened his eyes, raised his binoculars, and followed the direction. “Just off the river in from those docks. Just follow the railroad tracks.”
Ross’ field glasses first spied the rectangular white recon ship with the sharp nose cone. It hung over the far side of the river further to the south.
Dunston.
Ross found the spot the pilot directed him to: a huge labyrinth of railroad tracks complete with toppled box cars nestled among several partly-destroyed industrial and commercial buildings including the massive St. Louis Arsenal, all to the south of downtown by a little less than two miles.
Ross recognized the newcomers: self-propelled objects resembling upside down silver bowls with circular indents on top. He had seen them in action during the battle for Wilkes-Barre at the end of that first year.