“You took my wife!”
BANG.
Shep and Cassy flanked Jon. They would face the end the same way they had survived the beginning: together.
The Geryon battleships shimmied as their main guns charged. They stayed to either side but slightly behind the Leviathan, clear of its blast cone.
“You stole our lives!”
A lightning bolt lit the sky like a miniature sun. The thunder boom that followed made the ground shake. Bubbles like sores rippled all along the giant creature’s skin as it filled with the air needed for its deadly weapon.
“WE’RE NOT RUNNING FROM YOU! GIVE US YOUR BEST YOU SON-OF-A-WHORE!”
A chorus of rifle and pistol fire rang out, all directed at the Leviathan. All futile. But they cheered nonetheless. One last act of defiance.
The Geryon’s reached full-firing power first.
Streams of laser-sharp energy shot out from the dish-like guns at the front of the airships. The dirigibles rocked from the power. The twin beams cut through the air and speared the Leviathan in a downward crisscross like golden swords skewering Voggoth’s pet. The lasers dragged up and down, cutting open the air sacs inside. Chunks of the impossibly-huge monster fell apart, a big one splashing into the Mississippi and showering the eastern bank; other pieces on the western bank where they landed in a serious of sharp impacts.
Jon held his breath but he heard others react with gasps; no one spoke.
Jon Brewer watched the Geryon’s carve the Leviathan into pieces and as he watched he saw something looming even larger over the scene than the dirigibles or the 1,000-foot-tall monster.
He saw- he felt — the hand of Trevor Stone.
He’s alive. He did it. Or Jorgie did. Whatever ‘it’ is.
The army of Voggoth hesitated, equally as dumbfounded as Jon’s forces. Still, they did react. A series of Spooks targeted the battleships but a halo of anti-air craft shells met the counter-attack. Only a handful of Spooks breached those defenses causing a flash here and a puff of smoke there but nothing fatal to the blimps.
“Sh-shep…”
Nothing.
Jon tried again to break through the trance cast over his people by the turn of events.
“Shep!”
“Huh? What? Oh, I-my god Jon, am I seein’ this?”
“Shep, get everyone together. Everyone who can walk and use a trigger finger,” and Jon swept his hands toward the bridges built by Voggoth’s mechanical frog-things. “Get them across. We’re attacking,” Jon turned and faced Cassy who watched with an expression of detachment; wonder.
“You too, Cassy. Everything we got left. And remember, the Geryons are friendly.”
From his position atop the Cargill grain elevator, Woody Ross watched the 12 ^ th Mechanized Infantry Brigade move along a convoluted series of roads and on-ramps that merged together just east of the Poplar Street Bridge. General Rhodes commanded this last combat-ready fighting force from a Humvee near the lead.
Also from his position, Ross could see Dunston’s reconnaissance Eagle flying over St. Louis beneath the storm clouds, having thus far managed to avoid The Order’s Spooks and the powerful AA batteries protecting the Centurian artillery south of downtown.
Human guns launched a series of muted volleys from the east side of the Mississippi. The howitzers shots landed in isolated puffs and booms amid Voggoth’s
advancing force as the Roachbots, Feranites, and monsters of the mob passed the blasted remains of Busch stadium on I-64.
If everything went according to Ross’ plan, the lead elements of the enemy force would cross the Bridge and run head-on into Rhodes. He hoped the width of the bridge would create a bottle-neck for conditions like a modern-day battle of Thermopylae, negating the value of Voggoth’s superior numbers.
Ross’ plan did not execute as expected.
“Centurian guns are prepping to fire,” Dunston radioed. “If they’ve seen Rhodes they probably are going to starting nailing him.”
Ross agreed. He had witnessed the accuracy and firepower of that artillery firsthand in Wilkes-Barre the first winter of the invasion.
“General Rhodes,” Bear transmitted. “Enemy batteries are preparing to fire. You might be in their crosshairs.”
“Nothing I can do about that,” Rhodes responded solemnly.
A series of blue flashes flickered from the rail yard. Balls of energy arched into the air. Bear watched as those artillery shots-an entire cluster of them flying tight formation-slammed into Voggoth’s Leviathan standing amid the ruins of downtown. The hits turned large chunks of the creature’s skin into a powder that drifted to the wasteland below like a perverse snow.
Bear did not immediately comprehend what he saw. Did his eyes play a trick? Had the Centurians miscalculated their firing coordinates?
Dunston’s voice cut through the cavalcade of thoughts competing for Bear’s attention.
“Holy shit! They just blasted the piss out of the Leviathan!”
A mistake-this has to be a mistake.
As if to answer Bear, another volley of shots came from the Redcoats and-just as precisely as before-slammed into the walking skyscraper. This time the powerful rounds tore away an entire leg from the main body, causing the thing to collapse into the twisted girders and concrete mounds that remained of St. Louis. The tremor from the impact carried across the Mississippi shaking the Cargill building so hard that it threatened to break apart beneath him but Woody “Bear” Ross was too transfixed by the sight to notice.
Rhodes radioed from his place at the 12 ^ th Mechanized Infantry’s lead, “Woody! What the hell is going on?”
Ross answered, “I haven’t got a goddamn clue.”
Another round of Centurian fire fell into the ranks of Voggoth’s force. This time reducing Roachbots, Feranites, Ghouls, and assorted fiends to fine powder.
Dunston radioed from his observation Eagle in an even more excited voice, “Bear, if you think that’s fucked up, you won’t believe what I’m seeing now.”
They came from the west along Interstate 64, charging forward like cavalry from a John Wayne movie: Columns of Chaktaw infantry, the three-wheeled oversized bikes, elephant-sized lizards-and Nina Forest’s ragtag militia in cars and on foot forming a spear striking into the rear of Voggoth’s army.
Captain Forest had found the hilt of her blade and had pulled it to strike just as Jaff had said, “I have new orders,” and just as the figure in the dark shadow of the tent had stepped into the light. Not a bodyguard, but a Chaktaw woman of advanced age whose footsteps did not make a sound as she walked.
New orders.
The Chaktaw Force Commander had said those words as if it hurt his lips to speak them. She understood why as she raced forward in the passenger seat of a Trailblazer with her gun sights pointing east but expecting at any moment to be turned upon by her newfound alien ‘friends’.
The old woman-most certainly an architect of Armageddon-had told her, “The situation has changed.”
And Nina understood. She had mumbled, “Trevor?” to which the old Chaktaw woman responded with an affirmative nod.
Captain Nina Forest did not trust the Chaktaw. She had fought against them and their ilk for more than a decade. How could she set aside the hatred and anger to fight with her enemy?
The same way Jaff and his warriors set aside their hatred and anger. They had come to this Earth on the Old Woman’s call for crusade. She had steered them from battle to battle in attack the same way she had assisted the leader Fromm on the Chaktaw’s version of Earth in defense, a parallel universe away.
Nina and Jaff did what soldiers always did: they followed orders.
New orders.
And so the charge came from west to east-Chaktaw and human-hitting the rear area of Voggoth’s army by complete surprise. One of many surprises that day for Voggoth; and equally as many surprises for human and alien alike.