Years had passed since Trevor's military fought in a major combined arms assault against an equally inclined enemy. As such, it had been years since the daily casualty report covered so many pages.
By the time Prescott's armored spearhead took out the Barstow generator, The Empire had suffered over four thousand killed in action on the California front and double that number wounded. The newspapers who shared Evan Godfrey's point of view emphasized that most of those causalities died at the hands of other human beings and The New American Press printed full-color pictures of smoke rising from the Philippan as well as somber images of coffins at train stations back east.
To further fan the flames of discontent, Brad Gannon continued to share "reports from home" during his tour of The Empire. Those reports spoke of civilian casualties, destroyed infrastructure, and a rising death count on both sides (not including Witiko, of course).
The religious tribunal called for the immediate cessation of hostilities. An alliance of 'moderate' Senators passed a non-binding resolution labeling the attack a 'failure of diplomacy.' Meanwhile, more radical politicos led by Godfrey marched in the streets of D.C. and Boston chanting slogans characterizing the California war as a crime against humanity.
On April 23 ^ rd Trevor-motivated as much by a desire to get away from the political and public relations war as a desire to get back into the action-flew to the First Armored Division's assembly area in Mission Viejo south of Los Angeles…
…Prior to the end of the world, Richard Trevor Stone had never visited California. Yet by the second week of the invasion he understood why so many people in the pre-Armageddon world chose to suffer the Earthquakes, high taxes, congestion, and screwed up politics to live in the "Golden State".
The forests of the northern region, the beautiful white-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevadas that also hid the natural splendor of Tahoe, the dangerous but beautiful desert in the southeast, and the jagged Pacific coastline that inspired poets and songwriters made for a collection of majestic scenery few regions of North America could match.
Mission Viejo fit with that scenery with neatly planned residential neighborhoods surrounded by natural beauty. A tremendous number of small parks-nearly two every square mile-made perfect muster zones for the Pennsylvania 1 ^ st Armored Division commanded by General Bobby Bogart and the 1 ^ st Tactical Support Wing under the charge of Five Armies veteran Jimmy Bragg.
About half of the locals locked themselves inside their homes, a few even sniped at patrols but soon found that K9 noses could sniff out their positions.
The rest welcomed the advance, mostly the folks who worked at the cylinder-shaped Witiko factories outside Los Angeles or who played servant or chauffeur to the better-off.
On the morning of April 23 ^ rd, the tanks and helicopters set out from their encampments…
…While the San Joaquin Hills sit atop the Pelican Hill fault zone, the shaking that afternoon came not from subterranean tremors but Abrams tanks and armored cars making their way northwest on Route 73.
Mortar fire from pro-Cooperative partisans operating out of Laguna Hills slowed but could not stop the advance. That changed as the formation’s destination came in to focus. At that point, The Cooperative responded by dispatching twenty light armored vehicles of various configurations and nearly two thousand worn and weary infantry to greet the onslaught. The defenders hurried to forward positions centered around the campus of UC Irvine-about forty miles south of Los Angeles-backed by artillery on the west side of Upper Newport Bay.
Governor Malloy-who fled Sacramento prior to the Excalibur reducing the government buildings to slag-and what remained of his top-ranking cohorts had taken refuge in the city of Angels. Prescott’s 2 ^ nd Corp aimed to punch a hole in the ring of defenders protecting that city. More specifically, he wanted to capture the southern anchor of those defenses by taking Long Beach. Such a move would sever communications between The Cooperative’s leadership and San Diego where their largest remaining army waited.
As for the Witiko, California propaganda claimed that Chancellor D’Trayne took to the skies in a Stingray to fight to the bitter end, something Trevor highly doubted.
Whatever the truth, he watched artillery duels and advancing armor from atop the mountains sandwiching Route 73. Eagle One-playing host to Prescott and his staff-sat nearby. Tyr-Trevor’s loyal but aging Norwegian Elkhound-stood alongside his master.
A few lonely clouds hovered above but the sun provided plenty of golden rays. The prevailing wind pushed east, nonetheless traces of the odor of battle brushed overtop Trevor’s hilltop position, carrying an eclectic mix of burning metal, spent powder, and gasoline.
Desperate California artillery fell haphazardly among rumbling tanks. Those errant shots caused smoky fires to erupt in a field of sagebrush where a yard of Bloodhorns-slender, red-eyed extraterrestrial ungulates-grazed. The creatures scrambled back and forth, chased first by the burst of artillery in one direction, then the other way as tanks emerged from an adjoining neighborhood.
To the south and west of 73, the enemy’s defense lines included infantry as well as light armor operating from the Big Canyon Country Club. Those vehicles-mainly APCs and Bradley’s-darted out and fired shots at the approaching spearhead, then retreated only to repeat the tactic when circumstances permitted.
Witiko-made war machines joined the human-built ones. The alien vehicles moved fast on six massive tires, stopped and unfolded metal support legs much like a back hoe might when digging trenches, and spat well-guided but very short-range rockets from both fore and aft launchers. While only lightly armored, they packed a punch.
Trevor saw one of the mobile missile platforms fire a dozen strikes at the forward thrust of the Imperial advance crossing the field where the Bloodhorns had grazed. The first hit literally split a Dodge Durango 'up-armored' with metal plating in half. Another slammed the ground at a harsh angle and tipped the sixty-plus tons of an Abrams on its side.
However, the Witiko vehicle did not last long.
A TOW-equipped Humvee circled behind the launcher by cutting through the tightly packed homes and passages of Buffalo Hills Park. The Hummer hit the offending machine with an anti-tank round. The rocket fuel in the reloaded launchers ignited and the vehicle-along with its crew of six aliens in a dome-like cabin-burned to cinders on a soccer field.
Tyr grumbled something, pulling Trevor’s attention from his binoculars. He saw General Tom Prescott exit the parked eagle and walk toward him.
Prescott had risen to the rank of Major in the U.S. Army by the time Armageddon came. He kept a hundred soldiers and a smattering of civilians alive after the military’s command structure fell to pieces until finding Trevor's lakeside estate. Prescott then worked with Jon Brewer during the Battle of Five Armies and, in the years since, proved an enthusiastic leader with a knack for tactics.
Forty-something Prescott showed a youthful bounce in his step as he joined Trevor atop the hill and reported, "7 ^ th Armored has broke through the defenses at UC and took the bridge at Campus Drive. I’ve switched the axis of attack that way."
Trevor returned his binoculars to his eyes and scanned in that direction. He saw plumes of smoke rising one after another across sedate neighborhoods then through the libraries, lecture halls, and pavilions of what had been one of the largest universities in California.
If the 7 ^ th Brigade could exploit the breakthrough-a relatively easy task considering the tactical situation-then The Empire could gain control of the "John Wayne Orange County Airport" and the Tustin Marine Corps Air Station. Those facilities would prove valuable as staging grounds for a final assault on Los Angeles.
Prescott absently scratched the back of his neck and said, "Got one other thing, boss."