Malloy surveyed his gathered advisors and focused on his Minister of Defense, a diminutive man in his mid-forties with scruff on his cheeks and a balding head.
During the Witiko War, that man served as a soldier in a regular army unit. But when his commanding officer refused to recognize the peace treaty, that officer disappeared, the unit fell into line, and the subordinate who had made all that possible received an appointment to lead a new Defense Department.
Malloy asked, "Minister Snowe, what is the military situation?"
Snowe said, "The attack coming up from the south is moving on Long Beach. They’ll take it sometime in the morning, we think. We don’t know what the dreadnought is up to, but I doubt it will fly downtown."
A fifty-something woman with thinning hair and a sharp nose who served as the Secretary of Family Planning questioned, "Why? Can the Stingrays hold it off?"
Snowe answered, "No. But The Empire knows we have surface to air missiles and artillery batteries that are effective against dreadnoughts. Besides, a direct assault on downtown L.A. would lead to a lot of civilian casualties, and we don’t think they want that."
"This is true," Malloy said. "But so far our public relations campaign has not borne fruit. What is Gannon doing over there? I have not heard from him in over a week."
The assistant Director of Information loosened his striped tie and spoke, "Gannon has made a lot of friends among the Imperial Senate, particularly our ally Mr. Godfrey."
"For all his talk, Godfrey has done me little good."
The Information Director continued, "Well, it appears Godfrey has friends in their Internal Security apparatus. We have received a recommendation that when the time comes, we surrender to their Internal Security units, not regular military. I understand a number of Witiko officers have already been taken into custody by them."
The Secretary of Family Planning jumped at the word ‘surrender’ in a tone that suggested the idea intrigued her: "Surrender? Are we talking like that yet?"
Governor Terrance Malloy ran his hand over his head and sighed.
"I may not have any other choice. Our forces are being pushed back."
Snowe countered, "We’ve got five thousand troops in San Diego that are fresh and haven’t been used. We’ve got another fifteen hundred or so veteran troops outside of Monterey. Some of those are the guys who gave the Imperials a good pasting outside of Stockton last week. We can count on them. They’re not going down without a fight."
"Ah yes, I remember the type," Malloy mused, thinking of Snowe's CO who preferred to die fighting than bargain with aliens.
Snowe finished, "If we can drag this out longer, maybe we can win the PR battle. Maybe there'll be enough pressure on Stone to pull back. Or, negotiate something favorable."
The Governor considered the situation. His forces no longer held any kind of strategic front, only isolated islands with lines of communication nearly cut. By morning he would no longer have the ability to command forces beyond the Los Angeles city limits and those limits appeared destined to shrink. The Witiko, for all their high talk, appeared to have abandoned the effort after the Barstow generator went down.
Where is D’Trayne?
If they continued to fight, the additional blood on Trevor Stone’s hands might be enough to gain Malloy a sympathy card to play, but he doubted he could play that hand into any power or authority. At best, maybe a comfortable retirement.
Surrendering now could save thousands of Cooperative soldiers and leaders. They would become citizens of this Empire, in one form or another. If he made the right speech, maybe framing himself as a peace broker interested in the greater good, if those loyalists channeled their devotion into a political movement inside The Empire, maybe he would have a chance. A long shot, but a much better shot than the military situation. "I will prepare a communique. I will end this fight to save lives on both sides." The Secretary of Family Planning said, "Governor, how very far-sighted of you."
A harsh beeping grabbed the attention of Defense Minister Snowe. He produced a communicator of Witiko design and walked away from the gathering to better hear the message.
"What? When? Okay."
Snowe then hurried to the windows on the east side and told them, "Spotters say the Philippan just launched a lot of missiles. Probably cruise missiles."
The Information Director nearly cried, "I thought they didn’t have GPS munitions?"
Snowe explained, "They don’t. I think they use radar altimeters and digital strip maps. Not exactly low tech, but not dependent on GPS, either."
Malloy insisted, "Those missiles are not meant for me. They need me to tell our soldiers when to stop fighting. Without me-"
Three missiles slammed into the observation windows of the Tower Room; five hundred kilograms of explosives in each warhead. The blast incinerated the ministers, guards, and Governor. The concussion broke the top floors of City Hall into blocks of concrete, glass, and steel. Those blocks rained down on the streets below, including the bread line.
For all purposes, the California Cooperative died at that moment.
– Fremont Boulevard and Canyon Del Ray Boulevard crossed in a big ‘X’ about a half-mile away from the Monterey Peninsula airport, which was Stonewall's last objective for the day. He found it intolerable that his formation’s vanguard remained stuck at that intersection, so close to the airport but seemingly unable to make that last push.
Part of that vanguard lay in ruins at the center of that big ‘X’ with treads popped off and armored chassis’ burning among craters and charred patches where a combined total of sixteen lanes of roadway crisscrossed. The rest of his division stretched northeastward on Fremont, waiting for their chance to punch through for the airport. Stonewall paced behind an ad hoc bunker constructed with sandbags among the skeleton-like remains of two cars. "Benjamin, please explain why my division is not currently moving forward."
Stonewall just arrived at the front line from his headquarters further back in the column. So far he saw his damaged war machines but no sign of what caused that damage.
Before Duda answered, a Bradley Fighting Vehicle moved into the cluttered intersection, weaving through the carnage and attempting to drive south. Stonewall stopped pacing and eyed the Bradley’s progress, still wondering what had caused the fuss.
The answer came in a long hiss and crackle heard above the pops and snaps coming from the smoldering wrecks in the center of the ‘X’. Just as the Bradley cleared those wrecks, a glint of silver flashed in the rays of sunset as it rose into the air from behind a cluster of buildings.
Stonewall watched as that silver flash swooped toward the Bradley. The armored vehicle spotted the threat and fired its main gun, but the Witiko Skytroop zigzagged.
The turret rotated, but not fast enough. The Witiko hovered a hundred feet in the air for one quick second and fired a missile from a portable launcher. That missile lumbered relatively slow for a rocket. Despite its slower-than-expected speed, the projectile ruptured the protective armor of the vehicle and exploded inside the cabin, killing another crew.
"Oh dear. Get anti-air units forward."
"Sir, wait a second," Benny Duda pointed toward the spot in the air where the Skytroop had hovered. That trooper remained visible, having risen higher into the sky but not retreated toward the airport as had been the routine during the standoff. Four more Skytroop officers joined the first.
Stonewall ordered, "Hurry with those anti-air units. Time is of the essence."
But the Witiko airborne soldiers did not attack. They turned their thrusters to full power and raced off to the northeast at a fast pace, maybe as fast as eighty miles per hour. Whatever their actual velocity, their speed and height allowed them to easily avoid carbine fire from below.