Fusion ba-5, page 46
part #5 of Beyong Armageddon Series
She came to a waiting room lobby on the northwestern corner. The big windows there afforded a great view of the highway. That highway should have basked in a late-afternoon sun. Instead, the heavy cloud cover made the entire scene feel more like the tail end of dusk.
Vince sat in a wheelchair with his finger pressed against the glass pointing at something on the road below.
Nina thought she had prepared or any possibility. She was wrong.
A solitary Chaktaw-its camouflage poncho colored gray-stood at the center of the road, apparently unarmed and holding its alien hands aloft.
Odin stood on his back legs, propped his front paws against the glass and growled.
The walkie-talkie on Vince Caesar’s lap came to life with a voice from a checkpoint along the highway.
“Captain Forest, do you copy? What do you want me to do?”
The sight of the Chaktaw told Nina that she had not hidden their movements as craftily as she thought.
She grabbed the radio.
“Shit. Yeah, okay, look, I don’t see any more of them so go on up and see what he wants.”
She watched two burly fellows in assault vests over jeans and t-shirts cautiously approach the alien emissary with their weapons drawn. As she witnessed the meeting, Nina recalled a story from the Battle of Five Armies and shared it with Vince Caesar.
“I get it. Those cocky son of a bitches,” and while she spat the words, she did feel a sense of admiration for their prowess and confidence.
“What?”
She relayed the story in first person because she had participated, yet her recollections came from the memories of others.
“At Five Armies when we were down to our last hill, the Chaktaw sent an ambassador to invite Trevor to a meeting. It seems they’ve got this tradition or something that if they know they have you beat they give you the chance to surrender.”
The human sentries reached the Chaktaw. The alien produced some kind of short microphone device. Nina suspected it to be a translator. A conversation ensued.
“Surrender?”
“Listen, not like you’re thinking. They offered to kill us quickly if we’d line up and let them do it. Something about it being a sign of respect for a worthy adversary, as if letting them slit your throat real quick is better than dying in battle.”
“So you’re saying they knew we were here, is that it?”
“Looks that way to me. Shit.”
The radio sprung to life. The men from the checkpoint relayed a message from the aliens: “They say their leader-a ‘Force Commander’-wants to meet with you. Something about a message for you. They guarantee safe passage.”
“Bullshit,” Vince shot.
“No, it’s okay. They gave Trevor safe passage back then.”
“He met with them?”
“Yep. Met with their commander who laid out their great ‘deal’ to him. He basically told them to stuff it. But look, they let him go back to our lines. Big mistake for them, I guess.”
“Captain?” the voice on the radio asked. “What do you want me to tell them?”
Nina’s brow furled. She slammed a hand into her thigh. She hated being bested. With surprise no longer on their side, she doubted they could do much more than delay the Chaktaw; not hurt them.
Then an idea percolated inside her devious mind.
“Yep. I mean, yes. Look, I’ll go and meet their leader.”
Odin dropped from his propped position against the window as if hearing her words and reacting with surprise to them.
Vince did as much as he gasped, “You can’t be serious. No way I’m lining up to be off’d. If I’m going down, I’m going down fighting.”
“You still have your KA-BAR?”
He did. She held out her hand and took the military knife from him. At the same time she removed her other weapons and handed them to Vince one at a time. Odin eyed her suspiciously, as did Vince.
“What are you planning, Nina?”
“Listen, we’re dead meat if we stick to the original ambush. I’ll get close enough to their leader, listen to his dumb-ass proposal, and then slit his throat.”
“Isn’t that against the rules of safe passage? What’s the point anyway? They’ll just kill you.”
She thought about what Trevor had said at the last council meeting; about the ‘rules’ to the invasion and what Trevor planned to do in regards to those rules.
“First off, screw the rules. Truth is, this is war and war doesn’t have any rules when you cut right down to it, no matter how hard we try to pretty it up. This is about doing whatever it takes to win and I don’t give a damn how many rules we break. We get the chance, slaughter every last one of them. And yeah, they probably won’t give me safe passage back after I slit their leader’s alien throat, but so what? All I’m sayin’ is that if I can take out their Force Commander, then that’ll cause confusion. Go hook up with the corporal and get ready. Give me some time then charge them.”
“Charge them? Are you kidding?”
She smiled. Actually smiled as she slipped the knife into her boot and covered it with pant leg.
“Just like Five Armies. That’s what we did then. With their leader dead and them expecting us to be waiting here, it’ll take them by surprise. Look, it sucks, but it’s the best chance we got.”
He said nothing. Not so much because he accepted the plan, but because it sounded ludicrous. Nina suspected the beaten men and women atop that third and final hill at Five Armies had shared the same expression-until Trevor led them to victory.
She pat Odin on the head and ruffled his ears, “Sorry to be saying goodbye to you again so soon. See you over the rainbow bridge, my friend.”
Odin bowed his head. Nina turned her attention to her human companion.
“Goodbye, Vince,” she set a warm hand on his shoulder and he returned the grasp. “It’s been, well, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Nina walked away, descended the stairs, and exited the hospital.
The crash of yet another Spook into the undercarriage of the Chrysaor caused only the slightest tremor on the bridge. The ‘impact’ icon flashing on Kristy Kaufman’s console drew more attention than the actual damage which-judging by the computer’s report-had been superficial. As with all the Spook impacts. Problem was, there were a lot of Spooks hitting the undercarriage. The ‘impact’ icon flashed continuously.
“Firing main batteries,” she announced more from habit than need.
This time the bridge did shudder quite noticeably. Bands of energy shot from the underside and swept the fields west of Quincy. The streams of red splashed across a building-sized Goat Walker and a cluster of hovering Shell-tanks. The tanks ruptured and disintegrated; the demonic Goat Walker fell into gory pieces. The beam dug a deep, dark trench into the ground like a jagged dagger eviscerating the landscape.
Kaufman managed the destruction from her position as the brain onboard the dreadnought. She stood in a circle of monitors, keyboards, and touch screens while wearing a virtual reality headset that fed even more information in the form of pictures and data. The crewmen on the crescent-shaped bridge served mainly a redundant role while a few handled less-important tasks outside the scope of the brain.
With her aircraft long ago stripped to serve other operations, the Chrysaor acted more as a battleship than a carrier. Still, she played that role with brutal efficiency.
“Belly Boppers re-charging. Thirty percent-firing…”
More blobs of energy. This time striking mobile artillery batteries appearing next-of-kin to cement mixer trucks. She stopped them from reaching firing position from where they would have launched more of the red, yellow, and blue balls of destruction at the human lines.
Kristy pulled her attention from data streams and ground cameras and stared across the bridge out the main viewing window. If things became too heated, a set of protective shutters would close. But for now she could see the quilt of rolling storm clouds a few dozen meters overhead. She could also see the two Leviathans, standing tall enough that when she reached them the Chrysaor would face them at what could best be described as eye-to-eye.
However, facing them would be a challenge. Voggoth’s favorite pets not only retreated from the battlefield in giant steps the further the Chrysaor advanced, but the twins separated with one backpedaling northwest in its withdrawal, the other southwest.
Kristy understood. The Leviathans retreated not only to avoid her batteries, but to draw her into a gauntlet of fire. The bottom of the vessel took a pounding with breeches to the hull in several places already and substantial damage to the superstructure throughout.
She’s a tough ship, Kristy mused. She can take it. She must take it.
Her eyes returned to the monitors. She spotted a rolling tube-like machine. A glowing spear-something like a rocket or missile-raised on its back in preparation to fire. She tapped a sequence of buttons and two missiles of her own sped away from the Chrysaor on plumes of smoke. They hit the enemy vehicle before its payload could fire. The vehicle exploded into two parts; the glowing missile fell apart in a storm of sparks.
The Captain’s eyes swept the ground below through the cameras linked to her work station. The Chrysaor’s ‘belly boppers’ had slaughtered thousands of Voggoth’s forces ranging from simple monks to more complex battle wagons. Wrecks of the coral-like hovering platforms that launched the rolling artillery shells lay scattered across the fields. The charred remains of a hundred Ogres blew in the air like volcanic ash carried on the wind. None of the enemy’s flying-ball machines remained in action; they could do no more damage to the defenders of Quincy.
Yet, so many more remained. She saw formations of Robotic Commandos and uncountable numbers of Spider Sentries and more of the Shell-Tanks and rows of walking gun turrets and to either side of the army spun the whirlwinds of the Wraiths.
Kristy fired again. The stream of energy sprayed across the field and through the middle of a half-collapsed industrial structure. The line of fire cut apart a vehicle resembling a locomotive capable of firing surface-to-surface projectiles and slaughtered a number of heavy duty Spider Sentries hiding in the ruined building.
A trio of Spooks made it over the bow and sped across the inactive runway toward the raised tower section at the rear of the ship. Gatling guns made quick work of them.
“Okay,” she said as much to herself as the bridge crew. “It’s time to get one of those Leviathans. Increasing speed-charging boppers…”
Instead of drifting calmly over the fields full of monstrosities, the dreadnought moved at a brisk clip, quickly closing the distance to the walking skyscraper to the northwest. Bolts of lightning from a cluster of small gray clouds struck to either side of the Leviathan as if anticipating the dramatic showdown.
The beast halted its retreat on the farmland outside of Maywood, Missouri; 14 miles west of Quincy. The C hrysaor slowed to a crawl and closed for the kill.
Kristy wanted full power to her weapons; anything less would waste valuable time slicing and dicing while the bulk of the army continued to march on the Mississippi.
“Boppers at thirty percent and charging…”
A blip on the radar screen. Then another. And another.
“Boppers at forty percent…”
She accessed one of the telescopic cameras and zoomed for a closer look. Just as the profile on the radar screen suggested, the blips belonged to a group of Chariots: the blob-like machines that served multiple roles in Voggoth’s army ranging from attack fighters to transports to bombers. They could certainly inflict damage on the Chrysaor, but nothing to be overly concerned about.
“Boppers at sixty percent…”
The flying blobs approached from the west and flew around the Leviathan, just below the handful of storm clouds that had followed the giant’s retreat from the front. The things flew in tight formation and slowed to nearly a stop in the airspace between the battling behemoths.
“Boppers at seventy percent, stand by to fire…”
Kristy expected the ships to use their rapid-fire guns or perhaps launch some kind of missile. What they actually did fell under the heading of ‘unexpected.’
The Chariots crashed together, one after another.
No, that description did not exactly fit. That’s what they appeared to do to Kristy’s eye. They did not exactly crash. They flew into each other one at a time, their blob-ish forms attached like droplets splashing together except they stayed stuck together. One by one the Chariots merged, creating one large blob from a series of smaller ones.
“What the hell?”
Kristy decided the Leviathan could wait. Her fingers interacted with the touch screen in rapid succession, accessing the forward defenses menu category Anti-Air, sub-menu ‘missile defenses.’
Select: Launch bay Bow — 4
Ordnance select: AMRAAM (quantity remaining: 4).
Ordnance loading standby-loading complete.
Arm warhead: Yes — No.
Caution: Warhead ARMED.
Input target acquisition source.
Target acquired from radar lock. Confirm target: Yes — No.
Launch: Yes — No.
The Chariots ceased merging and hung in the air as if catching their collective breath.
Launch.
The missile shot away from a tube embedded in the bow of the dreadnought.
The blob of Chariots rotated, fast. Faster. Spinning like a warped top while still hovering in the sky. A glowing halo of energy formed around mass.
The missile closed.
Kristy did not wait; she loaded air-to-air AMRAAMs into the other three forward launch bays and hurried to fire. She moved a moment too slow.
The Chariots exploded. Not in shrapnel; at least not entirely. More important, they exploded with energy: a ring of crackling blue power that slammed into and coated the dreadnought like a rogue wave sweeping across the deck of a boat. As the wall of energy moved from bow to stern, flashes and bolts of blue and green sparked from the deck plates and warned of more sinister chain reactions within.
The blast enveloped and then passed the bridge and tower section. Electronic work stations flickered; some shot sparks. Video screens filled with dead air before stabilizing; the hair on the back of Kristy’s neck stood straight. The room felt electrically charged.
Then it was gone. The work stations returned to normal operation. Monitors showed what they meant to show. With the exception of several blown but easily replaceable fuses, the Chrysaor felt-felt…
Kristy could not immediately identify her feeling of uneasiness. The Chariots were gone. Ahead of the ship waited the Leviathan, its grotesque skyscraper-sized body stood still like a morbid statue.
Captain Kaufman checked the main batteries.
Fifty percent.
What?
Forty-five percent.
Warning lights flashed across her screens in succession. One stood out above the rest: “DANGER: Gravity Generator Magnetic Field Compromised”.
A frantic voice from the engineering section-located at the bottom rear of the ship-yelled into her earpiece confirming the words on her display: “The grav generators are off-line! Jesus-shit they just cut out!”
Everyone on the bridge-everyone throughout the ship-felt it in their bellies like riders on a rollercoaster cresting that first big drop. The entire craft started to fall. Kristy’s stomach lurched toward her throat.
“Emergency boosters!”
She swerved around in the command module, located the set of controls every dreadnought commander feared to need, and quickly flicked a series of toggles. A hundred small round plates fell away from the ship’s undercarriage and row upon row of rocket engines burst to life with fire and smoke.
The thrust of the emergency engines sounded a like a line of explosions from beneath the mighty ship. That feeling of descending slowed but did not end. The altimeter ticked under 1,000 feet and continued. The back-up rockets were never meant to keep the incredible weight of the ship aloft; they were meant as a supplement to the grav generators in the case of emergency.
Main Forward Battery Energy Level: 30 %.
Kristy-in an act driven as much by spite as anything else-punched the ‘fire’ button. Red strands of power shot out from the bow, across the sky, and into the front of the hideous beast.
The Chaktaw convoy stood ready to move. Nina saw the small army waiting in rows across the eight lanes of Interstate 64 including Lizards the size of elephants serving as pack animals, motorized tricycles with huge wheels, some kind of missile trucks toward the rear of the formation, and hundreds of infantry huddled in groups conversing, snacking, and checking gear.
She sensed unease in the air. Maybe even confusion among their ranks. Maybe the same feeling of oppression her people felt when under The Order’s unnatural storm clouds.
The alien soldiers eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and awe. They stared through in a way that made her feel they regarded her more as a strange curiosity than a reviled enemy. Perhaps they did not consider her worthy of their contempt; an over confidence she planned to make them pay for. Indeed, her escort gave her only a quick look for weapons and hence her knife remained hidden. She did not know if their lack of a thorough search indicated laziness or if they took it for granted that she would act honorably and respect the truce.
A cluster of homes on wooded lots sat just off the highway to the south. Her Chaktaw escort led her through the surprised formation of fighters to one lone tent seemingly made of canvass or something very much like it assembled in a driveway next to the remains of a collapsed duplex.
The tent appeared hastily constructed for their meeting. Perhaps some kind of tradition among the aliens, she did not know but she did care: killing the Chaktaw leader would be a lot easier out of view from the rest of their army. It might even give her a chance to take several more with her before they realized their mistake in inviting the wolf into their hen house.
Her escort pulled a drawstring and motioned her inside the tent. A small oval table made of what resembled plastic sat in the center of the chamber. A solitary glowing orb hung on a rope or string from the ceiling creating a cone of light over the center but left the outer rim of the interior in shadows.
