Moments before the first rays of light climbed the horizon, the aliens at the Kidder Street checkpoint dove for cover beneath their bulwark of dead cars as explosions erupted around them.
The mortar shells caused no damage but served as further insult to the proud army occupying the high ground above the city.
One of the alien shuttles lifted from the Redcoat camp and hovered above Kidder Street, no doubt tracing the source of incoming artillery.
From his perch atop the brick brewery building, Shep radioed, "Ross, you copy?"
"Yeah, Shep. Go 'head."
"One of their planes is airborne. I don't see any missiles or armaments, but they got to be up to something. Wait a sec…"
A sharp buzz pulled his attention to the assembly area where two of the silver upside-down-bowl machines came to life: large barrels extended from their smooth surfaces.
"Ross, bug out! Move!"
First one gun, then the second, launched blue fireballs glowing like shooting stars in the morning twilight. The balls flew over the Kidder Street checkpoint in a beautiful arc and crashed into a house just as Woody "Bear" Ross and his two mortar teams left its backyard.
Instead of an explosion, the strike disintegrated the home as if it were a sandcastle caught in a gale: not board by board, but molecule by molecule leaving the foundation filled with dust.
With the mortars disrupted, the alien artillery fell silent. However, part one of the plan- the baiting part — worked: the Redcoats assembled two regiments and marched down hill.
"This is Shepherd to all units; we got that war we wanted. It's going to be a long day."
– "Public Square" comprised the heart of Wilkes-Barre. A small park sat inside a traffic circle where four primary streets converged.
Buildings surrounded the square, a few reaching fourteen stories and standing since the 1930s. Others, such as the bus terminal and Ramada hotel, were built after the '72 flood, hence a more modern appearance.
A holler-a rebel yell-followed by a trumpet crooning something similar to "Dixieland," disturbed the deceptively quiet scene downtown as dawn bloomed.
Stonewall, Dustin McBride, and bugle boy Benny Duda galloped on horseback from south to north along Main Street and across Public Square.
The commotion woke the city.
Things emerged from the shadows, the smashed display windows, and the battered store doors. Ghouls from Boscov's, a tall troll from a garage…out came the hordes; hordes hungry because prey animals had become scarce to the point that predators now fed on other predators.
The groans…the growls…the moans…the unearthly whistling…a garbled cackle…they joined together in a nightmarish chorus.
– One Redcoat regiment strutted down Kidder Street, marching side by side grouped in squads with one air ship overhead. They stayed to the east of downtown, making their way into the residential neighborhood that had sheltered the mortar teams an hour before.
A second regiment-also supported by one airship-split to the west then turned again to follow Wilkes-Barre Boulevard, a major north-south thoroughfare skirting center city. Both regiments aimed southward like parallel spears searching for a victim to skewer.
Shepherd radioed, 'Trevor, you copy? Two formations headin' south according to plan."
Trevor's reply over the radio: "I guess we should be careful what we wish for. Good luck to everyone. See you soon, I hope."
– Ross' group chased away a furry crocodile creature and then hid in a dilapidated furniture warehouse just off Wilkes-Barre Boulevard to the northeast of center city. His mini-army consisted of himself, Kristy Kaufman and a pair of two-person mortar teams.
One of those teams was comprised of an elderly fellow everyone called "Pop" because he spoke often of his dead grandkids, as well as a young woman named Jennie.
Mortar team number two included a late 20's man with a goatee nicknamed "Bird" because of the American eagle tattooed to his chest. Formerly a borderline white supremacist, Armageddon (and General Stonewall) changed his perspective.
Since Frank Dorrance's death, Bird now paired with Cassy Simms when on mortar duty.
Ross peered from a front window while his teams exited the rear door, walked under a small iron train trestle straddling a side street, and set up their weapons behind the cover of a steep grassy bank that supported railroad tracks.
One of the alien regiments came marching along the boulevard in perfect formation, their red uniforms stood apart brilliantly from the grungy, litter-covered streets of the dead city. The ship providing air cover drifted off, perhaps investigating movement or a shadow.
Ross watched as the vanguard of the regiment neared a traffic sign that served as a range marker for his teams. As the first alien soldiers passed that small blue sign, he turned to Kristy Kaufman and shouted, "Now!"
Kristy stepped out the rear door and signaled Pop. A moment later, a thwoop-thwoop played in Ross' ears like a sweet melody.
The first explosion turned a neat formation of Redcoats into a flying mass of splintered body parts. The next landed among the scattering aliens killing three and wounding several more.
Ross allowed another volley and then ordered retreat. Less than a minute after exiting the warehouse, sapphire balls of alien artillery disintegrated the building into sawdust, left smoldering holes in the grassy embankment, and twisted the iron trestle as if touched by the sun.
– The second part-or hope-of the plan showed signs of success around noon. At that time, the 1 ^ st Regiment-the one conducting house-to-house searches through the dense residential neighborhood to the east-suffered an ambush of ghouls from alleys and backyards.
Those ghastly, mindless animals flooded the Redcoat marching lines and clawed or bit to death six soldiers before the Redcoats' superior firepower eliminated the threat.
A while later that same regiment changed its heading and moved west toward downtown. As they passed a nightclub built from an old train station, something big charged the group.
It walked on massive, elephant-like legs that could crush a car and Bobby Weston. It had no head or eyes but it did have six long necks flailing like thick tentacles. Massive mouths opened and shut at the end of those flailing necks.
The Redcoat commander barked orders but his decrees went unheard as the monster stomped soldiers. Nearly two squads crunched underfoot with sickening snaps while the impact tremors knocked more off balance.
Hurried blasts from Redcoat rifles pinpricked the mammoth as it stomped again, crushing another half-dozen aliens while its mouths plucked even more from the street as if gorging at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Stonewall observed the carnage from a prone position beneath a smashed city bus two blocks away. He set aside his hat and pointed a sniper rifle in the direction of the battle. Dustin McBride shared the space beneath the bus using binoculars to spot targets while Benny Duda hid in a nearby alleyway with their horses.
"To the left," McBride directed. "Looks like someone important; given orders 'n shit."
Through the scope, Stonewall spotted the brave Redcoat regiment commander valiantly rallying his troops despite the chaos.
"I salute you, Sir," Stonewall said honestly, and fired.
The high-powered slug tore through the commander’s body armor and knocked him to the ground at the same moment another giant leg stepped on yet another bunch of Redcoats.
Amidst the confusion, none of the aliens noticed the sniping of their leader.
Another Redcoat officer fell, then another, adding to the chaos.
One alien squad managed to disengage from the creature, retreated twenty yards, and formed a firing line. They pointed their guns at the giant, pulled triggers, then waited, confirming the notion that these extraterrestrial rifles required charging time to build power.
Finally, they let loose a volley of energy exploding into the hide of the beast; its myriad of mouths howled in unison. The volley left a gory hole as if the creature had been hit with a bazooka. Apparently, the Redcoat rifles packed a significant punch if given time to power-up.
The hydra-thing toppled, crushing an ATM kiosk.
As the Redcoats counted their losses, Stonewall went to work again: a squad leader's helmet blew to pieces; the chest of an alien soldier exploded. This time the aliens recognized the peril and sought cover behind overturned cars and the giant's dead carcass.
Stonewall's radio broadcast a warning from Shepherd: "Incoming artillery fire!"
McBride wiggled backwards saying, "Man, we had a good thing going."
Stonewall answered, "All good things…"
The two men-now covered with grime and dust-rolled out from beneath the bus and ran toward the alley. Two burning blue balls fell from the sky and hit the bus which disintegrated into metal shavings until consuming the fume-filled gas tank. The tank exploded, turning those metal shavings into shrapnel.
They rounded the corner and came upon Benny Duda holding the reigns of three steeds.
"Saddle up, our work has just begun, gentlemen," Stonewall ordered.
"What? Huh?" Dustin, following behind, asked.
Stonewall saw Dustin clutching the side of his head. "I say, are you injured?"
"What's that, General?"
Dustin pulled his hand from his head. He lacked a right ear.
– Ross admired the aliens' tenacity as he watched their advance from a parking garage roof.
After shelling this group of Redcoats-identified as the 2 ^ nd Regiment-on Wilkes-Barre Boulevard, Ross had retreated to a small parking garage on the King's College campus a few blocks north of Public Square. He expected the regiment to be in hot pursuit. Instead, it took them well into the afternoon to move a half-mile.
Apparently, the Redcoats intended to leave no stone unturned; no hiding spot uncovered. They broke into groups of three and searched every house along their path, much to Woody Ross' amusement.
In most cases, they entered homes and buildings, searched, and exited empty handed. Other forays proved more entertaining.
In one instance, Ross saw flashes of alien gunfire and then soldiers emerged from a home with the "trophy" of an emaciated house cat.
Another trio kicked open a door and rushed in only to be chased to the sidewalk by a two-legged lizard using its dome-shaped head like a battering ram to strike dead a Redcoat before they could power-up their energy guns enough to cut through its armor-plated hide.
Ross thought about sending the Redcoats a note of appreciation. Their slow progress gave him a chance to prepare a few surprises, their house-to-house searching reduced the hostiles in the city, and their brightly-dressed attention-grabbing army drew creatures away from Ross' (and Stonewall's) smaller, more vulnerable bands of fighters.
Finally, the 2 ^ nd Regiment approached perpendicular to North Main Street. From his perch above that intersection, Ross saw another bad surprise looming for the Redcoats: acid-spitting dog-sized cockroaches swarming up Main Street. The Redcoats-their lead elements still around the corner-could not see the line of big bugs.
Ross, foreseeing chaos, decided to add to it.
"Smoke canisters! Hurry!"
Mortar rounds hit at the front of the Redcoat line. The soldiers held their ranks in a most admirable manner.
The regiment commander led his men into the billowing clouds of white fog, probably assuming the smoke hid a human retreat. At the same time, the horde of oversized bugs essentially t-boned the Redcoat column.
From behind the veil of smoke came screams, the zap of energy weapons, commands yelled in an alien tongue, and insect hisses. Yellow streams of burning acid sizzled like the sound of water on a hot frying pan. Above the mess floated the 2 ^ nd Regiment's air ship that had failed to spot the danger.
A cold wind dissipated the smoke aiding the Redcoat officers in gaining control of their men-those not melted into piles-and utilizing their energy weapons to destroy the swarm.
As the last insects died…as the fray finally subsided…as the Redcoats formed marching lines once again, the mortars fired this time with explosive shells that-given the close range and tightly packed enemy formation-simply could not miss.
Two…four…six explosions raked the army. Body parts, helmets, and equipment tossed into the air while neatly lined rows of Redcoats toppled like dominoes.
With the aid of their air ship, the Redcoats spotted their attackers and fired energy bolts toward the roof of the parking garage.
Ross ordered the retreat and the mortar teams-lugging heavy backpacks as well as the mortar tubes-evacuated the roof.
As three enemy squads marched into the confines of the garage, Ross and his men slipped out the rear, hidden from the aircraft’s view by shabby and dead overgrown brush.
Inside, the Redcoats surrounded an odd-looking human vehicle; scrape marks from the low-hanging garage roof were visible on its cab as well as the white, tubular body. The aliens did not understand the symbols: AGWAY PROPANE.
The concrete ceiling and floor funneled the explosion laterally, engulfing the Redcoats in a firestorm of burning gas and exploding truck. Balls of black smoke rolled out from the garage and the blast echoed across the city, catching the attention of numerous hostile ears.
While two more squads went inside to extract survivors, a mob of ghouls plowed into the remaining regiment elements on the street.
This time panic struck the ranks. Individual soldiers fired wildly as the speed of the attack allowed no time for formal lines. The regiment commander personally killed two of the bony, ape-like fiends at close range.
Eventually, the Redcoats overcame the assault. Nonetheless, two more squads had been badly mauled, pushing the formation's casualty count over sixty percent.
An alien shuttle landed on the parking garage roof and loaded wounded for evacuation.
Mortar rounds exploded on and around the ship, lobbed from the roof of a tall King’s College dormitory three hundred yards to the southwest.
Rifle charge packs stored onboard the ship created a secondary explosion resulting in an inferno. Fire jetted from the open sliding side doors and the cockpit window exploded out. The injured Redcoats onboard became dead Redcoats and nearby healthy Redcoats became dead or injured Redcoats.
The remaining members of the 2 ^ nd Regiment retreated into a small building catty-corner from the parking garage and established a hard point.
An hour later, a squad leader missing after the shuttle exploded crossed the street to join his comrades. He appeared dazed and disheveled and carried a message for the Redcoat General. When translated, it read: "General Stonewall McAllister will accept your surrender with the following terms: you will strip naked and crawl through the streets begging for mercy."
– Gray clouds swept in and turned the city dark earlier than usual. Shepherd-drinking his third cup of horrible instant coffee-contacted Trevor via radio.
"The 3 ^ rd Regiment bugged out before dark along with two flying ships. Garrett tracked them. Give em' credit, they search just about every house, shop, and bowling alley they pass. But get this; they stopped when the sun went down. Looks like they don’t like fighting at night."
Trevor said, "Everything they do is really formal. Maybe where they came from they fight wars like gentlemen in a dual. Or maybe their world has more sunlight or something."
"Whatever the reason, it looks like they took over a bunch of houses off Wilkes-Barre Boulevard and have hunkered down for the night. That means the Reds have committed three of their four regiments to the fight."
"As best as we could hope," Trevor radioed through cracks of static.
Shep waved away a cloud of smoke from Omar's cigarette; the scientist lay nearby studying the Redcoat artillery through binoculars.
"Anyways, Ross tore up their 2 ^ nd Regiment really good. ‘Course he had some help from our friends downtown. Point being, that bunch lost most of their men and are held up in a building on North Main Street. Tell you what, though, them boys can hold a hard point. Ross says there’s been waves of things bull-rushing them for hours and they mowed them all down."
"They’re disciplined and their weapons pack a punch. What about the 1 ^ st Regiment?"
Shepherd snickered. "After they got stomped, they headed straight for the Square. Garrett says them fellas got hit with a whole shitload of baddies. He saw a blob chase them and one of them…whattayacallit…a ‘Stick Ogre’ brained a bunch of them before they blasted it. Now they’re held up in a big blue and white office building downtown."
Trevor told Shep, "Us locals call that one the Bicentennial Building because it was built back in '76 for the-"
"Bicentennial. Okay, I get it, I’m not that slow."
Shep heard a drop in Trevor’s enthusiasm as he asked, "How many we lose so far?"
"Not a one unless you count the monsters downtown. The Redcoats have killed off a heap of them."
Trevor asked, "What about Dustin?"
Another cloud of smoke drifted near. Shep waved it away again.
"Garrett says they patched Dustin up just fine. Nothing we can do about his ear, ‘course, but he refused to go home. The three of them are held up in the hotel across from the 'Bicentennial Building', right under the Redcoats’ nose. That Stonewall sure is ballsy."
"Is Ross’ group with him?"
"No. Bear is bunking in a college dorm. You know, those mortars are dry on ammo and those guys are worn out; they did the heavy lifting today. Honestly, I think they're done for a while. Say, what’s Jon’s status?"
Trevor answered, "They’re hiding in a strip mall on the west side of the river waiting for you to give the word when that 4 ^ th Regiment moves. That’s when things will get interesting."
"No doubt. And you two?"
Trevor's tone changed from the strong commander to something akin to a teenage boy speaking with a girl's father before a first date: "Um, me and Nina are held up here in a house on the north end. We’re going to sleep in, you know, separate rooms and all. We’ve got enough K9 noses here to let us know if anything gets close and our chopper is hidden good. Um, you?"
"Well, the temperature is starting to drop like a rock, so we got ourselves blankets and some God-awful coffee. Seems to me the Redcoats are shutting down for the night, so maybe we can get some shut eye."
"Sounds like a plan, Shep. Keep me informed if anything happens, otherwise goodnight."
Shep put down the radio and gazed out the window. Far across the way, he spied the lights of the Redcoat camp. Above, a blanket of thick clouds obscured the stars and a light snow drifted to Earth.
More smoke stung his eyes.
"Hey, I’m trying to breathe over here."
– Trevor examined the radio in his hand but-in actuality-he studied the situation.
Things went according to plan. The Redcoat regiments fought the monsters in the city with Ross and Stonewall aggravating the alien army from a safe distance. If tomorrow went as well as today, the Redcoats' numbers would dwindle to a fraction of their initial strength and the monsters infesting the city would be similarly culled.
However, he knew the danger would increase exponentially tomorrow. Certainly the Redcoats would adjust their tactics or, worse, they would swallow their pride and withdraw to continue their march on Harveys Lake where they would find and destroy the estate, undoing months of progress.
Nina-in a flight suit similar to Trevor's-walked into the kitchen where he stood.
"I checked on the chopper from the window," she told him. "Nothing has messed with it."
Trevor chose that particular house on the north end of Wilkes-Barre to use as their staging point because it sat next to a golf course nestled amidst a neighborhood, all just a few seconds flying time from the alien encampment.
Nina asked, "What's Shep have to say?"
"Everything is going according to plan."
"That's great."
"Yea, but it's kind of scary," he said and drifted to the kitchen table where a kerosene lamp lit the room in a soft glow. "We've brow-beaten an alien army and the worse we've taken is Dustin McBride losing an ear."
"Good planning," she said. "And a little luck."
"Maybe. Or…" he gazed at her as his thoughts drifted off. "Or maybe we're too good at this; at this whole fighting thing. Ever since man made fire we've done nothing but divide into tribes and countries and fight each other. Maybe a dress rehearsal for all this?"
Nina, returning his stare, whispered, "Maybe we're a race of killers. Maybe that's why they're here; to snuff us out because we're so damned dangerous."
The two realized they stared at one another and quickly averted their eyes.
– The combatants in the Battle for Wilkes-Barre awoke on the second day to a ground covered with the remains of a snow squall. The early sun managed to burn away low-hanging cloud cover but it could not chase away the cold. Soldiers on both sides spoke through puffs of chilled air and wet, icy snowflakes fluttered on the wind.
Stonewall and his companions gathered in the bridal suite on the top floor of the Ramada on Public Square. Dustin cleaned the bandage on his ear and Benny ate a stale candy bar.
The General gazed out the window toward the blue and white building across the street where the enemy camped. Strategies and goals rolled over in his mind.
Eventually he boiled it down to one order: "Gentlemen, let’s go for a ride."
The unit descended the hotel via a stairwell, released their horses from the banquet room, and rode into the early morning light whooping and hollering and firing into the air.
The horse hooves c lunked and c lapped on the pavement as Stonewall led the three around Public Square, brazenly passing in front of the 1 ^ st Regiment of alien soldiers in the Bicentennial Building. The sentries fired hastily aimed potshots but scored no hits.
Stonewall waved his hat at the Redcoats and veered north on Main Street, galloping between burned out abandoned vehicles.
A half-mile north they happened upon yesterday's battleground-dead alien bodies, ghouls, and a multitude of big-but-squashed insects-as well as the remaining members of the 2 ^ nd Redcoat Regiment hunkered inside a small wooden building that had been a print shop ("Quick Print Your Summer Bazaar Flyers Here!").
Stonewall lit and threw a Molotov cocktail. It splashed and spread flames fast along the front wall, forcing the Redcoats to evacuate.
Satisfied, McAllister turned his cavalry south again. A Redcoat aircraft followed their progress as the three horse soldiers slipped inside the large King’s College gymnasium ("Home of the Monarchs!").
The burning wood of the print shop attracted more unwanted attention to the besieged 2nd Regiment. As thirty-five battered and weary soldiers evacuated the burning print shop, they confronted another mass of acid-spitting roaches slithering forth from the burned-out bottom level of the parking garage where-no doubt-the creatures had spent the night gorging on barbecued Redcoat carrion
Much to the surprise of the 2nd Regiment, a furious volley of massed energy balls shredded the insects. That volley came from the 3 ^ rd Regiment as it marched up a side street to join the action. The equation shifted in the aliens’ favor.
A devilbat swooped low. Well-aimed, coordinated fire knocked it spinning from the sky.
A seven-foot-tall troll lumbered toward the group and was blasted to pieces.
Enthusiasm swept the aliens, despite the cold air, the blustery snow flurries, and the losses they had endured. A new day meant a new opportunity to finish the battle.
Plans went into motion.
The remnants of the 2 ^ nd Regiment merged with the 3 ^ rd and spread along Main Street.
The 1 ^ st Regiment further entrenched on Public Square, occupying positions on the top of the tallest buildings. Boxy alien flyers circled the sky.
The Redcoat General dispatched his 4 ^ th Regiment from the assembly area in the shopping district, which resulted in several enthusiastic radio communications from Shep to Trevor and Jon. Regardless, it took most of the morning for the 4 ^ th formation to march downtown and align itself perpendicular to the Redcoat forces on Main Street.
When combined with the Susquehanna River bank to the west, the Redcoat army effectively sealed off several square blocks of city, including the heart of the college campus.
Back at the assembly area, all four of the big guns hovered into firing position.
The first blast arced away from the Redcoat base in a big blue ball with a trailing, comet-like aura. That comet smashed into the small parking garage Ross’ mortar teams had fired from the day before.
More volleys blasted the structure. Big bugs and green alien eels slithered from the doomed garage. The levels buckled and collapsed into a stack of cement flapjacks. A cloud of dust blew away in all directions, blanketing the area.
The artillery pieces adjusted and fired again.
Bolts of plasma fell into the King’s College gymnasium, punching through the roof and vaporizing the interior. The entire building imploded, letting loose another cloud.
The artillery continued. The bolts fell one after another after another.
Having already demonstrated their skill in precision targeting, the Redcoats displayed their skill at mass destruction. The crackling sound of exploding alien ordnance sizzled as if a city block sat atop a hot skillet. An acrid electric smell rode the black and brown fog of destruction rising as the carnage spread.
A series of the glowing balls fell into a large Victorian-ere home long ago remodeled into professional offices. Glowing rings of blue shockwaves radiated outward, smashing tall, majestic windows and knocking porch pillars from perches. The gutted interior could not support the frame so the roof dropped and the sidewalls splintered, leaving only the ruins of the front fascia standing hollow like a depthless prop on a theater stage.
The bombardment pounded on.
The King’s College School of Business suffered a torrent of raining shells. Glass shattered and melted into crystal teardrops. The Redcoat artillery erased in seconds what had taken months to build.
The fiery shots broke the golden dome of a grand synagogue. The stone walls beneath warped and chipped while the innards of the temple disassembled into ashes.
Everything inside the area cordoned by the soldiers felt the downpour. The bombs sent shockwaves but started no fires: the nature of the weaponry did not lend itself to ignition but, rather, evaporated or hammered everything it touched.
The shells came…and came…and came.
Stonewall’s trio of raiders led their horses to the basement fallout shelter of the Kirby Health center, a stately old mansion turned office building.
Garrett intended to stay in the shelter but a blast knocked over a wall and released a horde of those acid-spitting insects into the basement. The men pushed through the thick haze of dust to the outside, barely escaping but losing their horses to the bugs. They faced, however, an even more dangerous environment: a city street covered in a storm of swirling debris, noxious vapors, and collapsing buildings. Visibility shrunk to a few yards.
The ground shook. Flashes of blue flickered like lightning behind the clouds of dust. The smell-similar to electrical wires overheating-grew thick and heavy.
Stonewall led his men even as the chaos rang so loud he could not hear his own shouts. His group met Woody Ross’ unit in the remains of a blasted-open foundation.
They stayed there until a towering college dormitory fell. Car-sized chunks of concrete and steel dropped on their position; one fell on Jennie, killing her instantly.
Stonewall directed the rest to a manhole cover in the center of River Street. They descended like escaping rats into the dark sewer. The cramped tunnel did not allow for standing room, so they sat together in the sludge. The piping was not large enough to allow passage, trapping them in that one smelly spot for hours, feeling the ground shake around them, and fearing entombment should a shot hit directly above.
While they hunkered in a makeshift bunker to wait out the storm, the trembling ground and the constant noise forced, pulled, and otherwise attracted a host of predators from their nests, dens, and lairs.
A cloud of jellyfish things-capable of floating in the air for short periods-charged from their hive inside a deli at the Redcoat perimeter like angry bees swarming. Dozens besieged the Bicentennial Building, engaging sentries on the ground level and floating up and around in a furious frenzy. The Redcoats knocked most from the air quickly, but several broke through to the forward headquarters on a nearby roof.
The newly promoted commander of the 1 ^ st Regiment ended up on the inside of one of the jellyfish-things gaping at his comrades while his battle armor and skin dissolved.
Ghouls, rat-things, another stick ogre, and a tangled ball of eels threatened the Redcoat lines. They all died from the aliens’ energy weapons but drained precious ammunition, inflicted casualties, and distracted from the main objective.
Around noon, an army of carnivorous spider-ants-each rivaling a city bus in size-marched from the south side toward downtown.
Hovering shuttles spotted the approaching threat and the Redcoats formed to face the menace. One wave of insects approached on Main Street, a second came parallel along Franklin. When they moved to within a block of Public Square, the Redcoats opened fire.
The first wave of the spider-ants fell to the concentrated, highly charged rifles.
They kept coming.
The second wave did not stay at street level. The things crawled sideways on walls and over buildings, circumventing and breaching the Redcoat lines.
Their huge pinchers sliced several aliens in two and carried others south as dinner for larva. The new-new 1 ^ st Regiment Commander, who held the post for two hours, died in the mandibles of a spider-ant when it surprised his HQ atop a bank building.
Artillery fire from the alien base camp halted while the foot soldiers dealt with the giant insects. Stonewall took advantage of the pause and vacated their hiding spot for the massive Luzerne County Courthouse along the riverbank.
By late afternoon, the 1 ^ st Regiment stemmed the spider-ant attack, killing most while the balance retreated to their nest in South Wilkes-Barre. The Redcoats lost nearly thirty killed, worse-than-killed, and injured during the engagement.
Nevertheless, the artillery bombardment began anew.
Stonewall’s group made it to the courthouse before that firing restarted. Inside, high in the mammoth rotunda waited a huge spider overlooking all entrances. It managed to sting Pop before they chased it off with small arms fire. Pop shivered violently and died.
Bird and Simms took aim at the evil-looking shadow.
Stonewall shouted, "No!" They gawked at him. He explained, "Allow the beast to lurk about. No need to dispatch it quite yet."
Stonewall smiled despite the presence of dozens of webbed carcasses scattered throughout the silk-ish fibers of the spider’s haunt.
"When our friends finish destroying the city, they will search for our bodies, enter this hall, find our eight-legged friend, and conclude we could not be hiding here."
Stonewall did not allow for debate. He led his group into the Sheriff's office where several skeletons-still handcuffed to desks-sat with bony grins.
Early that evening, the Redcoat artillery barrage halted, leaving several square blocks in ruin. A cloud of smoke hovered above the bombed-out scene creating a literal fog of war floating over piles of dust, rock, melted glass, and a handful of standing pillars and porches.
Redcoat patrols swept the entire dead zone. At the courthouse, they found the massive arachnid and killed it, but did not bother searching the rest of the building, as Garrett foresaw.
As the patrol left Stonewall said, "Not quite their usual thoroughness, thankfully."
Cassy Simms replied, "Maybe they’re tired. And frustrated. You have that effect on people, General."
Stonewall smiled. "Indeed."
Night fell. The Redcoats remained entrenched in their positions downtown, but prying human eyes saw gear being packed, equipment stowed, and lazy perimeter patrols.
Stonewall radioed Shepherd to share his guess that the Redcoats had swallowed their pride and would pull out come morning.
Too late.