Trevor Stone watched the day begin from atop the second mountain knowing that in this new world each new day brought another fight for survival.
He sighed and took stock of his forces: one-hundred survivors from the first mountain’s defense line, another fifty who had been in reserve, and forty remaining from Stonewall’s cavalry. Forty more followed Jon Brewer from the eastern front to the southern one, but the majority of those fighters had suffered injuries during the Roachbot encounter.
The sum of the equation totaled two hundred and thirty-less than a quarter being trained, pre-Armageddon military-plus fifty K9s. Trevor left the remainder of his surviving dogs back on Route 11 to hunt Red Hand stragglers.
Overall, he felt Shep had done a fine job preparing the ground for war. Nonetheless, Trevor had other preparations to make.
It had not taken him long to realize the Vikings held the advantage in every way except terrain. They outnumbered the humans (Stonewall’s reconnaissance suggested three hundred aliens occupied the first hill), the quality of their soldiers exceeded Trevor’s own, and the Vikings showed no signs of ammunition shortage, unlike his own dwindling supply of ordnance.
Yes, he would make a last stand in those mountains. If the second defense line fell then they would retreat to the third, and there they would hold to the grand conclusion. However, Trevor would not let humanity die. He had sent Omar to the estate to form an escape party. If all else failed, the eccentric engineer would round up everyone who remained-including Anita Nehru and Lori Brewer-and run.
Trevor watched a beautiful new day dawn and wondered if he would ever see another.
– Three deuce and a half trucks, the Abrams tank atop a flat bed, and one Bradley fighting vehicle comprised the convoy which parked on the shoulder of I-81 far behind the front lines and beyond the estimated range of the Viking catapults.
The drivers disembarked from their cabs. Most wore camouflage jackets to chase away the morning chill but soon the day would warm considerably.
Tolbert commanded the convoy and while the tank may have been the most striking of the vehicles, the supplies inside the cargo trucks were the most important.
He radioed, "Base this is Hungry Hippo, you guys awake?"
After a moment, he received an answer: "Ah, roger that, Hippo-who thought that one up? What can we do for you?"
"For me? Brother, I got the goodies you crave. Send some strong backs down here."
Blam.
The grenade detonated on Tolbert’s left. Its crystal-like shrapnel tore one of the drivers to shreds. More hit Tolbert’s leg, knocking him to the ground.
Thwoosh…bam!
The Bradley erupted into flames from an anti-armor projectile.
Tolbert, on the hard pavement of the Interstate, saw six hooded alien fighters-a commando unit, no doubt-emerge from the heavy brush on the far side of the highway. They rushed forward with their guns shooting.
The human drivers scrambled behind the trucks and returned fire with pistols. One panicked but lucky shot felled a commando.
Tolbert crawled under a supply truck and grabbed his radio.
"Jesus Christ! They were waiting for us!"
"Say again, who is this?"
"This is Hungry-screw it; this is Tolbert with the supplies. We’re getting ambushed here! Need help!"
"Roger that," came a female voice. "Death from above."
Tolbert glanced north and saw an Apache chopper rise from the Wyoming Valley river basin. It drifted across the skyline toward the mountainside highway.
He glanced around and realized only one of the drivers remained alive: a teenage boy dressed up like a soldier standing on the side of the road looking shell-shocked.
"Get out of here!" Tolbert yelled.
The shout shook the kid from his trance. He ran wildly toward the dense woods. Either the aliens did not see or did not care; the kid disappeared into the forest.
Tolbert propped himself against a truck tire and stayed hidden as he heard the enemy race frantically around the convoy, perhaps searching for him.
The thump-thump of helicopter blades grew louder.
Tolbert, emboldened by the arrival of air cover, peered around the front end of the truck in time to see the commandos disappear into the brush from whence they had come.
Shrapnel in his leg sent sharp pain from his knee to his neck, but he managed to stand.
He hobbled into the clear, waved to Nina’s approaching chopper, and pointed toward the brush. The Apache veered in that direction.
Tolbert noticed an open rear gate on one of the trucks. He limped over and surveyed the cargo inside. The crates of precious ammunition remained intact.
"Hold on a sec, what do we have here?"
A humming silver box with a flickering electronic display caught his eye.
"Oh shit."
The silver boxes in the army trucks and under the Abrams exploded in a brilliant red flash, vaporizing the supplies, the tank, and Tolbert.
– "Oh, now that’s just friggin’ great," Jon Brewer stormed around the small clearing in knee-deep damp grass. "They sneak into our rear area, take out our supply column, blow the piss out of the Abrams, then get away without a scratch? Wow, just great."
"Another convoy?" Shep floated the idea in a hushed tone so as to keep the conversation within the confines of the small meadow away from the ears of the front line defenders.
"There’s nothing left," Trevor shared the grim news.
Jon said, "Wow, we’re in bad shape then. Some of the guys got pistols, hunting rifles, and shotguns. The army guys have carbines. There are few of the Redcoat and platypus rifles but they're running dry. I don’t see how this is going to get things done."
Shepherd said, "There has to be more than that."
Brewer answered, "A couple of shoulder-fired anti-tank missiles, a grenade here and there, Johnny has got a few toys left and Stonewall’s guys got swords but…but…"
Sharp reports of gunfire blasted into the clearing.
"They’re coming again," Shep stated the obvious.
The three jogged from the meadow, up a short rise, and approached the trenches and barricades of the second mountain. The cleared field of fire in front of the lines showed no sign of attackers, but the clap of shots reverberated through the dense woodland.
Reverend Johnny frantically dispatched groups to his left and right while K9s raced behind the battlements, yapping an alert.
"Hurry now! Run like the devil is biting at your ass!"
Johnny faced Trevor and told him, "The fiends are striking at our flanks. If not for the acute noses of our canine companions they would have overrun us on either end!"
Trevor translated and realized that the Grenadiers had sniffed out a sneak attack.
"Jon, take the right. Shep, take the left. Johnny, you keep hold right here."
"Like the rock of Gibraltar!"
Trevor followed Shep toward the eastern flank. The roar of battle intensified.
The eastern edge of the summit ended in a sharp bluff that dropped to a valley of rocks. The human lines anchored against that precipice. The Vikings stormed toward them.
Bullets answered but not in a quantity equal to the task. The Vikings made it half way across the clearing and appeared poised to overrun the position. If they did, the aliens could sweep into the rear area and effectively strangle the ragtag army.
"Keep shooting! Keep shooting!"
Trevor followed the advice Shepherd yelled to the defenders. He leaned against a Maple tree and fired a trio of shots into the approaching force. The added bullets from his gun seemed little more than extra pebbles thrown into a tidal surge.
Something whizzed near his head. A chunk of bark exploded from the tree. Trevor dropped to the ground pinned by heavy enemy fire that…suddenly…stopped.
A sound like a buzz saw played over a bullhorn filled his ears. Another sound followed almost immediately: A yell. No, a cheer.
Trevor pulled his head from the ground. The forward ranks of the enemy army lay in ruins in the open field.
A shadow flashed over those bodies.
Two metallic birds of prey swept over the killing ground, cannons dealing destruction to anything that dared move in the open.
Trevor raced forward and pumped his fist at the enemy then toward the choppers.
That’s my girl!
Exuberance turned to horror.
Two contrails streaked from the southern side of the field. The rockets at the front of those contrails slammed into Bragg’s helicopter and then Nina’s. The former banked right and headed northwest, smoke blowing from its side. The latter fell fast as its rear rotor shattered.
He watched helplessly as Nina’s chopper descended toward the killing ground between the lines. A rumble in the earth announced the crash and a ball of smoke curled to the heavens.
Trevor ran. As he pushed through the forest, his radio broadcast chatter between commanders: "We’ve got a chopper down on the highway. Stonewall, check it out."
"I am already en route."
"Oh Christ! Second chopper went down in the field. Shit, that’s Nina. Who’s over there?"
"I can see her. Bird's on fire. Someone better get over there before they do!"
Trevor’s legs drove like pistons. Low hanging branches and early summer brush scraped against his bare arms and cheeks.
"Bragg is okay, but his chopper is done. How’s Nina?"
"They’re right on her! Someone better move! Now!"
The ball of smoke where her Apache had fallen grew larger as he ran closer. Soon he heard an exchange of gunfire and smelled the oily scent of burning aviation fuel.
Trevor stopped on the human side of the killing zone. Ahead of him in a field of cut brush lay the wreckage of Nina’s attack helicopter. The entire rear third of the machine had crumpled, the cockpit torn open. Viking warriors braved human fire to inspect the wreck.
"Trevor."
He turned to the sound of her voice.
Nina, dressed in a green flight suit and wearing patches of black soot on her face, stood behind friendly lines.
"You-you’re okay?"
All the air leapt from his lungs. He placed both hands on his knees.
"I’m okay. Thanks to this guy."
Evan stood next to her, a rifle in hand.
"Evan?" Trevor tried to grasp what had happened. "You pulled her out of there?"
Trevor realized the surprise in his tone probably insulted Godfrey, so he stood straighter and spoke in a firm voice, "Well done, Evan."
Godfrey shrugged and walked away.
– The Vikings came again a half-hour later, but not as aggressively. Instead of charging toward the battlements, they took position on their side of the killing ground and fired bursts.
A Viking or two fell, so did a human or two.
That low-intensity attack lasted twenty minutes before the invaders withdrew.
Early in the afternoon the aliens did the same, this time sending raiders toward the defenses but they quickly retreated after drawing fire.
The Vikings lobbed their strange artillery shells against the human fortifications, but the thick cover of the trees smothered the effect. Human mortar shells proved equally ineffective.
More attacks came mid and late afternoon.
Trevor, Shep, and Brewer hurried forces from place to place in anticipation of a heavy assault that never materialized; only mild skirmishes.
After another meager attack, Shep observed, "Seems to me they’re bleedin’ us dry."
Trevor and Brewer stood alongside him under a sagging Maple tree. From there they watched Viking scouts fire potshots before backing off.
Brewer agreed, "Wow, yeah, they took out that supply convoy now they’re making us waste all our ammo."
Shepherd asked, "So what we gunna do about it?"
Trevor studied the ground ahead: a cleared killing zone gently sloping to the south into the woods where the aliens mustered.
Behind him, more woods followed by another slope as mountain number two descended northward into a small, thin valley of golden grass on either side of a shallow stream. On the far side of that stream, mountain number three rose on a densely forested and rocky hillside. Atop that mountain waited the last line of trenches and barricades.
"I have an idea," Trevor told them. "Let’s run away."
– "Here they come…steady…steady," Trevor encouraged the troops manning the bulwarks.
A first, then a second, then a storm of alien shots sprayed toward the emplacements. Human rifles answered the challenge but that answer lacked the fury of previous exchanges.
Jon Brewer’s voice came over Trevor’s radio: "They’re hitting us here, too. This is it."
Trevor nodded to himself as he watched a wave of Viking attackers flow into and across the open ground. The enemy’s ponchos morphed from gray to a near honey-color as they crossed the killing zone under the golden rays of an evening sun.
Stone glanced at the handful of men and women lining the trenches. Most of those who had volunteered to stay behind were pre-doomsday soldiers but a few wore tattered civilian clothes instead of army-issued fatigues.
The balance of his force had already retreated to the last mountain. He knew for his plan to have maximum effect, the enemy needed to remain oblivious to this fact.
"Shep," Trevor transmitted. "What about you?"
Shepherd’s radioed reply came with a melody of gunshots playing as background music.
"Oh yeah, they’re coming. I reckon the whole bunch of em’ are-hey! Hold fast! Gotta go Trev, waitin’ on your order."
Alien pellets bounced off the tree limbs above Trevor’s head. Scattered rifle and pistol rounds blasted a reply.
A Viking soldier clutched his chest and fell to the ground. His comrades swarmed around the body with a determination Trevor had not seen in the previous skirmishes that day.
Yes. This is it.
A scream grabbed his attention.
A chubby woman wearing a plaid shirt stumbled from behind a cut tree that served as a barricade. She clutched her right eye with one hand while a hunting rifle dangled absently from the other. Blood poured from the wound as she staggered and screamed. Confused and disorientated, she accidentally wobbled forward into the field. Before anyone could retrieve her, Viking slugs finished the job.
When they reached the halfway point in their march across the tree stumps and chopped brush, the Vikings hollered and sprinted forward.
Trevor raised his radio and ordered, "Fall back! Fall back!"
The enemy intensified their fire as they closed for the kill. One, two, three and more of the defenders took hits first in the front then in their backs as they turned.
Stone lobbed a grenade into the vanguard of his foe. The detonation knocked two of the warriors to the ground but the rest of the mob paid the blast no mind.
"Go! Go! Go!" he encouraged his followers as they withdrew from the ramparts.
Trevor waited as long as he dare, but when the aliens climbed the downed trees and piled rocks serving as the second line of defense, he could wait no more. He joined the flight to the rear; racing alongside his soldiers just as he knew Shep and Jon raced alongside the men and women who manned the flanks.
Not satisfied with merely overrunning the position, the aliens pursued.
The dense forest provided some cover, but more soldiers fell victim to the attackers. Trevor and the others kept running, leaving behind the injured and their pleads for help.
The retreating mob crested the hill and then stumbled and hopped down the other side. Thick forest gave way to brush and then tall grass as the descent smoothed to a gentler grade.
The Vikings still pursued, closing the gap between predators and prey.
"Faster! Faster!"
Trevor saw one middle-aged man stumble and roll. A sickening crack from his leg meant he would not get up again.
A woman on his right staggered but found her balance; a soldier to his left leapt over a boulder only to be hit square in the back by an alien round.
The brush thinned into a field of grass. The mountainside became a small valley. Human feet splashed through the shallow stream there. The plop and ping of projectiles left no doubt the pursuers remained close.
Trevor shouted encouragement as he reached the northern bank where another grassy slope beckoned. His legs wobbled wearily. Could he possibly climb fast enough to escape?
Despite his fatigue, he rallied his troops forward. Patches of dirt burst into the air as enemy slugs hit the slope ahead.
The humans chugged up the mountain, trying to reach the relative cover of the tree line.
More screams as slower runners were thinned from the retreating ranks.
Trevor heard the splash of Viking boots in the stream. He heard their cry…
No, not their cry.
Woh-who-ey!..woh-who-ey!
Stonewall’s brigades slammed into the Viking front on both flanks like a vice. The cavalry bore down on the foot soldiers caught in the wide-open terrain of the small valley. While only three dozen in number, the sudden appearance of the imposing mounted soldiers and their devilish rebel yell decapitated the alien offensive.
Horse hoofs splashed through the stream. Carbines fired and swords swung. The bones of trampled aliens snapped under the strong legs of galloping steeds. Stonewall himself swooped in and lopped off a poncho’d head.
The tip of the aliens’ spear lost cohesion and splintered into small groups while the mass of the Viking force-their confidence battered- halted their charge.
Stonewall holstered his sword and pulled a revolver. He squeezed off shot after shot as he maneuvered his ride halfway up the slope in pursuit of fleeing aliens. The gallant General cornered another foe against a tree, raised his gun, and… click.
"Oh dear heavens…"
The Viking confidently raised his rifle for an easy kill.
Thwump.
A thrown knife plunged into the chest of the enemy fighter who groaned and fell.
Stonewall turned to see Kristy Kaufman on horseback.
"Why Miss Kaufman, I do believe I’m in your debt."
"That’s Ms."
He bowed then surveyed his handiwork: dozens of Vikings lay dead in the valley with several more squirming and moaning as their life bled out. A swarm of K9s hastened their end.
"Gave them a bloody nose, we did," Kristy cheered as she and the General returned toward friendly lines. "They’ll think twice before hitting us again."
"Hmm…I wish I shared your optimism. I fear our foes have a keen grasp of combat. This is but a temporary setback. Indeed, they will blame their losses on their overabundance of enthusiasm. When the smoke clears, they will realize they still hold all the advantages."
Stonewall gazed toward the top of the densely wooded hill. The last hill.
"Our mounts will be of little use now. I fear this will become a bloody mess soon."
"We’ll find a way, General."
McAllister glanced at the empty pistol in his hand.
"I hope whatever 'way' we find is not overly dependent on bullets."
– Trevor passed his 'soldiers' en route to a hastily constructed command tent. He listened as he moved and heard groans of pain, forlorn sobs, and snippets of conversations.
"…yeah, and a year ago I was at a company golf outing in Myrtle Beach, now look at me-toting a shotgun and shooting aliens. Ain’t that some kind of shit?"
"I can’t believe he’s gone. I saw him. He was running and they shot him in the back…"
"Don’t tell me to calm down! I don’t want to be calm, goddamnit!"
"Shhh…listen…me and a couple of the others are going to sneak off before morning."
He tried to block it out but he could not block out the truth of their situation.
"One clip here."
"Need pistol ammo! Anyone got any?"
"A twenty-two? That’s all I got left to fight with is a friggin’ twenty-two?"
Trevor pushed through the flaps of the tent and walked in on Stonewall reporting a best guess to Nina, Shep, Brewer, Prescott, and the Reverend: "I believe that last action by the stream dwindled the enemy’s numbers so that they no longer hold a significant numerical advantage."
Brewer lamented, "That’s great, but as it stands, we’ve got about five seconds of ammo left once they decide to come up here."
Reverend Johnny added, "I fear even with adequate caches of munitions we would be no match for this lot in our current state. Doom circles this camp like a vulture."
Before Trevor could say a word, a new voice joined the discussion as Benny Duda stuck his head through the canvas flaps of the tent.
"Um, Mr. Stone, there’s someone here who wants to speak to you."
Stone waved his hand in annoyance, "Well, send him in."
"I don’t think you want me to do that."
Jerry Shepherd cocked an eye and asked, "Why? Who is it?"
"It’s one of them."
– Trevor Stone followed the alien messenger on a return trip to the top of the second mountain. He had accepted the invitation over the animated objections of his Generals. Indeed, Johnny offered enough synonyms for treachery to fill a thesaurus.
Nevertheless, Trevor felt he had no choice. At the very least, the cease-fire allowed his troops to rest. If the aliens killed him, he would merely die a few hours before the others.
Stone followed his guide to a canvass structure surprisingly similar in material and design to his own command tent. Around that tent loitered poncho-wearing guards as well as two elephant-sized lizards loaded with packs.
The messenger pulled a string; the loosely hanging door rolled open. A soft yellow light glowed from within.
Trevor sighed and entered.
Three of the puffy-cheeked aliens waited there, dressed in humble brown cloth uniforms.
One of them stood a pace in front of the others. He stood out even more by way of his eyes: instead of two green eyes like the others, this leader had one green and one hazel, giving the otherwise docile-looking creature an intimidating glare.
Small, lighted orbs flickered from the corners. An oval table made from a plastic-like substance sat against one wall, and long scrolls of paper cluttered a circular storage rack.
The enemy leader held a small microphone-like translator to his mouth. His lips moved as he spoke into the device. A half-second delay separated the sweet-flowing dialect of the invader from the synthesized English translation.
"I welcome you, noble leader of my brave opponents. You may address me as Fromm, Force Commander."
One of the officers handed a similar device to Trevor. He rolled it in his hand, peered closely at its mesh cover, and then spoke. His English words morphed into a computerized translation of the alien language: "Um…I accepted your invitation despite the risk. I wanted to-"
"There is no risk." Trevor’s words struck a cord of annoyance with Fromm and his officers. "My people honor the sanctity of parlay."
Before the translator spoke ‘parlay,’ Trevor heard the raw alien word. It sounded something akin to swashloo.
"We pledge to protect you while you are here at our invitation."
An honorable people.
Trevor spoke slowly so the device could accurately translate his words.
"Why have you come to my world?"
"That is a question greater than this conversation. The truth is that we are here. The truth is that we have been granted rights to parts of this world. This is not a matter for discussion."
Trevor wanted to ask more. What did that mean, rights? Was the Earth to be parceled to various aliens the way North America had been divided among the European powers hundreds of years ago? Was humanity the equivalent of the Native Americans of that time?
Apparently, such questions would have to wait.
"Then why have you brought me here?"
Fromm explained, "Your forces are defeated. Your supplies are low; your numbers have dwindled. It is a custom among my people to respect our enemies when they have exhibited the type of cunning and bravery your people have shown, despite an untenable position. Therefore, we offer to accept your surrender and provide your followers with a quick, pain-free death."
Trevor pinched his nose.
"Let me get this straight. You think we should just give up and let you execute us?"
"Dying on the battlefield can be a miserable death. I am offering your people the dignity of a painless end to their lives. It is our way of honoring the gallantry of your fighters."
Stone shook his head. His eyes narrowed. The free hand not holding the translating device jabbed a finger toward the enemy commander.
"Let me tell you our way. We fight. We fight for our lives and our world. We do not walk silently to our deaths. Our race thrives on pain. The pain of being born. The pain of living. The pain of losing…of losing things and people we care about. It’s the nature of our existence. You cannot cower us with the threat of pain. You only stiffen our resolve. My advice to you is to withdraw as fast as you can."
Trevor failed to intimidate his counterpart but Fromm’s expression of tightly pressed lips and several long blinks suggested disappointment.
"I am surprised you lack the wisdom to accept my offer. I wonder how is it you became the Force Commander of your people?"
"I have no fucking idea whatsoever."
– The third and last day of the Battle of Five Armies dawned.
Not long after sunrise Trevor, having returned unmolested to his own lines the night before, received reports of mustering enemy forces.
He sat next to Nina in the cool shade of the woods as she cleaned her rifle and he searched for the thousandth time for a plan.
If they withdrew, the Vikings would pursue, catching them in the midst of retreat or-if they dared move into the open-blasting them with their deadly catapults. These aliens meant to finish the job, on the mountain or otherwise.
If they stayed, the Vikings would attack the fortifications in force. Defending those lines, despite a lack of ammunition, appeared the best alternative on a short list of bad options.
"Well, rifle is all clean. Too bad I’ve only got five shots."
She gave him a peck on the cheek. Trevor wondered if she welcomed the looming battle, despite the desperate odds. Perhaps she liked the idea of dying with her memories intact more than living without them.
Trevor shook such thoughts away. He could not afford daydreams of love, not when so much rode on the minutes ahead.
Brewer marched off to survey the west flank; Shep made for the eastern side. Reverend Johnny, in the meantime, approached Trevor. The big man carried his flamethrower.
"Blasted thing is out of fuel," it clanged as he threw it behind a tree. Before Trevor could react, Johnny produced a baseball bat. "But I have a back up plan, praise the Lord."
"Not bad, Rev," Nina smirked.
"On another topic, despite my dire predictions it appears that less than a dozen of our number slipped away in the darkness last night. I am sure the All Mighty will harshly judge their cowardice, but he has blessed the remainder of our ranks with the courage to stand fast."
"I fear, Rev, that most of our army has simply accepted defeat; they’re too tired to run."
They watched Stonewall maneuver through the woods on horseback. The thick tree roots presented stumbling blocks for horse hoofs and the low hanging branches swiped at his head.
Stonewall grunted in frustration, dismounted, tied the horse to a branch, and walked to the three. Trevor stood to great him.
The General in the confederate officer’s uniform came to perfect attention, saluted, and announced, "It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that the enemy is on the march. I have observed them descending their mountain toward the valley that separates our positions. No doubt they will be joining us shortly."
Trevor closed his eyes.
So this is it. This is where humanity makes its last stand.
Nina asked, "How many of them?"
"Hmm? Oh, well, all of them, my dear. Close to two hundred."
Nina sounded unduly optimistic as she noted, "Look, thanks to that pasting you gave them in the valley yesterday I figure they're hitting us with a lot less than they would have."
Stonewall appreciated the mention but saddened to say that, "While Miss Forest speaks the truth, I fear we may not have two hundred bullets among us."
Trevor's frustration surfaced. He turned and pounded a fist into a tree.
"Damn it. We were so close!"
Nina rubbed his shoulder and consoled, "You did everything you could."
"Indeed," Reverend Johnny shared the moment. "Our maneuver to rest the initiative from the aliens on all fronts gave us a prayer of hope."
Trevor thought about that decision. Stonewall had mentioned the battle of Gettysburg and how the Union army occupied the high ground on the first day. That move proved decisive. Unfortunately, not this time. This time…
His legs wobbled; his head spun.
Trevor closed his eyes and tasted the bitter scent of gunpowder fired more than a century before. He heard soldiers pleading for ammunition that would not come. He heard the battle cry of an enemy climbing a mountain one last time to finish a line of defenders who had survived wave after wave of previous attacks.
His legs steadied. His mind stopped spinning.
Trevor opened his eyes and faced his friends who eyed him suspiciously.
"Stonewall, tell me about Little Round Top."
"Pardon me, Sir? Did you say ‘Little Round Top’?"
"The second day at Gettysburg. Joshua Chamberlain and the 20 ^ th Maine were in a predicament similar to ours’. What did he do?"
After a moment of reflection, General McAllister smiled.
"They did something very foolish, Sir."
– Trevor called in the far-flung ranks of his lines, gathered his officers, and shared his plan. Most stood and listened vacantly. Trevor did not know if that vacancy came because they could not believe the audacity of his plan, or if they were too far gone to hear.
The plan did not take much explaining. It was simple. And brutal.
He finished and surveyed his troops.
Troops?
The sorry survivors formed a thick circle among the trees and makeshift fortifications. Shopkeepers and bus drivers and restaurant managers dressed in a hodgepodge of jeans and t-shirts, boots and tennis shoes, brandishing hunting rifles and pistols, clubs and knives. Even the professional soldiers left over from Prescott’s band no longer stood strong and confident.
"You must all understand it ends now. There is no retreat and if we stay here, we will be overwhelmed. There is only one alternative: forward. "
The collection of vacant eyes widened as if to suggest that while they had followed Trevor Stone so far, they might not be ready to follow him any further.
"I’d rather die with my hands on the enemy’s throat then cower behind a wall. I will show that enemy the face of his nightmares. He has come to my world and killed my people. He will see the FURY in my eyes."
A voice of despair cried out, "We have no more bullets!"
"Idon’t need bullets!"
Trevor’s bellow came from somewhere deep inside his person. The part, he figured, where the Old Man had found his killer.
"For thousands of years we have fought each other. For what? To prepare us for this day! The battlegrounds of Troy and Gallipoli; of Tarawa and Trafalgar; all to prepare us for now. The poets have written of our warlike nature for a reason: To be VICTORIOUS HERE."
Trevor glanced at Nina. She stood still but he could see every muscle in her body tighten in anticipation of the fight to come.
He returned his attention to his 'army'.
"It is time to decide. WILL YOU FIGHT?"
A few vacant eyes glowed alive. Isolated murmurs of ‘yes’ danced through the crowd.
"For our slaughtered families…for the enslaved children…for your lost lovers and murdered brothers…you are DEMONS waiting to be set loose."
More eyes filled with life. Heads nodded in approval.
"Think of all you lost. Think of what they have taken from you. Look at what they have made us! Who took our homes? Who killed our children? They are guilty! All of them! And they expect us to roll over and die? I say NO! They will take NOTHING MORE FROM ME!"
The words raced from his lips and he felt the power. It surprised Trevor that he could find the nerves to touch, the buttons to push. As he watched, he saw that ragtag army change into a mob of murderers.
Yes, maybe that was his gift. He could turn people into killers. Is that what the Old Man saw in him?
It did not matter. The ends, Trevor now realized, justified the means. He would turn them into barbarians if he needed to for it was his charge to save mankind in the name of all who had died in the flames of Armageddon.
"Unleash your hate now and…and…AND SLAUGHTER THE ENEMY! LET THIS BE THEIR GRAVEYARD! MAKE THIS THE DAY THE TIDE TURNED AND MAN’S VENGEANCE WAS DELIVERED TO THE INVADERS!"
Clenched fists and raised rifles pumped in the air.
Woody "Bear" Ross stepped forward.
"Three cheers for Trevor Stone!"
"Hoo-rah! Hoo-rah! Hoo-rah!"
Trevor shouted: "I’M TIRED OF WAITING FOR THOSE SONS-A-BITCHES! LET'S GO AND KICK THEIR ASS OFF OUR WORLD! NO MERCY! KILL THEM ALL! EVERY LAST FUCKING ONE OF THEM!"
The soldiers-policemen and garbage collectors, salesmen and teachers-roared in anger. Trevor had conjured the faces of dead friends, dead brothers and sisters, moms and dads, sons and daughters. They remembered living under the yoke of slavery and running in terror from ghastly creatures.
No more hiding. No more running. A thousand wrongs ached for vengeance.
"Sir, you may need this," Stonewall handed one of his Civil War era swords to Trevor. "Now I am prepared to follow you straight to Hell."
The weight of the blade felt good in Trevor’s hands. Natural.
Trevor sought out and locked eyes with Nina. He saw his lover there. He also saw a wolf.
"Nina…this is your moment. Seize it."
She smiled a smile to chill the darkest heart.
Trevor raised his sword.
"Charge!"
Benny Duda played the corresponding melody on his trumpet. The mass poured from higher to lower, roaring across the open killing field and into the woods below.
So many nightmares had come to Earth. So many hideous beasts and terrible creatures.
They had made one mistake: they had awoken the most horrible of beasts. They had awoken the vengeance of mankind. The day of reckoning had come. Man would no longer run and hide. Man was coming after the nightmares. Hunting them.
The ground trembled as the human stampede practically fell down the hill and collided with the alien army amidst the trees and rocky ground of the mountainside.
The forward tier of the Viking force stopped, stunned into inaction by the brazenness of the assault. The enemy raised rifles but had little time to fire for Trevor’s legion smashed into them not as a cohesive military formation but as a murderous, savage mob.
A few quick pops of rifle fire echoed through the dense forest; an explosion sent a trio of poncho-clad soldiers flying. However, the weapons of modern battle were quickly discarded in favor of more barbaric means: knives and rifle butts and swords and fists and teeth and fingernails and anything that could wound and kill.
This was no genius tactical maneuver. It was a frenzied swarm. Barbaric.
Unexpected.
Trevor spent his last five pistol shots as he raced forward, and then swung his sword. It cut through ponchos easily.
Brewer strangled a Viking fighter with his bare hands. Shep fired shotgun blasts until out of shot, and then swung the gun like a club.
"At the wrath of the LORD of hosts the land quakes, and the people are like FUEL FOR FIRE; No man spares his brother, each DEVOURS the flesh of his neighbor," boomed Revered Johnny as he swung his baseball bat with both hands.
Woody "Bear" Ross snapped the neck of one of the enemy. Cassy Simms held two pistols and fired and fired and fired while laughing hysterically.
The K9s bit and clawed, shredding disorientated Viking warriors into tatters.
Dustin McBride wrestled the gun off a foe then used it to pummel the creature to death.
"THAT’S ALL FOLKS!" Casey roared as he drove a bayonet into one of the poncho-wearing villains.
Stonewall joined the fray, skewering an enemy through the chest.
The Vikings returned fire in a chaotic fashion. Their columns had been prepared to thrust at a static defensive line, not repel a horde. They marched toward the mountaintop expecting to find a defeated, demoralized enemy' not maddened demons at close quarters.
For her part, Nina killed with precision.
While still jogging down the slope, she raised her M4 and squeezed the trigger once. A single bullet killed a single enemy.
She darted to her left as a pellet buzzed past her head, then back to her right to dodge another. Her weapon rose. Her eye found the mark. The trigger pulled. A bullet pierced a goggle on her opponent.
She raced forward again. Two Vikings-staggering backward in the face of the onslaught-noticed her approach. Their magnetic rifles discharged. She spun and jumped and rolled behind an Oak. The unfriendly rounds tore away tree bark.
Nina popped out on one knee, fired her third shot and with it killed a third alien; the gray and black colored poncho rolled lifelessly away.
The other enemy fired with shaky hands. His shots missed high. She launched her fourth of five bullets. It missed. The alien stepped behind the tree in search of cover.
Nina immediately took to her feet and sprinted around the other side of that tree. The sound of raging battle filling the forest hid the crunches of her feet on dried twigs and leaves. She surprised the alien from behind, placing the last of her five bullets into his skull at point blank range. The top of the poncho exploded into mess.
She pulled the extraterrestrial’s rifle from his dead hands and gazed at its slender, plain barrel and the oddly shaped firing mechanism. She did not understand the weapon's rate of fire, how to clean it, or even how to reload it. Nonetheless, she understood triggers well enough. She understood barrels.
The natural-born soldier raised the strange rifle and fired at the nearest enemy fighter. She felt no recoil, only a small vibration. No smoke discharged. No casing ejected. Yet the result was familiar: one of her enemies crumpled to the ground.
Nina charged again, further down the slope, hunting for her next victim. Her eyes sorted through the churning chaos of intertwined combatants and gave it order. She lived for the fight. Now she fought not because it was all she knew, but because she had so much to fight for. She fought for the right to live. She fought for the love she felt for Trevor. She fought for her people, not as an outcast warrior but as one with them.
Nina waded into the battle knowing that when the alien gun ran dry, she could turn to her knife and should that break she would use her bare hands.
Trevor led the mob of enraged humanity and chased the Vikings not only down the slope, not only over the stream and fields of the valley below, but also back up the second mountain.
The aliens ran in terror from the devils that pursued. They screamed in horror as they realized how horrid the monsters they had unleashed. They cried with fatal regret that they had dared come to this planet of death.
The Vikings ran faster and more fearful than any man had run from any of the nightmares that had descended upon that world.
They reached the top of the hill.
Fromm stepped from behind a tree and took aim at Trevor.
Trevor threw his sword. It pierced the Force Commander’s neck.
The remaining Viking warriors-some pleading in an alien language for their lives-were slaughtered without mercy. Their blood filled puddles across the mountain.
Trevor grabbed the dying body of Fromm and carried it on top of a red rock cropping at the crown of the mountain. His rage burned. His followers gathered.
Trevor found the strength of all mankind. He lifted the commander skyward above his head as the alien gurgled blood and clutched at air.
"IS THIS THE BEST YOU CAN DO? IS THIS ALL THERE IS?"
He tossed the dead body to the ground. It thudded and rolled off.
Trevor raised his arms toward the summer sky. He shook his fists at the mysterious forces of the universe that had orchestrated Armageddon. He hollered a barbaric roar. A roar that echoed from the mountain and over the treetops and across the land.
The aliens and creatures from other worlds that heard that roar trembled.