Instead of dealing with the intangibles, he re-examined the basic equation.
He knew Stonewall counted fifty riders in his two brigades and currently harassed the enemy flanks. Half of Shep’s remaining force worked under Johnny’s whip atop ‘Alpha’ hill. Most of the other one hundred hurriedly prepared a second line on ‘Bravo’ hill.
A third hill still waited to be transformed into the final line. Shep understood that victory did not depend on stopping the Vikings at the first line, or the second. It depended on reinforcements from Jon Brewer and Trevor before the Vikings could overrun the third. That, of course, depended in turn on Jon’s ability to win a quick victory.
So many ifs. So little time.
– Jon Brewer knew he faced one of the most perplexing assignments given to any military commander in history: defeat a pack of giant robots. He had to do it with one hundred human fighters resembling a ragtag militia armed with carbines, shotguns, and a few alien firearms, two of the captured Redcoat artillery pieces, and a half dozen armored vehicles including Strykers, Bradleys, and an Abrams tank.
His arsenal also included a full ton of the Redcoats’ explosive powder synthesized from Omar’s salvaged matter transfiguration machine. A little of that powder would be used to operate the artillery. Jon found other uses for the rest of the volatile chemical.
The field of battle? A 1970’s vintage shopping mall with Bon Ton and Sears anchor stores surrounded by a large parking lot.
To his advantage, Jon easily discerned the enemy’s approach: the robots would continue along Route 115 descending a mountain road into the valley leading to a major intersection north of the mall where the Cross Valley Expressway, Kidder Street, and Interstate 81 converged.
He prepared his forward positions on a grassy slope overlooking that intersection. The land there further aided his cause in that Rt. 115 led into the intersection via a long straightaway.
The first part of Jon’s plan placed abandoned cars on that patch of straight road.
Boylen-the big Irish guy-rigged those cars with explosives.
Jon, laying prone on the grassy bank at the intersection, raised his field glasses to survey the car bombs on the road ahead. Boylen sat nearby checking a makeshift detonator board.
Brewer muttered, "Wow, well, I hope this does the trick."
Major Tom Prescott's voice broadcast over the radio: "Hey Brewer, you out there?"
Jon answered the call, "Yeah, Tom, please don’t tell me the roof gave way."
"Relax; you got the US Army on the job. Both of the guns are up on the mall’s roof and, yeah, they’re holding. But, pardon my French, this was one heck of a job."
Jon relaxed… a little. The demo charges were in place and the artillery pieces were exactly where he wanted them. Two less things to worry about.
Nothing left to do now but wait for the 'Roachbots' to make contact.
– The Red Hands swarmed south on Route 11 like army ants. Several dozen human slaves-shackled-shambled along in the midst of that swarm porting sacks for their masters.
To the north of Pittston, Route 11 ran on the eastern side of the Susquehanna River. However, as it moved into the quaint downtown stretch of that small town’s Main Street, the route crossed the river via two bridges.
The northern most of those two bridges crossed to the same intersection where Trevor had first met Reverend Johnny during the battle with The Order’s missionary. The second-a quarter mile south of the first-led to a sedate riverside neighborhood.
A solitary Humvee with a fifty-caliber machine gun sped along on 11 hurrying north. Dante drove. Wind whipped through Trevor’s shoulder-length hair as he stood in the cupola.
Trevor heard Dante’s voice crackle in his earpiece, "So, man, what’s this plan again?"
Dante had asked the question five times and each time he sounded more skeptical.
"Relax, Miss, we’ve got a couple of Apaches covering us."
Dante snickered at the insult before reminding, "Right. Me, you, and two helicopters against thousand of these guys. Yeah, I’m relaxed, man."
"Odds will get better once we get back to West Pittston. Then we’ve got the K9s."
"You mean, IF we get back, right?"
Trevor directed Dante to park in a gas station next to dry pumps.
The minutes ticked away until at 2 p.m. on June 2, the battle began.
First came the sound: a vibration. The noise of two thousand pale warriors dressed in animal skins jogging forward. They came as if a flood, filling side streets, pouring around trees, trampling bushes, climbing over dead automobiles, crossing porches, and knocking aside trashcans and human bones left in the aftermath of Armageddon.
The rumble grew to a pounding stampede. Windows on houses shook; cans on vacant store shelves rattled; a plastic number ‘9’ on the gas station marquee fluttered to the ground.
"Oh Christ."
Trevor ignored Dante’s curse. His eyes remained transfixed on the approaching surge.
"Um…Trev..?"
Just as Dante seemed ready to bolt, Trevor brought the gun to life.
The heavy weapon fired furiously sending a vibration through Trevor's body and the entire vehicle. Shell casings flew to the pavement and blasts of fire flashed from the barrel.
Massive rounds tore into the line of Red Hands; a line so thick Trevor could not miss even at one-hundred yards. The shots sent gushes of red gore into the air and cut torsos in two.
He swayed the gun side to side. The hail of destruction obliterated a porch post. A second later, the roof there collapsed in a cloud of splintering wood and dust.
The Red Hands did not waver even as the lead row of their army disintegrated. Bows pulled taught. Axes rose above screaming heads. Elongated fingers gripped spears and charged.
"Trev…Trevor!"
"Wait!" Trevor shouted into the microphone to be heard above the clatter of the gun.
More savages fell. He blasted the legs off one, the head off another. Yet they still came! Even with the gore of their brethren splashing on their shoulders and cheeks, the warriors refused to retreat. Indeed, the carnage appeared to encourage their charge.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Dante gunned the gas, cranked the wheel, and raced south on the road. An arrow clanged off the bumper of the Humvee; an errant spear rattled the pavement behind.
The Red Hands raced forward as if their legs might catch the fleeing motor car. However, their attention quickly changed.
One of the Apache gunships appeared in the sky above the battlefield. It dove fast with bullets ripping from its thirty-millimeter cannon. Warriors literally exploded. Some vainly tossed spears or shot arrows at the chopper but the bulk sought cover in houses and storefronts.
The attack helicopter veered away after the Humvee had completed its escape.
With the roar of the machine gun temporarily silenced, Trevor realized how heavy he breathed. He still felt the vibration of the weapon in his bones; his gloved hands felt numb.
Trevor caught his breath and spied the parking lot of an old lumberyard. He banged on the roof of the speeding Humvee and ordered, "Okay. Stop here and wait for them to catch up."
Dante's voice quivered as he asked, "We gotta do this again?"
"Dante, old buddy, we’re going to be doing this for a while."
– "Saddle up!" Stonewall commanded as alien small arms fire rat-tat-tatted against the wooden walls of the living room in the old farmhouse.
That house faced the western flank of I-81. Stonewall’s cavalry had occupied it an hour earlier to take potshots at the marching Vikings.
At first, only a handful of alien scouts exchanged fire with the ‘First Brigade.’ Then the better part of a column joined the fray. Garrett decided to withdraw before the enemy brought heavy weapons to bear or rushed his outnumbered skirmishers.
Kristy Kaufman, wearing a safari outfit complete with Aussie cowboy hat, crept across the grungy room to inform, "Everyone is ready, General."