As they neared the overpass, the first rounds of sniper fire came. The reinforced glass at the front of the bikes deflected those shots, making for black scars and cracked windshields.
One shot hit the top of a rider’s helmet leaving a smoking hole in place of the upper half of his head. The body fell to the pavement and rolled under the wheels of his brethren. The rider-less bike swerved wildly off into a drainage ditch.
Further north from the main checkpoint more guns came to life, some of a rapid-fire design and a few of a heavier caliber.
Bolts of plasma fired away from the barricade, under the overpass, and into the approaching bikers. Most of the smaller shots either missed or deflected away. One of the larger blasts launched from a powerful cannon smashed into the pavement just in front of one of the heavy cavalrymen. The biker and rider went airborne flying dozens of feet front wheel over back and spinning into the overpass.
The attackers passed under the overpass below the Duass snipers and raced toward the main barricade. As they neared, Armand calmly ordered, “Prepare to split..”
Enemy fire intensified claiming more kills but the cavalry responded with more speed and more intensity.
Faster-engines roaring-sizzling blobs of energy flying overhead and around and into the lead riders-alien tongues shouted commands-throttles revved-enemy infantry at the gel-wall instinctively ducked for cover as the speeding mass bore down-and then brakes and squeals and the smell of burning rubber.
Half of the attacking cavalry turned east, the other half west both running parallel to the boundary. As they changed course several of the ‘heavy cavalry’ soldiers lobbed canisters in front of the barricade. An instant later clouds of protective smoke billowed across where A75 met the Duass wall.
The ducks responded with glowing spheres the size of Ping-Pong balls. These grenades detonated, tossing bikers from their rides and splintering motorcycles into piles of burning steel. A few of the cavalry fired pot shots from machine pistols and hand guns, but they refused to sacrifice speed for firepower. Speed was the essence. Speed meant life.
The veil of white smoke rose like a curtain at the center of the defensive line. The bikers raced in opposite directions creating a different kind of cloud: a cloud of dirt and dust and exhaust.
As the last riders turned away from the barricade, they dropped bundles of explosives that bounced into the wall of solidified jell and came to rest at the center point, hidden from enemy view by the smoke. There the devices waited…
Alexander led Trevor and JB to the shaded park off the terrace at the Hotel le Parc. There-and on the streets nearby-mustered a column of military vehicles. The knowledge imparted to Trevor from his DNA database found entries for most.
He identified a pair of French-built Panhard AML armored cars with the fading remains of “U.N.” paint, one sporting a 90 millimeter barrel the other with dual 20 millimeter weapons for use as an anti-aircraft vehicle; three MOWAG Eagle military cars-based on American Hummer chassis-with what appeared to be anti-tank weapons mounted atop; four six-wheeled Finnish Sisu-Pasi amphibious armored personnel carriers, one of which sported some kind of homemade mortars; two Spanish Pegaso BMR APCs; and a dozen SUVs, some towing small artillery pieces and all hauling soldiers.
It occurred to Trevor that the vehicles ran on wheels, not treads. Alexander had left the Leopard tanks in the motor pool, choosing speed over outright firepower.
Their host led them to one of the half-dozen Sherpas at the rear of the convoy. The one they entered lacked a roof; the others brandished heavy machine guns.
Trevor noticed that Alexander kept closing and opening his one free hand (the other carried his ever-present clipboard) in a fist, repeatedly, as if exercising his fingers. He realized that the action came from nerves when Alexander said, “This had better pay off, Trevor. Even with your shipments our fuel resources are scarce. We have carefully shepherded them, preparing for our next offensive.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed. I see that civilians around here walk, use bikes, or ride horses. Very little vehicles.”
“We do not have access to those alien matter transformation machines you possess. Most of our petroleum resources came from Italian shale oil refined through Schwedt, Germany all the way over on the Polish border. Those facilities are still operating but the Duass and The Order have slowed our supply routes to a trickle. In other words-”
“In other words the gas we burn today may not be replaced for weeks, if ever.”
Alexander sat in the passenger seat, Trevor and Jorgie took the rear. A hard-nosed British Royal Marine slid behind the wheel and started the Renault truck. Meanwhile Hauser found a seat in one of the SUVs with a group of English soldiers who spoke his language.
The thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades pulled Trevor’s eyes skyward. Sunlight filtered through the trees in flickers. Rotating blades added to the strobe effect. As the convoy left the shade of the park he saw two helicopters circling overhead. The first was the green Eurocopter 135 transport that wore the iron cross of the German Bundeswehr. Trevor noted rocket pods affixed to the landing struts and an angry-looking soldier with a big gun leaning out an open side door.
The second bird impressed even more so: a 2-seat Tigre attack chopper wearing French colors.
“Look at it, Father!” Jorgie exclaimed excitedly. Certainly plastic soldiers on the table in the basement conference room back home could not compare to this experience.
The convoy picked up speed and moved quickly through Murol. Citizens hurried to the sidewalks and stared at the soldiers riding off to battle.
A skirmish line of Duass infantry hurried toward the eastern flank through overgrown brush and light forest to meet one end of the humans’ pincer movement. The sounds of the circling motorcycles echoed through the forest and grew louder-louder…
The attackers weaved through the trees aiming for the Duass encampment built on the highway. The smell of gasoline and the wake of dirt and rock tossed by the furious wheels made them seem like demons screaming out of Hell.
Alien soldiers fired. A shot knocked a rider from her saddle, breaking her neck around a thick, old tree and causing the motorcycle to split into front and back halves.
But the cavalry did not stop.
The heavy riders at the front pulled out their metal cylinders. In a series of smaller segments, those cylinders extended into metallic jousting lances twelve feet in length and anchored to the bars on their bikes.
First one then five of the alien fighters were impaled and then trampled. But the effect of the jousts-the sight of the devilish riders in heavy armor and wielding such a primitive and brutal weapon-caused more casualties from fear. The skirmish line broke apart. The motorcycles did not bother with them; they pushed toward the heart of the checkpoint; toward command and control.
That heart sat on the pavement of A75 1500 feet behind the front line and took the form of a trio of huts seemingly built from metal and a kind of glistening cardboard. Nearby, just to the west of the highway, were wooden racks filled with rectangular crates from which came the constant buzz and hum of insects; the equivalent of a Duass farm.
Several formations of alien infantry retreated from the front lines to protect the rear flank as the two pincers of bikers met behind the HQ and circled in toward the road.
A volley of plasma torched an entire squad of cavalry, leaving smoldering wheels and bloody leather behind.
A woman on the rear of a Suzuki super bike steadied her position with one hand on the driver’s waist while firing armor-piercing bullets from a Mach 10 in the other hand. She raked the enemy with bullets, killing three Duass and wounding several more.
One of the Duass fighters launched a large blob of energy from a shoulder-held tube. It hit one of the ATV’s. The vehicle burst into flames and the rider tumbled away.