Armand fired his FAMAS. The emboldened Duass re-thought their charge and took cover again. The Skiff, however, inched forward searching for targets to destroy.
At the barricade to the south, the smoke grenades dissipated and the skeleton line of defenders there spotted the new threat. A Duass officer and two grunts struggled to place a tri-pod mounted cannon in position to greet the convoy. The humans fired shells and machine guns in their direction.
Alexander, further back, judged the time to be right. He activated the transmitter a moment before the Duass’ gun came to life.
The explosive packages left by the riders detonated, immediately killing 20 Duass as a hole exploded through the wall of solidified gel.
The Finnish amphibious vehicles drove through first; their tires crunched over dead Duass as well as running over a few live ones. Enemy plasma bursts left marks-but nothing more-in the metallic hides.
Alexander’s car held back with the other Sherpas as the armored vehicles poured through the hole, firing machine guns and explosive shells almost continuously in the target-rich environment. At the same time, the transport trucks disembarked squads of infantry toting carbines and light machine guns.
The re-grouping Duass infantry that had poised to make a run at the cavalry now found itself stuck between a hammer and an anvil.
One of the Duass flying fighters launched an air-to-surface projectile that arrowed down from above and into one of the Spanish BMRs. The vehicle stopped moving and smoke poured from a gash in its side. Hatches opened and men evacuated; several fell to Duass plasma rifles and grenades.
Rapid fire from one of the Panhards’ 20mm turrets took the flyer by surprise and sent it spiraling into the treetops where it broke apart.
As the spearhead of the column fanned out to press the attack, 50 rounds spat from the side door of the Eurocopter transport as it circled above the battle.
The second Duass plane fell victim to a rocket-propelled grenade as it hovered to strafe Armand’s dismounted cavalry. As it crashed Armand saw that as a signal the tide had changed.
“Forward! Forward!”
Bikers came from the woods and attacked, forcing the Duass to retreat into a smaller and smaller parcel of alien-controlled real estate. Armand’s FAMAS hit targets one after another, most in the back.
The War Skiff moved to assist. Its cannon blew apart an ATV and its occupants.
Suddenly that Skiff rocked as a missile from the Tiger attack helicopter joined the fray. Smoke poured from the damage and licks of flames pushed through the vehicle’s body, indicating an inferno inside. A tiny door opened but before the crew could exit the entire Skiff blew apart from a secondary explosion.
While sitting in the Renault with Trevor and JB, Alexander received a radio signal beckoning him forward. The marine behind the wheel drove them through the barricade.
As they inched ahead, JB intensely eyed the battlefield.
Duass and human vehicles burned; scorch marks all across the pavement of the road and the grass to either side; toppled trees smoldering; body parts-human and alien-scattered about. Jorgie saw it all and his mouth dropped open.
The car stopped. Armand put his leg up on a toppled Duass wall, hoisted his rifle high, and shouted to the late arrivals, “It is about time you made it here. Any longer and I would not have left any of them for you to kill!”
Alexander left the vehicle. Trevor and JB followed suit.
The two Europeans spoke. In the distance another shot fired.
“Casualties are light,” Armand bragged. “The plan worked perfectly. I told you, the ducks are easy.”
Trevor stopped listening. Instead, he watched Jorgie as the boy approached the remains of a four-wheel vehicle; an ATV. The chassis of the thing had been cracked in two, fluids leaked on the ground mixing with the blood of the driver.
“Father-Father look.”
Trevor did. The dead rider was the same scruffy-bearded man who had ruffled JB’s hair and given him the thumbs up back at the garage. The man would ride no more.
“Father-he is-he is dead…”
Trevor knelt next to Jorgie and put an arm around his boy.
How often had JB tossed around words about war and death and killing? How many pictures of glorious victories littered with crayon-colored dead bodies had he drawn?
Jorgie turned to his father. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“I am sorry, Father. I should be stronger than this.”
“No, no. I’m glad. This is exactly how you should feel. War is a horrible thing, Jorgie. I wish you and I could know something better in our lives.”
Trevor thought of himself on that parallel Earth. A tyrant Emperor. A murderer.
He told Jorgie, “When you don’t cry over this-well, that’s when I’ll be worried.”
A motorcycle approached quickly from the north. Loitering soldiers leapt out of the way as a shiny, blue Yamaha flanked by matching bikes screeched to a halt a few paces in front of Armand. The rider onboard jumped off the seat and removed his helmet.
It was Gaston, the former Russian intelligence agent with the very black skin. His wide eyes and fast breath suggested something had blown away his cool demeanor.
Alexander and Armand hurried to Gaston. Trevor waited a few paces behind.
“What? What is it?”
Gaston answered, “It is The Order at Clermont-Ferrand…”
“What?” Armand jumped. “Are they mobilizing? Already?”
“No-no…” Gaston struggled with an explanation. “They’re gone.”
Armand and Alexander simply stared at Gaston as if the man had set forth an idea so foreign that their brains could not process his words.
Trevor spoke. “The city is empty. Dead bodies of victims but none of The Order’s troops. Just gone.”
Gaston gasped at Trevor, “How did you-but there were so many of them there! Our spies confirmed this just last week.”
“They moved? Where did they move to? Further north? To the east?” Alexander guessed as his gaze alternated between the other parties to the conversation.
“No, no,” Gaston shook his head. “No signs of movement. They are just-they are just gone. Vanished.”
Alexander forced his voice to calm, approached Trevor, and asked, “You knew this would happen?”
“Call it a pretty good guess,” Trevor answered and as he did he made eye contact with Alexander, and Armand, and Gaston. “Voggoth is breaking all the rules, gentlemen. The alien invaders came here through special gateways that I shut down a long time ago. But not Voggoth. He’s got an ace up his sleeve. Back in North America, for the past several years, we’ve noticed towns full of Order-creatures disappeared. Poof. Just like what happened to people before the invasion.”
“Yes? So what is the point?”
Trevor replied to Armand, “I was taken to a parallel Earth by the powers of something called the Nyx. Voggoth had somehow given the humans over there access to that power to grab me. When I was there-at the top of their world finding their runes-a creature of Voggoth’s appeared out of thin air in that green shit.”
“What’s the point?” Armand repeated in a louder voice.
“The point is, Voggoth thinks I’m dead. He thinks I went down on the Newport News. He thinks my mission to come here and fight my way across Europe to go knock on his door is over. Besides, he could use those troops in the final battle against my people.”
Alexander and Armand glanced at one another, clearly shocked at the missing enemy forces and what that meant for any offensive.
“So-so what is it you think we should do now?” Alexander asked.
Trevor stepped forward with his son at his side and made eye contact with each man as he spoke. Nearby soldiers and bikers gravitated toward him. Soon a circle of humanity surrounded Trevor.