Then we loaded up and left the armory.
As we drove west through town, I looked back at my convoy. We had thirty-five jeeps and thirty-six Jackals, all borrowed from the armory and piloted by militiamen. Those Jackals were our best bet. They had rocket arrays set up on their front fenders, machine guns with armor-piercing bullets in their rear turrets, and hundreds of horses under their hoods.
We headed south, then west across Norristown, entering areas as desolate as the Martian desert, in which I did not see so much as a living plant. The streets were buried under slag and debris. The parks were nothing more than burned-over lots with the occasional stream running through them. Using the Geiger counter in my visor, I took radiation readings and found more than a few hot spots. The first Norristown defenders must have resorted to nuclear-tipped ordinance as the war wound down.
After leaving the downtown area, we entered a storm-torn suburb in which the occasional tree, or house, or chapel stood as a reminder of how life should have been. As the invasion began, the troops defending Norristown would have sacrificed this area the way doctors amputate a cancerous limb. They would have let the aliens in, then bombarded the place with everything they had. The pockmarked remains of expended minefields covered much of the area.
My men traveled in jeeps; the militia rode in Jackals. Jeeps were smaller and a lot more vulnerable, but you could hop in and out of them as fast as you liked. With their armored walls, Jackals were not so easy to enter. I rode in a Jackal, but it was only as a show of confidence. The guy doing the driving was a high-ranking member of the Norristown militia. O’Doul had designated him Jackal squad leader. I could see why—the son of a bitch showed no fear at all.
The Jackal leader flipped some switches on his dash, and said, “I have the aliens on radar.” He swung the screen over so I could have a look. The Avatari were still a couple of miles ahead of us. Their ranks showed up as a solid white block against the glowing green background of the screen.
“Do you know that part of town?” I asked.
He laughed, “I used to live there …had a nice house with a swing set in the back. They had good schools in this part of town.”
“I bet the schools aren’t much of a selling point anymore,” I said.
“But the house prices have dropped,” he said. The guy had a sense of humor. We were driving through the wreckage of his old neighborhood, but he could still tell jokes. I liked that.
“Know anyplace between us and them that might give us a high-ground advantage?” I asked.
He slowed the Jackal and pulled the radar screen over for a closer look. “There’s Hyde Park,” he said. “It’s not exactly mountainous, but the bluffs might work out.”
“Let’s go,” I said.
He used his radio to relay my orders to the other Jackals, and I sent my Marines the info over the interLink: “We’re headed to a park where we should have a slight elevation advantage.”
It took about three minutes to find Hyde Park, a long, terraced pasture with slopes overlooking the western edge of Norristown. The charred remains of a two-story community center stood in the middle of the park like a large chapel overlooking a cemetery.
The jeeps led the way, skidding to a stop at the edge of a ridge so my Marines could climb out. The Jackal leader pulled up near my men and stopped. I asked him if I could use his radio to speak to his men. He nodded.
Taking the microphone, I said, “You boys driving the Jackals, you remember your job is to harass, not to fight.” Then I thanked the Jackal leader for the ride and wished him luck. From here on out, I would ride in a jeep.
I took my spot on the hill, pulled out my first rocket launcher, and prepared for the battle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Every last one of us on those hills was a Marine. We were the ones with the combat armor, the training, and the frontline experience. I listened in on my men when they spoke. I heard them breathe when they were silent. The only thing I could not hear was their thoughts.
You see them out there? Where the specking hell are those speckers?
They’ll be here soon enough. You in a rush to see them?
The iron-gray-colored horde appeared in the ruins below us. They were far away, small and indistinct. I did not think they had spotted us yet when I gave my final instructions.
“The objective at this stop is not—I repeat, not—to kill aliens,” I said over an open frequency. “I’m not handing out medals for kills. Got it? Fire off a rocket, and back away. The name of the game here is catching their attention, not holding on to real estate. Anybody who falls behind gets left behind, so do us all a favor and save the heroics.”
As I finished my piece, a trio of Jackals rushed in. They sped across the grassy shelf like a formation of fighter jets, speeding over the battered landscape firing shots, then rushing away. One of the Jackals bounced over a crater left by an explosion, lurched over the lip, and flew through the air. It landed as smoothly as a cat jumping from a ledge.
The militia made its first strafing run while the aliens were still three-quarters of a mile away. Their light-armor Jackals looked like toys from that distance, and the Avatari looked no bigger or more distinct than the bristles on a toothbrush. Zooming in for a closer look with the telescopic lenses in my visor, I watched as the lead vehicle fired three rockets into the horde, then made a skidding swipe, the gunner in its turret swinging around so that he could fire large-caliber bullets into the aliens’ ranks the entire time. Those bullets could drill a brick wall to dust. They would cut a man in half, but it took three shots to bring one of the aliens down.
The Jackals made their run, then sped to safety. The aliens might have fired after them, but two more formations rocketed onto the ridge from different directions, fired, retreated.
Looking over the battlefield, I decided that the Avatari had not come with their standard fifty thousand troops, maybe not even with a quarter of that number. Not that it mattered. They had more than enough soldiers to win a fair fight. If our Jackals stumbled, they would swat them like bugs.
One of the Jackals in the third formation rolled as it skidded around to escape. It might have hit loose gravel, or one of its bulletproof tires might have popped, or the turn might have simply been too tight. The Jackal canted onto two wheels, then rolled onto its side, spinning out of control. Jackals were made to roll and right themselves; but as soon as this one landed on its wheels, a hailstorm of light bolts seared through it. The Jackal exploded in flames.
Doctorow’s militia had done its job. I contacted the Jackal leader and told him to pull his men back. I did not have to tell him twice.
The Avatari continued toward us. “Two shots. Two shots, then make for the jeeps,” I called over an open frequency. I wanted the drivers and grenadiers to hear me.
Down below us, the Avatari continued their march, slow-moving, unflinching, unafraid. Using telescopic lenses, I could see them clearly now—bodies the color of stone; eyes, lips, and ears all made of the same rocklike material as their skin. Their eyes stared straight ahead, like the eyes of a crudely sculpted statue. Their faces never twitched.
The Avatari stood eight feet tall. Their rifles were four-foot tubes made of gleaming chrome. They fired yard-long bolts of light that traveled as fast as the eye could see and burned through shields, armor, buildings, and men—and then kept going.
They marched toward us. “Steady …steady,” I called to my men. I remembered Nietzsche as I looked down at the alien army: When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.