Beyond Armageddon V: Fusion (2 page)

Stone interrupted Fink’s thoughts, “Any news from Kaufman?”

Casey Fink answered, “She’s engaged a small advanced force outside of Cimarron. So far her boppers and the infantry there are holding the line.”

Stone let the glasses drop, pinched his nose, and joined Fink at the folding table.

As he had done ever since his return, Trevor spoke in a tone that lacked any real emotion but felt heavy with concentration: “You did a hell of a job helping Rhodes transfer 3
^rd
Mech down to Rye last night.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fink acknowledged as he thought about the troops of both his Third Corp and General Rhodes’ 2
^nd
Corp who squared off against one of a trio of forces punching through the Rockies that day.

General Rhodes’ 3
^rd
Mechanized Division had been pulled from the main lines during the night and moved south into a new position, hopefully without The Order’s spies catching wind. That new position could be used to slice into the heart of Voggoth’s main force if the primary stages of the plan failed to turn the tide.

Fink touched the map at Cimarron, New Mexico, one of the other two places where Voggoth tried to push through the Rockies. If all went according to plan, Kristy Kaufman’s
Chrysaor
and a handful of troops would hold the line in New Mexico against The Order’s Battle group South while Trevor dealt a crushing defeat to Voggoth’s Battle group Center.

But little had gone according to plan since Voggoth’s invasion from the Pacific Ocean, starting with the loss of California last summer, The Order’s breakout into Nevada and Arizona during the Fall, and fighting through the Rockies between blizzards all winter long.

Trevor added his finger to the map as well, this time touching the evacuated city of Denver far to the north where the northernmost flank of the fight prepared to play out.

“Hoth should be in position by now,” Trevor said.

The
Phillipan
resembled a massive flying rectangle with a flat-top flight deck in front of a tower-like structure covering the rear third of the gigantic ship. Anti-gravity generators kept the steel beast afloat while thrust came from a series of engine baffles to aft.

With Denver off his port side, General William Hoth’s Dreadnought drifted over and between the Rocky Mountains. His target—the battering ram of Voggoth’s Battle group North—stood as tall as a skyscraper stretching up from the protective mist shrouding The Order’s mustering forces, like a dorsal fin exposing a shark. A few scattered gray clouds—surprisingly few for a force estimated so large—swirled overhead, spoiling an otherwise blue sky.

Hoth occupied the command module onboard the crescent-shaped bridge of his battleship. From there he accessed computer screens, monitors, and communications to gather information and control every ship function. Whoever stood in that module became the “Brain” of an Imperial Dreadnought.

The heavy-set General with the stoic voice relayed his work to the crew, “Proceeding to firing range. Charging the belly boppers to eighty percent.”

Ahead waited the Leviathan, unfazed by the approaching war machine.

Hoth delegated one duty to his XO. “Contact Command, tell them we’ve spotted Battle group North’s Leviathan. We will engage the target in less than two minutes”

“Good,” Trevor said in reaction to the message from the
Phillipan
. “They’ve shown most of their cards so far.”

“Kaufman has yet to engage Battle group South’s Leviathan.”

“She will,” Stone answered. “Voggoth is getting greedy, trying to punch through three spots at once. Trying to spread us too thin so we can’t stop him.” Trevor returned to the view of the battlefield from the hayloft. Even from a few miles away he could see the lumbering giant coming through the mountain pass. “But if we can beat him decisively here, we can roll him back on the other two fronts.”

While Stone spoke confidently, Fink knew that the opposite of that scenario also held true. If Voggoth broke through at Wetmore, then the sparse number of ground troops in Denver to the north and Cimarron, New Mexico to the South would make the line untenable.

Stone grew transfixed by the far away cloud of battle and the gargantuan beast, its lower half invisible behind a horizon of rooftops and foothills. It appeared to Fink that the sight mesmerized Stone. As if maybe he saw more there than what met the eye.

Trevor spoke in a steady, quiet voice, “I used to think mankind was so good at making war that it was scary. Then I see Voggoth’s beasts, and I realize we don’t know shit.”

Fink offered a meek, “Yes, sir,” although he did not think Trevor heard because the Leviathan’s battle cry began; a sound that whined and built like an air raid siren. Fink gasped, “Oh shit, it’s gonna fire. Shit, shit, and it’s not in position yet. It’s not out of the pass all the way.”

Trevor spoke again, still hypnotized by the battle and the insane walking skyscraper.

“You know the difference between us and Voggoth?”

Fink stepped to Stone’s shoulder. The sound of the Leviathan grew louder still as the gigantic creature sucked in air. Fink knew the barn lay beyond the immediate blast zone but not completely out of danger.

Trevor appeared unconcerned. Or, at least, distracted by his thoughts.

“The difference is that when we make our smart bombs and build our jet planes we use words like ‘area of affect’ and ‘yield’ and ‘operational radius.’ All so sterile. So—so
detached
.”

Fink watched the Leviathan stoop, as if trying to get a better look at the tiny little creatures daring to block its path. As it bent, the massive hole that lived at the top of the giant swung down like the barrel of God’s gun taking aim.

“But Voggoth’s gunsmiths use words like ‘pain’ and ‘terror’ and ‘suffering’. You’ve got to hand it to them, they’ve boiled war to its essence. You have to admire their honesty.”

There came no noise from the blast of wind exhaled by the mighty Leviathan because that wind moved faster than sound. From the top of the loft Fink and Stone watched a storm of dirt and dust blow away tanks, artillery, and pieces of what used to be soldiers.

That supersonic blast of air twisted out of the mountain passage, through the center of the defensive line, and across the jagged land between the battlefield and the command center. The sound caught up to and overtook the slowing gust, reaching their ears in a beastly howl.

Fink shoved Trevor to the hay-covered floor. The lethal blast of wind dissipated fast but still hit the barn with hurricane force. Chunks of roof tore away, the map table flipped and rolled; the barn doors exploded in toppling gear and sending the staff diving for cover.

It passed.

Something metal and squeaky swayed back and forth at the rear of the barn. Static broadcast from radios. A cloud of hay, dust, and papers floated about. Soldiers emerged from under chairs and tables with soft groans and sharp cusses. The barn grew brighter with half the roof blown away.

Fink had fallen atop Stone in order to protect him from debris, but Trevor quickly broke free and returned to his view of the battle.

A wide swatch of smashed, toppled, and otherwise obliterated landscape lay between the south side of Wetmore and the battlefield, as if an F5 tornado had roared through. That battlefield had been cut in half—a north side and a south side—nothing between. Nothing where the Leviathan’s weapon had struck.

Sharp reports and blasts broke the quiet as what remained of The Empire’s front lines regained their composure and faced swarms of infantry pouring forward around the giant’s legs.

Fink knew this to be the pattern. It could nearly be called a game, something like rock-paper-scissors. Wherever The Empire formed defensive lines, along came the Leviathans to blast through. Fortresses? Trenches? Caves? Mountains? It did not matter. Anything in the direct path of the supersonic winds would be tossed aside.

Then the hordes would come.

With a great deal of effort, the full force of a dreadnought could destroy a Leviathan if that Leviathan could be directly engaged. And the Empire’s ground forces with proper support could hold off the tide of Voggoth’s insane foot soldiers. But the combination of the two? Deadly, as proven multiple times since last Summer, especially considering that Voggoth had found ways to deal with the dreadnoughts.

Of more immediate concern, today—at the centermost of the day’s war zones—no dreadnought waited. Today Trevor Stone prepared a different plan, one born either from desperation or invention, Fink could not be sure which. Then again, had not all of Stone’s tactics over the years been the same?

“Is it in position? Damn it, Fink, get on the radio with Simms!”

But Fink did not need to get on the radio. As the staff officers on the ground floor of the barn re-assembled their gear they eavesdropped on a conversation between Simms’ observation point and Woody “Bear” Ross’ fleet of MLRS vehicles.

“Hawkeye to Thor, do you copy?”

Ross’ deep voice answered, “Copy, Hawkeye.”

“Target is in position. Repeat, target is in position.”

Fink hurried to Trevor’s side to watch the plan unfold. A veil of debris clouded their view of the battlefield, but the monstrous towering beast could be easily discerned as it stepped across the threshold of mountain pass to open terrain.

Artillery flashed around its feet blasting apart formations of Voggoth’s Ogres and Monks and Spider Sentries. More crystal rolling cruise missiles launched from another of those coral-red hovercraft platforms. More of Trevor’s forces suffered but they gave as good as they got.

Yet Fink knew it did not matter. Any moment the Leviathan would suck in more air then aim another deadly blast at one side of the line or the other. Then repeat until the path lay bare.

“Get your reserve units ready to roll forward,” Trevor told Fink in reference to the twin columns of tanks and mobile infantry waiting on the far side of Wetmore. “And Rhodes, too.”

Fink reminded, “General Rhodes has been ready for hours. Just waiting for the go-word.”

Another noise trumped the chorus of destruction playing at the gateway to the Rockies. This time that noise did not come from Voggoth’s massive war-beast but from one of the many war-beasts at
mankind’s
disposal.

They came like a rainstorm of smoke and metal, line upon line of rockets fired a dozen miles away by Woody “Bear” Ross’s formation of mobile M270 MLRS vehicles, expending the last stores of their available munitions.

Fink shivered at the sight of nearly 100 rockets streaking toward the pre-designated target area on Highway 96 just outside the mountain pass where the Leviathan now stood, having walked right onto the planned bulls eye.

“C’mon…” Stone mumbled an urge that, to Fink’s ears, sounded one-part prayer.

The Leviathan did not lack defenses. As the bombardment closed, pores along the upper torso of the machine-creature ejected small cubes that detonated around the beast causing ripples of concussion. Some of the rockets shattered and burst prematurely, others were sent tumbling off-course. But for every rocket destroyed or deflected, three punched through.

Blasts of orange, yellow, and black smoke tore across the Leviathan’s mid-section. One after another they hit until the monstrous creature burned. Trevor’s grin grew wider with each impact. But would it be enough?

Between the debris cloud still floating after the wind storm, the plumes of rocket fuel, and the puffs of smoke coming from exploding rockets, the view of the battlefield from the command post became even more obstructed. But even through the smoke Trevor and Fink spied vile liquids spraying out from wounds, they saw the tendons wrapping the beast’s torso spring undone like the cables of a suspension bridge pushed beyond cohesion.

It fell in two pieces as the mid-section could no longer support the weight. Two massive pieces of war machine tumbled to Earth crushing hundreds of Voggoth’s foot soldiers. An earthquake shuddered across the landscape.

Trevor shouted, “Get Rhodes going! Get him going, now!”

Phillip Rhodes had come to Trevor’s post-Apocalypse lakeside estate 11 years ago with the group of U.S. soldiers who survived Armageddon on the run with Thomas Prescott.

During that first year Rhodes participated in the attack on the extraterrestrial Gateway outside of Binghamton, New York only to break his collar bone on the return trip when his Humvee rolled in a snow storm. Four years later it had been Rhodes’ unit that stumbled upon the strange cave outside of Blacksburg, Virginia where Trevor Stone’s half-brother dwelt.

For a brief time last summer Philip Rhodes commanded the vaunted 2
^nd
Mechanized Unit of Virginia, known as “Stonewall’s Brigades”. When Thomas Prescott died during Voggoth’s invasion at Long Beach, Rhodes received another instant promotion to the leader of the decimated Second Corps.

Despite the haughty rank and long title, Generals Rhodes fought on the front lines, riding along with the 3
^rd
Mechanized Division as it struck at the heart of the enemy. More specifically, his formation held the key to turning the tide of a war that had been deteriorating for months.

Essentially, he was tasked with saving The Empire, if it could even be called that anymore. The word did not roll as smoothly off the tongue when retreating.