Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism Read online

  The march to the Mississippi and the problems in Ohio; the re-settling of the new American frontier, crossing the Rockies and into the Northwest, and now the Pacific.

  He knew the war to liberate humanity would rage for decades more with battles in the jungles of South America, the deserts of the Middle East, the plains of the Ukraine, the frozen tundra of Scandinavia, and across the vast expanse of Asia. That's what waited for Trevor, his children, and their children.

  Yet today—right now—they achieved a milestone.

  "Stop the car."

  The Humvee escorts pulled to the curb outside a mansion surrounded by palm trees identified as the "Long Beach Museum."

  "Sir? What is it?"

  Trevor did not answer Prescott. He opened the door and stepped outside the armored cabin. A fresh morning breeze carried the scent of salt and a hint of blowing sand. Seagulls cackled over the beach. The sun shot in behind him, casting shadows across the sand but with a strength that hinted at a hot day to come.

  With a dozen soldiers scrambling to form a protective cocoon around him, Trevor cut behind the museum, walked through the garden that once hosted the finest weddings in all Long Beach, marched across a small parking lot, and stepped onto the sand.

  The deserted beach stretched little more than one hundred feet wide, much thinner than the beaches further to the south and puny compared to the one in the backyard of his summer house in New Jersey.

  With Tyr at his side, he walked to where land met ocean. Low waves curled and crashed then flowed in. A few inches of water brushed against Trevor’s boot, lapping over the top and tickling the bottom of his pant leg.

  He felt the heavy weight the Old Man had placed on his shoulders. A weight that demanded Trevor think in the most focused of terms: victory at all costs. For the sake of generations to come and for the sake of those whose memories gave Trevor the skills and perspective to lead, he could think of nothing other than total victory. He could not afford the luxury of the moral high ground or the release of passing the baton of command to others.

  Yet for a few moments he stood on that beach in the face of the Pacific Ocean and felt a sense of accomplishment. The weight still bore down, but with what had once been the continental United States now under one banner that weight shed a pound or two.

  Tyr walked forward and sniffed the remains of a white cap as it rolled in. The spray tickled the dog’s nose. Tyr sneezed and retreated a step.

  Trevor knelt and held his hand to the water, letting the chilly flow wash over his fingers.

  Only his canine companion saw the tears in his eyes.

  ---

  The Carmel Valley Ranch resort sat on four-hundred acres surrounded by the forested slopes of the Santa Lucia Mountains. The golf course, the pavilions, the luxury cottages…all fell dark beneath the shadow of the Chrysaor.

  Captain Kristy Kaufman, her hair sculptured into a small bun and her black uniform perfectly pressed, stood on the bridge hooked into her ship as the "brain." The ship's infrared sensors displayed on one of the many monitors at her control station, illuminating the body heat of California hold outs dug deep into the buildings and brush of the resort.

  General Stonewall McAllister's voice spoke into her ear from his forward position on Carmel Valley Road: "I have attempted to convince them that their position is untenable, but they refuse to listen. Therefore, Captain, I must ask that you undertake a most distasteful task."

  "I understand, General. Are you sure the civilians are out? Any innocent bystanders—"

  "Yes, I know. At this point, I believe we have done all we can possibly do, and I would much rather not lose any more of my division when your services are so readily available."

  "I understand," she replied. "Your officers have confirmed forward positions with my tactical station, so I believe we're ready to go."

  "I guess I should say 'happy hunting,' but somehow those words taste rancid right now."

  Kristy knew what the General meant. She only wished the fools holding out in the Carmel Valley Ranch Resort knew. Almost in response to her thought, through her video feeds she saw the trail of a portable anti-air missile fire up from the enemy position. A moment later the war head explode, barely scratching the undercarriage of the Chrysaor.

  She spoke her orders aloud for the crew to hear but her fingers did most of the work.

  "Charging the Belly Boppers to twenty-percent. Energy dispersal pattern set tight."

  A digitalized readout reflected the amount of power to be turned into destructive energy. The Chrysaor's energy weapons had come from the seed of alien rifles taken during the battle for Wilkes-Barre that first winter of the invasion, and utilized the same principle when it came to power: the more the weapons charged, the greater the destruction to the target.

  Kristy had served as the Chrysaor's captain since its christening six months ago. Now she would see through the purpose for her ship. With Cooperative units falling apart across the country, their leadership dead, and their Witiko allies surrendering in droves to Internal Security, the battle at Carmel Valley seemed likely to be the last.

  At least she hoped so. To visit this type of destruction upon any enemy—particularly a human one—required a reason. A good reason.

  "Weapons charged. Burst pattern confirmed. Target area locked. Firing."

  Death came in two massive blobs of incinerating energy hitting the ground and splashing out in glowing waves. The beautiful bungalows fell apart like sandcastles in a tornado and acres of forest charred and fell as if discarded matchsticks.

  Having ordered the attack, General McAllister felt obligated to ride in with the first wave of infantry to secure the area, although he knew 'securing' would mean little more than sweeping up the ashes. As he approached on horseback, he realized there may not even be ashes remaining.

  Small fires erupted from secondary explosions and a dirty haze hung over the target area. No walls remained intact. Ash and dirt fluttered on the wind like a warped ticker-tape parade in celebration of Lucifer. The temperature rose to nearly one-hundred degrees as the ground radiated residual heat from the energy weapon.

  "Oh my," the General gasped as he surveyed the destruction.

  He maneuvered his horse to the circular pavement that had once led to the main entrance, the pieces of which now rested in a smoldering pile. McAllister directed his horse at a slow trot, his sword jingled as he moved.

  Such a complete victory should have elicited celebration, but these had been humans.

  A breeze blew in and pushed some of the smoke off, revealing acres of green turned black and brown. Flames flickered in the distance. Puffs of smoke rose from heaps of leveled buildings. Far away, a tree line at the base of a hill marked the limit of the Chrysaor's fury, a line between destroyed woods and healthy forest.

  Gunfire reverberated through the smoky air. Benny Duda galloped to the General's position. He held a radio to his ear until he stood alongside Stonewall's horse.

  "Sir, we've got survivors up on the east ridge taking pot shots at us. Must've been out of the blast radius but Kaufman says she can't spot them on the infrared, too much residual heat from the boppers."

  "Very well, Benjamin," Stonewall said. "Let's get over there and root them out."

  At that moment, the leather reigns fell from General McAllister's hands, he slumped forward, and pin wheeled off the saddle, landing hard on the charred-black ground.

  A sharp pop slapped the air.

  Benny Duda watched, confused over what he just saw while the General's escort dismounted with carbines drawn.

  "Sniper! Sniper!"

  "Gen…General..?"

  Benny eased from the saddle.

  Stonewall rolled over on his back. Benny knelt and lifted the General's head. In the distance, more gun fire erupted. More shouts.

  "Oh dear," Stonewall stared toward the sky as if trying to find the blue on the far side of the debris cloud. "Benjamin, I believe I have been shot."

  A red s
tain pushed through the heavy fabric of the Old Mist colored uniform Garrett McAllister dressed in since the day Armageddon chased away the alcoholic in favor of a noble, courageous gentlemen.

  A soldier shouted, "Medic!"

  Benny Duda sobbed, "You'll…you'll be okay."

  "Ben...," he licked his lips. "Benny, please do give my sword to Trevor Stone. Per—perhaps it can still serve him in some capacity. There is so much left to do."

  Stonewall reached up with one gloved hand. Benny grabbed tight.

  "Hold on…hold on, General."

  "It's okay, Benny. It's okay. I have," he coughed. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened wide again. "I believe I have…paid my penance. My family…my family will be waiting for me. I expect I shall do much better this time."

  "General…please…"

  "Yes…I can see them now…."

  7. Requiem

  Eagle One sat amidst the ruins of the Carmel Valley Ranch Resort a few hours after the death of Stonewall. His soldiers—the shock finally setting in--shuffled across the smoky wasteland like zombies.

  Captain Benny Duda walked up the ramp and met Trevor inside the passenger module of the transport.

  "Sir, it was the General's wish that I present you with his sword. He felt that you may yet have some use for it."

  Trevor stared at the brass hand guard and pommel of the weapon. Benny held it across both hands with his palms up and his head bowed.

  "Benny…I'm sorry."

  "The General wished you to have this," Duda repeated.

  Trevor sensed that Benny Duda wanted to ask if the missile strike on L.A. might have cost Stonewall his life. He wanted to know if the destiny Trevor Stone served really demanded that men fight other men.

  As he felt the cool metal in his hand, Trevor realized how much time had passed since he visited Stonewall. During the early days of Armageddon, he and Garrett often conversed. As the group of survivors grew into "The Empire," Stonewall became a distant leader out in the battlefields fighting the war Trevor directed.

  Trevor realized how much he would miss General Stonewall McAllister as he placed his friend's sword on the rack of weapons aboard Eagle One so that he would never forget the troubled, eccentric gentleman who had become a legend.

  ---

  The cherry blossoms no longer bloomed in Washington D.C., having been the preferred snack of alien herbivores in the years between the collapse of the United States government and The Empire's liberation of the city.

  It would not have mattered. Even the bursts of color and sweet scent of cherry trees could not chase away the gloom coating the town on the afternoon of May 1st.

  Despite the successful end of the California war and regardless of the bright spring day, the crowds along the national mall gathered in great sadness to bid farewell to the most beloved General in man's army.

  A horse-drawn cart carried Garrett McAllister's coffin to the stairs of the refurbished Capitol building. Draped over his last vessel was a black flag featuring a hand holding a sword in angry defiance of the alien invaders.

  Washington hosted thousands of mourners coming from across the emancipated lands, as far as Miami to the south and Maine to the north. Such a relatively small gathering would have barely caught the attention of the old media back in times when demonstrators by the hundreds of thousands would sometimes mass in the streets of Washington. However, in terms of the new world, some ten thousand onlookers seemed like a mass of humanity.

  Canine Grenadiers flanked the route, their noses and ears scanning for threats. Behind the funeral cart followed the larger-than-life figures who held the reigns of The Empire, but who somehow looked very small in comparison to the image of the fallen General.

  Trevor held one of his wife's hands as they walked, his blond-haired eight-year-old son held her other hand. To their sides and behind trailed the council including the Brewers, Omar Nehru, Dr. Maple, Dante Jones, Eva Rheimmer, and Brett Stanton as well as General Shepherd and Ray Roos who served as Trevor's personal Chief of Security.

  As remarkable as it was to see the ruling cabal marching together in somber steps, those missing grabbed the most attention. While few of the watchers wondered about the absence of Gordon Knox or Anita Nehru, the lack of Evan Godfrey fueled much gossip. Especially since most knew that Evan himself had pushed for D.C. to host Stonewall's last journey.

  Instead of joining the procession, Evan Godfrey hosted a separate memorial service not too far away in the shadow of the Washington monument. There he stood with his head bowed in respect for the fallen hero, but he would not march with those who, Godfrey told the press, shouldered responsibility for a "needless death."

  The casket reached the Capitol and was moved into the rotunda by an honor guard. Velvet ropes would soon mark public lines through the cavernous round chamber, but not until the Emperor and his entourage privately bid their farewells.

  For the moment the rotunda belonged to a select few, with guards posted beyond closed doors, K9 sentries inside, and Ray Roos standing a respectful distance from the others.

  Trevor's footsteps echoed around the imposing chamber as he drifted to the coffin and placed a hand on its stainless steel surface.

  "He was a good man."

  Murmurs of agreement.

  "I figure he died doin' what he felt called to do," Shepherd added.

  Trevor noticed that Dante kept his distance from the others. He cocked an eye and approached his old friend who wore a dark blue Internal Security dress uniform.

  A week had passed since Stonewall's death in the last major battle of the California invasion. The war ended without any formal surrender because The Cooperative lacked the leaders to issue such decrees.

  Trevor spent the last seven days consolidating the territory and dealing with revised force deployments, all with a growing belly ache of anger born from Internal Security's overzealous efforts on the front lines. That anger received extra fuel from the decision to hold the memorial in D.C., a move Trevor saw as yet another step toward the old world; the types of steps Evan Godfrey liked to take.

  "What's wrong, Dante? This man was a hero, don’t you think?"

  Lori tried to intercede. Her husband stopped her. The others stood silent as Trevor and Dante's words reverberated around the massive dome. Ashley hurried JB from the chamber in anticipation of the coming explosion. Roos held the door for the mother and son but he remained.

  "Yeah, he was a hero. Look, Trevor, you got something you want to say to me, say it."

  Trevor stood directly in front of Dante. Their noses nearly touched.

  "Okay. What the Hell were your I.S. guys doing so far out on the front line?"

  Dante took a hesitant step backward, sighed, then answered, "So that's it? I get bitched at for not having the manpower to do my job and now I'm getting bitched at because we came through? Is that what this is about, Trevor? I think you just don't like I.S."

  Trevor lunged without thinking, allowing his anger to get the better of his wisdom: "What is that supposed to mean? I don’t' like I.S? I made I.S, Dante. I made you, too, remember that."

  Dante spat, "You made me? What the—"

  "So I got to wonder how in Christ's name all the Witiko brass ended up in your hands. You're playing a game and I don't like games."

  "Listen to yourself. You don’t trust Internal Security, is that it? Because when you were gone three years ago some of my people thought maybe Evan was right about a few things. Is that it? You need to get over yourself. There's a Senate now, and just because I have to do some things they tell me to do doesn't mean I'm playing some game on you."

  Trevor's head cocked to the side and took Dante's words as confirmation.

  "So it's true. The Senate told you to be operating so far forward. The Senate told you to pick up the Witiko officers. Maybe you don't know the score but—"

  Dante burst and knocked Trevor off balance with his words: "I know the score, Trevor. I know the Sentient Species Protection Act. You k
now, the one you signed into law? Under the law that you signed it says Internal Security is responsible for the protection of those aliens that aren't supposed to be ripped apart and studied. That's the law you signed after you found out you were playing for the wrong team on some other Earth, right? Tell me something, man, why didn't we ever make that little bit of info public, huh?"

  The council had agreed to limit the amount of information revealed to the general population about what Trevor found on that other Earth. As far as the citizens were concerned, the battle to save humanity raged across parallel Earths, making their own struggle seem all the more important. The fact that in those other universes mankind came from Sirius and played the role of an invader was kept secret.

  Lori Brewer, despite being held at bay by Jon, called, "You know why we didn't tell anyone about that, Dante. Same reason we kept secret what we found at Cheyenne Mountain. The people didn't need to know what happened to the last President and his staff; it would have been too gruesome. Same with what Trevor found. If people heard we were the bad guys somewhere else, then maybe they'd ask more questions about the war here. If we're going to survive, we can't afford that."

  Dante glanced at Lori, listened, and then said, "You mean the Emperor can't afford that."

  "Oh, now you sound like you've got something to say, Dante. What is it?"

  "Okay then, fuck it. Everyone heard you killed the California Governor and his top people when the war was already won."