Resistance: The Gathering Storm

William C. Dietz RESISTANCE The Gathering Storm

To my dearest Marjorie…

Thank you for going to the dance instead of studying,

for believing that I could,

and for every second of our time together.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank Ted Price, who is President and CEO of Insomniac Games as well as Creative Director on Resistance; Cristian Cardona, Sony Marketing; Jefferson Dong, Sony Marketing; Greg Phillips, Sony Product Development; Brian Hastings, Chief Creative Officer of Insomniac Games; and Ryan Schneider, Insomniac Games Community Director, for all of their help and advice.

Special thanks go to TJ Fixman and Marc Mailand of Insomniac Games for their creation of the Stillman character, and TJ’s initial draft of the Stillman section of Chapter 9, which he wrote to order.

And finally, I am especially indebted to my editors, Keith Clayton, Tricia Narwani, and Steve Saffel, and to Sony Senior Producer Frank Simon, for his tireless efforts to coordinate all of the moving parts, and track down the answers to at least a hundred writer-type questions. Thank you one and all! I couldn’t have done it without you.

CHAPTER ONE Hide And Seek

South of Huron, South Dakota

Thursday, November 15, 1951

The snow-clad hill didn’t look like much, but the granite that lay just a few feet below the topsoil had been strong enough to hold its own against a retreating glacier thousands of years before, and was likely to be there for millennia yet to come. Of more importance to the men hidden on top of the hill was the vantage point their position provided, giving them the ability to watch enemy troop movements and, God willing, defend themselves if attacked.

The daytime temperature should have been about forty this time of the year, but it was ten degrees lower than that, a grim reminder of the way the alien Chimera had altered Earth’s atmosphere to their advantage. As a result, Lieutenant Nathan Hale’s breath fogged the air as he lay on his belly and trained a pair of binoculars on the highway below. He wore a winter white parka and matching pants over a wool uniform and thermal underwear. And yet he was still cold.

Something Hale forced himself to ignore as he studied the scene that lay in front of him.

He remembered the familiar white ribbon of road as the one that he and his family had traveled each year on their way to the South Dakota State Fair in Huron. The memory made his heart ache, because even though he’d been back in the United States for months, Hale hadn’t been allowed to contact his foster parents or his sister. Unanswered questions plagued him. Had they fled south into Nebraska? Or remained on the ranch? Three generations of the family had battled the elements, the economy, and the land itself—and won. But the invasion would have been too much, even for them.

If they were still on the ranch, they were in terrible danger. Having conquered most of Asia and Europe, the Chimera had turned their attention to North America. Chicago already had fallen to the invaders, in October, quickly followed by key cities in Wisconsin and North Dakota. Now, as the enemy continued to move south, the United States Army and the Marine Corps had been forced to pull back into an ever-shrinking “Fortress America.”

But the Chimera could be stopped. As Hale peered through a thin veil of steadily falling snow he knew that a ring of defense towers were being built to the south, constructed for the sole purpose of blocking the Chimeran advance. But would they be enough?

Hale had his doubts, because he’d been a member of the ill-fated 3rd Ranger Regiment, and seen firsthand the atrocities that had occurred in England. So Hale knew that no matter how many defense towers the government put up, the Chimera wouldn’t stop until they had overwhelmed their foes.

Hale’s thoughts were interrupted by Sergeant Marvin Kawecki.

“We have company, sir… Ten o’clock.”

Kawecki crouched to Hale’s left, his right eye at the 10? scope of an L23 Fareye. Particles of dry snow were rapidly accumulating on the back of his parka.

Hale had been looking south, and as he panned the binoculars to the left, he saw that Kawecki was correct. Three Chimeran Attack Drones emerged from the veil of snow, following the ribbon of highway, high-intensity beams of light knifing out in front of them. Each one flew about six feet off the ground, and they darted about like hunting dogs following a scent.

Their presence in and of itself was revealing, because even though most of the civilian population had fled south, Hale knew that nonmilitary resistance groups like Freedom First continued to operate behind enemy lines, where they had met with some success. The arrival of the drones most likely indicated that the stinks were concerned about the possibility of an ambush.

The presence of Chimera on Highway 281 was exactly the sort of Intel that Hale, Kawecki, and Private Jim Jasper had been ordered to obtain. Too little was known about the invaders, and with each new piece of data the Intel specialists could build a matrix of information that would be very valuable indeed.

Suddenly Hale felt his stomach muscles tighten as one of the drones left the edge of the road and began to move straight in their direction! It dropped slightly, until it was flying about four feet off the ground, and seemed determined to reach the top of the hill. Snow sleeted down through the beam of light that swept the ground in front of it. Had they been spotted? Or had the machine been programmed to examine hilltops?

“I have it,” Kawecki said tightly. “Just say the word.”

But Hale didn’t want to say the word, because if Kawecki brought the drone down, all hell would break loose. And given the fact that the team was three miles inside the gray zone, it would be impossible to escape.

But as the construct continued uphill toward their position, there seemed to be few options.

Hale opened his mouth, and was about to give the necessary order, when a white-tailed jackrabbit broke cover and the drone came to an abrupt stop, its light swiveling in the direction of the fleeing animal. The rabbit hadn’t traveled more than ten feet before there was a single shot and it tumbled head over heels, blood spraying everywhere. Finally it came to rest on the snow.

The Chimeran scout hovered menacingly for a moment, then pivoted back toward the road, following the slope downhill.

Hale was surprised to discover that he’d been holding his breath, and released it as silently as he could.

“Jasper,” he said softly, “how’s the back door? We may need to pull out soon.”

Jasper was lying in the prone position five feet behind the other two men. He was facing west, his M5A2 Folsom carbine at the ready, providing security for Hale and Kawecki. Just because some of the Chimera had chosen to travel south on 281 didn’t mean all of them would have.