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 stain 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 1 ^ st.
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
