“I have to go, honey. I don’t want to. But I have to.”
She stuck out her lip and glared at him as if anger might accomplish where pleading failed. Jon turned from her and answered the front door.
“Jon. How are we doing?” Ashley asked as she followed Gordon Knox-rolling in his powered wheelchair- inside.
“As expected,” the general answered and then addressed Catherine. “Like I said before, Ashley and Mr. Knox will look after you while I’m gone.”
Ashley followed the cue and approached Catherine in an effort to make small talk about things they would do, fun to be had, and lots not to worry about. Jon took the opportunity to speak quietly with Gordon Knox.
“Anything new on your end?”
Knox shook his head and answered, “No. Jon, my people have no idea how The Order built up to such a level, even accepting that they might have established more farms faster than ever before. There is just no accounting for it. The SR-71 did another run yesterday evening and it’s still the same picture. We’re estimating his main force to be more than double what it was after the Rockies fight. What about you?”
“Wow. I just don’t get it. They came out of thin air,” he shook his head and answered Knox’s question, “Operation Baseplate should be ready to go tomorrow. I’m flying out now to brief Shep and the rest. The fuel supplies and armament load-outs are already at the airfields.”
“With the Chrysaor still out of action, it could be a suicide run,” Gordon spoke plainly with no drama and not as a critique of the plan, just a fact.
“She won’t be up and running for three more days. I don’t think we have that long. Besides, everything we do now could be a suicide run. But just waiting around for them to hit us…”
“I hear you,” Knox offered one of his trademark smiles that came across as much scary as in good humor, wheelchair or not. “We’ll just tough things out on this end.”
“I’m going to stay out and see this through. I probably should have left days ago.”
“Don’t say a word, Jon. You did what any man would do. Any husband-or father. Don’t second-guess yourself.”
“I suppose I do that a lot,” Jon admitted. “I guess no one is perfect.”
“Speak for yourself,” Knox smiled even broader and the scariness went away. “Anyway, if things go, well, badly out there then you can count on Ashley here to keep Catherine out of harm’s way.”
“Exodus protocols ready to go?”
“Not for me,” Gordon tapped the handles of his wheelchair. “This old thing becomes a bit more of a liability if we start running and hiding again. Besides, that was never my style. But your girl will be on one of the first boats out if we activate Exodus.”
“That’s your decision. Monitor what happens out west and if you lose contact with me, make the call.”
Knox nodded.
Jon returned to his daughter. Despite Ashley’s best efforts, Catherine would not willingly accept the situation.
“Honey, I’ve got to go now.”
“It’s not fair.”
He took her tiny fingers in his big hands. He thought about her words. He thought about the whole damn invasion, the war, and the deck Voggoth stacked in his own favor.
“It has never been fair. Fair just isn’t a part of it.”
Before Armageddon, St. Clair Square held the distinction of the largest shopping mall south of Chicago thanks to more than 140 stores on two levels brightened by sky lights and 1,000,000 square feet of retail space.
During The Empire’s march west the mall re-opened as a barter center and-with Interstate 64 directly to the north and two air fields within minutes-a shipping waypoint.
As the last of the civilian population pulled out of the greater St. Louis area, St. Claire Square played a new role: command center.
From the point of view of General Jerry Shepherd, St. Claire served as the most recent command center. Not quite two weeks ago he survived-barely-The Order’s assault on his HQ at Riverfront Park in Kansas City. Shep knew that that park now operated as a center of operations for his enemy. Needless to say, this did not sit well with the general but battlefield reverses had become the norm during the last year.
St. Claire felt a lot like Riverfront had the day of the assassinations: vehicles driving to and fro; crates of supplies scattered around the large parking lot and a collection of weary veteran troops withdrawing east mixing with green newbies marching west.
Inside the mall different units created command centers out of what used to be shops. As Shepherd strolled the second story promenade he saw a group of soldiers standing beneath the facade of what used to be Bath and Body Works. The scented candles and gift baskets were long gone replaced with ammunition boxes, a metal filing cabinet on a hand truck, and radio equipment. Freckle-faced Benny Duda wore his black officer’s uniform with a patch on his shoulder depicting a hand gripping an axe; the icon for the 1 ^ st Mechanized Division.
He saw more men with more patches moving between stores-turned-unit-commands. He saw a young courier with a cowboy hat with a patch of a hand brandishing a broadsword on his shoulder. That patch indicated the 2 ^ nd Mechanized Division of Virginia.
Another such patch-this time on a slender brunette wearing Sergeant’s stripes-displayed a hand in a fist inside an armored glove: the calling card of William Rheimmer’s 3 ^ rd Armored Division of New Jersey.
The men and women shouted among each other, hurried the hall with important papers tucked under arms, or searched through boxes to find one need or another. Many sported trophies from the withdrawal across Kansas: slings, bandages, limps, bruises, and eye patches.
Shepherd shook his head in silent tribute to the marks of sacrifice, but then forced those thoughts from his mind as he walked inside what had once been a clothing store for children named ‘Abercrombie’. There Shepherd found a large round table in the center of the store, maps on the walls, and a gathering of important personnel. He finished his return trip from the restroom just in time to hear Jon Brewer tell the assembled crowd, “Any minute now.”
“Everything is still a go?” Shepherd came to the table and glanced-for about the one hundredth time that day-at the map of Missouri and Kansas.
“I just got off the radio with Carl Dunston. 2 ^ nd Tactical support’s fixed wing assets are in the air and joining up with the rest,” Jon answered and then took a sip from a glass of water.
“Not much left of them,” Shepherd said in reference to both the 2 ^ nd Tactical Support unit as well as the overall amount of air assets at The Empire’s disposal. He tapped the map in a spot northeast of Kansas City. “Still no idea how they built up so fast?”
Jon ran a hand across the back of his neck because that particular mystery remained a large pain there.
Shep shared that pain. He recalled the Blackbird’s surveillance photos depicting a massive amount of Voggoth’s bio-mechanical weapons in place and ready to fight. Many more-tens of thousands more-than thought possible. Enough to sweep across the Mississippi in one afternoon.
Jon said, “An idea? Yeah, I have an idea,” Brewer said and that caught Shep’s attention. “I was chewing it over during my flight out here last night. I’m thinking it’s one of two things: either The Order’s production cycle out of their farms has been sped up by ninety percent or-or…”
“Or?”
“Or-well, we’ve been asking ourselves for a couple of years now what happened to Voggoth’s boys in cities like Cincinnati.”
“When they just disappeared before we hit those cities, is that what you’re talking about?”
“Yep.”
Shep followed along, “So you reckon he yanked them out of those places in the past and is bringing them back now. Sort of like all those people before the invasion disappearing and then showing up again years later. Like Ashley.”
“I’d be lying if I said I knew for sure, but I have got to believe that Voggoth pulled these reinforcements from somewhere without using the typical type of transport we would expect. And I think finding that same radiation signature in those cities is a big clue.”
“Why not just drop em’ in behind our lines then? Like paratroopers or whatnot?”
