what we have to do. We did not ask for this fight. We don’t want to die. We don’t even want to kill. No one hates the taste of death more than the soldier because we’re the ones who shoulder the burden. We’re the ones who live with the dead faces in our dreams and the scars on our bodies.”
A long roll of thunder interrupted Jon’s words for a second. Not natural thunder; the sound of the enemy on the move; of the evil storm approaching from the horizon.
“So why did we sign up for this? Civilians? They don’t get it. They don’t understand why we would chose to be soldiers. Do we love guns and violence? Are we misfits who want to pick fights? You bet your ass that’s what some of them think. But you know the reason, don’t you? You just have a hard time putting it to words. I think it’s time someone tried, because you deserve it.”
“You do it so they don’t have to. You do it, because all your life you have taken responsibility. You stand here with me on this riverbank because someone has to stand here.
“You do it because the soldier next to you is your brother or sister and they are worth your loyalty and your courage. Your biggest fear isn’t death-hell, we face that every damn day just training for this job. Your biggest fear is letting them down. Your biggest fear is that if you fail here today, someone back home will have to do the job. Someone’s kid-maybe yours. Someone you love. You stand here and fight the nightmares because you don’t want the charge to fall to them; because you know how terrible this is. You wish no one had to face this but if someone has to, let it be you.”
Jon paused and took a deep breath.
“I don’t know if this makes a difference or not, but you should know that I will stand here with you because I don’t want to let you down. Not in some command center five miles away, but here on the river bank. As long as I draw breath, the enemy will not cross this line in the sand. Until the battle is won I will not move from this river. My wife-my dear wife-once told me that I can be a stubborn son of a bitch. She was right. I refuse to move. I refuse to retreat. I refuse to give way.”
The eyes in the command tent focused hard on Jon Brewer. As he glanced around, he saw soldiers poking their heads out from Humvees or pushing through the crowd to get closer or setting aside their shovel or spade to listen to their general.
“I feel personally responsible for all of you. I put together this army from the beginning. I’ve tried to do right by you. And I’m going to be honest, we’ve got a tough fight coming. Maybe the toughest ever. But I’m not going anywhere. No matter how bad it gets, you’re going to hear my voice through it all; right here, with you. You’re going to see me fighting alongside you. The only thing I ask, is that you do the same. Stand with me, do not yield, no steps back, no second thoughts, and give every last ounce you have one more time. The line has been drawn. They shall not pass.”
No cheers. No hollers. No surge of enthusiasm. For a second, Jon felt certain his words had fallen flat; that yet again he had taken the ball of leadership and fumbled.
He set the radio down and felt the urge to crawl in a foxhole.
Then he saw his soldiers. The Generals and officers in the gazebo, the men and women in BDUs and jeans all along the commons, the bridges, the streets. He saw every last man and woman holding their arms in rigid salute.
His jaw felt loose. The general’s heart thumped. Goose bumps sprung on his arms and tingled.
Jon took a deep breath and stiffened his shoulders. His hand snapped to his forehead and his elbow locked tight returning their gesture with the same pride and courage that radiated from his soldiers.
They shall not pass.
Wild Horse Creek Road ran through the heart of upscale homes nestled among woods and small hills in the western suburbs of St. Louis. A set of railroad tracks ran parallel to the road about 1500 feet to the north where the hills and trees gave way to fields. Beyond those fields between the residential neighborhood and the bend of the Missouri river lay the Spirit of St. Louis airport as well as various commercial and industrial buildings of boxy design.
Nina’s rag tag army used the woods, hills, and vacant homes between Wild Horse Creek Road and the railroad tracks for cover as they chased Voggoth’s army in a maneuver akin to a kitty-cat shadowing a pride of lions.
She used a salvaged and badly dented Chevrolet Trailblazer SUV as a mobile headquarters. Vince rode with her; his leg felt somewhat better despite a mild infection and he could move with the help of a crutch if push came to shove.
The vehicle sat in the driveway of Wild Horse elementary school that served as a temporary mustering point for her forces. Those forces had grown to nearly 300 during the march across Missouri, a march aided by all manner of scavenged vehicles, a few horses, and lots of bicycles.
She had grabbed a map from an old Amoco station a few miles back and now unfolded it on the hood of the Trailblazer to plot their next move. Ahead of them, the road met Interstate 64 which ran southeast into the heart of downtown and toward crossings at the Mississippi. Voggoth’s army had passed through the area an hour before leaving many of the trees and buildings stamped flat.
Nina tried to focus on the lines and landmarks on the paper, but even her soldier’s mind struggled to block out a feeling of oppression; of looming doom that encompassed the entire area. That feeling came from the clouds overhead. They resembled the underside of a big gray quilt. It felt to her as if those clouds hung abnormally low, as if maybe alien eyes spied her every move from behind the thick veil.
A crack of lightning here; a roll of thunder there. One continuously raging storm birthed from the interaction between Voggoth’s unnatural army clashing with Mother Nature.
With the morning sun effectively blocked, the air under the storm turned cold and gusty winds blew through those few trees that still stood.
Vince, leaning out the open passenger side window with a pair of binoculars said, “I can still see the Leviathan. Damn, that thing is big.”
Nina did not need binoculars to know the Leviathan loomed not far away. She could feel the tremor with each step it took; steps that sounded eerily similar to the dull rumble of thunder.
“They’re probably getting near the I-270 junction,” she forced away her uneasiness and traced the map with a finger. “Their lead elements will be hitting the defense at St. Louis any minute now.”
“Good, they’re focused on the city,” Vince said as he lowered his binoculars. “If they turn around and see us they’d pretty much squash us.”
Nina estimated one Leviathan, at least 5,000 of the well-armed Roachbots, another couple thousand of the mechanical things the Feranites had mutated into, hundreds-maybe thousands-of Mutants with most of them on hover-bikes, and several thousand Ghouls not to mention support from Voggoths’ warped artillery and AA batteries as well as a variety of other monsters in various shapes and sizes. Probably enough to overwhelm the defenses in St. Louis unless the commanders there could bog the enemy down in house-to-house fighting. Certainly more than enough to crush Nina’s vagabond army without breaking a sweat.
And that raised an important question. Exactly what did she hope to accomplish? If The Order’s army shared the same structure as humanity’s forces, then perhaps she could have snuck up from behind and damaged command and control. But the enemy lacked any clear command structure; they exhibited more of a flock mentality. This made them less susceptible to precision strikes or operations to break command and control, as evidenced by the destruction of the Olathe facility failing to disrupt The Order’s march east.
The lifelong soldier knew it had taken great skill for her to move people across the state and start tracking Voggoth’s army without being spotted. Indeed, she found some pride in that. But now that the final battle neared, exactly how could she contribute?
“Captain Forest,” the wounded corporal’s voice came over one of the short range radios in the truck. “You need to see this.”
Nina drove west passing scattered pockets of her ‘army’ moving along the road in cars, on foot, bikes, and horses. She had assigned unit commanders-some ‘commanding’ for the first time in their civilian lives-to maintain order and they all knew to muster at the elementary school. Muster for what remained a question but the summons to the rear echelon might provide an answer.
She followed radio directions to a three-story home on Pine Bend Drive to the south of Wild Horse Creek Drive. The corporal and a small group of citizen-soldiers gathered on the half-collapsed roof at the top of a once- beautiful colonial home. Nina left Vince below with Odin resting in the back seat of the SUV while she went up