— 10 —
On the way to Galveston, Beckham had learned that General Hernandez had arrived from Mexico. Just like Canada, they had sent only a few hundred troops instead of what they had initially promised.
Now he sat next to Rico and Horn at a dining table in an opulent room of the Moody Mansion, a once popular tourist attraction and museum. The neglected informational plaques hanging from the walls or posted on stands were covered in cobwebs.
“Think this place is haunted?” Horn asked.
“Maybe,” Rico said. “You scared?”
“Nah, ghosts are afraid of me.”
Rico raised a brow. “Maybe it’s the BO, man. We do still have water at these outposts, you know?”
Footsteps echoed through the building before Horn could get off a retort. Three Secret Service agents entered, and Beckham rose instinctively, Rico and Horn doing the same.
Next came President Ringgold and General Souza.
“Thank you for making the trip back from Houston,” Ringgold said as they saluted her. She motioned for them all to sit back down around the dining table, then checked her watch. “General Cornelius and the others should be here soon.”
“Will General Hernandez or Vance be meeting with us?” Beckham asked.
“No,” Ringgold said. “As far as they and everyone else on this island knows, this meeting isn’t happening. There are too many people flooding into Galveston, and we don’t want to risk the chance that any collaborators are among them. Loose lips, you know?”
A few more officers from Cornelius and Ringgold’s armed forces filtered in before Cornelius arrived.
“That’s everyone,” Ringgold said, looking between them all. “We’re gathered today with intel that can change the war.”
Every exhausted face seemed to light up at the prospect.
“Until now, only a few of you were aware of the intel our science team recently recovered,” she said. “Thanks to their work with the webbing network, they identified that the so-called Prophet and the heart of the New Gods operation is in Las Vegas.”
“It is extremely important that you reveal this information to no one except those we’ve given prior clearance,” Souza said. “Initially, when we got this intel, we considered sending an offensive with our new allies, but the risk of the collaborators finding out is too great.”
So we’re sending in a few fire-teams, Beckham thought. Just like the past. A few good men and women to save us all.
He wasn’t sure it would be enough.
“If we don’t hit the New Gods hard with our allies, then how are we going to stop this Prophet and all their forces?” he asked.
“We still plan on launching a counter-offensive on the New Gods, but our tactics rely more on surgical precision than brute force for this mission,” Souza said. “We will distribute the other troops by priority to the outposts that need them the most.”
The mood in the room seemed to shift as the officers waited to hear this new strategy. Beckham could tell none of this was what they had expected, especially after Ringgold had been promising more extensive offensive action against the New Gods.
“I know you’re worried,” Ringgold said. “And you have every right to be.” She paused a second, as if bracing herself. “Last night we received word that our last outposts in eastern Florida were taken.”
The room was silent for a long moment.
“This is no longer a war of superior technology or weapons or even numbers,” Ringgold said. “We have to win by being smarter than our enemy with the forces we have left, and the people in this room are the best we have left. I’m going to let Cornelius and Souza fill you in on the details.”
Souza leaned forward. “From our best estimates, Las Vegas is a cesspool of Variant activity. The city served no economic or military purpose to the Allied States during our reconsolidation, so we abandoned it and the Variants must have moved in.”
Cornelius unrolled a map over the table. It was a satellite image showing the black and brown ruins of Las Vegas, dated from five years ago before they had lost contact with most of their reliable imaging satellites.
“Thank you,” Souza said. He looked at the map and then pointed at a location northwest of where the once-famous hotels like the Bellagio, MGM Grand, and the Wynn had been. “The science team triangulated the signals. Most of them propagate from here, the University Medical Center.”
He scanned the map and then tapped another location. “And while there aren’t as many signals coming from here, the Palazzo is our second guess. We believe one of these locations is likely to house the Prophet.”
“I take it he’s not alone out there,” Horn said.
“Intercepted communications over the network suggest the presence of at least four individual masterminds in the vicinity of Vegas,” Souza said. “From past experience, we know the infrastructure and number of minions required to feed those beasts means we’re likely looking at several hundred to a couple thousand Variants in the area.”
“These reports lead us to believe the New Gods have spread through the city like a bad cancer,” Cornelius said. “The science team also informs us the webbing network is unlikely to survive in the intense heat and sun exposure of the desert. That means it’s highly likely the monsters have taken advantage of the vast network of empty tunnels, drainage pits, and water lines beneath the city, not to mention all the massive abandoned casinos and hotels. That will be where you’ll probably find the highest density of webbing and monsters.”
“From previous attacks on Variant hives, we know that bombing these types of nests can be ineffective at best and give us a false sense of security,” Souza continued. “That’s why we’re relying on each of you to cut out this disease infecting Sin City at its roots, to ensure it never comes back.”
“So no air support?” Horn asked.
“Air support will be limited,” Cornelius said. “Not only are we limited by our diminishing stockpiles of ordnance, but the truth is our air superiority is ineffective at clearing out the vast,
