shouted, “Incoming fighters! Drop where you are! Drop where you are!”
We nose-dived toward the forest. Our shields obliterated the bare branches of trees that had shed their leaves for the winter. We skipped across the tops of the trees as Nobles cut our speed from thousands of miles per hour to hundreds. He righted our attitude, and our momentum hurled us forward. As I watched Nobles steering us into trees, I realized he was using them to slow us.
The shields held. Nothing hit the ship itself, but we spun and bumped and tilted and bounced, working our way down the last thirty feet. And then we touched down as delicately as a ballerina completing a grand jete, and the world around us was silent.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Back on Terraneau, Lieutenant Mars and his engineers tested the batteries in the Unified Authority’s new shielded armor and discovered that the batteries stored enough energy to power the armor for forty-five minutes. Their power usage spiked whenever anything hit the shields. If we hit them with a continuous laser stream or enough bullets, we could cut that battery life to a few minutes.
The only weapons their Marines could use while wearing the armor were the built-in flechette guns that ran along the outsides of their sleeves—decidedly short-range weapons, accurate to one hundred yards.
The original plan was to cut off any outside support by surrounding Washington, D.C., then tightening the noose around the city’s neck as our reinforcements arrived.
They, of course, would retaliate by sending out soldiers in shielded armor; but we had that all figured out. With our M27s, we could hit the defenders from outside their range. We would drain their shields; and, once we depleted the batteries in their shields, we would annihilate them.
It was a good plan, and it probably would have worked had I had three hundred thousand troops. Instead, I had twenty-six thousand men, and we were cut off. We’d lost 90 percent of our birds on the way down, and there would be no reinforcements as long as the missile defenses remained operational.
Both Freeman and I survived. Most of the transports in the front of the pack made it through. That was because the fighters that cleared our way took the brunt of the attack. As long as Freeman was alive, there was still hope we might shut down the missiles.
“Everyone out! Regroup. Regroup!” I shouted over the interLink. I used a frequency for company commanders. The Unifieds would come looking for us shortly, and they’d have artillery. They would not have any trouble locating our transports; we’d practically crushed the forest when we crashlanded. As we did not have enough men to guard them, we’d need to leave the transports behind.
Our only hope was to hide in the forest, where we might be able to escape the Unifieds’ fighters. It wasn’t much of a hope. Once the fighters failed, the Unifieds would send slow-moving, low-flying helicopter gunships to flush us out. First they’d send gunships, then they’d send in tanks and Marines. We needed to move.
“Freeman, where are you?” I asked on a direct Link.
“I’m on my way,” he said.
“Do you want me to send a team with you?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. It was a stupid question. Sometimes a lone man can accomplish feats that an army could not. Working by himself, Freeman could hijack a car and infiltrate Washington unseen. Every person he added to his entourage made him that much more visible; and in this game, visibility was death.
“Is there any chance the Unifieds found your buildings?” I asked. Maybe I was losing faith.
The enemy had better armor, artillery, air support, and more men; but we were Marines. We organized and spread out under the cover of the trees as the first of the U.A. fighters arrived overhead.
The fighters didn’t worry me …much. Fighters were made for fighting each other, not ground forces. They worked best when they moved fast. We had drone planes and rockets. Those fighters would need to slow down to a vulnerable speed to attack us. If they did, we would give them something to think about.
Fighting back against Unified Authority gunships and troops would be another story. We needed to evacuate the forest before the Unified’s ground forces arrived. We wouldn’t stand a chance against tanks and shielded armies fighting here in the trees; but we might find safety in the eye of the storm.
“We need to get to the city,” I called out to the troops.
The first explosion was of the benevolent variety, at least it was benevolent toward us. A few miles east of us some charges went off. Though he did not call it in, I suspected Ray Freeman had set something off. Looking up through the trees in the direction of the blast, I saw a column of white smoke rise into the air. White smoke, clean smoke, the kind of smoke you get from charges.
In this case, Freeman had hit a communications tower to try to buy us some time. I heard the pop of cables snapping and the yawn of metal bending. The tower fell through trees as it collapsed. I heard the sounds, but they meant nothing to me until we crossed over a ridge and found the tower lying twisted in a bed of broken branches.
“What is that?” asked one of my captains.
“A relay tower,” I said. Losing the tower would not cripple U.A. communications in the area; it might not even slow them down.
The trees around us were spindly but tall, most of their trunks no more than four inches across. They had silver-gray bark. Looking up through the trees, I saw a nickel-colored sky with high-flying clouds. A crow flew across my path, or maybe a raven. It looked like a fast-flying shadow against the sky.
Fighters streaked overhead. First we heard the growl as they approached, then the screech as they slammed past us, and finally the bang as the noise of their engines followed. They flew at supersonic speeds crossing the woods in a matter of seconds. Beneath the trees we walked ten-minute miles, hoping that our slow speed would make us harder to follow.
Then came the dull
Those canisters would not harm the gunships, but they would wreak havoc on their radar, sonar, and infrared tracking systems. They filled the air with invisible filaments that gave sonar false readings and choked out radar and other tracking technologies.
Negotiating my way through grayscale landscape, I felt abandoned by the God in whom I did not believe and the fleet in which I did. The trees were gray, and the sky was silver; sunlight showed like platinum streaks casting shadows on the muddy ground. No help was coming, and we could not defeat the enemy. The best we could hope for was to lengthen the fight as we waited to die.
With their tracking systems hobbled, the men flying the gunships circled over the tops of the trees, hoping to establish visual contact. The gunships had thick, powerful armor. They were flying tanks armed with rockets, chain guns, and excellent tracking equipment, which my men had now blinded.
Trying to force us into the open, the gunships fired rockets into the trees. One ship loomed over us like a shark following prey. When we came to a clearing, the gunship spun into position and sprayed bullets into a company of men.
The chain guns were large and powerful. The bullets stabbed through my men and their armor. Blood sprayed out of the holes as men stumbled and fell. The gunship fired a rocket that hit the base of a tree, sending five men tumbling through the air. They landed as corpses; arms, legs, and armor blown away from their bodies.
One of my grenadiers scored a hit with a rocket-propelled grenade, but the handheld rocket didn’t dent the gun bird. More of my grenadiers joined in the fight.
It was like hitting bulletproof glass with a baseball. Hit it enough times, and the glass will weaken and break. I
