On that same day, the Excalibur obliterated the heavy artillery, well-dug entrenchments, and Witiko officers of two hundred stubborn hold outs barricaded inside government buildings in Sacramento. Brewer used the ship's 'belly boppers'; powerful energy weapons based on technology stolen from the Redcoats.

  At that point-with three of the mighty ships moving with near-impunity over the state's skies-garrisons south of San Francisco reconsidered their allegiance.

  Still, the Witiko used what cruisers still functioned to cover retreating loyal soldiers and managed to mount local counter-attacks to buy time. Time for what, however, became a question because unlike The Empire, no relief force waited in the wings and their war stocks dwindled.

  After his mission at Beale, Trevor shuttled between dreadnoughts, forward operating bases, and the various fronts but remained relatively out of the line of fire.

  This did, however, expose Trevor to what he had hoped to avoid: news from home. Or, rather, the political and PR battle.

  While most of the media praised the military's success, some commentators and reporters-not to mention a certain Senator-remained focused on casualties.

  Years had passed since Trevor's military fought in a major combined arms assault against an equally inclined enemy. As such, it had been years since the daily casualty report covered so many pages.

  By the time Prescott's armored spearhead took out the Barstow generator, The Empire had suffered over four thousand killed in action on the California front and double that number wounded. The newspapers who shared Evan Godfrey's point of view emphasized that most of those causalities died at the hands of other human beings and The New American Press printed full-color pictures of smoke rising from the Philippan as well as somber images of coffins at train stations back east.

  To further fan the flames of discontent, Brad Gannon continued to share "reports from home" during his tour of The Empire. Those reports spoke of civilian casualties, destroyed infrastructure, and a rising death count on both sides (not including Witiko, of course).

  The religious tribunal called for the immediate cessation of hostilities. An alliance of 'moderate' Senators passed a non-binding resolution labeling the attack a 'failure of diplomacy.' Meanwhile, more radical politicos led by Godfrey marched in the streets of D.C. and Boston chanting slogans characterizing the California war as a crime against humanity.

  On April 23 ^ rd Trevor-motivated as much by a desire to get away from the political and public relations war as a desire to get back into the action-flew to the First Armored Division's assembly area in Mission Viejo south of Los Angeles…

  …Prior to the end of the world, Richard Trevor Stone had never visited California. Yet by the second week of the invasion he understood why so many people in the pre-Armageddon world chose to suffer the Earthquakes, high taxes, congestion, and screwed up politics to live in the "Golden State".

  The forests of the northern region, the beautiful white-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevadas that also hid the natural splendor of Tahoe, the dangerous but beautiful desert in the southeast, and the jagged Pacific coastline that inspired poets and songwriters made for a collection of majestic scenery few regions of North America could match.

  Mission Viejo fit with that scenery with neatly planned residential neighborhoods surrounded by natural beauty. A tremendous number of small parks-nearly two every square mile-made perfect muster zones for the Pennsylvania 1 ^ st Armored Division commanded by General Bobby Bogart and the 1 ^ st Tactical Support Wing under the charge of Five Armies veteran Jimmy Bragg.

  About half of the locals locked themselves inside their homes, a few even sniped at patrols but soon found that K9 noses could sniff out their positions.

  The rest welcomed the advance, mostly the folks who worked at the cylinder-shaped Witiko factories outside Los Angeles or who played servant or chauffeur to the better-off.

  On the morning of April 23 ^ rd, the tanks and helicopters set out from their encampments…

  …While the San Joaquin Hills sit atop the Pelican Hill fault zone, the shaking that afternoon came not from subterranean tremors but Abrams tanks and armored cars making their way northwest on Route 73.

  Mortar fire from pro-Cooperative partisans operating out of Laguna Hills slowed but could not stop the advance. That changed as the formation’s destination came in to focus. At that point, The Cooperative responded by dispatching twenty light armored vehicles of various configurations and nearly two thousand worn and weary infantry to greet the onslaught. The defenders hurried to forward positions centered around the campus of UC Irvine-about forty miles south of Los Angeles-backed by artillery on the west side of Upper Newport Bay.

  Governor Malloy-who fled Sacramento prior to the Excalibur reducing the government buildings to slag-and what remained of his top-ranking cohorts had taken refuge in the city of Angels. Prescott’s 2 ^ nd Corp aimed to punch a hole in the ring of defenders protecting that city. More specifically, he wanted to capture the southern anchor of those defenses by taking Long Beach. Such a move would sever communications between The Cooperative’s leadership and San Diego where their largest remaining army waited.

  As for the Witiko, California propaganda claimed that Chancellor D’Trayne took to the skies in a Stingray to fight to the bitter end, something Trevor highly doubted.

  Whatever the truth, he watched artillery duels and advancing armor from atop the mountains sandwiching Route 73. Eagle One-playing host to Prescott and his staff-sat nearby. Tyr-Trevor’s loyal but aging Norwegian Elkhound-stood alongside his master.

  A few lonely clouds hovered above but the sun provided plenty of golden rays. The prevailing wind pushed east, nonetheless traces of the odor of battle brushed overtop Trevor’s hilltop position, carrying an eclectic mix of burning metal, spent powder, and gasoline.

  Desperate California artillery fell haphazardly among rumbling tanks. Those errant shots caused smoky fires to erupt in a field of sagebrush where a yard of Bloodhorns-slender, red-eyed extraterrestrial ungulates-grazed. The creatures scrambled back and forth, chased first by the burst of artillery in one direction, then the other way as tanks emerged from an adjoining neighborhood.

  To the south and west of 73, the enemy’s defense lines included infantry as well as light armor operating from the Big Canyon Country Club. Those vehicles-mainly APCs and Bradley’s-darted out and fired shots at the approaching spearhead, then retreated only to repeat the tactic when circumstances permitted.

  Witiko-made war machines joined the human-built ones. The alien vehicles moved fast on six massive tires, stopped and unfolded metal support legs much like a back hoe might when digging trenches, and spat well-guided but very short-range rockets from both fore and aft launchers. While only lightly armored, they packed a punch.

  Trevor saw one of the mobile missile platforms fire a dozen strikes at the forward thrust of the Imperial advance crossing the field where the Bloodhorns had grazed. The first hit literally split a Dodge Durango 'up-armored' with metal plating in half. Another slammed the ground at a harsh angle and tipped the sixty-plus tons of an Abrams on its side.

  However, the Witiko vehicle did not last long.

  A TOW-equipped Humvee circled behind the launcher by cutting through the tightly packed homes and passages of Buffalo Hills Park. The Hummer hit the offending machine with an anti-tank round. The rocket fuel in the reloaded launchers ignited and the vehicle-along with its crew of six aliens in a dome-like cabin-burned to cinders on a soccer field.

  Tyr grumbled something, pulling Trevor’s attention from his binoculars. He saw General Tom Prescott exit the parked eagle and walk toward him.

  Prescott had risen to the rank of Major in the U.S. Army by the time Armageddon came. He kept a hundred soldiers and a smattering of civilians alive after the military’s command structure fell to pieces until finding Trevor's lakeside estate. Prescott then worked with Jon Brewer during the Battle of Five Armies and, in the years since, proved an enthusiastic leader with a knack for tactics.

  Forty-something Prescott showed a youthful bounce in his step as he joined Trevor atop the hill and reported, "7 ^ th Armored has broke through the defenses at UC and took the bridge at Campus Drive. I’ve switched the axis of attack that way."

  Trevor returned his binoculars to his eyes and scanned in that direction. He saw plumes of smoke rising one after another across sedate neighborhoods then through the libraries, lecture halls, and pavilions of what had been one of the largest universities in California.

  If the 7 ^ th Brigade could exploit the breakthrough-a relatively easy task considering the tactical situation-then The Empire could gain control of the "John Wayne Orange County Airport" and the Tustin Marine Corps Air Station. Those facilities would prove valuable as staging grounds for a final assault on Los Angeles.

  Prescott absently scratched the back of his neck and said, "Got one other thing, boss."

  Trevor, through the field glasses, watched a friendly tank crew abandon their mine-damaged smoking vehicle at the big intersection of 73 and Bonita Canyon Drive.

  Prescott told Trevor, "My Captains tell me I.S. teams are taking custody of Witiko officers from forward positions. Pardon my French, but ain’t that a little off, you know?"

  Trevor's binoculars dropped and hung from the strap around his neck. His eyes narrowed and he grumbled, "What did you say?"

  "Internal Security has prisoner control and transport teams operating closer to the front lines than usual. They're bypassing military police and taking custody of Witiko-especially officers-right up by the front lines. Kind of out of the ordinary, don't you think?"

  Trevor smelled the hand of Evan Godfrey. Internal Security had strong ties to the Senate and Trevor already knew how much Evan liked the Witiko. He sensed a plan to embarrass him or force an early end to the campaign.

  "What about Governor Malloy? Where’s he at?"

  Prescott scratched the back of his neck again. "Well, Intel says he’s held up at L.A. City Hall with a bunch of mayors and ministers. The top dogs, I guess, on the human side of the whole Cooperative thing."

  Trevor told the General: "Hit it."

  "What’s that, sir?"

  "Get on the horn to the Philippan and have them hit City Hall. Knock the whole damn building down."

  Prescott said nothing but his face corkscrewed with confusion.

  "What’s wrong, General, haven’t you ever heard of taking out command and control?"

  "Well, yes sir. But those guys up there don’t have any freedom of movement. Or, I guess, they won’t after today. Shouldn’t we be talking to that Governor about surrender? I’m guessing he’ll listen and he’s still got clout with what’s left of the true-believers."

  Trevor felt one part anger and one part fear with a spice of urgency. The thought of Evan slipping Witiko officers away made Trevor uneasy. The idea of Malloy and his top lieutenants-the human core of The Cooperative-remaining intact bothered him even more. In an instant he saw press conferences and debates, sad stories of dead Californians, protests against the military, and calls to rethink war strategy in the light of the ‘human’ toll. He did not want anyone with ‘clout’ left from California. They must be beaten in every way to clearly display the folly of siding with aliens.

  He did not need to kill Malloy to win the war but a part of him-the cold calculating part that had made his doppelganger a dictator on another world-saw an ends that needed justifying and he knew he possessed the means.

  "I said hit it. Don’t make me repeat myself again."

  – Governor Terrance Malloy stared out from the Tower Room on the top floor of City Hall. In the old world, the large square room hosted banquets and awards dinners, meetings and other prestigious events enhanced by the panoramic views of Los Angeles.

  Like most of that metropolis, during the war against the Witiko City Hall endured much damage. Several levels had been charred black by fires. Furthermore, chunks of the structure’s concrete-concrete made with sand taken from each of the state’s fifty-eight counties and water from each of its 21 missions-had been blasted away to the streets some thirty-two floors below. In other words, an important icon of Los Angeles and, therefore, California had suffered greatly.

  City Hall had not been alone in that regard.

  As if to emphasize the thought, the Governor’s eyes sought out and found the dusty hole to the north; all that remained of Dodger Stadium after a bombardment of Witiko rockets had struck that makeshift rescue center, killing more than five thousand refugees on a fine summer day during the first months of the alien invasion.

  Whether those missiles targeted the refugees or, as the Witiko explained during negotiations, resulted from a malfunction, did not matter. That hole served as a symbol.

  When that first war ended, Malloy worked to cleanse the scars, starting first with renovating City Hall. Similar projects in other cities erased some-certainly not all-of the wounds from that five-year conflict.

  At the same time, the social structure underwent renovations. Their Witiko allies brought new technologies and new ways of thinking that might have repulsed small minds. But Malloy convinced his people that survival depended on re-thinking how they viewed government, work, and life in general.

  The result? California survived. No easy task, particularly when the rest of the country descended into chaos ruled either by aliens overtly enslaving human survivors or dangerous wilderness with no laws, no organization, and no hope.

  On long nights when the faces of the former Governor and others who had been in front of Malloy in the line of succession haunted his sleep, he admitted to himself that, yes, his embracing of Witiko ideals served as much his self-interest as the interest of California. Yet he also knew one truth: the peace deal had stopped the fighting.

  In the years since, human and aliens rid the cities and suburbs of dangerous predators, re-established industry, and built a functioning society.

  Certainly that society lacked perfection. The human population in California shrank with a slow but steady drop in life expectancy and a low birth rate. Malloy and his people agreed with D’Trayne that the best hope for prosperity lay with a smaller population base.

  The Governor dropped his eyes to a closer sight: tents and tables cluttering a parking lot across the street. Lines of people waited for their portion from pots of bubbling stew made with vegetables, fish, wild game, and lots of water. Dinner time at the "Municipal Feeding Station."

  Malloy felt a vague sense of pride in the station. These people lived. If the war with the Witiko had gone on, they probably would have been killed. The Governor did not buy Trevor Stone’s explanation that it had been the Witiko-not California-in danger of losing that war.

  No, Malloy felt that his decision to seek peace, to share power, to accept new (alien) ideas resulted in survival for Californians while the rest of the world died. It was mere coincidence that doing the right thing helped make his life easier.

  While food lines were not new, something else down there was: the presence of cameramen. Such pictures had not been transmitted across the state before the invasion by Trevor’s "Empire." To do so, Malloy believed, would merely hurt morale and paint an unflattering picture of life in The Cooperative. In contrast, with the start of the new war images of breadlines, homeless citizens, and poorly-functioning hospitals served a purpose, especially when subjecting the context of those images to heavy editing. As a life-long politician, Malloy understood the value of propaganda.

  He sighed and walked away from the view.

  Four men in fine suits and one woman in a business skirt hovered around several banquet tables. A half-dozen guards stood at the entrances to the Tower Room bearing assault rifles and dressed in black coveralls. No sign of any Witiko, officer or otherwise.

  Witiko or no, so few people gathered in a room meant to hold so many did not sit well with the Governor. The emptiness of the chamber made him feel small.

  A young courier hustled in. He wore a muddy uniform and sported bruises and cuts on his face and forearms.

  "One of The Empire’s dreadnoughts is approaching. Spotters identify it as the Philippan. It’s out by San Bernardino. My commander sent a message to the airport."

  Malloy knew the courier meant his commander had tried yet again to get the Witiko Cruisers at LAX to engage the approaching threat. The Governor also knew that with the regular air force destroyed, the Stingrays did not desire to engage the dreadnoughts head on, despite the advantages of their radar cloak. Apparently the mighty Witiko preferred the company of human jets as cannon fodder when flying into battle.

  "I see," the Governor spoke. "What am I supposed to do?"

  Malloy surveyed his gathered advisors and focused on his Minister of Defense, a diminutive man in his mid-forties with scruff on his cheeks and a balding head.

  During the Witiko War, that man served as a soldier in a regular army unit. But when his commanding officer refused to recognize the peace treaty, that officer disappeared, the unit fell into line, and the subordinate who had made all that possible received an appointment to lead a new Defense Department.

  Malloy asked, "Minister Snowe, what is the military situation?"

  Snowe said, "The attack coming up from the south is moving on Long Beach. They’ll take it sometime in the morning, we think. We don’t know what the dreadnought is up to, but I doubt it will fly downtown."

  A fifty-something woman with thinning hair and a sharp nose who served as the Secretary of Family Planning questioned, "Why? Can the Stingrays hold it off?"

  Snowe answered, "No. But The Empire knows we have surface to air missiles and artillery batteries that are effective against dreadnoughts. Besides, a direct assault on downtown L.A. would lead to a lot of civilian casualties, and we don’t think they want that."

  "This is true," Malloy said. "But so far our public relations campaign has not borne fruit. What is Gannon doing over there? I have not heard from him in over a week."