The enemy's vehicles hurried to cover the approaches to the citadel, cutting off any hope of storming the fortress and leaving the attackers with no place to go other than retreat.

  "Covering fire!" Trevor yelled. "We need cover to fall back!"

  A soldier standing next to the new Emperor disintegrated in a flash of energy. The concussion from the shot threw Stone into the air. He hit the cobblestone-like road head-first, the world turned fuzzy and a horrid pain erupted at the top of his head.

  Gronard’s voice came over the radio, "Trevor, what is your status? Trevor?"

  – Forest’s soldiers pursued the retreating Duass to the center of town. At that point, the enemy formed a defensive line supported by the citadel’s big guns. Most of the troops in the Major’s first wave died and so would have the rest if the Duass did not appear more interested in obliterating Trevor's combat group first.

  Nonetheless, she ordered her men to hold their positions despite being outnumbered and outgunned.

  "Keep firing!" She ordered knowing that maintaining pressure from her side of the battle might be the only way to keep the Duass from completely overwhelming Trevor's group.

  –

  His head aching and his vision blurred, Trevor and the remains of his unit took cover around the corner of a small building and waited. He could do nothing other than wait; wait for Gronard to salvage the situation.

  What the Hell was Nina thinking?

  The Duass fortress’ cannons chipped away at the buildings and, at the same time, provided cover for their infantry to begin a flanking maneuver. Trevor knew this. He could feel them working through alleys and side streets. It was only a matter of time until enemy soldiers appeared to their south and north, possibly even behind them. At that point, they would be easy targets and the end would come fast.

  The only hope lay with Gronard. Not a hope for victory, a hope of survival; escape.

  Trevor worked his radio. He kept his voice as calm as possible considering the blaster fire raging around him, despite the feeling of failure, and despite his anger.

  "Major Forest."

  Static followed by, "Yes. Trevor? Yes, this is Nina."

  "Prepare for extraction. Start falling back to the north and meet ground transport there."

  "If we pull back they’ll be all over you!"

  "Do it! Follow your damn orders for the first fucking time today! Fall back. NOW!"

  He threw his radio to the ground. A moment later Skippers flew in over the skyline.

  Immediately the Duass targeted the ships. Their plasma rifles could only scar the hulls of the flyers, but the fortress guns could do much more. The first AATC in the air space over down town exploded as one of the guns scored a direct hit. The bodies of the pilots plummeted to the ground in flames while hot fuel sprayed over a squad of human troops in the street.

  Two Skippers fired on the citadel. Their missiles knocked out one of the guns, buying a little more time for two more AATCs to land on streets shielded from the direct fire of the Citadel’s weapons. They filled up fast with injured then flew away jut as a War Skiff moved to intercede.

  Another Skipper swooped in and launched an anti-armor missile that disabled the enemy vehicle in one shot.

  That airship then landed and loaded to two squads into its belly for a quick retreat. But as it took to the air, the Skipper's starboard jump jet exploded from a Duass grenade. The ship listed, spun, and then slammed into a building. Smoke, dust, and flames burst from the impact zone. The massive rotor of the bird flew off and broke into pieces against another building.

  Any soldiers who survived the crash did not survive for long: Duass infantry assaulted the wreckage.

  "Mother-"

  Trevor did not have time to get to the second half of that compound word as he was interrupted by enemy fire. The Plats came charging around a corner on his flank.

  Just in time, Gronard came to the rescue.

  Two armored vehicles blasted through the Duass infantry and wheeled to a halt at Trevor’s position. Two more of Stone’s men fell as they boarded their escape vehicle but they did escape, with War Skiffs chasing them out of the town like hounds on the heels of a fox.

  On the north side, transport trucks met Major Forest's remaining soldiers who withdrew under air cover from the remaining Skippers.

  Plumes of smoke from burning vehicles-both human and Duass-drifted into the air from the village, but "Erie Coast" still belonged to the Duass.

  – The ground vehicles and AATCs regrouped in a field ten miles east. The armored cars formed a perimeter and the air craft landed in the middle. Medics turned one of the Skipper’s cargo bays into a triage center to stabilize patients before the long trek home.

  Trevor met with Gronard and several squad leaders inside a hastily constructed tent. They opened a folding table and examined maps. They agreed that, despite the pasting they had taken, the Duass were in no position to pursue.

  Major Forest entered the tent.

  "Trevor? Oh, thank God you’re okay."

  Stone stormed over to her. "What were you doing? YOU HAD ORDERS! I told you to demonstrate on their northern flank not fucking drive them right at us!"

  She not only flinched, she outright cowered, her hands raised as if to ward off blows. Her shoulders hunched over and her face cringing in anticipation of a strike.

  "Trevor, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. They disengaged…they pulled out…we chased them. I thought we could-"

  "You don’t think. You hear me? You don’t think. I do the thinking. You do what I tell you to do so things don’t get all fucked up."

  He huffed and puffed but said no more.

  After a moment, Major Nina Forest straightened her stance but kept her head bowed.

  General Gronard finally asked, "What now?"

  "What now? What now? We head for home, now, General. With our tails- my tail — between our fucking legs."

  23. Home Front

  Jon felt uncomfortable sitting behind Trevor's desk in the upstairs office, as if he betrayed his friend on some level. Ironic, he thought, because there were several people out there who coveted that seat, but for now it belonged to Jon, no matter how much he did not want it.

  Gordon Knox, sitting across from him, said, "So far the K9s are doing everything their handlers ask. The only one acting strange is Tyr. He keeps slipping onto transports or sniffing around the estate. You want me to do something? Maybe tranquilize him?"

  Jon shook his head. "No. He’s probably the only one doing anything constructive."

  Knox offered a half-hearted smile and went on, "You ready for the bad news?"

  "Huh? You mean there was good news? I guess I missed it."

  The Director of Intelligence ignored the jest. "Two more distribution centers were overrun by mobs. A third one had a problem but the mob was dispersed by I.S. Two people were shot in the process, one is in critical condition."

  "Internal Security actually broke up a riot? How nice of them to do their jobs."

  "People are getting, well, they’re getting out of line. I think maybe you should start thinking about putting them in line a little more."

  "What do you want me to do, Gordon? Pull more brigades off the front line to do Internal Security? It’s been well over a month with no word and nothing from us, only the same secret mission crap. No one is buying it anymore."

  Knox waited as Jon released his frustration in a huff, a puff, and finally a sigh, then he said, "Look, Jon, I know who is stirring this whole thing up. You’ve got that editor over at the New American Press. You’ve got a couple of low-rent Senators and a southern Governor. They’re the ones accusing you of a coup or saying Trevor is dead. They’re the most visible."

  Jon waited for Gordon’s point but that point did not come with words; it came in his narrow, staring eyes that sent an icicle along Jon's spine. Once he understood Knox's full meaning, Jon raised a hand.

  "Wow. Hey, whoa, easy there Gordon. If you’re suggesting what I think…"

  "We have to toughen up or things are going to get worse. As it is, our offensive in Ohio has a black eye and a handful of Hivvans are still holding out in front of Prescott down south. Right now we look weak to our enemies, both external and internal."

  Jon jumped to his feet, partly as a physical manifestation of his agitation and partly because he wanted to escape that desk.

  "So we knock off some trouble makers and you think things will be okay? We’re still leaderless."

  "No!" Gordon shouted a little too loud. He glanced to the floor and modulated his tone to something closer to normal. "No. We’re not leaderless. You’re in charge now."

  "By whose authority? Who put me here? What sense does it make? Trevor was in charge because he started it all. We pledged our loyalty to him. But me? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Gordon, but I’m a little short on the divine right clause."

  Gordon decided to stand, too. He walked over to Brewer and the two men spoke in front of the glass doors of the mansion balcony. Beyond those doors was an overcast sky that threatened rain although snow was still a possibility on the tenth day of March. Underneath that overcast sky, just beyond the closed iron gate, lived a camp of protestors, activists, and lunatics. One guy actually held a sign reading, "The End is Near."

  A ring of Internal Security tried their best to keep the group contained. On that day, the mob counted three dozen in their number, nearly double from a few days ago. Tomorrow?

  Gordon snapped, "Who do you want in charge, Jon? Most of the idiots who want to take over are preaching peace. They want to stop the war, lick our wounds, and live in isolation. They're making all sorts of noise out there in the press and at town hall meetings. But you know, I don't care so much about them. It's the ones we haven't heard from that have me on edge."

  Jon nodded in agreement and said, "Yes. I’ve been thinking that, too."

  "So the question is," Gordon finished the thought. "Exactly why has Evan Godfrey been so quiet? What is he up to?"

  – Sharon intercepted Evan at the front door of their mansion in the Washington D.C. suburbs.

  "You’re going to play tennis?"

  "Yes," he answered as he zipped his gym bag with one hand and twirled a tennis racquet with the other. "I’m going to play tennis."

  As happened often in recent weeks when she confronted him over his lack of action, Sharon's jaw dropped and her eyes bulged.

  At first the words came out as little more than gasps, but her voice improved as she managed to swallow more oxygen. "What is wrong with you? It's been weeks and you keep repeating that bull shit Jon Brewer and the military council keep throwing out about Trevor away on a secret mission. Every interview you give is about remaining calm and waiting for the Emperor to return. This is the opportunity we've waited for, and you're doing nothing!"

  He stood there and listened to her rant while fiddling with the tennis racquet and nodding his head in agreement to her points.

  "Have you heard the news, Evan? Just about every newspaper outside of Baltimore and even some of Trevor's hand-picked Governors are saying the Emperor is dead and Brewer is just covering it up. And where are you going? To the health club to play tennis?"

  He quickly answered, "Well, it's still too cold for the outdoor courts."

  She ignored his flippancy. "I thought you were the voice of the opposition. Maybe you're just a second-rate politician after all. A Coward."

  Sharon’s eight year old son approached through the cavernous living room of the old mansion crunching an apple as he moved. Sharon swiveled around and glared. The boy retreated at nearly a gallop.

  "You really should treat him with a little more respect," Evan said to his pseudo-wife. "He’s getting older now. He’s turning into a young man."

  "Don’t tell me how to treat my son. Tory is none of your business."

  "Ah, yes, sometimes I forget," Evan put a hand on her shoulder. "This is a business relationship. We have our rules and regulations. Tory’s stewardship is not in my contract."

  He gave her a peck on the forehead. Sharon stepped away, nearly shivering in anger.

  "The problem, my husband, is that you aren’t living up to your end of the bargain. You have your cute little wife and her son, both victims of the Emperor’s cruelty. I go to your political rallies and smile. My child is a boy scout and excels in school. Why, you have yourself the perfect little family, don’t you?"

  He flipped his racquet in the air and caught it. "Why yes, Sharon, I have the perfect little family. Makes a great postcard."

  "And why are you not living up to your part of the bargain?" She jabbed a finger in his chest. "You promised me, you were going to bring down the Emperor. You were going to-"

  His smile evaporated and he placed a finger over her lips. Apparently he no longer found her tirade humorous.

  "Oh, now, no Sharon. Careful. Careful. I have no intentions of ‘bringing down the Emperor.’ But I do have other intentions. You know that. That’s why you came to me, Sharon. You know where I’m going. It just so happens that to get there, well, to get there the structure of power in our new nation will have to change."

  In a more humble tone she said, "You speak a good game, Evan, but you are short on action. Today- right now — the people are ready for a new leader. Trevor Stone is gone, yet you hesitate. Maybe I made a mistake in making our little arrangement."

  She stopped her speech with a grunt that said take that.

  Evan waited to be sure she had finished. When she said nothing more, he spoke.

  "Trevor Stone is gone? Sharon, oh Sharon, is he really gone? I don’t think we can be quite so sure of that yet. You see, I’ve known Trevor for a long time and there’s one thing I’ve learned; never underestimate him. It's quite possible that he’s in hiding waiting to see who moves against him. I would not put that past him. That's what I’d do."

  She looked as if she wanted to speak and he knew what she would say: You’re afraid.

  Again held a finger to her lips.

  "Before you say it, remember that your father underestimated Trevor Stone, and where did it get him? Hmm? No, I think it is best to move slowly, with caution. Let others be the first to storm the Bastille. If Stone is gone for good, then eventually the mob will need a leader. If he returns to clean house, then all those who would challenge him will be knocked from their perches. Well… almost all."

  "So you’re going to do nothing?"

  "No," he twirled his racquet again. "I’m going to play tennis at the health club."

  She spat, "Tennis."

  He paused at the front door and glanced out the window. His motorcade waited: a big armored limousine and two Internal Security escorts on hover bikes.

  "Yes. I’m going to play tennis. Doubles in fact. Doubles with the Captain of the Washington garrison, one of Jim Hutch’s top men in the labor guild, and the Director of the company that services all the military’s telecommunications."

  Godfrey smiled to his wife then walked out the door.

  He had a match to play.

  – Stonewall McAllister pushed his steed at a fast, anxious gallop across an open field with a dozen riders from his command post following including Captain Kristy Kaufman, dressed in a stylish bomber jacket and riding boots.

  She maneuvered her horse closer to his and shouted over the sound of drumming horse hooves, "Still no contact from the depot, General!"

  Kristy referred to the supply depot at Ft. Campbell. No one had heard from or received re-supply from the depot in over twenty-four hours.

  Fortunately, Army Group Center had not encountered any enemy armies during their sweep of western Kentucky and Tennessee. Operations remained of a "rural and urban pacification" nature, a job they had performed successfully in places such as Murfreesboro, Bowling Green, Nashville and Hopkinsville.

  Nonetheless, the soldiers required food, rifles needed bullets, and vehicles ran dry if not fueled. Even a brief interruption of supply created difficulties, but the lack of communication turned the situation from curious to alarming.

  In addition to his army, Stonewall's responsibilities included thousands of humans found in isolated camps and villages uncovered during the trek through the Smokey Mountains. The topography of that part of the world had been hospitable to human survivors in that it provided good cover and defendable positions.

  Those survivors embraced the expanding Empire, particularly when penicillin and antibiotics rolled into town. But those medicines and more could not roll into town if the supply depot at Ft. Campbell-pre-war home of the 101 ^ st "Screaming Eagles"- did not answer their radio.

  It irked the General to an even greater degree that he believed that the problem most likely lay not with an alien attack, but negligence. Ft. Campbell’s operation depended on Internal Security because the supply depot there was not purely military in nature; it had been established to service population centers in Clarksville and Oak Grove.

  At the time of its opening, the idea of using I.S. to staff the depot sounded good because it freed Army Group Center's logistical people for other duties, a decision he now regretted.

  From what Stonewall saw in recent weeks, Internal Security lost their focus; their drive. The glue that was Trevor Stone was losing its adhesion, and the I.S. branch appeared to be the first part to peel away from the whole.

  A four-lane road surrounded on both sides by muddy grass and slightly-frosted barrier trees led into Fort Campbell. As it approached the base, the road split off leaving a big, triangle-shaped yard lined with shrubs to welcome newcomers. At the far end of that yard stood a large, three story white building with a parking lot.

  Stonewall’s cavalry stopped at the tip of that triangle. Garret McAllister dismounted and retrieved his field glasses. The rest of the troop readied their carbines and waited for orders.

  The white building that served as the heart of the supply depot was surrounded. Several of the vehicles in the parking lot had been stomped and smashed. What worried Stonewall was that those cars were not leftovers from the early days of Armageddon; they were military Humvees and cargo trucks.