-9-

  The heartland of old America had become a war zone, with Kansas transformed into a fortress under the iron fist of one man: General Marcus Holt. He was a former military officer of the World Government. Now, he was a dictator for much of the American Midwest.

  His arsenal included three thousand of the latest tanks and deadly helicopter gunships that patrolled the skies. If people failed to obey his dictates, the gunships arrived over their town, destroying it without mercy.

  Today was important for Holt. He was scheduled to give a grand speech in the Kansas State Capitol, the most important building in the state, a towering edifice that symbolized his power. The structure, fortified and surrounded by armed guards, was thought to be impregnable. Yet, unknown to Holt, a storm was brewing.

  A desperate force of freedom fighters had infiltrated Kansas City. Disguised as regular people—farmers, merchants, and travelers—they had made their way into the city. Armed with concealed rifles, pistols, and machineguns, they waited for the opportune moment.

  As Holt began his speech, standing before a crowd of loyalists and soldiers, the freedom fighters prepared to strike. Holt’s voice boomed as he began.

  Outside, hidden among the ordinary citizens, the freedom fighters waited. Inside, Holt was oblivious to the danger, his focus solely on delivering his message of dominance and power.

  The attack came with the piercing shriek of an old air raid siren.

  The freedom fighters threw off their disguises, drawing their weapons. The sound of gunfire filled the air as they converged upon the building, their machine guns chattering. Some carried rocket-propelled grenades, while others wielded portable anti-aircraft systems to take down the hated gunships.

  Holt’s presidential guard, caught by surprise, scrambled to respond. Bullets and explosions tore through the imposing structure. The freedom fighters moved in squads, breaching defenses and neutralizing resistance.

  In the grand rotunda, a group split off, using the columns as cover as they exchanged fire with Holt’s guards. The marble floors became slick with blood and strewn with shell casings. Smoke billowed as the acrid stench of gunpowder grew.

  Outside, helicopter gunships roared to life, scrambling to rescue their leader. However, the freedom fighters were prepared. They launched anti-air missiles, striking the helicopters. Fiery explosions lit up the sky as gunships spiraled to the ground, crashing into the streets.

  The wreckage blocked some of the streets, slowing any reinforcements.

  Inside, the battle raged. The freedom fighters, driven by their determination, pushed forward. Holt’s guards fought back, but there weren’t enough of them here. Room by room, the freedom fighters recklessly advanced, their rifles barking and grenades detonating.

  On the upper floors, Holt’s guards managed to regroup, setting up barricades and firing down stairwells. The freedom fighters slowed and stopped, taking cover behind the shattered remnants of ornate furniture and statues.

  The firefight intensified. An old man from Nebraska launched an RPG, the explosion sending debris and bodies flying.

  In the main hall, Holt stood behind a phalanx of guards, barking orders.

  The main group of freedom fighters grew aware of his location and redirected their assault. They lobbed smoke grenades, creating a dense fog that obscured vision. Under the cover of smoke, they raced his way, their silhouettes barely visible in the haze.

  A desperate struggle ensued around the main hall. Hand-to-hand combat broke out as freedom fighters and guards clashed in the confined spaces. Knives flashed, and the sounds of grunts and cries filled the air.

  There were more freedom fighters here. Their determination also helped, driven by the desire to bring down the tyrant in old American fashion.

  A loud explosion rocked the building. One of the freedom fighters had planted high explosives on a critical support column. The detonation caused part of the ceiling to collapse, sending chunks of debris raining down.

  The guards, disoriented and overwhelmed, began to falter.

  Sensing victory, the ragged partisans pressed their advantage. They stormed the main hall, their weapons blazing. Holt’s guards, perhaps realizing the futility of their situation, began to surrender or fall back.

  An angry Holt retreated to a reinforced room. Where were his reinforcements? His soldiers should be able to sweep the floor with these old grunts.

  The freedom fighters pursued, breaching the final door with explosives. The blast knocked it off its hinges, and they rushed in.

  Holt drew a pistol, but they subdued him after two shots, although he managed to bloody a grunt’s cheek. The room fell silent, except for heavy breathing and the distant sounds of an ongoing battle outside.

  It seemed that General Holt’s tyrannical reign was ending. The once-majestic Kansas State Capitol lay in ruins. As victors tied Holt’s hands behind his back, the sound of distant gunfire and explosions began to fade. Holt glared at them but offered no more resistance, as he had a bloody eye and a fat lip.

  Suddenly, a burst of gunfire echoed through the hallways.

  A team of Holt’s guards had regrouped and rallied, launching a counterattack. They stormed into the room, guns blazing, their loyalty to Holt driving them to fight to the last man.

  The others, caught off guard, dove for cover as bullets ricocheted off the walls. One of the freedom fighters launched a grenade at the advancing guards. The explosion shattered windows and sent debris flying. Several guards were thrown off their feet, but the others pressed on.

  Holt tried to take advantage of the distraction, attempting to break free. A freedom fighter saw this and rushed over to secure him. The sudden movement drew the attention of the guards. Bullets ripped.

  General Holt got caught in the crossfire. He fell with a look of shock and disbelief, thudding onto the tiles.

  The remaining freedom fighters and guards stared as well, most lowering their weapons.

  At that moment, a colonel from Holt’s tank battalions burst into the room, his eyes widening as he stared at Holt’s lifeless body twisted on the floor, his hands tied behind his back.

  It had gotten this far. He could hardly believe it.

  The man was Colonel Anders, a slim, quick-thinking combat officer. With Holt dead, he sensed an opportunity.

  “Stand down everyone,” Anders said. He turned and said the same to his men, who had entered the room. “The general is dead. There’s no point in further bloodshed.”

  The freedom fighters watched as Anders approached Holt’s body. The colonel knelt, closing the general’s eyes before standing to face the partisans.

  “I am Colonel Anders, and I am taking charge. This fight is over. Let’s find a way to move forward without more needless deaths.”

  The freedom fighters, perhaps recognizing the practicality in Anders’ words, nodded. A few among them felt otherwise.

  “We can’t trust him,” one man shouted. “What’s to stop him from doing what Holt the Butcher did?”

  “No,” another said. “We’ve done what we came for. The tyrant is dead. May he rot in Hell.”

  Anders eyed his more aware men, giving them a secret hand signal and the slightest of nods.

  Those soldiers opened fire, bullets tearing through the air. The freedom fighters had little time to react as gunfire and screams filled the room.

  Within moments, it was over as the partisans crumpled to the floor. The poor bastards had never really had a chance.

  Anders stepped forward, his face expressionless. “Secure the perimeter,” he ordered. “This building is now under my control.”

  As the tank commander took over, a new, darker era was about to begin under the iron fist of the cunning Colonel Anders.

  -10-

  EARTH

  FEBRUARY 2077

  In low Earth orbit, giant telescopes observed the enemy fleets. For over fourteen months, they had monitored the steady approach of the mobile asteroids and Enforcers.

  A team of analysts now pored over the latest data. On the central screen, a digital representation of the inner solar system displayed the trajectories of six ominous blips—the Enforcers and their following vessels. These craft had left Titan over fourteen months ago. They had now begun their initial braking maneuvers for Earth orbit.

  “Confirmed visual on the Enforcers,” said Admiral Tojo. He was a small, compact man with a hard, flat face, hard features, and bristles for hair. He wore a white admiral’s uniform and hat. Petty had relieved him from command of the Orion ships during the standoff at the Moon several years ago. He was still bitter about that, although he attempted to hide it. He was perhaps the hardest worker in Command Central, perhaps attempting to win back ship or fleet command from Admiral Wilson, who had replaced him back then.

  Tojo studied the data from the Hubble IV space telescope. “The Enforcers are decelerating as we projected, given their slower advance than last time. The estimated time to Earth’s orbit is three months, twenty-seven days from now.”

  Analysts calculated vectors and velocities as they studied the three massive objects moving far behind the others. Unlike the Enforcers, the asteroids continued to accelerate, their trajectories curving toward Earth. Their purpose was clearer than ever—a collision course that would spell extinction for life on the planet.

  Tojo read over their projections, his features hardening even more, if that was possible. Looking up, he said, “This confirms the worst. The asteroids are still increasing velocity as predicted by Dr. Huber. If they maintain their current trajectory and speed, which seems obvious at this point, they’ll reach Earth’s vicinity at the same time as the Enforcers.”

  The evidence had steadily been mounting for months. The enemy intended to synchronize the arrival of the Enforcers with the asteroids. The Enforcers would likely provide cover, shielding the asteroids from any attempts to divert or destroy them. Once past the Moon, the asteroids would be unstoppable, their mass and velocity more than enough to cause an extinction-level event on Earth.

  The small, feared admiral gathered the data. He was known as the most hawkish fighting admiral in orbital space. “Attack, attack, attack,” seemed to be his answer for everything. His sacking from command had changed him. Tojo had become seemingly compliant, at least to Dr. Huber and CEO Petty. Some whispered it was all show. If so, he had been doing it for years.

  “I will take this to Dr. Huber,” Tojo declared. Stiff-backed, he exited Central Command, and everyone breathed a little easier seeing the hard taskmaster leave for now.

  ***

  From: Strategic Review # 115, by Dr. Manfred Huber:

  The enemy has started to decelerate with the covering force even as their extinction-level threat, the three mobile asteroids, continues to gain velocity. This is going to be an even greater challenge than I had anticipated fourteen months ago, given what I see of the enemy. These vessels are well-armored, and there are certain systems we do not recognize from previous encounters. Therefore, we must expect a surprise or two.

  The greater problem is that our production of new vessels and systems has seen too many setbacks. Too many rebellions on Earth have stymied manufacturing that we desperately need. That means we are short of almost everything. We have our seven Orion ships, the key and the core to our defense. We now have one functional mass driver on the Moon, but we need more—desperately more—and everyone is strained to the limit.

  Therefore, I suggest that three to four of the Orion ships head out on a pre-selected route and deposit black ice-coated missiles. These missiles will be set in such a way as to hide them from the oncoming alien fleet. I suggest we launch a decoy fleet, possibly of giant augmented balloons, using them in such a way as to disguise the missile sneak attack.

  We need to use every tool at our disposal, every piece of deception, every cunning ruse that our race has learned since the days of barbarism, from the time of Sun Tzu to the Crusade in Europe when we destroyed Hitler’s regime. We must use all the tools that humanity has learned and apply them now against the aliens who mean to annihilate the human race.

  The hour is dark, but we are not without our defenses, we are not without our plans. Often, it has been the sheer will and grit of humans standing with their backs to the wall. I think of the Alamo, I think of Thermopylae, and others where the defenders did not die but went on to succeed. We are going to tear the enemy a new one, but we must be smart about it. That is why we must deploy these stratagems and put every facet of our force to use.

  Many are overworked, particularly the transport corps, but now it would be good to have the Orion ships move as if into battle, if nothing else to practice working together. It might even cause the enemy to wonder, and that might be important in some unforeseen way.

  We must cause the aliens to believe we have more than we do, so they make mistakes as they counter against possible faker forces. I am afraid that for us to win, the aliens need to make mistakes. Otherwise, our only hope will be divine aid.

  -11-

  James Petty paced restlessly in his office. He clasped his large hands behind his back, scowled at the floor, and worried his lower lip with his teeth. He was trying to make the right decision. This was regarding Admiral Tojo. With his nostrils flaring, Petty looked up and headed for the door.

  The secretary’s head snapped up as Petty burst into the reception office. She was painting her fingernails. She quickly looked down, perhaps noticing Petty’s thunderous brow.

  Soon enough, the CEO hammered on Huber’s door.

  “Come in,” Huber said.

  Petty entered. “I don’t know what to do. My gut’s in turmoil and I hate it. I don’t want to drink it away. I don’t want to try to lift it away. I just want to do the right thing. And that’s what I don’t know. What is the right thing?”

  Huber raised a quizzical eyebrow. He sat behind his desk, a much smaller desk than CEO Petty’s. He had decided to size everything in his office to match his own stature. This was his sanctuary.

  “I’m guessing this is about Admiral Tojo?” Huber asked.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “I see,” Huber said.

  There had been a discussion the other day in which the strategists reviewed Dr. Huber’s paper. Tojo was in agreement with all of it and had backed the CEO and Huber. Tojo had even suggested they time it more closely than what Dr. Huber suggested. Wilson had been against that. There had been a clash of personalities between Admirals Tojo and Wilson, which was a surprise. Wilson had once been subordinate to Admiral Tojo but had taken over command of the fleet during the last Valiant invasion.

  After the meeting, Tojo had come to see Petty, asking if he might command one of the Orion ships.

  “I will think about it,” Petty had said.

  “What do you think, Huber?” Petty asked, as he stood in the doctor’s office. “Admiral Tojo is the kind of man we need. He’s willing to take his ships into death if that’s what it takes, or even ram one of the Enforcers with an Orion ship. He will do everything he can to annihilate the enemy.”

  “There’s no doubt about that,” Huber said. “Admiral Wilson is more cautious. He’s always been more cautious, which is why you put him in command last time. It also happened to be the right decision. It saved our fleet. If we had lost two or three of the Orion ships back then, we would have little hope of winning the battle this time.”

  “I did right last time,” Petty said. “So should I trust my instincts this time?”

  “What do your instincts tell you?” Huber asked.

  Petty didn’t hesitate. “That Tojo should run the fleet. We need aggressiveness.”

  “To a point, I agree with you, sir.”

  “Do you think I can hand the fleet back to Tojo then?”

  Huber shook his head. “You are in charge. Ultimately, you have to make that decision.”

  “Damn it, man,” Petty said, “I’m asking your advice. Give me your advice.”

  “Hmm… I don’t think you should remove Wilson now. That would be bad for morale, and it would look like you’re just using people.”

  “This is about the destruction of Earth,” Petty said. “What do I care about personalities or if I hurt someone’s feelings?”

  “There’s always morale to consider,” Huber said.

  “Yes, damn it, I know that,” Petty said, beginning to pace. He stopped and looked around. “Your office is quite small. Why is that?”

  “Because I am not CEO Petty,” Huber said.

  A bleak smile crossed Petty’s face. “Perhaps you’re right. My gut is saying I owe Tojo, but this isn’t a matter of what I owe anybody. It’s a matter of saving Earth for the future. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course,” Huber said. “I totally agree.”

  “Well… the balloons, how soon will they be ready?”

  “It will be several months before we can deploy them,” Huber said.

  “That might be cutting it too damn close.”

  “Maybe,” Huber said.

  “I don’t know. I think I’m going to split the fleet,” Petty said. “Yes, I’m going to give three of the ships to Tojo, four to Wilson. He will be in higher command.”

  “You’re still weakening Wilson’s authority.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Petty shouted. “No, I do care about that. But I’m going to do it this way so that they can maneuver with confidence when the moment comes. What if one of their ships is destroyed and there’s a break in command? This is a better way, and this will give a chance for Tojo to get used to command again.”

  “I doubt he’s ever forgotten,” Huber said.

  “You’ve seen how he’s acted all these years. He’s the perfect subordinate.”

  “Yes,” Huber said.

  “Do you think there’s cunning in that?”

  “Of course there’s cunning,” Huber said, “but that’s probably a good thing. We ask these men to lead soldiers into battle. Do we expect them to be docile lambs? No. They are men of valor, and we ask of them to sacrifice their lives if need be. These aren’t the easiest of people to deal with. It takes a harsh personality to do what they’re doing.”