Resistance

The snow-clad hill didn't look like much, but the granite that lay just a few feet below the topsoil had been strong enough to hold its own against a retreating glacier thousands of years before, and was likely to be there for millennia yet to come. Of more importance to the men hidden on top of the hill was the vantage point their position provided, giving them the ability to watch enemy troop movements and, God willing, defend themselves if attacked.

The daytime temperature should have been about forty this time of the year, but it was ten degrees lower than that, a grim reminder of the way the alien Chimera had altered Earth's atmosphere to their advantage. As a result, Lieutenant Nathan Hale's breath fogged the air as he lay on his belly and trained a pair of binoculars on the highway below. He wore a winter white parka and matching pants over a wool uniform and thermal underwear. And yet he was
still
cold.

Something Hale forced himself to ignore as he studied the scene that lay in front of him.

He remembered the familiar white ribbon of road as the one that he and his family had traveled each year on their way to the South Dakota State Fair in Huron. The
memory made his heart ache, because even though he'd been back in the United States for months, Hale hadn't been allowed to contact his foster parents or his sister. Unanswered questions plagued him. Had they fled south into Nebraska? Or remained on the ranch? Three generations of the family had battled the elements, the economy, and the land itself—and won. But the invasion would have been too much, even for them.

If they were still on the ranch, they were in terrible danger. Having conquered most of Asia and Europe, the Chimera had turned their attention to North America. Chicago already had fallen to the invaders, in October, quickly followed by key cities in Wisconsin and North Dakota. Now, as the enemy continued to move south, the United States Army and the Marine Corps had been forced to pull back into an ever-shrinking “Fortress America.”

But the Chimera could be stopped. As Hale peered through a thin veil of steadily falling snow he knew that a ring of defense towers were being built to the south, constructed for the sole purpose of blocking the Chimeran advance. But would they be enough?

Hale had his doubts, because he'd been a member of the ill-fated 3rd Ranger Regiment, and seen firsthand the atrocities that had occurred in England. So Hale knew that no matter how many defense towers the government put up, the Chimera wouldn't stop until they had overwhelmed their foes.

Hale's thoughts were interrupted by Sergeant Marvin Kawecki.

“We have company, sir … Ten o'clock.”

Kawecki crouched to Hale's left, his right eye at the 10× scope of an L23 Fareye. Particles of dry snow were rapidly accumulating on the back of his parka.

Hale had been looking south, and as he panned the
binoculars to the left, he saw that Kawecki was correct. Three Chimeran Attack Drones emerged from the veil of snow, following the ribbon of highway, high-intensity beams of light knifing out in front of them. Each one flew about six feet off the ground, and they darted about like hunting dogs following a scent.

Their presence in and of itself was revealing, because even though most of the civilian population had fled south, Hale knew that nonmilitary resistance groups like Freedom First continued to operate behind enemy lines, where they had met with some success. The arrival of the drones most likely indicated that the stinks were concerned about the possibility of an ambush.

The presence of Chimera on Highway 281 was exactly the sort of Intel that Hale, Kawecki, and Private Jim Jasper had been ordered to obtain. Too little was known about the invaders, and with each new piece of data the Intel specialists could build a matrix of information that would be very valuable indeed.

Suddenly Hale felt his stomach muscles tighten as one of the drones left the edge of the road and began to move straight in their direction! It dropped slightly, until it was flying about four feet off the ground, and seemed determined to reach the top of the hill. Snow sleeted down through the beam of light that swept the ground in front of it. Had they been spotted? Or had the machine been programmed to examine hilltops?

“I have it,” Kawecki said tightly. “Just say the word.”

But Hale didn't
want
to say the word, because if Kawecki brought the drone down, all hell would break loose. And given the fact that the team was three miles inside the gray zone, it would be impossible to escape.

But as the construct continued uphill toward their position, there seemed to be few options.

Hale opened his mouth, and was about to give the
necessary order, when a white-tailed jackrabbit broke cover and the drone came to an abrupt stop, its light swiveling in the direction of the fleeing animal. The rabbit hadn't traveled more than ten feet before there was a single shot and it tumbled head over heels, blood spraying everywhere. Finally it came to rest on the snow.

The Chimeran scout hovered menacingly for a moment, then pivoted back toward the road, following the slope downhill.

Hale was surprised to discover that he'd been holding his breath, and released it as silently as he could.

“Jasper,” he said softly, “how's the back door? We may need to pull out soon.”

Jasper was lying in the prone position five feet behind the other two men. He was facing west, his M5A2 Folsom carbine at the ready, providing security for Hale and Kawecki. Just because some of the Chimera had chosen to travel south on 281 didn't mean
all
of them would have.

“The back door's wide open, sir,” Jasper replied. “We're good to go.”

Hale was about to acknowledge the report when he felt the ground tremble beneath his chest.

“Holy shit,” Kawecki swore. “What's
that?”

Hale thrust the glasses back into position, and watched as a phalanx of forward-leaning Steelheads emerged from the curtain of swirling snow to his left. That was bad enough, but he knew that while the heads were dangerous, something far worse would be following along on their heels. Sure enough …

The thing was a smudge at first, an amorphous mass that could barely be seen through the swirling snow. But a few moments later the Mauler came into focus. The beast stood about thirty feet tall, and each step spanned twenty feet of highway. The earth shuddered with a
teeth-rattling
thump
as each enormous three-toed foot hit the ground. A grotesquerie such as this one could spew something akin to napalm, and launch corrosive-filled pods that exploded on contact. While a couple of well-placed rounds from a rocket launcher might bring the beast down, the lightly armed recon team wasn't carrying that kind of firepower.

Then he saw the huge pack that was strapped to the creature's back, and let out a sigh of relief. The pack meant it was currently being used to transport supplies.

There was no way to know what was in the packs, where the Chimera were headed, or to what end. But those were questions for Intel to wrestle with.

The vibrations increased as two additional Maulers appeared, their sloped backs covered with snow and jets of lung-warmed air shooting out of their nostrils as they followed the first behemoth south.

As they disappeared into the obscuring snow, Hale put the binoculars down and began to take notes. He was careful to jot down the time, the direction that the Chimera were traveling, and how many of each form there were. Chimera came in various forms, and Intel would want to know which ones were involved in the North American assault.

Then as the last of the stinks disappeared into the white haze, he buttoned the book into his breast pocket.

“Okay,” Hale said, just loud enough for both men to hear. “I don't know about you, but I could use a hot shower and some of that slop they serve in the mess hall. So let's get the hell out of here … But remember, those bastards have six eyes—so don't break the horizon.”

Kawecki had seen lots of action, and knew Hale's comment was directed at Jasper, who had been in a dustup or two but was relatively inexperienced, especially
for a Sentinel. Most members of the elite combat organization were ex-Army or Marine Corps ground pounders with lots of special ops experience—Hale being an excellent example. And while the serum developed by the Special Research Projects Administration (SRPA) enabled Sentinels to recover from what would otherwise have been fatal wounds, the “bug juice”—as some of the men called it—couldn't counter the effects of a direct hit from a Chimeran mortar.

So casualty rates remained high, and newbies like Jasper were increasingly common. They had plenty to learn.

Jasper was fully aware of the fact that the veterans were watching him like hawks as he elbowed his way forward and slid headfirst down the slope. Snow slipped through his open collar and chilled his skin as he brought his feet around and used them to brake. Reaching the bottom of the incline, he took cover behind a group of snow-capped rocks.

A quick look around told him that the horizon was clear, and he raised a thumb.

Kawecki descended the hill next, quickly followed by Hale. They retraced the path they had followed earlier, down into a dry ravine. Hale was on point, with Kawecki in the two-slot, and Jasper bringing up the rear. Walking drag was a tough job that required Jasper to pause from time to time, in order to eye the team's back-trail, before running to catch up.

Though dry now, the ravine would be half-filled with runoff come spring. It led them to a half-frozen stream where running water could be seen through holes in the ice. It produced a cheerful gurgling sound which served as a suitable accompaniment to the
crunch, crunch
,
crunch
made by their boots, and the occasional crackle of broken ice.

The landing zone was still a good two miles to the south, but Hale knew it would take the pickup plane some time to get there, so he triggered his radio.

“Bravo-Six to Echo-Three … Do you read? Over.”

“This is Three,” came the immediate reply. “I read you Five-by-Five. Over.”

“We're about forty-five minutes out,” Hale responded, “And we're tired of walking. Over.”

“Say no more,” Echo-Three replied cheerfully.
“Marilyn
and I are on the way. Over.”

Hale grinned as he jumped from one sheet of ice to the next, careful to stay away from the holes. Echo-Three's much patched VTOL bore a beautifully rendered likeness of a scantily clad Marilyn Monroe on the left side of the fuselage.

“Can't wait to see her,” he replied sincerely. “Over.”

After that the journey to the LZ became a seemingly endless obstacle course as the three men were forced to cross and recross the partially frozen stream to avoid reaches of deeper water, large rock formations, and sections of thin ice.

As smaller tributaries flowed in from the left and right, the banks rose higher, and the stream became a river. That was a mixed blessing from Hale's perspective, because while the thirty-foot banks allowed them to travel relatively unseen, they would make it almost impossible to escape if they were attacked.