Beyond Armageddon: Book 03 - Parallels (9 page)

            Later that day, they landed at the crossroads town of Chillicothe, Ohio where Army Group North had established a supply depot supported by a railroad junction and airstrip.

            Trevor, the Rev, and Shepherd switched from Eagle to Blackhawk for the flight to Washington Court House. However, when word came that Hoth faced Roachbots, Trevor insisted on detouring to the battlefield.

            As they flew toward Blanchester, Trevor appreciated the change in rides. While the open door of the helicopter let in the bitter cold air, the sounds and smells of battle also came in.

            Trevor felt goose bumps when he heard the first cannon shot. He filled with exhilaration as he smelled the thick aroma of burning oil. Then came the blasted Roachbot carcasses, the impact craters and smoldering fields…yes, the maps and color-coded push pins of his office brought to life. The meaning behind it all.

            They flew over as the last Roachbots met their fate. Ahead on the athletic fields of a high school stood a featureless rectangular metal building akin to a giant shoebox.

            The Blackhawk landed in the school parking lot. Trevor and companions disembarked.

            Reverend Johnny covered his nose. "That stench is certainly from the sewers of Hell."

            Shepherd said, "I reckon this is your first visit to an assembly line? That's the smell of mass murder."

            A squad of soldiers dressed in an assortment of coats and colors hovered outside the building trying to warm themselves with drinks from a flask. They snapped to something like attention as Trevor approached.

"Is General Hoth inside?"

            "Yes, Sir." The soldier then suggested, "You may want this, Sir."

            Trevor accepted a small jar of olfactory blocking cream, placed a dab beneath each nostril, and then shared with Shep and Johnny before entering a garage-door-sized portal.

            Two gigantic rooms dominated the interior. The first filled with silver and black machinery: conveyor belts, robotic arms, and metal presses.

            As they walked among the soldiers milling about the chamber, Shepherd explained to Reverend Johnny, "This is where the things are made. Sort of an assembly line, I suppose. Almost looks like it could be a GM plant putting together Chevys or something, don't it?"

            Indeed, several Roachbots stood silent at the end of the line, having completed the manufacturing process save for the last, most vital component; like a car waiting for an engine.

The second room offered an assembly line of a different sort, although not clean and sterile like the first. However, the men spied robotic arms and conveyor belts here, too. This time, those arms wielded long hypodermic needles filled with a paralyzing drug and the conveyor belts conveyed man-sized restraining tubes.

            While the chassis assembly line operated welding robots, the second line used surgical bots sporting blades and saws, perfect for opening a human skull. It was at that point on the line where the blood began. Lots of blood.

Instead of metal stamp presses, the final machines were grinders, designed to manage the waste byproduct; pulverized and drained into large vats for disposal.

            The walls, the floors…splattered with discarded
parts
thrown haphazardly around the room in the same way a person might absently toss aside an empty peanut shell.

            General Hoth stood near the machines examining the mess with a few of his aides. Trevor's appearance certainly surprised the General but his version of a ‘surprised’ expression would pass for 'stoic' on any other man.

            As they walked toward Hoth, Reverend Johnny gagged then spat, "Of all the dens of horror I have been witness to…this…this," Johnny could not complete his thought and joined the number of men who vomited inside a slaughterhouse. Indeed, not getting sick upon a first visit to such a place would actually be cause for concern.

One
part
stuck out amidst the discarded mess and caught Trevor's attention. It could have been a Halloween mask of a little boy with holes where eyes once lived.

            Stone stooped to look at that discarded piece of flesh. What had once been a child’s mouth was locked open in a scream. In that mask, Trevor saw what the invaders desired. He saw the horror and agony; he saw the sadness and isolation. He felt it in his bones.

            Here was a child whom he did not save.

            The fleshy fascia was stretched and worn and rotting; the boy might have died years ago, perhaps during those first days while Trevor built his strength at his secretive estate. Maybe the boy’s fate came during the years of painstakingly slow expansion or maybe while his divisions battled the Hivvans across the south.

Trevor did not know when the aliens murdered this child but he knew—
knew
--that somewhere on the planet Earth at that
exact
moment another child faced a similar fate. Maybe in the claws of a Devilbat or the maw of a Jaw-Wolf. Perhaps an implant from The Order or an energy bolt from a Redcoat's gun.  

            And tomorrow another child, or elderly lady, or caring mother, or trapped father. Tomorrow someone would die because of the invasion; because The Empire could not fight its way to them fast enough.

            "I won’t go back there, never again," Trevor said.

            Reverend Johnny wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and asked, "Back where?"
            "Behind that desk. I’m staying on the front lines. This is where I belong."

Trevor traced his finger over the map on the billiards table in General Hoth's headquarters. That map depicted the situation facing Army Group North although the marks on the map representing the Roachbot assembly line required the attention of an eraser.

Hoth pointed at those marks and explained, "With this threat to our southern flank eliminated, the next phase will be set into motion. It is my intention to challenge the Plat formations on the far side of Interstate 71 once we've received the next convoy of fuel supplies."

"Sounds good," Trevor said but his mind was not focused on Roachbots or Platypuses. He then spoke loud enough for Hoth's aides to hear, "I need everyone to clear this room."

Interestingly enough, the men and women looked to Hoth first. He engendered a great deal of loyalty from some combination of love and fear; no doubt similar to how Generals like Lee, Guderian, and Patton earned the trust and obedience of their men.

After the door closed, Trevor told Hoth, "I will be leading the rescue team to find the Dark Wolves. I'll need every piece of information you have on their last mission."

Hoth's facial expression did not change. He did blink, however.

"General Shepherd and Reverend Johnny will accompany me. I'll require a few of your best men, preferably men with recon experience and at least one pilot."

"If I understand you, General Shepherd—commander of Army Group Center—and you," he did not need to add Trevor's title, "as well as a prominent member of the Imperial council will go behind enemy lines in search of a few missing soldiers. Did I hear that correctly?"

While Trevor felt a streak of embarrassment run through his veins, Shep called from behind, "Yes, General, you heard that right enough. Does that create any problems?"

"I question the logic. We have assets at our disposal that could search for the missing team without placing the command and control of The Empire in jeopardy."

Trevor flipped his embarrassment into focus. "I do no seek your approval, General. I am informing you of the situation. For obvious reasons, my participation is to be kept quiet. Now, I've seen the report on the Dark Wolves' mission. Is there anything to add?"

"Only that it makes no sense for the team to have been lured into a trap. I believe another explanation is likely."

Shepherd stepped to Trevor's side and pointed out, "But you haven't received any more radio messages from this mystery woman?"
            "No. It is possible that whatever caused the loss of contact with Captain Forest has also interfered with those survivors. I'm working under the assumption that either a Platypus formation overran their position or another hostile force—organized or otherwise--is involved."

"They did warn of some kind of approaching danger."

"Yes," Hoth agreed with Trevor. "There may be a connection."

Shep said, "Seems to me that's a good reason to head in there."

Hoth told them, "I have operators who could lead this investigation without putting such high value personnel at risk."

"General Hoth, it wasn't so long ago that I was taking a risk every morning I got out of bed. Shep and me here, well, we were doing this back when you could count the number of people in our army with two hands. This isn't anything new for me."

"It is new, Sir, in the sense that this is a risk you don't have to take."

"Actually, it's a risk I feel I must take. I can't really explain it, not in a way you'd understand. So let's move beyond the 'why' and get to the 'how', we leave tomorrow night."

---

            Trevor dismissed the five soldiers selected to accompany him in the search. He then walked out of General Hoth's headquarters en route to the mess hall. Jerry Shepherd joined him as they moved between tents, around burning barrels where men gathered for warmth, and between the parked vehicles—most leaking something—in the ad hoc motor pool assembled on the farmer's field.

            "Sleep well?" Shep asked. "You should have stayed in the house."

            Trevor answered, "No, I wanted to be out in one of the tents. It was cold as Hell and I kept getting woken up by some sentry yelling '2 a.m. and all's well' and all that, but you know what? I needed this. Last night, I spent half an hour listening to guys singing old songs while someone played a guitar and then I got in on a late night poker game. I'm not sure half the guys recognized me. In fact, if I weren't wearing clean BDUs I would've blended in completely."

            "Like old times, huh?"

            "This is what it's about, Shep. The shit going on back in D.C., that's a bunch of BS. Out here, this is the heart of the fight. I have to keep reminding myself that most of the guys and girls here never held a weapon before six years ago or so. Now they're an army. Not exactly parade-ground ready, but there's a spirit here…I don't know, just makes me think I know how George Washington felt at Valley Forge or maybe Monty before El Alamein."

            "POP!" A young girl ran to Shepherd and threw her arms around him. To Trevor's surprise, Shepherd knelt and returned the hug with equal vigor.

            "Denise? Now what in the name are you doing here?"

"Where’s my mom, Mr. Shepherd? What happened to her?"

Shepherd's mouth worked but said nothing, no doubt searching for a comforting lie but Denise cut him off at the pass: "I know she's missing. What happened to her, Pop?"
            "How the heck did you get here?"

            "By train and hitchhiked on convoys the rest of the way. Is it true? Is my mom missing?"
            Trevor did not exist in the world where the conversation took place yet he managed to intrude as he gasped, "Your
mother?"

            Denise did not appreciate the distraction from this stranger. She glared at Trevor with sharp eyes and shot, "Yeah, my mother. Is that a problem?"
            "Um," Shep coughed. "Denise, let's head somewhere a heap warmer and talk it over."
            Trevor trailed along in a zombie-like state absorbing the thought of Nina having a daughter as Jerry led them to the mess tent where they met Reverend Johnny.

With breakfast long over, the mess felt deserted. Nonetheless, Reverend Johnny found a cup of hot chocolate—from very old mix--for Denise and pseudo-coffee for the three men.

            Between the drinks and a coal-burning stove the room offered just enough heat to allow them to strip off one layer of outerwear.

            As soon as their butts hit the wooden bench of a picnic table Denise blurted, "Where is my mother, Pop? What happened to her? Is she…is she dead?"

"The truth is we don’t know what happened to your mom. Hell, she’s probably camped out roasting marshmallows with a broken radio, for all we know."

            Trevor and the Reverend remained outside the loop; Denise only had eyes for Shepherd.

            "But you haven’t heard from her. What was she doing? Where did she go?"

Johnny tried to help. "I fear we cannot go into detail about the nature of her mission."

            "Hey, it’s my mom. I know she’s, like, Ms. Bigshot ‘round here. You don’t need to tell me that, Mister."

            Shep coughed. "Denise, this is Reverend Johnny, he’s on the Imperial Council."

            Despite her self-confidence, Denise’s face drooped into an ‘oh shit’ look.

            "Um…oh…hi."

            "Hello, Ms. Denise."

            The girl grew more guarded. She turned to the other man and asked the obvious, "Are you a member of the council, too?"