Invasion Earth Read online

  “We’ll have to destroy several of your trucks, at the least. Hard to explain if we fail.”

  “Still,” said Dan, rubbing his as yet unshaven chin, “I’ve seen your truck, and that truck runs.”

  “You’re right, my truck runs.”

  ”How long, do you think? You know, before we could actually get something running?”

  “Depends on you and your men. If you let me and my brother, Cal, do the work together, probably only two days. If you insist on having your men help us, be more like a week or two.”

  “Why so much longer with my men?”

  “Because I could be a supervisor only with them. Can’t let them see me pick up a truck motor or they would catch on and try to kill me.”

  “I want me and my men there to help.”

  “No worries,” said Izzie. “But, let’s start right away. Have your men push a couple of trucks, a plane and a tank, out on that large open field. Gives us plenty of room to maneuver. We’ll work on the tank first.

  “Just get all the supplies I listed. Bring in a dozen or two watches from the exchange. One more thing I think we should try. Send one of your men back to the base, in our big rig, and bring back some influenza viruses and Anthrax. If we spray them over the aliens, maybe mother earth will help us fight some of this battle.

  “Maybe you better ask my Dad to drive your man back. He knows how to wrangle that big devil.”

  “I’ll have everything ready by tomorrow morning. I’ll enforce security to keep everyone away. If your Dad agrees to drive, I’ll send one of our doctors with him.”

  “Wonderful,” said Izzie. “Bet no one ever asked you to destroy twenty-five-million dollars’ worth of your own equipment. Oh, and just so you know, it may be risky, but I believe I can make it work. If your men want to start, have them pull the motors out of the four-by-four trucks. Remember, we need to cover the machine with steel plating to keep random forces from interfering with our creation. When you locate the steel for the sides, they can get that laid on the floor of the trailer. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Izzie and Cal walked down to the project at first light. The two eight-cylinder motors lay by the trailer, and the floor of the trailer had been covered with steel.

  “Get a pulley hitched up,” said Izzie. “We need the motors on the trailer.”

  The soldiers moved slowly, not liking to take orders from a young girl. Sergeant Major Radel called out to them at once.

  “This lady is the only one who can win this battle for us. If I see anyone slowing down or disrespecting her, I will disrespect their ass into the woods over there. Trust me, you’d rather be caught by a green-skinner than an angry Top named Radel.”

  The speed on the project picked up immediately.

  “What now?” asked Sergeant Major Radel,

  The eighteen-wheeler she had converted was child’s play compared with the tank now before her. The size of the motor and incredible weight, it had to pull-that was the problem.

  They started by welding the two motors together. It took four carbide rods to hold up the two engines. Izzie began working with the mother boards and electronics, using two watch batteries to power everything up. She would have preferred more power, but the watches provided a natural faraday cage and were the only active batteries she could find.

  Cal walked over to the table she was working at. “Can’t use the tank.”

  “What now?”

  “The motor in the tank is a turbine. Can’t adapt it to steam with the time constraints.”

  “You want to tell General Wyatt, or should I?”

  “You’re working, I’ll see him.”

  An hour later, the men were breaking their backs removing the tank and bringing in an armored personnel carrier (APC). Not as formidable a weapon as the tank, but a powerful weapon nonetheless.

  The men were working at the steel encasement on the trailer. No opening could be allowed because a stray magnetic force from the earth would kill the power. The water tank was installed, and pipes were stretched.

  While Cal and the mechanics worked on the engine of the APC, Izzie wired the motors and began them turning slowly. Once she left the trailer, it was welded shut. The conversion from diesel to steam power was moving along quickly.

  At twilight, General Wyatt came down to review the work. It was moving faster than he had believed possible. He sent everyone off to sleep. Morning would come soon enough.

  When Izzie checked the motors the next morning, she saw the revs had increased to seven hundred. The APC motor was completed, but nothing would work until the reps of the motor increased significantly. The friction caused by the air and motors heated the water used to power the APC.

  The General and his Sergeant Major inspected the vehicles and were excited by what they had accomplished.

  “Let’s give it a try.”

  “Not yet. Not revving high enough to guarantee power. Why not get the crew ready and arm the APC with flamethrowers and .50 cal. machine guns. Being less than a half a mile from the battle raging, they could appreciate the need to get the weapon on line as soon as possible.”

  At 22,000 revs, the General decided to give it a try.

  “Whatever you do with it out there, don’t turn it off. It’ll run 24-7 for at least the next six weeks. But if you turn the key off and kill the electrical circuit, it’ll take another day to restart it.”

  “I’ll take the helm on this first run, “said the General. He summoned the six men needed to crew it and started slow, then hit a powerful second gear and leaped forward. He crossed the line, his men currently held and the fifty caliber began to roar. The trenches had been dug to within forty feet of the National Guardsmen line. Halfway through the mission, the tires of the trailer were pierced and went flat, but the power of the APC was incredible and dragged the war machine ahead. He found he could drive east and west, close to his lines, and use the flames to inflict damage on the aliens still in the trenches, but the earth weakened by the aliens digging began to crumble under the APC’s weight and he was forced to swing back to the south and drag the war machine back to friendly lines.

  Inside Texas’s lines, he had his crew dismount, then left the machine run while he dismounted. “Find some metal wheels for that trailer,” he ordered.

  He ran over to hug Izzie and in his exuberance, tried to pick her up. He had forgotten her true size and weight. His back screamed in pain and he set her down gently.

  “You might have saved the world with this weapon. You and your family are our heroes.”

  “Wait until tomorrow to see if we can get the plane to fly. See you in the morning, General Dan.”

  Before first light, Izzie knocked on the framed door of General Wyatt’s tent.

  “Come on in, want some coffee?”

  “Please,” said Izzie. “I’ve battled this plane idea all night and it’s time you know my ideas”

  “Sure, hit me with it.”

  “The problem with the plane is twofold. The weight of the machine needed to produce enough electricity may be too much for the plane to get off the ground. Also, a plane’s avionics eat a lot of electricity.”

  “We have to get a plane up. Actually, we need more than one. I’m not worried about its use here, but we need it to establish contact with Washington DC again.

  “A major worry of mine is the men on our naval ships out at sea. There are at least three major fleets deployed. Without power, it’s impossible for them to refurbish their stores. They’ll die of starvation and dehydration if we are unable to find them. Planes are the only way to contact them. They’re massive enough to make large machines and could maybe get under power again, but finding them and teaching them to build a machine will the problems. I doubt we’ll be able to help the submarines, unless you come up with something miraculous. I suspect they were doomed when the electricity stopped. Just as the planes that were flying had no chance with their power suddenly failed. The only place I know of where we can find the loc
ation of the naval ships when the power went out is in Washington DC. What do you think, Izzie?”

  “We have to make a smaller, more powerful universe. One that the planes can carry, and still be powerful enough to generate a lot of electricity. Can I use your desk, Dan?” She swept everything off his desk and sat down. Searching through the drawers, she pulled out a large yellow tablet, a ruler, and several pencils.

  “Sure, go ahead. Anything I can get you?”

  “That coffee isn’t here yet. Hurry it along if you can, Dan. And if you can, I could sure use a couple of steaks, make that three, I need a little protein.”

  “How do you want them cooked?”

  “Raw would be just fine.”

  By the time he had given her order to Sergeant Major Radel, she already had completed three pages of figures on the tablet.

  “What is the lift capacity on your smallest two-prop plane?”

  He looked up the figures for her.

  “Is that with one pilot or two?”

  “It has to be two with the twin props.”

  The coffee and steaks arrived. She quickly drank the first cup of coffee while munching on the steaks. She had already completed six pages of figures.

  “This could work,” she muttered to herself as she worked. “It has to work.”

  Thirty minutes later she stood up.

  “This is all theoretical, but it could work. May not, but if you can get the supplies, we can give it a try.”

  “What do you need, Izzie?”

  “Sixteen pounds of gold and four pounds of high density bismuth.”

  ”I’ll get the supplies. Do you want to recheck your figures?”

  “No, they’re right. I had it all done in my mind before I sat down. Just wanted to make sure. Dan, we’re going to need a gyro. Try to get the smallest you can, and you and I can recalibrate it while we wait for the supplies.”

  Cal drove the Sergeant Major into Fort Worth, a city with plenty of gold, and they returned in three hours.

  Izzie assembled the machine on the General’s desk.

  “Where’s the plane?”

  “Can I ask why this machine will be so much smaller?”

  “Sure, Dan, I used gold which is much denser than iron. I used bismuth because of all the elements, it’s the most resistant to electricity, and therefore, it’ll break the field to the maximum and produce more power.”

  She picked up the machine and began to carry it to the plane.

  “Wait, I’ll have a couple of soldiers lug it to the plane. Keeping you camouflaged.”

  It was installed and protected by thin steel sheets. The plane’s engines had already been converted to steam power.

  “I’m starting it now,” Izzie said. “Keep your fingers crossed. With the size differential, it should be ready to go in about three hours. Hope you can find a pilot willing to give it a try. A steam engine plane with only half the avionics and no radio, but if he can map it out and follow the gyroscope, it should be reliable. I calculated it to run for about four weeks.”

  Three hours later, the pilot crawled in, with a copilot to help. The machine was already rotating at sixty-two hundred revs per minute and gear had been installed to spray the infectious mist over the enemy. The General had given the pilot his instruction and a written report of the invasion to inform the Federal Government of the aliens and the actions taken.

  Using the long runway, the pilot took off. He kept it low using the ground effect to pick up speed. He swung a long southern loop, then raised the plane higher into the sky. He flew over the Tonkian army and sprayed the influenza and anthrax mixture over the aliens. As the tiny droplets slowly drifted down, the pilot unlatched and dropped the spraying gear. Checking his gyroscope, he adjusted the plane and headed straight east.

  “We won’t know for at least a week if it was successful,” said Izzie.

  “We should know in several days if the mixture makes the Tonkians ill, but it will be longer than that before we know if he made it to Washington. He is going to contact the ships in the Atlantic. Let’s start working on the next two planes.”

  IZIXEBI

  The National Guard had won a battle. The Tonkians had been driven back more than fifteen miles. A small victory, but a victory-none-the-less. With the confidence of a victory under their belts, the soldiers’ hopes for the final victory had risen dramatically.

  For the first night in a long time, Trist slept deeply. The cold tension gripping his spine had relaxed enough to let him sleep.

  My Hero-Warrior, I want to let you know how magnificent I think you have been.

  “What?” mumbled Trist, sitting up. Still a little groggy, he listened and looked around.

  “What? Who?” he said into the dark.

  I am here my darling. I wanted to tell you that you have been a wonderful father.

  “Izixebi?”

  Yes, my Warrior/Hero, I am here with you. Do not worry, no one can hear us.

  Trist spoke into the night. “I have missed you every day, my love. You still seem so real to me. Your children are wonderful and I see you in them. I grieve every day for Larry, who was killed on his first hunt. I tried to save him, but he was intrepid and fought until death.”

  I know. Death is part of our way of life. Hunting is always fraught with danger.

  “When can I see you?”

  Not yet, my Love. I am here to remind you that there is a duty which only you can perform.

  ”Yes, my Love. What quest would you send me on? You know I will do anything for you.”

  You must kill King Ceidas. No one else will be able. This is your duty. If you let him live, our children will always live under a cloud of danger. If you challenge him, he must accept.

  “I will kill him. I will display his body with my staff through his chest.”

  In the quiet, he began to feel alone.

  “Izixebi? Don’t leave me yet.”

  Nothing. No answer. Trist burrowed down into his blanket and closed his eyes. I’m sure I can kill that alien, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

  TRIST AND CEIDAS

  Trist had been very impressed with General Wyatt. The man was intelligent and brave. He was not the type of man to send troops where he would not go. Even while battling what had seemed an unbeatable foe like the Tonkians, his headquarters were near the front. He frequently walked among his troops and knew many by name. His men were young and inexperienced, but they took courage in his leadership. They began their morning attack certain they would win. They dealt swift death to the aliens.

  The Tonks, facing an enemy bent on their destruction, felt uncertainty for the first time. They had started the war by their invasion, but now the enemy had an upper hand against them. Never had they considered the possibility that they could lose. There was no place for them to retreat to. No safe place to recoup. They were courageous, but the use of flame-throwers, and the accuracy of the rifle fire, left too many of their warriors dead and smoking. Slowly, inexorably, the humans advanced at them.

  At first, only a few retreated. But like a winter creek at springtime, the flood of running men grew to a torrent. The army of Earth was driving them north toward the Militia. The APC chased them, spewing fire and .50 caliber bullets, and crushed the bodies of the dead, clearing an easier path for the soldiers.

  Trist was standing near General Wyatt when the full-out rout began. He saw King Ceidas run from the field toward the Tonkian barricade.

  Trist picked up a sword from a fallen officer and ran after his mortal enemy. The other Tonkians, seeking to escape with their lives, paid no attention to the Earthman running among them.

  At thirty-two years of age, Trist was still agile and ran easily. He leaped to the top of the small barricade and saw the King pass through a teleporter. He ran at the blue light and dove through, praying that Ceidas could not stop the power to the portal before he went through.

  He came through unscathed, and fell to his hands and knees on a large level plain.
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  Ceidas had run toward a village several hundred yards off. Trist stood and brushed the dust from his hands. Turning, he saw the portal close behind him. Ceidas, that coward, had killed the power, forcing his men to stay and fight the battle he’d fled.

  Trist, sword still in hand, walked steadily toward the village. Taking a gladiator’s stance outside the village, he issued his challenge. “I demand the right of individual combat with Ceidas.”

  Trist waited patiently, knowing the Ceidas hated him and believed he would be unable to resist the challenge from Trist.

  “Oh Great King, I have brought what is left of the Interplanetary Force. They wish to consult you because of your great wisdom,” he mocked, laughing loudly.

  He saw six Tonkian soldiers walk slowly from the village, followed by King Ceidas.

  “I challenge you, King Ceidas, to individual combat for the Royal Throne of Tonk.”

  The aliens behind Ceidas backed off. A Royal Challenge had been issued. They would not interfere. Looking at them, Trist believed they hated the King and prayed that he would be defeated.

  “Traitor-to-Tonk, long have I dreamed of this day. I have awakened at night with the taste of your blood on my tongue. After you are dead, know that I will search the universe for your children. Your seed will be exterminated.”

  “After I have killed you,” said Trist, “I will display your body on my staff so that the population of Tonk can walk past and spit on you. I will eradicate your name from all scrolls. You will have no legacy.”

  “I laugh at your challenge,” said the King. He stood to his full height, towering over the small human body of Trist. “You are not of Tonk. You have no right to issue a Royal Challenge.”

  “I have every right,” shouted Trist. “The ancient scrolls of Tonk do not limit the race of the challenger. Here on Tonk 2, the strongest rules. The throne will go to the survivor.”

  ”Enough, Human!” Ceidas rushed at Trist with both arms extended, trying to pin the puny human. If he could pull Trist close to him, his tusks would disembowel the man. Trist was too agile for the huge alien, and quickly danced away from him. He whacked his sword against the back of the King as he rushed past, but the carapace of the King kept him from inflicting damage.